---Restraints---

---Emiko’s perspective---

My geta clack against the hard floor as I walk down the underground corridor, my bodyguard, the expedition’s two intelligence agents and the ship’s Chief Security Specialist at my back, the former holding her plasmabec in her gauntleted hands, the latter three with plasmaswords at their hips.

On our right, just below the ceiling, wide, short windows line the corridor, providing just enough light to see the way through the gloom in the passage.

At the far end of the hallway, four imposing Vrakhand women stand guard in front of a set of thick, heavy, wooden doors, barred from the outside.

I draw up to around 5m away from the nearest and address the only one with a translator “General Khr’kowan requests that we be allowed access to the prisoner. Please open the doors.”

Looking at me like I’m something disgusting that she’s stepped in, the woman answers “It’s Regent…”

My eyebrows move up my forehead as I respond “I’m sorry?”

Bitterly, she elaborates “She’s Regent Khr’kowan, right now… Thanks to your realmsman in there for that(!)”

“Apologies…” I concede, coolly “…Regent Khr’kowan instructs that we be allowed to see the prisoner… Now, are you going to open the doors or do we need to fetch her down here to settle the matter?”

Sneering (but seeming to realise we would be unlikely to have found our way here unpermitted) she barks at her subordinates “Open it!”

In unison, the rear two women each reach a hand to one side of the thick slab of wood barricading the door and lift it from its brackets.

I begin walking forward but a clawed, tridactyl hand extends to halt me.

The hostile captain bends to place her head uncomfortably close to mine, scowling down at me.

Thran makes to try and interpose herself between us to protect me but my hand flies out in front of her and she stops.

“I’ll be watching…” growls the Vrakhand woman, indicating the iron barred portholes at the top of the door, too high up to be of use to someone my height.

I think Victor’s the only Terran here who’d be tall enough to see through there.

“…any of you touch the prisoner, touch the strands restraining him or even so much as approach him closer than I like, I’ll interpret it as an attempt to free him… Do we understand one another?”

Not rising to match the woman’s antagonism, I calmly answer “Ma’am, I can assure you, though we and that man were born the same species and in the same polity, he is no friend of ours… and we are even less well liked by him!… He wants nothing more than to see all of us dead and, so, it would certainly not be at all in our interests to attempt to free him… With that said, we thank you for your prudent caution and will endeavour to keep our distance.”

Seeming mildly mollified by that, the woman removes the hand that blocked my way as the doors are swung open.

We pass inside and, as I hear the doors being closed and barred behind us, I look to the large empty space to my left.

Peering back from the shadows at the far end of the cell is a pair of glowing, red eyes.

“Mr Stetter… I wish I could say I was sorry to see you in your current predicament.” I greet, dispassionately.

“Die!” snarls back a deep, venomous, synthetic voice.

“Not in my plans for the immediate future, I’m afraid(!)” I retort, casually.

The light coming in from the high, barred, horizontal slits that serve as the rooms windows is just enough to make out the restraints that bind his grievously dangerous body!

Now that I see how he’s bound, I have to say, what I was imagining did a disservice to the Vrakhand’s silkspinning skills!

I had basically pictured his head being the only thing visible, partly sticking out of a giant, amorphous blob of chaotically spun silk, like a morsel in Shelob’s lair(!)

In actuality, he’s tied so neatly that it’s difficult to believe it happened without him cooperating to make it possible!

Only knowing the sheer power of the one who apprehended him and realising the skill of her sisters reassures me that he didn’t allow himself to be captured in order to lure us here!

His hands, feet and lower face are the only parts of him that are so thickly bound as to be completely obscured, the dangerous claws wrapped tightly in three silk cocoons and his jaws bound firmly shut in a face sling passing under his chin, over his mouth and secured over the top of the majority of his cranium, causing his upper face to be the only part of his head that’s exposed.

The rest of his body is much more lightly bound, several woven, silk ropes passing around each limb and up to the beams from which he is suspended or down to pass around one of the thick iron bars, braced between masonry at both ends and protruding from the floor, securing his legs to keep him from thrashing them about.

All of it so beautifully neat as to be worthy of a shibari nawashi(!)

To my slight shame, I do have to push down the brief thrill I get from imagining myself bound thusly!

The pose he’s restrained in is just a touch unintentionally sacrilegious, his feet together and his arms out to the sides, making him look like a twisted mockery of the Christians' Son God being sacrificed to their Father God(!) The Vrakhand, not having much idea of what Christianity is, probably didn’t do that intentionally… Though, I should mention to someone just how damaging it would be to suspend a flesh and blood Human with the arms taking the majority of their weight like that for any great period of time. Just in case it comes up again!

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I step forward, the *clack* of my sandals echoing off the hard walls of the cell (far too big for the man) meant for restraining Vrakhand prisoners, and ask “I don’t suppose you know or care just how much damage you did when you murdered these people’s ruler last night, do you Mr Stetter?”

A tiny hunch of the shoulders is as close to a shrug as he’s able to manage as he answers “You’re definitely right that I don’t care…” his synthetic voice not at all obstructed by his gag.

“Well, allow me to clue you in so that you at least know!” I spit, cold fury in my words “The man you murdered was the unifier of the Vrakhand and was the one under whose authority the peace treaty with this planet’s other species was signed (after the initial signing ceremony was interrupted by your arrival and assault on our ship in orbit). Your actions made an orphan of hundreds of his surviving children, threaten to shatter the species’ unity, threaten to recommence a state of war with the Twigg and, of course, have destroyed an enormous portion of the goodwill we’ve spent months accruing here, since there will be a not insignificant portion of the Vrakhand who hear that an offworlder assassinated their monarch and come to the conclusion that, whether we mean to or not, we bring bad things with us! Are you happy with yourself?!”

