Chapter Thirty-One: The Reckoning

Note: In chapter 29, I originally stated that the Heptagon orbiting John and Sherlock's box was a judge. She's not. She's a prosecutor. Allons-y!

From the confines of their small box, Sherlock and John stared at Plum Duff, aka John's ex-hostage, aka the witness for the prosecution.

"Right," said John. His shoulders were already square, but he squared them further. "We are so deeply, deeply screwed."

"Perhaps not," replied Sherlock. "There's some chance of a mistrial."

"How much chance?"

"Turn around and look up."

Sherlock pointed at a long, rectangular window high above their heads. Framed by the clear jelly were six creatures: a Square, a Pentagon, a Hexagon, a Heptagon, an Octagon, and a Nonagon.

"Fizz said that we would be judged by the Council of Seven," said Sherlock.

"Somebody's missing," said John. "Who?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Ideally, a Decagon," he said. "Somebody with that many sides to their crowning polygon would be important enough that a conviction in their absence would represent a miscarriage of justice."

John's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Ideally? Sherlock, you never say 'ideally.'" He stuck out his hand in a sort of phantom handshake. "Hello, Ideally, I don't think we've met. Any news from Realistically? Where's he keeping himself?"

Caught out, Sherlock began to do what can only be described as pacing in place.

"Oh, blast it, John. The missing council member is a Triangle. I'm 98.3 percent sure of it. It's been chosen to give the appearance of inclusion, not to exercise real power. That's why the rest of the Council are reacting to its disappearance with a blaze of insouciance. There isn't going to be any mistrial on behalf of a missing Triangle." Sherlock poked at the floor with a few abashed toes. "I was letting statistical probability fall by the wayside in an attempt to make you feel better."

"Noted," said John. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Sherlock, gloomily. "No, really: don't."

A few moments passed. Plum Duff greeted the Council and the gallery.

"So," said John. "Not a single Triangle in the courtroom today. Where do you suppose they all are?"

"Raising that army you talked about," said Sherlock, perking up a bit.

"Not making kebabs?" asked John. He hoped that Chip and other rebellious Keplerians hadn't been rounded up and chucked out the airlock.

"The two options are not mutually exclusive," observed Sherlock.

The prosecutor began to examine Plum Duff.

"Tell the Council and the gallery how you first encountered the animal known as Plum Cross," she said, pointing a grim and quivering tentacle at Sherlock.

"I was Principal Xenobiologist in charge of bipeds," said the witness. "He was one of my test subjects."

"I think you mean 'it,'" said the prosecutor.

"I mean 'he,'" said Duff.

Sherlock blinked.

"What?" asked John.

"Duff is doing something odd," Sherlock said. "It's too early to say what."

"Who were you working for?" asked the prosecutor.

"I was working for Scar, the former Head of Xenobiology."

"An illustrious scientist," said the prosecutor. "She was killed by Silver Circle, was she not?"

"Yes," said Duff.

"Esteemed members of the court: I put it to you that this was the act of a depraved animal," said the prosecutor. She addressed the Council, then rotated so that her words could be seen by the gallery.

"Actually," said Duff, "it was something else entirely."

"I beg your pardon?" asked the prosecutor.

"It was a thinking entity's last-ditch attempt to save his mate from certain murder," said Duff. "And as such, it was protected by Keplerian law."

A wave of polygonal astonishment swept though the gallery.

"Good God," said Sherlock.

"What?" asked the linguistically challenged John. "What's he saying?"

"He says that Scar was trying to murder me, and you lawfully intervened."

"Does he?" asked John. It was his turn to blink with surprise. "Good for him!"

"Do not get ahead of yourself," warned the prosecutor. The only thing stopping her from blinking too was a congenital lack of eyelids. "To call Scar's murder acceptable is to misinterpret the facts. Contain yourself, or I will ask the Council to hold you in contempt. What sort of work did you perform on Plum Cross?"

"I tried to obtain genetic material from him." Duff hesitated. "I ... I regret to say that my methods were invasive and coercive. Although this was in keeping with department policy at the time, the fault rests with me."

From the gallery, Fizz, the officer Plum Duff loved, looked on in rapt attention. The rest of the courtroom was in an uproar. In the gallery, one of the Squares fainted. Those closest to him began edging away so as not to stand in the resulting puddle.

"All right," said Sherlock. "That's a new one."

"What now?" asked John.

"He's criticizing himself for trying to extract DNA from us against our will."

