A SEPARATE LAW: PART TWELVE - [Comm-Links](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links) - A SEPARATE LAW: PART TWELVE A SEPARATE LAW: PART TWELVE =========================== Undefined Undefined A Separate Law [Previous](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/13284) [Next](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/13287) Content ------- English “Guilty.” Stroller moaned a denial. “Guilty.” “Guilty,” the most senior judge of the Closed Tribunal Council announced her verdict with relish. Always good to see someone enjoy their work, Gates thought. He was sitting alone in the darkened upper gallery of the tribunal court. Officially, he wasn’t even here. On suspension, he had no right to be present for matters presented here. None of which had prevented him listening as Seabrook and a team of forensic data miners testified to Stroller’s crimes. Even before Seabrook had finished, Gates knew the judges would have no choice but to come to the proper conclusion. Stroller started keening as the first judge passed sentence, “Gilles Conrad Stroller, in light of your conviction for treason and betrayal of the trust placed in you by the Navy, Citizens and state of the UEE, I sentence you to death by exposure to vacuum.” Stroller was screaming denials as the second judge repeated the formula: “Gilles Conrad Stroller, in light of your conviction for treason and betrayal of the trust placed in you by the Navy, Citizens and state of the UEE, I sentence you to death by exposure to vacuum.” The senior judge gestured at one of her clerks, who shut down the feed from Stroller’s cell. The convicted’s screaming cut off mid-squeal. The judge spoke for the record: “I concur with the sentence of my fellow judges, sentence to be carried out immediately.” Strong emotions welled, mixed in him. Gates wasn’t all that clear on what he was feeling: satisfaction seemed too strong a word, as did vindication. He was, for lack of a better descriptor, at peace. Getting up to leave, he saw Seabrook looking up at him from the lower gallery. Unsure what she wanted, Gates returned her gaze. After a moment, Seabrook punched her chin in the direction of the exit. He nodded, set out to meet her downstairs. His still-healing legs slowed him down, making it hard to walk, let alone hurry. The medboys said he’d done too much nerve damage too soon after his last stint in medbay. So much damage they considered it unlikely he’d ever regain full function. They had managed to replace the fingers he’d lost, though. The other, though — the fear when I see a flight suit — don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put one on again, he thought, limping up to Seabrook. He clicked heels, nodded to her. “Well done, Agent Seabrook.” “Wouldn’t have happened without you, Gates.” She looked at his face, marked the spider web of fresh scars that would be with him for the foreseeable future. “Heard you had a rough go of it.” He shrugged, gestured at the scars. “Just a little damage the medboys couldn’t clear up.” And because she deserved to know the full truth of it, he tapped his temple, “Aside from the psych pukes diddling around in here, I’ve been told I’m as well as I’ll get until my body decides to respond at the cellular level to further regenerative therapies.” She didn’t — quite — manage to hide her wince. “But you did what you set out to.” “Yes. I’m told that as soon as word arrived that the White Stag had been lost, the criminal organizations of no less than seven systems had sudden, violent changes in leadership or simply broke into smaller groups. We weren’t even aware Les Inconnus were in charge in a couple of the systems.” She nodded, “I heard. What about IID? I heard Oda was dancing for joy when IID came to her with their investigation.” Gates grinned. He’d seen the expression in the mirror, and knew that his scars assured the result was both lacking in humor and unnerving to the faint of heart. “Taken care of.” Her brows shot up, “What, how?” He waved a hand, “I have