Chains jangle between Cyryl’s wrists as he’s marched through the courtroom and stands before the judge. Two guards stand at his sides, holding his biceps and keeping the drunkard from falling over.
The judge sighs, “Cyryl.”
“Sir Jackotski,” Cyryl puts too much motion in his respectful nod and almost falls forward.
“I can see you’re still drunk.”
Cyryl giggles and shrugs, “it was a hell of a party.”
“It was a riot. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Or should I put you in the back of the list and we’ll try this again when you’re a bit more sober? Lord knows I have enough of you to deal with today…”
“Naaaah, I’m fiiiine.” He looks at the two guards, “can I sit though?”
Lord Jackotski waves his hand, prompting one of the guards to grab a large wooden chair from the side and pull it over. It’s a beautiful dark wood chair with a nice varnish, and a soft red cushion on the seat, back, and arm rests. The second guard helps Cyryl down into the seat, then the two back away as not to disturb the legal proceedings.
“Let’s see…” Cyryl looks up to his old friend on the throne and rubs his chin, the sharp stubble scratching his hand. “It started about a week ago, or maybe a month. See, I was assigned to some planet, Basugio, I think, and we had just captured the last city. Or something like that, I wasn’t really paying attention. Point was, the fighting was done, mission accomplished, the planet was ours. So, you know, I came home. A lot of us did. There was some talk about staying in the legions since there were guerrillas, or something, but I had my fill of the fight, so I was satisfied.”
“That was a week, or a month ago?”
“I’m not so good with space travel, so I was unconscious for most of the journey back. But yeah, I got to Peldor, took a train back home, that took a few days, and, uhh, I got back to Pelda… yesterday morning, I think. Or it was the previous night. I got used to living on a world with a day/night cycle, so Peldor not having a sun is really messing with me.”
Sir Jackotski nods. “The pressball game you attended was last night, so you probably arrived in the morning.”
“Thanks. So, I was hungry and I wanted to eat, so I went to a restaurant. There were a lot of guys getting off their shifts at some of the factories around here, so I went in and got talking, made friends with the whole place, great fun. After that, since a game was gonna start soon, we all decided to head over to the stadium.”
Sir Jackotski leans to the side of his throne and props his head up on his arm. “Which is where the riot started.”
Cyryl waves him off, but the thick handcuffs are so short that he needs to wave both arms to accomplish the gesture. “That was later. So we got to the stadium, had a few drinks, and it was a good time in the pre-game fun. But then, bah, the game actually started, and the Pelda Settlers are just awful. The Builders of Pelda were just rolling right over them! No defense, it was a pain to watch.”
Sir Jackotski smiles, “you actually like the Settler?”
Cyryl leans forward and opens his mouth to defend his team, but he quickly shakes his head. “Anyway, they were doing bad, like usual, and… I had a drink or two at that point. It seemed like a great idea to jump off the bleachers and go help my team. So I did. Grabbed the ball, barreled right through the Builders, and the referee even counted it, so that was a legal play.”
“Uh-huh. I can’t imagine the Builders fans liked that too much.”
“Haha! No, they didn’t! I’d never been booed so much, but I ran to the Settlers and we all hugged and stuff, and I flipped off the fans.”
“Which caused the riot.”
“Huh? No, no. That prompted some Builders fans to come down, which prompted my buddies at the restaurant, Settler boys like myself, to come down and help me, and at that point the stadium was basically empty since we were all out in the field. But it was pretty fun! Hundreds of people pushing against each other, trying to get the ball to the other end of the field; it vindicates my idea that pressball needs, like, three times as many players for it to be fun.”
“The entire stadium joined you in playing pressball.”
“For a little. I’m not, uh, exactly sure what happened, but apparently someone threw a punch, and then someone threw a bottle, and then it was wild, haha. So, I was swinging, and kicking,” Cyryl brings his hands to the right side of his mouth, pointing to a large gash going up his lip. “Someone with a ring got me good, right here. But it was crazy fun.”
“And that’s the riot which spilled out onto the streets of the capital.”
“Close! I’m almost there. We were fighting each other, it was fun, great time, but then the police came in. Not the riot police, just… you know, the normal ones. So, they came in with their clubs and all that, tried to get us to disburse, and that’s when we all teamed up on the cops and sent them packing. It was incredible, this great moment of camaraderie! We all started laughing, and drinking some more, and the players were even in on it!”
“Yes, the members of both teams are on the docket for later.”
“Yeah, and that’s when the riot police came in, tried to surround us, but that’s the thing! These cushy riot-cops have only been fighting drunkards for the last few decades, while I, and a load of the guys at the party, had been living that military lifestyle for a long time now. We all got together, our training pushing us through, and we sent them packing right out of the stadium! A thousand angry pressball fans operating a perfect forward assault on entrenched enemy positions. Ripped the shields right out of their hands, then beat them with their own batons. Then afterwards it was, like, how dare they, you know? We weren’t even rioting! So one guy suggested that we show them a real riot, and that’s when the riot started. First we looted the restaurants in the stadium, then we went out into the streets.” The smile on Cyryl’s face grows steadily, “busting up windows, setting fires, flipping over cars, a lot of people even saw there was a riot going on, and ran out of their homes to join us! It was great fun.”
Sir Jackotski nods, “until the Senate Guard came out of their chambers and arrested you all.”
His smile fades, “eeh, yeah. It was great until then.” Cyryl nods a few times, “but yeah, that’s what happened.”
Sir Jackotski grips the bridge of his nose and breathes in deep. “Alright. So, you were drunk, you just came home, and you got swept up into the fervor of the crowd. However, ultimately, you were the one who started the whole ordeal by running onto the field.”
“But I wasn’t the one who suggested we show the cops what a real riot looks like!”
“I’m taking that into account.” Normally Sir Jackotski would consult the Peldak Law Code to determine the appropriate punishment for all these factors, but he’s already gone through a dozen trials related to this riot already. “Are you married?”
“No, not yet. Oh! But I did meet this girl during the game, and we ripped off a car bumper together. So I’m not saying that we’re dating or anything, I’m just saying that, for the purpose of sentencing, we’re practically married.”
“Alright, no marriage, so no kids…” Having a family would warrant additional considerations and a slight reduction in punishment. In fact, that Cyryl is over 300 years old and has yet to find a wife warrants a slightly harsher punishment under peldak law. “All things considered…” Sir Jackotski rolls his head left and right while biting his bottom lip. “Thirty… five years of civil service.”
Cyryl sighs, then nods. “Yeah, that’s about right. So, what will I be doing? Building roads? Laying railroad tracks?”
Sir Jackotski leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he looks down at Cyryl. “I don’t feel like manual labor will be all that punishing for you. I’m sending you to the bureaucracy.”
“…What?”
“For the next 35 years, you’ll be sitting at a desk, doing paperwork.”
Cyryl leaps from his chair, but the guards don’t move. If Cyryl tries to attack Sir Jackotski, the nobleman could easily subdue him thanks to the chains. “Aww, come on! I don’t wanna do that!”
“Nobody does, which makes it perfect for you.”
“But I-“
“It could be 40 years.”
Cyryl clamps his mouth shut as a dull pain grows inside his stomach. To the immortal peldaks, 35 years might not be a significant chunk of his life, but it’s still a massive inconvenience. “Is there any way I can get out of a desk job?”
“No.”
His muscles flex for a moment, but then he raises his arms out in front of him. “Then tell the guards to get these chains off so I can get started.”
Sir Jackotski waves his arms, prompting the guards’ approach. They free Cyryl from his chains, then escort him out.