"Jesus," said John. "He's gone rogue. He's completely lost the plot. Why hasn't the prosecutor ditched him already?"

"Because he's all the prosecutor's got," said Sherlock. "If she had any other witnesses lined up, she'd use them, but she doesn't. All her eggs are in one basket, and that basket is half-cracked and in danger of losing a handle. Now be quiet and let me concentrate."

"Gallery, be still," ordered one of the council members. It was the Nonagon. Because her communicative polygons were so large, she had to speak slowly, in bursts of no more than three words at a time.

"Yes," said the Octagon council member. "Everyone, control yourselves. Otherwise, expect consequences. Prosecutor, continue."

"Thank you," said the prosecutor. She was a bit wobbly from stress. "Witness, stick to the facts. Explain why you were trying to get genetic material from Plum Cross."

Recognizing his partner's name, John stared hard at the prosecutor.

"For those of you who are not scientists," said the witness, "the purpose of the Xenobiology Department is to create a repository of life from around the galaxy, with a focus on entities who are likely to go extinct. In fact, that is the purpose of the entire ship. We search for life that is likely to die out, and we collect it."

"Then despite any individual failings you may have," said the prosecutor, "your mission was a moral one. How did you determine that the Plum Cross's species was at risk of extinction?"

"We did not determine it ourselves. The office of the Dodecagon …"

"Our Noble Leader," interjected the prosecutor. In response, half of the members of the gallery slapped their approving tentacles on the ground.

"The office of the Dodecagon determines which species are likely to go extinct," continued Plum Duff.

"Did you obtain the genetic material from the subject on your first try?" asked the prosecutor.

"No," said Plum Duff. "Nor on any of the six tries that followed. Plum Cross was not able to perform under laboratory conditions. He suggested that we bring him a mate."

"And did you?"

"Yes. The office of the Dodecagon ordered Procurement to obtain another biped for breeding purposes. Procurement then transported Silver Circle to the ship."

"For those not familiar with this animal," said the prosecutor, "where is Silver Circle?"

Plum Duff pointed at John. "There," he said.

John opened his mouth. Sherlock held out his hand palm down in a request for silence. John closed his mouth again.

"Did Silver Circle agree to the breeding process?" asked the prosecutor.

"As you can see," said Duff, "he has no communicative plate. It is not possible for him to speak Keplerian as we speak it."

"That is immaterial," said the prosecutor. "Did Silver Circle agree to the breeding process?"

Plum Duff hesitated. "He used gestures to place a cross inside a circle. His zookeeper, Umber Triangle, took that as assent."

"What else would it be?" demanded the prosecutor. "In this context, a cross inside a circle is an indication of willingness to mate."

"In retrospect," said Plum Duff, "I believe that Silver Circle did not know what he was saying."

"If he did not know what he was saying," countered the prosecutor, "he should have remained silent. That is the Keplerian Way."

Several members of the gallery glowed brightly at this.

"What's going on?" asked John.

"Nothing good," said Sherlock. "Plum Duff is speaking on our behalf, but the prosecutor keeps appealing to the gallery's sense of patriotism in order to cast doubt on our motivations. At the moment, she holds them in the palm of her tentacular hand."

John shook his head. "I still can't believe Duff is on our side."

"He's Keplerian," said Sherlock. "He's going to say whatever he believes to be the truth. The prosecutor would never have picked him as the star witness if she knew that he was going to support us, and I'm sure she vetted him carefully. In between the vetting process and now, something must have changed Duff's mind."

Meanwhile, a Triangle was trying to enter the courtroom. Her jelly shook with indignation and excitement. It was Grumble.

"Let me in!" she cried. "I bear news of revolution."

"What?" said one of the two soldiers who were guarding the entrance. "Can you read this one's puny font?"

"No," said the other soldier, his peripheral shapes recoiling in disgust. "Who has time to make out the mumblings of a Triangle?"

"And a tardy one at that," said the first soldier. "Tell me, Plum Hexagon, what did you think of the Tentacle Sphere finals?"

"One whole team down a hole," said the second soldier. "Next time, I am betting on the fire snakes."

"Listen to me," cried Grumble. "My castemates want to prevent the execution of the bipeds. They will stop at nothing! You will all be murdered in your beds!"

"Stop talking to your betters," said the first soldier. "You are nothing but hysteria and fine print. If you want to join the gallery, be here promptly next time."

"In any case," said the second soldier, "why are you not working on Megmas jam crumbles? Back to the kitchen with you."