friends in low places and dark, mysterious powers of my own.” She snorted. “Just because I like to work the field doesn’t mean I’m a stranger to the techniques necessary to get ahead in office politics. Likewise: just because I don’t use my powers of darkness to gain position doesn’t mean I can’t use them for important things.” “Full reinstatement?” He gestured at his legs, “Not yet, but once I’m in shape to work, I’ll be at it again. Assuming Vasser will have me, of course.” “She told me to talk to you.” “Oh?” he asked, a bit stung. She smiled, reading his reaction well, “Not that I wouldn’t have talked to you on my own, she just wanted me to tell you these exact words …” her brow furrowed as she recited: “Problem solved, but is the solution now a problem?” She looked at him. “Do you know what she meant?” Gates nodded, chuckling. “Care to share?” “She wants to know if I’m ready to come back, and, when I do come back, will I be hunting the IID pukes that shut us down or ready to toe the line.” “And?” “Those friends, the ones in low places?” She nodded, “Yes?” “They’ve found a nice, out of the way hole to stuff Agent Neustedt into. I’m told they run supplies in once a year, whether the inmates want it or not.” “But why would Vasser be worried you were after them if —” “Oh, he’s not finished answering to the Senate Subcommittee on Advocacy Affairs, so Vasser doesn’t know what’s about to go down, but I have it on solid authority that he will be surprised at the results of the session, right up to when they clap him in restraints.” That startled a laugh from her, “No, you didn’t!” “Oh yes. Yes, I did.” “Remind me never to tick you off.” “I will be sure to do so. What about you?” She sobered. “I’m still assigned to the Black Box, but there’s been some rumor about a transfer to HQ, Cybercrimes Division.” “And what do you make of this talk?” She shrugged, “I don’t know. Not all that sure I have the sand for Special Action anymore.” “What?” “You heard me. I’m not so sure I want to do our kind of work anymore. Hell, I’m not so sure I should have been doing it in the first place.” Gates shook his head, “Now why would you say that?” “I can’t do what you do.” “No one’s asking you to. Look, you’re exactly the kind of agent the Advocacy needs in Special Action.” She opened her mouth to deny him, but he kept on going, “And I mean it. When I started talking about going off and doing what had to be done, you checked me, forced me to think it through. And when I declared it was the right thing, you got out of the way, even backed me because I was a fellow agent going into harm’s way. To my mind, you showed all the qualities Vasser and Special Action need. And that’s before giving you credit for keeping your head when we were trying to spring Morgan and everything went sideways. No, I think you are just what Special Action needs, Seabrook.” Seabrook looked half-convinced. “But I couldn’t operate under that, what did you call it? “Separate Law.” I just can’t.” “Not for nothing, but do you think there might be a reason I’ve been around as long as I have?” She laughed again, “Because you refuse to stop?” “Seriously, though, can you hazard a guess?” She shrugged. “Because there are very few people who can do what I do. That can go out into the deep black and do the … things I do, then come back. Most people can’t —” he held his hands out, struggling to find the words, “— can’t get the stink off them enough to operate well under normal rules once they’ve gone off into the deep black. They go rogue, start wearing guts for garters, think they can make more money as hit men, that sort of crazy nonsense.” He looked Seabrook in the eye, “As many times as I’ve been made to step into the black, I’ve always come back.” “Why?” A deep sadness yawned wide in him. “Too stupid to live, too old to change, I suppose.” She reached out, touched his arm, “That’s not an honest answer, not really.” “No, it isn’t. Here’s a truth, though: when there’s someone who checks me at the airlock into the deep black, someone