“God has made me his Reaper-man. For in the darkness of time, is where I stand. And when the fire and smoke rises up above, that’s when you know that I have come.”

-David Matchworth in two weeks

“Patriarch David Matchworth, for the murder of fellow Patriarch Kevin Steward, how do you plead?”

A smart man would plead guilty. They would show contrition to the judge, and use the remorse shown as leverage for mercy. If there was a jury, and the evidence less clear, a smarter man would question the validity of the charges, plead a case for innocence and lay the guilt of condemnation at the feet of his peers.

But I am not a smart man. I am a murderer. The first in eons since humanity became lost to the stars. I have no peers, there is but me in a storage closet, converted to a jail cell, and the blue illumination of a halo screen showing the face of a Wise Men, whose stern face and dull gray eyes leave no room for pity or understanding. I sit on a plain utilitarian chair, as the desk in front of me, more suitable for baring the weight of boxes then studying, holds the halo. No jury to manipulate, no mercy to be found in feigned remorse.

As it should be.

“Not Guilty.”

His face barely wrinkles, but the disgust is evident.

“You understand the evidence arrayed against you.”

“Yes.” Intimately, it was my bolter pistol that did the job.

“So what case, in front of me and God do you have?”

A smarter man would plead guilty, if only to get this trial over with and stay in the dark of this cell in peace.

Not me. “I have evidence that Patriarch Kevin Steward was in the process of committing treason.”

“To save yourself you will accuse a dead man of a heinous crime. Tell me David, where is Kevin Steward to defend himself?”

Spread across the Milky Way if I’m lucky, “I presented my evidence to NOAH.”

“And?”

It didn’t matter, “They ignored it.”

“You are a member of NOAH?”

“Yes.”

“And You deal with the psychological profile of Samson's to determine their fitness for duty?”

“Yes.”

“A position of trust within your organization?”

“Yes.”

“Yet despite being a distinguished member of your organization, you were not able to provide sufficient evidence to accuse another Patriarch of one of our highest crimes?”

Second only to murder, “Yes.”

The Wise Men exhales slightly before tearing into me further, “And wish to present the same evidence to me?”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

I can only stare in muted silence.

“God be my witness; your actions threaten not only you but the very nature of your organization. The prosecution of this war against the beast and vermin that has claimed our birthright has spoiled your mind and given you delusions of grandeur. Even now me and my colleagues have discussed tearing down your department to further distance our utopia from the taint of your actions.”

The Wise Men face is a scowl of concentrated hate and disgust. Not just for me, but what I could be. A sign of the times, an echo from a darker age, before there were Patriarchs and Wise Men. The age of chaos, when everyone decided how to deal with the ARK ships limited resources themselves.

I doubt he lived through that, being countless eons ago, before the discovery of cryogenics and the formalization of a calendar to track our progress. A forgotten dark age told orally as a reminder that our society, while flawed, is better than the alternative. Me being that alternative. Me being that new oral lesson, spoken about in hush whispers to the gifted children who show the aptitude to become not only Patriarchs but members of NOAH. That will be the legacy of my actions, what this Wise Men and Judge is contemplating how to stamp out.

I won’t make it easy, “My actions are in the service of this utopia! A utopia that is crumbling even as we speak. For why are we committing genocide if not to save our species from the unsustainable life in the stars? What will happen if we do not clear the land to allow the human race room to grow and prosper.”

“You have no proof of Kevin’s treason!”

“I have no proof you're willing to accept!” The Wise Men doesn’t flinch, but I know he’s taken aback so I continue, “Will you even consider, just for a moment, what it would mean if I was right and didn’t act? What would it mean for mankind to lose its only advantage against the vermin?”

“And you resort to murder to prevent this future?”

“Yes!” I scream, pounding the table, which I instantly regret.

I pleaded not guilty. And with that mistake, The Wise Men smiles.

“We will inform you of our verdict within the next two nautical hours. Rest David Matchworth, there will be no further need for your testimony.”

And with that the halo screen blanks and I’m left alone in my cell. Blessed silence, save for the anxiety filled rasps of my own breathing.

“You wanted this David.” I remind myself.

But a smarter man would have let Kevin go. Would have allowed him to be torn apart by the savages below in an ill-fated attempt to open a line of dialogue. I warned him it wouldn’t work. I warned him that he would be committing treason. I warned him. And then I shot him.

“Those aren’t grunts and growls David, that's speech. Speech! We can end this war, find a way-”

“It doesn’t matter if the beast has a tongue. We cannot share this planet! Our home!”

Kevin paced back and forth, his narrow blue eyes darting between me and the door of the study. The ship's library has plenty of private rooms enjoyed by students and Patriarchs alike. And back before we decided our careers, this was our spot. The last thing we had in common after almost 200 years of intermittent cryo sleep.

“Who are we to call it home now! We haven’t breathed the air in thousands of years, maybe millions. Who are we to call Earth home?”

He has a point. But I don’t care.

“It’s the only one we have left.”

“If that’s the case, why are we bombing it from space? Why are we burning down forests and poisoning the air? Why are we breeding monsters? Does any of that sound righteous? Do we look like the proud and noble humanity made in “god's image”?”

“YES!”

“How can you say that!”

“Because we’re at WAR!”

Kevin throws up his hands, “With a PLANET DAVID!”

Someone raps on the door and any retort I had dies in my throat. We both wait, two old friends, now at each other's throats, if only metaphorically, both waiting for a voice of complaint. But none came; the librarian, a Patriarch most likely, wheels past with a cart probably full of rare hard covers, going squeak squeak as the tension goes back to rising.

“The decision to wage this war was made before I or you were even born. By men and women smarter than anyone that has ever lived! My entire career is in service to this war and the safety of those “monsters” we breed. You want us to stop, have a vote. See how far you get. But don’t risk your life on a fool's gamble to prove nothing. They are not human. Their resemblance to us is a matter of convergent evolution.”

Kevin exhales in exasperation, “I can’t believe you’ve allowed NOAH to turn you into this pig-headed warmonger!”

I remember having to remind myself that I’m not angry with him, just an idea. A bad idea. A dangerous idea. One that threatens the only advantage we have in this war.

“Don’t do it Kevin. Please for everyone’s sake. Don’t.”

But I knew he wouldn’t listen to me, because we always had one thing in common. If we believed in something, we’ll do anything to see it through.