Trials and Abrogations

Prologue: Sealed

"It's been about ten years since my last diary entry. Why not just pick up where you left off?"

As Vendra Prog moves her hands to adjust her camera to her face, chains rattle out of focus.

From the receiving end, it looks like she is in isolation and secrecy, updating an invisible audience on her incarceration. But there are eyes - busy, yet trembling ones that make bets on the extent of her power - that oversee her from the ceiling cameras camouflaged in the opaque walls. She's sure they're watching, but she refuses to give these fools the satisfaction of containing her.

"My location is Cell 9971 in the Meridian City Penitentiary. It didn't take the warders long to get me settled in."

Everyone can take a breather; her powers, for now, are depleted. Even she is unsure when, or even how they'll return, but she hasn't clung to the idea that they're gone forever. If the guards are going to jump the gun for even the smallest shedding of pink static, they're wasting their time.

In the meanwhile, she thinks she'll entertain them with a prison diary. Something for them to look forward to, like a new holovision show, while they run their shifts.

When she was outside of the Penitentiary a few hours ago, it displayed a dome-shaped corporation in off-white marble and cyan glass; hidden beneath were twenty stories of underground imprisonment, each holding 500 cells. For the occasional bank robber, one could be placed in the floors just beneath the soil; for the conductor of genocide, one could stand and almost feel the heat of the planet's core. For kidnapping, summoning a vicious beast, as well as being "completely insane," Vendra had already figured she'd sit somewhere in between.

Cell 9971 exists on the lowest full floor with Cells 9499-9999 out of 10000. The Mentally Insane Floor, she hears some of the inmates, who snarl her a welcome, whisper so contagiously.

As she was escorted, cuffed, to her cell, shrill voices hooted excitedly at the unseen face - her face, poised yet stricken with annoyance. Hands stretched as far as they could to reach her, touch her, steal the warmth of the sunlight she felt on her way here, stroke the freshly pressed fabric compared to their own jaded jumpsuits. One particular female prisoner, whose face and arms gave the impression that she'd skipped several meals, locked eyes with Vendra and then fainted. Those incarcerated longer, though no less often than she, must have thrived off of newness dragged down from the surface of the world to the point of delirium.

Her new home has had some seniority: the rubber mattress has scratches and an overused dip in its middle; once-white walls are now slathered with red-rusted stains and stagnant mold; the bars that were gripped so often seemed to have shrunken and tarnished; the low ceiling has unbreakable webbed cracks along its middle; and the squat desk offered next to an equally small toilet is where she records her holo-diary.

Vendra turns her wrists within the thick chains and pans her camera around the little room twilit from the dusty floodlight. "Isn't this room lovely? I've been stuck in a proton field for six months, so I can't be disappointed with it."

The camera is pulled back to her now grinning face. "They've even given me a nice costume..." Vendra shows the sleeves of her orange jumpsuit; the oversized material wilts around her forearms. She zooms in her camera toward her collar and points to the stitched identification number: 9971. "They're addressing prisoners by number as if lightning will strike if they say my name." She shrugs. "Once my powers return, it would fun to give them a little scare once in a while."

Her wrists have become sore and heavy. With a tired sigh, she rests them on either side of her crossed legs.

"Looking for my brother, huh?" she continues to her invisible audience. "Too bad. They've taken Neftin somewhere else...probably on the more breathable floors of the penitentiary..."

Though she doesn't say it, she hopes he is close. The separation had hit her almost to the point of convulsing; he protected her, and they've taken away her shield. She's literally powerless and wants to punish all who've stolen it from her.

Her mind begins racing, tracing back to the recent events that start to razz her again. Her eyebrows narrow to where they almost touch, her scowl deep and seething. A hiss nearly escapes.

"Neftin...That moronic, blabber-mouthed fool! Doesn't he know when to shut up?!"

Her fists are balled and as they loosen, a tiny pink crackle flickers from her fingers, making the chains flash briefly. Are they watching?