who asks whether what I’m about to do is right, it makes it a bit easier to find my way back. Someone like you, Agent Seabrook.” She sniffed. Gates was pretty sure he saw the glitter of a tear before she looked away. “Jesus, Gates, do you listen to yourself sometimes?” “I try not to. That way lies madness.” THE END ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Griffin Barber is a veteran police officer with a major police department. In his spare time, he tells fictional tales about far-away places and people he’ll never meet (mostly because they don’t exist). He’s had several short stories published in the 1632 Universe’s Grantville Gazette. His blog, The Ranting Griffin, is a good way to peek inside his skull, if you’re interested in such horrors. "Schuldig." Der Kinderwagen stöhnte eine Verleugnung. "Schuldig." "Schuldig", kündigte die oberste Richterin des Closed Tribunal Council ihr Urteil lustvoll an. Immer gut zu sehen, wie jemand seine Arbeit genießt, dachte Gates. Er saß allein auf der abgedunkelten oberen Galerie des Tribunalgerichts. Offiziell war er nicht einmal hier. Auf Bewährung hatte er kein Recht, bei den hier vorgestellten Angelegenheiten anwesend zu sein. Nichts davon hatte ihn daran gehindert, zuzuhören, als Seabrook und ein Team von forensischen Data Minern über die Verbrechen von Kinderwagen aussagten. Noch bevor Seabrook fertig war, wusste Gates, dass die Richter keine andere Wahl haben würden, als zum richtigen Schluss zu kommen. Der Kinderwagen fing an zu schärfen, als der erste Richter das Urteil verkündete: "Gilles Conrad Kinderwagen, angesichts Ihrer Verurteilung wegen Verrats und Verrats an dem Vertrauen, das Ihnen die Marine, die Bürger und der Staat der UEE entgegengebracht haben, verurteile ich Sie zum Tode durch Vakuumeinwirkung." Stroller schrie Ablehnungen, während der zweite Richter die Formel wiederholte: "Gilles Conrad Kinderwagen, im Hinblick auf Ihre Verurteilung wegen Verrats und Verrats an dem Vertrauen, das Ihnen von der Marine, den Bürgern und dem Staat der UEE entgegengebracht wird, verurteile ich Sie zum Tode durch Vakuumeinwirkung." Der Oberrichter deutete auf einen ihrer Angestellten hin, der die Zuführung aus der Zelle des Kinderwagens abschaltete. Der Verurteilte ist schreiend, er hat mitten im Geschrei abgeschnitten. Der Richter sprach für das Protokoll: "Ich stimme dem Urteil meiner Richterkollegen zu, das sofort vollstreckt werden muss." Starke Emotionen strömten, vermischt in ihm. Gates war sich nicht ganz so klar, was er fühlte: Zufriedenheit schien ein zu starkes Wort zu sein, ebenso wie Rechtfertigung. Er war, mangels eines besseren Deskriptors, in Frieden. Als er aufstand, um zu gehen, sah er Seabrook, wie er ihn von der unteren Galerie aus ansah. Unsicher, was sie wollte, erwiderte Gates ihren Blick. Nach einem Moment schlug Seabrook ihr Kinn in Richtung Ausgang. Er nickte, machte sich auf den Weg, um sie unten zu treffen. Seine noch heilenden Beine verlangsamten ihn und machten es schwer zu laufen, geschweige denn sich zu beeilen. Die Medboys sagten, dass er zu früh nach seinem letzten Einsatz in Medbay zu viel Nervenschaden angerichtet hatte. So viel Schaden, dass sie es für unwahrscheinlich hielten, dass er jemals die volle Funktion wiedererlangen würde. Sie hatten es jedoch geschafft, die Finger, die er verloren hatte, zu ersetzen. Der andere jedoch - die Angst, wenn ich einen Fluganzug sehe - weiß nicht, ob ich jemals wieder einen anziehen kann, dachte er und humpelte nach Seabrook. Er klickte auf die Absätze, nickte ihr zu. "Gut gemacht, Agent Seabrook." "Wäre ohne dich nicht passiert, Gates." Sie sah sein Gesicht an, markierte das Spinnennetz mit frischen Narben, die ihn auf absehbare Zeit begleiten würden. "Ich hörte, du hattest es schwer." Er zuckte mit den Achseln, gestikulierte an den Narben. "Nur ein kleiner Schaden, den die Sanitäter nicht beseitigen konnten." Und weil sie es verdient hatte, die ganze Wahrheit darüber zu erfahren, klopfte er an seinen Tempel: "Abgesehen von den psychischen