The sky was covered with white clouds so perfect they felt unnatural. Even centuries ago, the sky of this planet had never been this clear. The reason was known to everyone: if a Legal Inspector was to be hosted in the sky, the planet's atmosphere—specifically the air layer where the inspector resided—was purified down to the smallest particle. For that day, the winds were redirected, the acid levels were lowered, and even the moisture balance in the clouds was adjusted to standards. The sky was far from natural; it was sterile, controlled, and obedient.
The Court had already made its decision.
Because of this, eight factory managers were waiting on metal platforms just beneath those pristine clouds. The elegant suits they wore were expensive but not uniform; each had been chosen in a rush to reflect their own power and status. Yet, they all carried the same fear. The metal surface beneath their shoes was cold, as if it knew.
As the moment of judgment approached, the platforms began to rise with a ceremonial solemnity. The low-frequency hum of the metal vied with their heartbeats. As the eight figures rose toward the sky, they grew smaller, but paradoxically became more visible. Even those watching from kilometers away could pick them out; it was as if their punishment was not being hidden, but intentionally put on display.
The clouds began to shimmer as the figures approached. The light was more like a sacred reflection than a natural refraction. To an observer from afar, the scene was almost divine: eight sinful silhouettes rising toward the light in the sky…
At that moment, another platform began to descend through the clouds. The man standing on this platform was Orvain Ashengine.
Ashengine, the CEO of the TESO factory, wore a pure white garment that almost completely concealed his cybernetic body. The garment was not a single piece, yet it offered a flawless integrity as if it had no seams. The fabric draped down from his shoulders, neither swaying in the wind nor clinging to his body; it was as if it respected even gravity. While the texture of the fabric appeared simple at first glance, upon closer inspection, micro-etched galactic motifs could be discerned—faint enough not to be ostentatious, yet elegant enough to be noticed.
At chest level, there was no badge containing any flashy title. This was not an oversight, but a conscious choice. Ashengine had no need to prove his identity. Instead, the company's TESO logo was embroidered there in a slightly faded gold color.
His face was calm. Exceedingly calm. There was neither a smile nor a harshness; only an absolute certainty… His eyes drifted across the eight rising figures one by one but did not stop on any except Capazo. When looking at Capazo, it was as if he were proud of him… Why? Because Capazo, through his actions, had proven himself to be the most valuable factory manager in Ashengine's eyes. Thus, Ashengine could rid himself of a useless manager like Labiba and appoint Capazo—who had connections with the courts—as manager.
His posture was upright, but not defiant. His hands rested comfortably inside the long sleeves of his garment, and it was only with very close attention that one could tell his fingers were cybernetic. There was no shining metal, nor any mechanical sound. Ashengine's body was a chilling example of how perfectly technology and humanity could merge.
He looked as powerful as a galactic emperor, yes… But the truly unsettling thing was the unostentatiousness of this power.
However, everyone there knew that what necessitated Ashengine's presence was the arrival of one of Eldar Justitia's loyal Legal Inspectors on the planet. Ashengine had appeared there out of respect for Justitia.
First, the platforms of the eight managers came to a halt, suspended in the air. Then, Ashengine's platform stopped. While everyone was suspended, another platform began to descend from the clouds.
As the platform glided down, robots appeared moving in a symmetrical arrangement around it. They carried feather-like wings that resembled angel wings, designed more for function than aesthetics. These wings were sound carriers; equipped with resonance surfaces that dispersed and amplified vibration. Every flap of these robotic wings carried the sound of a musical instrument.
And the music began.
First, the double basses were heard. A single note… then another. At the same interval, unchanging, unwavering. C and its lower octave C. Not pizzicato, but arco; every stroke deep, without echo, like a nail driven into the ground. Then the cellos entered; they carried the structure, not the melody. A single chord: C-G-E. Neither major nor minor; simply powerful. Every four measures, it was repeated in unisono. The sounds did not progress; they settled.
A few seconds later, horns and trombones joined. The horns sustained the cellos' E note an octave higher, in a smooth and cold tone. The trombones pressed short, sharp D notes into the chord like a seal. There was no cry of victory, no threat. Only authority. This sound did not give an order; it reminded one that the order had already been given.
The timpani determined the rhythm. Slow, at equal intervals. The first and third beats were heavy, the second and fourth light but sharp. Not like a heartbeat… More like the strike of a seal. The unchanging, mechanical tick-tock of time.
Then, an invisible piano came into play. With a vertical, percussive tone, it repeated the cellos' C-G-E chord in perfect sync with the timpani, staccatissimo. Every key was like a decision being recorded into a file.
There was no melody. There was no emotion. But there was also no possibility of argument. This music represented the justice of the Republic. A justice belonging to principles, not to persons. A system that does not forgive, yet holds no grudge.
As the platform descended, the sounds did not rise. On the contrary, they became lower, the rhythms even simpler. First, the trombones fell silent. Then the horns slowly faded out. The piano thinned its strikes. Finally, only the deep, vibrationless C of the double basses and the solitary drum of the timpani striking every four measures remained. With one last flap of the robotic wings, a faint echo of the C-G-E chord hung in the air and vanished into silence.
Because this justice had no need to shout.
As the platform reached a certain level, Legal Inspector Lugano appeared in the same simple but authoritative attire. In his hand, he held a parchment made of real paper, not a hologram.
He began to speak with his authoritative voice. He did not shout, nor did he raise his emphasis. It was as if the words did not come out of his mouth but fell into the air as the echo of a decision already made. The Supreme Court did not speak at length. For the Republic, the essence was to inform, not to persuade. Therefore, not a single word coming from Lugano's mouth was chosen; they were all mandatory.