"Yes," said the first one. "Squidge off, or we will make you wish you had. Honestly! Triangles are very disobedient these days. What is this ship coming to?"

"I have no idea," said the second soldier. "Oi! Go on, you stiff-jellied witch!"

"What's all that?" asked John, cocking his head towards the entrance to the courtroom.

"A Triangle. She was trying to barge in. They're bundling her off now."

"Did you see what she was talking about?"

"No," said Sherlock. "She was too far away, and her font was too small."

"Seems ominous," said John. "The barging, I mean. Also the bundling."

"She's in less trouble than we are," said Sherlock. "Let me focus."

The prosecutor continued examining the witness.

"Were you successful in breeding the animals?" she asked. "Did they produce offspring?"

"No," said Plum Duff.

"And yet, the Xenobiology Department successfully bred two other bipeds from this very species, correct?"

"Yes."

"Why did Silver Circle and Plum Cross not reproduce?"

"While some species can reproduce by mating with others of their own sex, it appears that this is not true for these bipeds. They cannot create offspring together without the use of science."

"Is it likely that these two animals were aware that they could not naturally procreate?"

Plum Duff hesitated. "Yes."

"Did either of the animals request another mate?"

"No," admitted Duff.

"Esteemed members of the Council, jellies of the gallery: mark this. The animals knew full well that they could not procreate. And yet Silver Circle did not ask for any mate other than the one we chose for him."

"The partner that the Dodecagon chose for him," Plum Duff shot back. "Surely you are not disputing the wisdom of the Dodecagon?"

"Of course not," said the flustered prosecutor, flapping her tentacles. "But the animals have free will. They promised to mate, and then they did not. They lied. And I rejoice that ours is a society that still sentences those who tell untruths to death."

"Death," murmured members of the gallery. In some cases, their peripheral shapes spun clockwise with satisfaction. In other cases, they spun counterclockwise in horror.

"This is ridiculous," said Duff. "Look at them. They are absolutely mates. Why else would we be having one trial for two entities? It is clear to everyone who has met them …"

"We are having one trial for two entities because they are animals," snapped the prosecutor. "They do not deserve two trials. They are not worth the time."

"If they are animals," returned Duff, "then they do not know right from wrong, and this trial is a farce."

"If it is a farce, it is because you are making it one!" shouted the prosecutor. "I dismiss you as witness. I will witness for the prosecution myself."

The gallery, which had been rife with muttering for some time, fell silent. Everyone's attention turned to the rectangular window. Behind it, the Nonagon council member drew herself to her full height.

"You will not," she said. "Scientist, proceed."

The prosecutor turned purple with anger and disappointment.

"Thank you," said Duff, with some relief. "You will not regret it, my Lady."

"I hope not," she said.

"Keplerians of the court," said Duff. "I have here a video that will exonerate these two bipeds of both the charge of murder and the charge of failing to become mates."

And with that, he began showing a video on his gelatinous middle. Focusing all his biofluorescence into a beam, he then projected the video onto the wall opposite the Council. The assembled Keplerians craned their whole bodies in order to see.

"Merciful Meg," said John. "That's you."

And it was. It was Sherlock, concussed and bound to a window, while Scar ran a slick, probing tentacle over his cornea. The man in the video spoke for a moment, then was whipped into near-unconsciousness.

John had a wide range of profanity at his disposal, but none of it seemed sufficient.

"That complete …! That utter …! That absolute …!"

"I know," said Sherlock, and he gave John a little squeeze in thanks.

"What did you say back there?" asked John, once he had stopped hyperventilating with fury. "You know, just before she whipped you."

"I called you my mate," said Sherlock. "That set her off. Mating was a sore subject for her, and intercaste mating in particular. Look at that scar. Where did she get it? The mark is tentacular in shape: another Keplerian. There was a fight, and jelly was spilt. What caused the fight? Love is a particularly vicious motivator."

"Meaning?"

"She had feelings for someone else, and the feelings were not returned. She responded by forcibly trying to mate with her target. That's why mating was a sore subject."

"Love, my arse," said John. "That's not love. That's something else. That's being a right shit."

"Fair enough," said Sherlock. "Oh, and we know this about her target: it was someone from another caste."

"Hang on. How do we know it wasn't another scientist?"

"Like humans, Keplerians tend to act in accordance with their defaults. This is especially true in times of crisis. Faced with an attack, the average scientist would have tried to reason with her. This Keplerian fought back."

"A soldier," said John.

"Yes."