“Yeah… we Americans’ve never been the biggest fans of kings(!) You really expect me to give a shit about some fucking gardenworlders who need a monarch to order them around?” he mocks.

I lean back, my face twisting in confusion as I attempt to parse out the meaning of his insane words.

Out of the corners of my eyes, I see similarly disconcerted bodylanguage from the other four.

Victor is the first one to react, doubling over and bursting into laughter “You…*HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahhhhh**wheeze*… You ain’t serious!!!…*hehehehehehehehehe**wheeze*… Fuckin’ really?!… I know you’re a headcase but still!”

Angrily, the murderer demands “What’s so funny, Limey!?”

Victor’s still a little incapacitated by the absurdity to answer, so I enlighten him “You’re not on a gardenworld, Stetter… this is a deathworld… and would probably score higher on the classification scale than Earth and most other Terran worlds… if it had been designed to go up that high!”

“Lies!” he growls back, immediately.

“Afraid not.” I counter, disdainfully.

“There’s only one deathworld that’s ever produced sapient life and that’s Earth! These xenos are obviously sapient! Therefore, this is a gardenworld!” he unsoundly deduces.

“There was only one deathworld known to have produced sapience… until now!” I gesture around us to indicate the planet we’re both currently stranded on “Your body surely gives you gravimetric readings? Background radiation levels? Perhaps a certain level of passive chemoreception? Are the readings you’ve been getting since you crashed really consistent with being on a gardenworld? What about the thousands of kilometres of barren, sunbaked desert you had to pass through to get here? Is that a feature most gardenworlds would possess? What about the animal or animals you killed to be drenched in blood when you ran into that first Twigg girl? Did they seem like something you’d be likely to find on a gardenworld? And… were you not a little embarrassed to think that a man of your indisputable ‘talent’ had been restrained so easily by the bodyguards of a gardenworld king? You. are. on. a. deathworld, Stetter!”

He gives a barely perceptible twitch “But… that… that means…”

My face twists with spite as I taunt “Oooooh… Now, now, now, Mr Stetter! You wouldn’t happen to be feeling guilty from what you've just learnt, would you?!… I didn’t realise you still had that ability!”

The wall that momentarily dropped flies back up as he snaps “Why would I!? He was an obstacle I removed… nothing more!”

I turn the knife “He was an innocent man who had nothing to do with the War or its horrors, not even the twisted guilt by association of ‘being a gardenworlder’… He was a man who died standing up to you to protect his people and his friends… I’d think you’d find that rather admirable… He’s a man whose children you’ve made orphans for nothing more than the crime of being an inconvenience to you!… You’re telling me you don’t feel guilty?”

Silence.

“Well… I’ve got news for you, you bastard! You’re in Vrakhand custody now! We are outside the GU, in their jurisdiction, meaning that the UTC and the Peace Treaty will not protect you!… Oh and, one more thing, regicide carries the death penalty here so, when you’re found guilty…”

“If he’s found guilty…” corrects a high, masculine, translated voice from outside the cell.

I turn to see the brown furred boy that Khr’kowan recently got married to (after knowing for a day) sauntering into the room through the opening doors.

Without acknowledging me or the other four, he turns to cordially greet “Sir Stetter, my name is Kurkhuw of the Nhirmoran Realm, Son of Broodking Howakh of the Nhirmoran Realm and First Woman Vhixho’a of the Horkhan Realm. My broodwife, Regent Khr’kowan, has asked me to act as your [public defender] after having the concept explained by the ambassadors. I believe you’ve already encountered her, though I don’t know if it’s accurate to describe it as a ‘meeting’. She was the one primarily responsible for apprehending you… In the interest of full disclosure, the man you are accused of murdering was my father in law… Regardless, my task, as I understand it, is to make the best argument I possibly can for a favourable verdict for you without allowing my personal feelings to get in the way.”

“You’re a lawyer?” Stetter asks, his voice flat and sceptical.

“Uhm… Not as such, no… ‘[Lawyer]’ is not a profession on this planet, as court trials are nowhere near a regular enough occurrence for them to be necessary… What I am is an avid scholar with great familiarity with the laws that govern the Khawekhan [Empire], as laid down by the man you are accused of having murdered. You could really not ask for a better advocate!”

“No ‘accused’ about it… I’ll confess right now; I did it, I’m guilty!” Stetter sneers.

With a wry smile, Kurkhuw waves a negation and responds “Just because you did it, Sir Stetter, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re guilty! Though, I must advise you against saying such things as might prejudice your case…” he gestures to the five of us “…all of these people just became witnesses to a confession… which makes my job a little harder(!)” he turns to me and sweetly asks “Lady Miyazaki, might I impose upon you to give my client and myself some privacy to discuss our case?”

I sigh “Sure…” and turn to go, the others following behind.

In my mind, I know that this is better. That not only is there no criminal so foul as to deserve to be condemned without a chance to defend themself but knowing that the Vrakhand extended advocacy to a Terran criminal (who’d killed their king) will also, undoubtedly, curry favour with the UTC and make them more likely to be seen as 'civilised' by the rest of the GU…

On the other hand, though… my raging hatred for that man makes me just want to see him crash and burn for all the pain and loss he’s caused!

It’s hard to fight the feeling that, if anyone deserved a trial without an advocate, it would be him!