"I am Legal Inspector Lugano," he said. "I speak on behalf of Eldar Justitia. I have been tasked with bringing the final decision of the Supreme Court here."
There was a brief pause. This pause was for mercy.
"According to the court's evaluation," he continued. "The Hianyan side is legally justified. The Labiba side is irreversibly unjustified."
Labiba did not move. She knew she shouldn't.
"The grounds for the decision shall be stated." This was not an introduction. An itemization was beginning.
"First Crime: Denial of Authority. The Labiba side has consciously disabled SWR's central network and orbital surveillance system—the eyes and ears of Eldar Justitia and Tiberion Solegard. This act is not technical sabotage, but a temporary denial of the existence and legitimacy of authority. It is not an attack, but an act of denying authority."
His tone did not change. Everyone suspended on the platform knew this sentence carried an existential, not a technical, meaning.
"Second Crime: Intentional Violence Against a Protected Citizen. The Labiba side carried out a deliberate physical attack with lethal intent against Doctor Sevda, a citizen of the SWR and an individual under the Republic's guarantee. A direct attack on the social contract between the Republic and its citizen is an act of violence committed against the state."
This time, the words were slower, sharper.
"Third and Most Grievous Crime: Treason by Circumventing Authority. The Labiba side has breached the protective umbrella of the authority it denied in the first crime, by consciously circumventing and deceiving that same authority. Shutting down the SWR Network was the prerequisite for hiding the attack on Doctor Sevda from the eyes of the Republic. This is not just hostility; it is a fraudulent, insidious defiance and treason."
Lugano's gaze locked harshly onto Labiba.
"For the Republic, the process is judged, not the result. The fact that Doctor Sevda survived does not mean this composite crime did not occur, nor does it mitigate the crime committed. The intent and the method—the attempt to circumvent authority—have already taken place. Memory module records verify this causal link beyond debate."
His voice, for the first time, took on an icy hardness.
"These three crimes document a layered rebellion. To reject authority, to attack what it protects, and finally to disregard its fundamental claim to existence by deceiving and circumventing it… This is not called defense; it is full treason against the social contract."
One last pause. The air was completely frozen.
"For these reasons…" Lugano said. "The Supreme Court has invalidated all military, political, and moral claims of the Labiba side. Should Labiba wish to continue fighting in any way, they will find the SWR forces standing against them."
"The decision is final. There is no path of appeal. Eighty-eight years of prison life has been deemed appropriate. Implementation shall begin immediately. You possess the right to wish to fight and to reject authority."
And thus, Labiba was plunged into silence. Every word of Lugano's pierced her mind like a bullet. Denial, violence, treason… It was an unbearable injustice to imprison her life, her struggle, the war she waged for the Jijigel people within these three cold, sharp words. Inside, she was boiling like a volcano covered in ash. In every breath she swallowed, there was a burning anger and helplessness. Denial of authority—yes, she had denied it! Because that authority did not treat the Jijigel as human. Violence against a protected citizen… Sevda had raised a monster, she was sowing chaos by his hand! And what about treason? The real treason was upholding this unjust order. Her hands were clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms; this physical pain was only a faint shadow of the burning rebellion within her. But from the outside, she was merely a criminal, motionless and expressionless as concrete. The Republic's justice ignored objection, regret, and excuse alike. It only read the verdict.
It was Ashengine's turn to speak. "While Labiba's trial processes continue, I would like to announce my new assistant manager. He is the general manager of the TESO3 factory, Capazo. I believe he will be of great help to our company with his work ethic and many other qualities."
Labiba's eyes turned, millimeter by millimeter, toward Capazo. Something else broke inside her. Capazo. Even his name was an insult to her. But now this man was being presented like a reward, like a savior. Ashengine's words felt more poisonous than Lugano's. Because these were the first words to be carved onto the tombstone of her struggle: Everything is returning to normal. You weren't there. You never existed.
Hianyan was more pleased than angry about this situation. As someone who had received help from the Calosians during the war, a great burden would have been placed on Hianyan had they won. If this planet was to become more livable and fair, it could only be done by Capazo—someone who respected humans and humanity, and saw the Jijigel as employees rather than slaves.
Labiba could feel Hianyan's secret joy. While she was being condemned, the representative of a system she hated was sitting on her rival's throne. This was the ultimate defeat. It wasn't dying on the battlefield; it was being recorded as a footnote on the wrong side of history. A fatigue deeper and darker than rebellion spread through her entire body. The struggle was over. Now, only silence remained. And within that silence, the eternal echo of a scream that would never be heard again.
And in the future, all the natives would see this moment as the revolution of their freedom. Beside the statue of the Bioethical Audit Inspector, statues of Edmond Kingsley and Capazo would be erected.
Hianyan, however, would never be able to find Edmond Kingsley on the planet, despite searching for the man who had determined the fate of this entire world.
***
After clearing the final check, Hikmar had been able to release the spaceship into the void. Edmond sat in the passenger seat, looking quite confident.
"What do we do now?" Hikmar asked.
"First, I'm going to need a citizenship."
"And then?"
"We will take revenge on the Weisshafen family. To do that, we need to stop by a planet. We need to uncover a great secret of the past. Does the name Marcin Grom mean anything to you?"
"Where do you know that name from?"
"Very good… Marcin Grom gave me a secret; I trust that secret can be a weapon against the Weisshafen family."