"Like us," said John. "A soldier and a scientist. No wonder she couldn't stand us."

"She wasn't keen on Ut and Oh, either," said Sherlock. "As far as she was concerned, they were living out her fantasy. She'd tried to achieve intercaste mating herself, and ended up killing her target in the process."

"So that's why she was busy policing intercaste relationships."

"Exactly. It wasn't part of her job. It's not part of any scientist's job. It's something the soldiers do. And yet, there she was, torturing me for having a part in Ut and Oh's bonding ceremony. That in itself tells us oceans about her character and her motivations."

Video footage continued to make its way across the wall. The assembled Keplerians watched as video Sherlock disavowed John in the hopes that John would be sent back to Earth.

"They are mates," murmured one of the Squares. "There is no doubt of it."

John turned to Sherlock. "How do you know Scar didn't actually … ah. Right. When we met her, there were no hexagons in her body."

"Correct," said Sherlock.

"What makes you think she killed the soldier?"

"Shot in the dark," said Sherlock. "Good one, though. Think about it, John. After the attack, her higher-ups put her work environment under extensive, multi-angle video surveillance, but they didn't put her in jail, and they didn't toss her out the airlock. Why was she free?"

Light dawned on Kandahar.

"Because the victim's death allowed her to claim self-defense," said John. "He was no longer around to testify to the contrary."

"You're on fire," said Sherlock. "Really, John, you're nowhere near as illogical as you were when I met you."

"Thank you," said John. "I think. I don't know; I may be getting more so. How could Scar attack someone and then claim self-defense? Keplerians can't lie."

"She didn't view it as a lie. She felt that the soldier lured her in, seduced her with his charms, then wouldn't bond with her. From her point of view, he deserved to die."

John closed his eyes and pinched the inner corners. "This. This is what a sociopath looks like. Do you understand why I keep telling you you're not a sociopath? You're better than this."

"Possibly," said Sherlock.

"Definitely," said John.

They continued to watch the footage. They saw Dr. Jabby try to knock John out. They saw Dr. Pointy go after John with a scalpel. They saw a third scientist look John over and squidge for the door, unharmed.

"Notice," said Duff, "that Silver Circle did not salt any of these scientists dead, although he had that power. Instead, he rendered two of them unconscious, and he let the other one go. Similarly, he took me hostage just long enough to get to the Xenobiology lab, then gave me my freedom."

"Why?" asked the soldier on the Council of Seven. "This is not how you run a war."

"He was not trying to run a war," said Duff. "He was only trying to get to his mate. Tell me, what would you do to protect someone you love?"

"I would burn down seven villages and think nothing of it," said the soldier.

Plum Crumble, Plum Tart, and Plum Fool — Duff's old colleagues — observed this from the gallery.

"He has gone mad," said Crumble, "but I will give him this: Silver Circle and Plum Cross are not casual acquaintances. Taking hostages? Killing a would-be murderer? Those are the acts of somebody protecting a mate."

"I would do the same," said Plum Tart, for she was unusually fierce for a scientist.

Plum Fool blushed deep purple, then wrapped a discreet and affectionate tentacle around her.

"ENOUGH," said the Nonagon. "Where?"

Plum Duff was confused. "Where what, my Lady?" he asked.

"Did you get," said the Nonagon, firmly.

John shot Sherlock a questioning look.

"She wants to know where he got the video," said Sherlock. "Shhh."

"I am shhhing," said John.

Plum Duff's peripheral shapes froze. He turned towards Fizz, as if seeking back-up. Then he stood up tall and turned to the Council. Three olive diamonds appeared in his middle.

"He doesn't know where he got the video?" said John. "What the fuck! How does he not know?"

"He does know," said Sherlock, whirling to face him head-on. "He's lying. John. Our Keplerian witness just lied."

And with that, a beam of light shot out of the ceiling, and John disappeared.

A/N: Many thanks to Ariane DeVere for her brilliant and insightful beta work. You're a gem, Ari.

It's impossible to think of this weekend's shootings in Orlando and not feel overwhelmed with grief and compassion for the victims and their families. Nothing will erase this terrible tragedy, but we can help by speaking out against homophobia, giving blood, and/or donating money. (The Equality Florida donation page on GoFundMe is a good place to contribute.) This is a beautiful fandom, and together, we will make a difference.

Because I wanted to write a personal essay in response to the killings, and I needed somewhere to post it, I've just started a tumblr. The name of the tumblr is mirithgriffin. If you have the time and inclination, please stop by.