"They know more now: about us, what we did. Soon they'll take this to court and get the entire galaxy involved again. Reporters, the Polaris Defense Force, they all will stick to this place like leeches, begging like dogs for more answers."

"You're not gonna like jail, you know. All those eyes, judging the two of us - Hey!"

Neftin hoisted his rambling sister higher over his shoulder, bumping her head into tree branches free of their glass bulbs, which were shattered during the fighting. Seriously, why did this planet encase their tree branches as if they would-

A pile of wilting sticks and quickly decaying red-orange leaves came down in a heap within Vendra's hair; ones that missed plopped onto the street. She shook her head to release the twigs, and again as she heard her brother snickering in front of her.

"Sorry," he said, Vendra huffing in response. Neftin's large feet pulverized the scattered glass as he trudged on. His grip around the back of Vendra's waist tightened a bit. "And quit your complaining. I'm not changing my mind about this. Surrendering was the only way Ratchet was going to help you escape the Netherverse. I know I wasn't in there to feel your anguish, but, being twins, I kind of naturally do. We both know that the Netherverse won't welcome us home...ever."

Vendra felt rather than saw Neftin's shoulders slump, like an elevator dropping before halting in place. Her fingers drummed against his thick back, and her eyes wandered toward the yellowing sky. She wanted to deter her thoughts from That Place, the Nethers, Mr. Eye...

For a few moments, Vendra watched birds fly around the smoke receding from the extinguished fires. Freedom is far away once again. Her eyes continued to gaze across the sky until she saw a large green ship eclipse the evening sun, circling around like a hawk over field mice, until it touched down toward her and Neftin.

The ramp didn't lower to reveal the pilot first; instead, a crackled squeak surrounded through its intercom, sending ground birds skyward and squawking.

"Testing one, two, three? This thing on?" The words echoed through the quiet city street.

"Yes...uh, Qwark," Neftin answered.

A throat was cleared rather theatrically. "Space criminals Vendra and Neftin Prog, your reign of terror has reached its end!"

Vendra rolled her eyes. Qwark, just another buffoon from the Polaris Defense Force.

"I, former-President Copernicus Qwark, have stepped forward as the sole representative of Polaris Defense - while the rest retire lazily to their living quarters - to ensure that your surrender is officially carried out! Behold, your infamous transport vessel to nearby imprisonment! Now, step into my office, become behind bars, and await for court to decide your fate!"

Vendra scoffed, shaking her head. "Ugh, Mr. Eye would've loved to eat him."

A ramp lowered down, flashing orange lights lining the edges. Neftin placed his foot over it.

"Wait," Vendra demanded, Neftin pausing. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Qwark's already seen us. And I already told you, this is what we're doing. Let's go."

With no room or strength to escape, Vendra sighed and sunk against her brother.

The wide backseat was more of a cargo hold for the twins. There was a rear-view glass paneling and a door to the cockpit; no seats were built along the bumpy grey walls. Neftin finally trusted Vendra enough to lower her to her feet. The second he did, he regretted it; she grabbed his face and squeezed with all of her strength, albeit much weaker, pulling him down to her eye level.

"Why were you so quick to listen to that space rat?! Because of you, I am headed off to jail again!"

She mushed his face for all it was worth until Neftin halted her hands as firmly as his gargantuan ones could without crushing. Porcelain faces continued to argue within inches of each other.

"I told you! I couldn't save you any other way!"

"I didn't need any of them to save me!"

"Then what? Did you want to stay in the Netherverse? Was it really where you wanted to be, Vendra? Trapped, betrayed, frightened?!"

"Are you doing this because you feel you owe them a favor? For blowing up a ship and killing two stupid old warbots?"

"Hello?" an awkward voice interrupted, stepping into the cargo hold timidly. "Is this a bad time to disturb a family meeting?"

Levitation was the norm for the space witch now only able stomp toward the annoying green stalk, who began to cower like a sunless sprout. She felt this in him as evident as a rising heat signature.