Kotzen, die hier herumschwirrten, wurde mir gesagt, dass es mir gut geht und ich es auch bekommen werde, bis mein Körper beschließt, auf zellulärer Ebene auf weitere regenerative Therapien zu reagieren." Sie hat es nicht - ganz - geschafft, ihre Miene zu verbergen. "Aber du hast getan, was du dir vorgenommen hast." "Ja, mir wurde gesagt, dass, sobald die Nachricht kam, dass der Weiße Hirsch verloren gegangen war, die kriminellen Organisationen von nicht weniger als sieben Systemen plötzliche, gewalttätige Führungswechsel hatten oder einfach in kleinere Gruppen einbrachen. Wir wussten nicht einmal, dass Les Inconnus für ein paar der Systeme verantwortlich ist." Sie nickte, "Ich hörte. Was ist mit IID? Ich hörte, dass Oda vor Freude tanzte, als IID mit ihrer Untersuchung zu ihr kam." Gates grinste. Er hatte den Ausdruck im Spiegel gesehen und wusste, dass seine Narben sicherstellten, dass das Ergebnis sowohl humorlos als auch nervtötend für das schwache Herz war. "Ich habe mich darum gekümmert." Ihre Augenbrauen schossen hoch, "Was, wie?" Er winkte mit der Hand: "Ich habe Freunde an niedrigen Orten und dunkle, geheimnisvolle Kräfte." Sie schnaubte. "Nur weil ich gerne auf dem Feld arbeite, bedeutet das nicht, dass ich die Techniken kenne, die notwendig sind, um in der Büropolitik voranzukommen. Ebenso: Nur weil ich meine Kräfte der Dunkelheit nicht nutze, um Position zu erlangen, bedeutet das nicht, dass ich sie nicht für wichtige Dinge nutzen kann." "Volle Wiedereinsetzung?" Er gestikulierte an seinen Beinen: "Noch nicht, aber wenn ich in Form bin, um zu arbeiten, werde ich wieder dabei sein. Angenommen, Vasser will mich haben, natürlich." "Sie sagte mir, ich solle mit dir reden." "Oh?" fragte er, ein wenig gestochen. Sie lächelte und las seine Reaktion gut: "Nicht, dass ich nicht alleine mit dir gesprochen hätte, sie wollte nur, dass ich dir genau diese Worte sage....", ihre Stirn zerfurcht, während sie rezitierte: "Problem gelöst, aber ist die Lösung jetzt ein Problem?" Sie sah ihn an. "Weißt du, was sie meinte?" Gates nickte und kicherte. "Willst du teilen?" "Sie will wissen, ob ich bereit bin, zurückzukommen, und wenn ich zurückkomme, werde ich die IID-Kotze jagen, die uns zum Schweigen bringen oder bereit sind, die Grenze zu überschreiten." " Und?" "Diese Freunde, die an niedrigen Orten?" Sie nickte, "Ja?" "Sie haben ein schönes, abgelegenes Loch gefunden, in das Agent Neustedt hineinstopfen kann. Mir wurde gesagt, dass sie einmal im Jahr Vorräte besorgen, ob die Häftlinge es wollen oder nicht." "Aber warum sollte Vasser besorgt sein, dass du hinter ihnen her bist, wenn -" "Oh, er ist noch nicht fertig damit, dem Senatsausschuss für Anwaltsangelegenheiten zu antworten, also weiß Vasser nicht, was passieren wird, aber ich habe es aus solider Quelle, dass er über die Ergebnisse der Sitzung überrascht sein wird, bis hin zu dem Moment, in dem sie ihn in Fesseln schlagen." Das erschreckte sie zum Lachen: "Nein, hast du nicht!" "Oh ja. Ja, das habe ich." "Erinnere mich daran, dich nie zu verarschen." "Ich werde das mit Sicherheit tun. Was ist mit dir?" Sie war nüchtern. "Ich bin immer noch der Black Box zugeordnet, aber es gibt Gerüchte über eine Versetzung ins Hauptquartier, Cybercrimes Division." "Und was hältst du von diesem Gerede?" Sie zuckte mit den Achseln, "Ich weiß nicht. Ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob ich den Sand für Special Action noch habe." " Was?" "Du hast mich gehört. Ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob ich unsere Art von Arbeit noch machen will. Zum Teufel, ich bin mir nicht so sicher, ob ich es überhaupt hätte tun sollen." Gates schüttelte den Kopf, "Warum sagst du das?" "Ich kann nicht tun, was du tust." "Niemand bittet dich darum. Schau, du bist genau die Art von Agent, die die Anwaltschaft in Special Action braucht." Sie öffnete ihren Mund, um ihn zu verleugnen, aber er machte weiter: "Und ich meine es ernst. Als ich anfing, darüber zu reden, loszugehen und zu tun, was getan werden musste, hast du mich überprüft und mich gezwungen, es zu überdenken. Und als ich erklärte, dass es das Richtige sei, gingen Sie aus dem Weg, unterstützten mich sogar, weil ich ein Kollege war, der in Gefahr war. Meiner Meinung nach hast du alle Qualitäten gezeigt, die Vasser und Special Action brauchen. Und das ist, bevor wir dir die Anerkennung dafür geben, dass du deinen Kopf behalten hast, als wir versuchten, Morgan zu befreien, und alles ging schief. Nein, ich denke, du bist genau das, was Special Action braucht, Seabrook." Seabrook sah halb überzeugt aus. "Aber ich konnte nicht darunter operieren, wie hast du es genannt? "Separates Gesetz." Ich kann einfach nicht." "Nicht umsonst, aber glaubst du, es gibt einen Grund, warum ich so lange hier bin wie ich?" Sie lachte wieder: "Weil du dich weigerst, aufzuhören?" "Im Ernst, aber kannst du eine Vermutung anstellen?" Sie zuckte mit den Schultern. "Weil es nur sehr wenige Menschen gibt, die das tun können, was ich tue. Das kann in das tiefe Schwarz hinausgehen und die Dinge tun, die ich tue, und dann zurückkommen. Die meisten Menschen können es nicht -" hielt er die Hände hoch und kämpfte darum, die Worte zu finden, "- können den Gestank nicht genug von ihnen wegbekommen, um nach normalen Regeln gut zu funktionieren, wenn sie in das tiefe Schwarz gegangen sind. Sie werden abtrünnig, tragen Mumm für Strumpfbänder, denken, dass sie als Auftragskiller mehr Geld verdienen können, diese Art von verrücktem Unsinn." Er sah Seabrook in die Augen: "So oft ich gezwungen wurde, ins Schwarze zu treten, bin ich immer wieder gekommen." " Warum?" Eine tiefe Traurigkeit gähnte weit in ihm. "Zu dumm zum Leben, zu alt zum Ändern, nehme ich an." Sie streckte die Hand aus, berührte seinen Arm, "Das ist keine ehrliche Antwort, nicht wirklich." "Nein, ist es nicht. Aber hier ist die Wahrheit: Wenn es jemanden gibt, der mich an der Luftschleuse in die tiefschwarze Luft schaut, jemand, der fragt, ob das, was ich tun werde, richtig ist, macht es mir etwas leichter, den Weg zurückzufinden. Jemanden wie Sie, Agent Seabrook." Sie schnüffelte. Gates war sich ziemlich sicher, dass er den Glanz einer Träne sah, bevor sie wegblickte. "Jesus, Gates, hörst du dir manchmal selbst zu?" "Ich versuche, es nicht zu tun. Das ist Wahnsinn." DAS ENDE ÜBER DEN AUTOR: Griffin Barber ist ein erfahrener Polizeibeamter mit einer großen Polizeiabteilung. In seiner Freizeit erzählt er fiktive Geschichten über ferne Orte und Menschen, die er nie treffen wird (meist weil sie nicht existieren). Er hat mehrere Kurzgeschichten in der Grantville Gazette des Universums von 1632 veröffentlicht. Sein Blog, The Ranting Griffin, ist eine gute Möglichkeit, in seinen Schädel zu schauen, wenn man an solchen Schrecken interessiert ist. “Guilty.” Stroller moaned a denial. “Guilty.” “Guilty,” the most senior judge of the Closed Tribunal Council announced her verdict with relish. Always good to see someone enjoy their work, Gates thought. He was sitting alone in the darkened upper gallery of the tribunal court. Officially, he wasn’t even here. On suspension, he had no right to be present for matters presented here. None of which had prevented him listening as Seabrook and a team of forensic data miners testified to Stroller’s crimes. Even before Seabrook had finished, Gates knew the judges would have no choice but to come to the proper conclusion. Stroller started keening as the first judge passed sentence, “Gilles Conrad Stroller, in light of your conviction for treason and betrayal of the trust placed in you by the Navy, Citizens and state of the UEE, I sentence you to death by exposure to vacuum.” Stroller was screaming denials as the second judge repeated the formula: “Gilles Conrad Stroller, in light of your conviction for treason and betrayal of the trust placed in you by the Navy, Citizens and state of the UEE, I sentence you to death by exposure to vacuum.” The senior judge gestured at one of her clerks, who shut down the feed from Stroller’s cell. The convicted’s screaming cut off mid-squeal. The judge spoke