The cage didn't just lock. It choked.
Solar stood in the center of the High Court, his heavy leather coat smelling of old parchment and cold, damp stone. The ceiling was a dome of stained glass—CRACKED. DUSTY.—that turned the afternoon light into a sickly, bruised purple. This was the "Golden Cage." The place where the law was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Behind the bench sat three judges. They looked like vultures in black robes, their eyes yellow and greedy. They didn't have gavels. They had calculators.
"Case 909, sir. The city's water-rights. The people vs. The Solar Group."
Elias was a shadow against the mahogany walls. He was trembling. RATTLE. RATTLE. The tablet in his hand was smeared with a greasy thumbprint. "The lead counsel for the people... he's vanished, sir. They say he was 'liquidated' in the lower docks last night."
Solar laughed. A dry, hollow rattle. Like a skeleton dancing on a tin roof. HA. HA. "Vanished? No, Elias. He was just reallocated. He had a debt to the municipal air-tax that was long overdue. I simply expedited the collection process. A dead lawyer is a much more stable asset than a living one. He doesn't file motions from the grave."
BANG.
The Chief Justice hit the bench with a heavy, brass-bound book. THUD. The sound was like a hammer hitting a coffin. "The court is in session! Lord Auditor, the people claim that the 'Water-Tax' is unconstitutional. They say the rain is a gift from the heavens."
Solar stepped forward, his boots clicking on the marble floor. CLICK. ECHO. CLICK. He didn't look at the judges. He looked at the golden scales on the wall. They were tilted. Heavily. To the right. Toward his vault.
"The heavens, your honor?" Solar's voice was a cold rasp. A blade in the dark. "The heavens don't provide infrastructure. The heavens don't maintain the filtration pipes or the chemical scrubbers. The rain is just raw material. And raw material without a processor is a liability. I'm not taxing the water. I'm taxing the service of gravity that brings it to their mouths. If they want it for free, they can catch it in the clouds. But then... they'd owe me for the airspace."
WHISPER. WHISPER.
The gallery was full of starving citizens. They looked like ghosts in rags. Solar could smell their hunger. It was a sharp, acidic scent that filled the room. SNIFF. He adjusted his cufflinks—human bone. Cold. Hard.
"Audit the dissent, Elias!" Solar hissed over his shoulder. "Record every face in the gallery. If they shout, add a 'Contempt of Economics' fee to their household accounts. If they cry, charge them for the 'Saline Environmental Impact'. This isn't a courtroom. It's a clearinghouse."
"Solar!" a voice roared from the back. The Shadow. He was standing in the doorway, his silver mask glowing in the bruised light. "The law is for the people! Not for the ledger! You've turned the scales into a butcher's hook!"
Solar turned around. Slow. Predatory. CREAK. The leather of his coat sounded like a dying breath. "The law is a contract, ghost. And a contract without a penalty is just poetry. You want justice? Pay the filing fee. You want freedom? Settle the arrears. Otherwise, shut up and watch the liquidation. I am the Auditor. And the Auditor is always the final judge."
CRACK.
A piece of the stained glass fell from the dome, shattering on the floor. SHIVER. SMASH. Solar didn't flinch. He just looked at the jagged shard at his feet.
"The audit is moving to the bench, ghost!" Solar roared toward the ceiling. "Everything is a debt! Every verdict is a transaction! I'll tax the truth! I'll audit the lies!"
He turned his back on the court. He walked toward the exit. He didn't feel the hate. He didn't feel the sacrilege. He just felt the cold, hard logic of the end.
"Elias!" he barked as the heavy iron doors began to groan shut. GRRR.
"Yes, sir?"
"The judges. They look hungry. Send them a 'Consultation Fee' of 50,000 credits each. Tell them it's to cover the cost of their robes. And tell the people... the verdict is already in. They're guilty. Of being poor."
Solar poured a glass of water. GLUG. GLUG. He drank it slowly. The interest never sleeps. And tonight? Even the law was going to be sold off to the highest bidder.
The court was adjourned. And Solar was the only one with the verdict