"S-stand back!" Qwark fumbled with his belt for a weapon, clip claimed to be emptied while battling Nethers. "I have a blaster, and it runs hot!" He added a sizzling sound effect and a head tilt for emphasis, trying to keep a game face.

Qwark then explained to the twins that coming quietly would not only make things easier for the two of them, it would most definitely make him the true savior of Polaris and get him on the front page, instead of page two, of Igliak Weekly. He went off on a tangent about that to Neftin while Vendra sat in the back with her knees propped to her chest. She was surprised that Neftin didn't knock the oaf out and fly the ship ho-...away.

After several minutes, it seemed that Qwark had finally begun to lower the ship. Her physical powers may have been consumed, but she still had enough mental energy to foresee where they were headed. She only had one thing to say, and it was to herself:

"Meridian City Penitentiary? Honestly, must they name every structure after this banal place?"

The door to the cargo hold was opened again, shining the metal cave she sat in. Neftin offered her his hand; her head was turned away as she took it.

"I won't try to run," she said, feeling Neftin watch her carefully. "But Nef...don't let them separate us, okay?"

"This is the first time we're jailed together, huh?" Neftin asked, lightly squeezing her hand.

She placed her other hand over his. "Promise me it'll stay that way."

Neftin only sighed, hand in hand with Vendra as the ramp re-opened.

"Aww, the unbreakable bond of twin criminals!" said Qwark, who awaited them at the end of the ramp. "This makes me want to cry...Oh, wait!" Whether or not the super-zero actually blinked back tears was short-lived as he dug through his belt for a digital camera. He quickly trotted up the ramp, wiggled himself between the two, and snapped a picture.

"Ha! Let's see how many Spacebook Likes that gets over Ratchet's selfiie with Cronk and Zephyr..."

Qwark lead the twins down a cobblestone pathway decorated colorfully into an insignia of a ball and chain. They approached the Penitentiary, a colossal overturned bowl patterned similarly to a tortoise shell, fully encased in darkly tinted cyan glass and rimmed with rows of shiny cream marble. The entrance was a search but eventually was found jutted out of the west side of the building.

"Haven't they heard of security around here? Must all be out to a high society banquet or something..." Qwark pondered, apparently to the air because neither twin replied. "Ah, who am I kidding? This makes my criminal escort a walk in the-"

"FREEZE!"

The security department was not short-staffed; five officers in uniform and five Galactic Rangers, as well as two active turrents hiding in the plants on either side of the entrance, surrounded the three with guns raised.

The twins had their hands raised in surrender; Qwark had his raised as a greeting.

"Relax, officers, relax!" said Qwark easily, motioning for them all to lower their weapons. "Allow the great Captain Qwark to ease your troubled minds! I bring you something no one has ever-"

"Captain who?" one of the guards on the far right mutters.

That earned gasp from Qwark so long that it turned soundless. "The infamous Captain Qwark, savior of Solana from Chairman Drek, who saved Polaris countless times? First, by single-handedly defeating Emperor Tachyon by transmorphing his Lombax-made walker to a cute little harmless penguin? Who took down Flint Vorselon and Dr. Nefarious on the same day with only these noble stallions?" To this, he flexed his biceps and kissed his knuckles. "Ring a bell, huh? Captain Qwark?"

No officer answered but a small conversation broke out between two Galactic Rangers behind Qwark and the Progs.

"Think I've seen this fella before," said one with a nod.

"Yeah..." another tapped the butt of his gun to his chin. "Was that you in that jolly red suit ringin' bells for chump change las' winter?"

"Nevermind, nevermind!" Qwark implored, redirecting the guards' attention. "Don't normally say this, but, enough about me! Something else will blow your minds, I'm sure..."

Qwark steps aside within the circle, presenting the Progs behind him.

"It's that space witch and her brother!"

"Vendra and Neftin Prog!"

"But, they're here..." the middle guard said. "What is the meaning of-"

"We're surrendering. Both of us," Neftin finished. "Ready the handcuffs."

All speaking was ceased as the space within the circle shrunk.