for the record: “I concur with the sentence of my fellow judges, sentence to be carried out immediately.” Strong emotions welled, mixed in him. Gates wasn’t all that clear on what he was feeling: satisfaction seemed too strong a word, as did vindication. He was, for lack of a better descriptor, at peace. Getting up to leave, he saw Seabrook looking up at him from the lower gallery. Unsure what she wanted, Gates returned her gaze. After a moment, Seabrook punched her chin in the direction of the exit. He nodded, set out to meet her downstairs. His still-healing legs slowed him down, making it hard to walk, let alone hurry. The medboys said he’d done too much nerve damage too soon after his last stint in medbay. So much damage they considered it unlikely he’d ever regain full function. They had managed to replace the fingers he’d lost, though. The other, though — the fear when I see a flight suit — don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put one on again, he thought, limping up to Seabrook. He clicked heels, nodded to her. “Well done, Agent Seabrook.” “Wouldn’t have happened without you, Gates.” She looked at his face, marked the spider web of fresh scars that would be with him for the foreseeable future. “Heard you had a rough go of it.” He shrugged, gestured at the scars. “Just a little damage the medboys couldn’t clear up.” And because she deserved to know the full truth of it, he tapped his temple, “Aside from the psych pukes diddling around in here, I’ve been told I’m as well as I’ll get until my body decides to respond at the cellular level to further regenerative therapies.” She didn’t — quite — manage to hide her wince. “But you did what you set out to.” “Yes. I’m told that as soon as word arrived that the White Stag had been lost, the criminal organizations of no less than seven systems had sudden, violent changes in leadership or simply broke into smaller groups. We weren’t even aware Les Inconnus were in charge in a couple of the systems.” She nodded, “I heard. What about IID? I heard Oda was dancing for joy when IID came to her with their investigation.” Gates grinned. He’d seen the expression in the mirror, and knew that his scars assured the result was both lacking in humor and unnerving to the faint of heart. “Taken care of.” Her brows shot up, “What, how?” He waved a hand, “I have friends in low places and dark, mysterious powers of my own.” She snorted. “Just because I like to work the field doesn’t mean I’m a stranger to the techniques necessary to get ahead in office politics. Likewise: just because I don’t use my powers of darkness to gain position doesn’t mean I can’t use them for important things.” “Full reinstatement?” He gestured at his legs, “Not yet, but once I’m in shape to work, I’ll be at it again. Assuming Vasser will have me, of course.” “She told me to talk to you.” “Oh?” he asked, a bit stung. She smiled, reading his reaction well, “Not that I wouldn’t have talked to you on my own, she just wanted me to tell you these exact words …” her brow furrowed as she recited: “Problem solved, but is the solution now a problem?” She looked at him. “Do you know what she meant?” Gates nodded, chuckling. “Care to share?” “She wants to know if I’m ready to come back, and, when I do come back, will I be hunting the IID pukes that shut us down or ready to toe the line.” “And?” “Those friends, the ones in low places?” She nodded, “Yes?” “They’ve found a nice, out of the way hole to stuff Agent Neustedt into. I’m told they run supplies in once a year, whether the inmates want it or not.” “But why would Vasser be worried you were after them if —” “Oh, he’s not finished answering to the Senate Subcommittee on Advocacy Affairs, so Vasser doesn’t know what’s about to go down, but I have it on solid authority that he will be surprised at the results of the session, right up to when they clap him in restraints.” That startled a laugh from her, “No, you didn’t!” “Oh yes. Yes, I did.” “Remind me never to tick you off.” “I will be sure to do so. What about you?” She sobered. “I’m still assigned to the Black Box, but there’s been some rumor about a transfer to HQ, Cybercrimes Division.” “And what do you make of this talk?” She shrugged, “I don’t know. Not all that sure I have the sand for Special Action anymore.” “What?” “You heard me. I’m not so sure I want to do our kind of work anymore. Hell, I’m not so sure I should have been doing it in the first place.” Gates shook his head, “Now why would you say that?” “I can’t do what you do.” “No one’s asking you to. Look, you’re exactly the kind of agent the Advocacy needs in Special Action.” She opened her mouth to deny him, but he kept on going, “And I mean it. When I started talking about going off and doing what had to be done, you checked me, forced me to think it through. And when I declared it was the right thing, you got out of the way, even backed me because I was a fellow agent going into harm’s way. To my mind, you showed all the qualities Vasser and Special Action need. And that’s before giving you credit for keeping your head when we were trying to spring Morgan and everything went sideways. No, I think you are just what Special Action needs, Seabrook.” Seabrook looked half-convinced. “But I couldn’t operate under that, what did you call it? “Separate Law.” I just can’t.” “Not for nothing, but do you think there might be a reason I’ve been around as long as I have?” She laughed again, “Because you refuse to stop?” “Seriously, though, can you hazard a guess?” She shrugged. “Because there are very few people who can do what I do. That can go out into the deep black and do the … things I do, then come back. Most people can’t —” he held his hands out, struggling to find the words, “— can’t get the stink off them enough to operate well under normal rules once they’ve gone off into the deep black. They go rogue, start wearing guts for garters, think they can make more money as hit men, that sort of crazy nonsense.” He looked Seabrook in the eye, “As many times as I’ve been made to step into the black, I’ve always come back.” “Why?” A deep sadness yawned wide in him. “Too stupid to live, too old to change, I suppose.” She reached out, touched his arm, “That’s not an honest answer, not really.” “No, it isn’t. Here’s a truth, though: when there’s someone who checks me at the airlock into the deep black, someone who asks whether what I’m about to do is right, it makes it a bit easier to find my way back. Someone like you, Agent Seabrook.” She sniffed. Gates was pretty sure he saw the glitter of a tear before she looked away. “Jesus, Gates, do you listen to yourself sometimes?” “I try not to. That way lies madness.” THE END ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Griffin Barber is a veteran police officer with a major police department. In his spare time, he tells fictional tales about far-away places and people he’ll never meet (mostly because they don’t exist). He’s had several short stories published in the 1632 Universe’s Grantville Gazette. His blog, The Ranting Griffin, is a good way to peek inside his skull, if you’re interested in such horrors. Links ----- No links available. Images ------ 1 image/jpeg [ ![](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/n6ik8s2agc03ur/source/SeparateLawFI4.jpg) ](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/n6ik8s2agc03ur/source/SeparateLawFI4.jpg) SeparateLawFI4.jpg [Details](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/640) Last Modified 12 years ago Size 1.49 MB [Source](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/n6ik8s2agc03ur/source/SeparateLawFI4.jpg) [Info](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/640) Metadata -------- CIG ID 13286 Channel Undefined Category Undefined Series A Separate Law Comments 92 Published 12 years ago (2013-09-27T00:00:00+00:00) [RSI Article](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/comm-link/serialized-fiction/13286-A-SEPARATE-LAW-PART-TWELVE) [API](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/api/comm-links/13286)