"Surrendering?" the middle guard asked. "On what accounts? Aside from kidnapping that Terachnoid geek Pollyx..."

"Along with kidnapping, we have arson, property damage, theft, hiring recidivists for crime, and even murder!"

"You don't admit everything like that, you fool!" Vendra whispered harshly to him.

She was ignored; the guard continued, "Who was the murder victim?"

Neftin answered, "There were two. Cronk and Zephyr, if I remember."

"Double murder, huh?" pondered the guard. "Any other murders? By name, perhaps?"

"Not on the Nebulox-"

"Enough!" Vendra shouted, hands thrown out angrily in front of her. "Neftin, take that big mouth of yours and shut it for once!"

"Alright, men, move in," the middle guard commanded. Two Rangers situated each twin's hands behind their backs and cuffed them. Guns were kept near their shoulders and legs in case they were feisty, but they refrained. They were lead into the corporation, Qwark in tow. "Everything you said can and will be used against you in court."

Inside was colossal space between the floor and the glass ceiling shining golden-orange rays against twinkly chandeliers. Escalators and elevators led to higher floors of the building, desks were lined upon the sides for various services, where offices lay behind, see-through yet soundproof. Boots and metal feet alike trudged soundly across the black tile floor. A high rise metal door at the end looked binding, final.

Taste the last bit of sun before the world plunges into darkness.

"No, you can't separate us!" Vendra cried minutes later, looking back at her brother frantically. She refused to let a broken face be the last one she saw of him.

"You might run into your brother sometime during your stay, Ms. Prog," a guard reluctantly tried to reassure her as the hall split in two. The Space Witch, feared by many, has separation anxiety? Feh. "We're going to dig deeper into the crimes you two committed. In the meantime, shut up and prepare for protocol."

Protocol. Thumb prints, mug shots, orange jumpsuits, imprisonment...

"Just tell me why. Is it separated by males and females?" she continued, struggling against her bindings.

A firm hand grips her shoulder to a still. "Nope. Violent on one end, and Insane on the other. Those are really the only kinds of criminals."

A shrill, defeated cry echoed through the hall until two large metal doors were sealed shut on either side.

Vendra hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, voiceless minutes added to her audio-visual entry.

"This is nothing. I'll be out soon. I always find a way to get what I want, after all."

She powers down her camera.

Qwark shook hands with a man who garnered impressively long and shiny black robes. Was that silk or polyester? He pondered this as he sat across the only person who stepped in when all the commotion was going on and bothered to ask - he, the escort who could've easily been killed - just how in Orvus' name was he doing. He was even generous enough to offer tea and cookies in his office!

"It is an honor to meet you, Captain Qwark."

"Isn't it, though? Ha, just kidding. Mister..." he made a hand juggling motion with his cup of tea.

"Isidore Bronislaw. Appointed and re-elected Judge."

"Friends don't call you Izzy?" Qwark gives another laugh at himself. "Kidding again."

"It must have been a struggle to escort two deadly space criminals here hm?" the man takes a sip of his own tea.

"Nonsense, I'm doing the whole Polaris Defense Force a service! They'll all thank me for extracting the evil from this beloved city!"

"I do quite a few speeches when I'm not hitting my gavel or managing other processes within this Penitentiary. How would you like an honorable mention within one of my presentations?"

Qwark lights up at this, leaning in closer with a secret. "Do me a favor and congratulate me and not mention any robot-backpack-wearing, show-stealing Lombaxes or bossy, overdressed Markazians, will ya?"

"On second thought, I'll see if we can, um, squeeze you in the front page of Igliak Weekly instead. How's that sound?"

Qwark stood, mouth agape, and shook hands with the judge frantically this time.

"That, my new friend, would be Qwarktastic!"

A/N

Prologue is freaking done! Yesh! Chapters forthcoming will really explain the plot later. If I mention it now, it won't be surprising!

The majority of the story will be told in Ratchet's point of view with some third person interludes.

I coined the term Spacebook... :)

Let's do this thing!