About the author:
wdhenning joined Wattpad over two years ago as a reader. Soon he tried his own hand at writing fiction, typically in the Science Fiction or Fantasy genres. A retired chemical engineer, previous writing experience included technical and research reports, but not fiction.
Work Spotlight:💡 Medice Ceres is an epic fantasy tale of a young woman (Ceres), skilled in healing and life magic, who sets off to heal the Realm of a deadly Taint. Accompanied by her protector, they find a deeper Darkness, one that seeks her.
Justice: A Villain's Perspective
Justice was a subjective concept, hurled in self-righteous fervor by the weak. In reality, there was only power and consequence.
Gideon Diego leaned back in his leather chair within his private starship, a perk of his prominent position in the Consortium, and watched the performance on a wide video screen. He allowed himself a begrudging respect for Prime Minister Wyatt Wilkes. The man knew how to work a crowd. One Earth year ago to the day, the Sol Empress died in a terrorist attack. Staging the event with the Temple of the New Covenant ruins prominent in the background was a stroke of genius. They couldn't get too close, though, because of the residual radiation from the nuclear attack.
The Prime Minister's expensive formal attire, black with streaks of gold, was carefully selected to portray both bereavement and influence. He ambled about the stage with a limp, aided by a humble crooked wooden cane. The leg wound from a past war injury had long since fully healed, but he kept the limp and the cane since it generated sympathy from the populace.
He spoke eloquently, with glowing praise of Empress Iona and condemnation of the Red Dawn anarchists who assassinated her. His carefully timed pauses implied his own grief, but he felt no such thing. She, in her righteousness, was a thorn in his side, overriding legislation and overturning statues sponsored by the Trade Consortium. The Empress was immensely popular with the people and had spread a demand for justice across the Commonwealth.
That was why she had to die.
The Empress Pro-Tempore, Ali Zahara, stood solemnly and silently to the side wearing the traditional white robe and headgear of the office. The clothing contrasted with her dark brown eyes and olive skin. It was on Diego's insistence that she did not speak at the ceremony, having none of Wyatt's oratory skills. All she had to do was look sad. She played the part well.
Diego long ago learned a valuable lesson that facilitated his rise in the Consortium inner circle. Great power, like wealth, was leveraged from the masses. By careful framing of just the right information and appealing to base desires, the people would grant these to you.
Diego grinned, rubbing his artistically trimmed black beard and mustache. He specialized in one particular base emotion: fear. It was perhaps the most powerful of motivators.
He switched off the video as the speech ended before the memorial flame would be lit. Removing a hand-rolled cigar from a dark wooden box, he brought it to his nose and inhaled the aroma. An old style lighter, clad in pure gold and adorned with artistic etched swirls, provided the flame. He leaned back in the high-backed chair, placing his custom-made leather boots on the polished solid mahogany table, and blew smoke rings toward the ceiling.
He smiled. Only the best...
A woman in a tight red dress stepped into the room. "Sir, the Prime Minister and Empress Pro-Tempore are here to see you."
"Send them in, Claire."
He tilted his head, watching her long blonde hair flip and hips sway as she turned to walk out. These characteristics, and a willingness to provide services much more personal than those normally required of an administrative assistant, were the primary reason he hired her. Destitute and nearly starving, he had rescued her from a hopeless life. Desperation was also a powerful motivator. Though unspoken, the implied threat of being returned to her previous existence persuaded her to demonstrate an expected level of gratitude. He was not without his own gratitude, though. Loyalty was richly rewarded.
The Prime Minister strutted through the door, his pompous grin fading for just a moment as he ducked his head to avoid hitting it on the rounded steel doorframe. The Empress Pro-Tempore did not need to duck when she shuffled in, her head bowed slightly and shoulders slumped. Her brown eyes briefly met Diego's, then immediately darted down.
I intimidate her. Good.
Diego stood and motioned them to take a seat at the table. They did, one on each side of him. He sat and looked down at them, all by design. His chair sat higher than theirs.
Clair sashayed in carrying a silver tray with a crystal decanter, three crystal tumblers, and a selection of artfully arranged fruits and candies. For each, she poured a measure of a pale green liquid into the tumblers. The Prime Minister tilted his head to take in a view of her long legs as she bent beside him. The Empress frowned at the display, saying nothing.
Diego lifted his glass and swirled the viscous liquid. "Alroa fruit juice, fresh from the Roan System. A rare delicacy indeed." He raised his glass. "A toast to our success!"
They drank. The Empress' eyes focused far away and her head swayed. Diego smiled. Apparently, she was not aware of the fast-acting mild hallucinogenic effect of the juice.
Clair returned, placing a gracefully curved glass bottle containing a dark amber liquid before the Prime Minister. Diego explained, "Wyatt, the Chairman sends his regards and this gift to you, a very old and expensive cognac, one of his favorites. I think you will enjoy it."
He suppressed a smirk. Another gift awaited him in his suite, a sexy young woman who specialized in his particular kink. Their interactions would be secretly recorded, though, for additional leverage if the usual favors and bribes were insufficient.
Diego continued, "That was an outstanding performance, Wyatt. Billions watched the transmission, and I don't think there was a single dry eye among them." He leaned back. "I think it is time to reintroduce the trade normalization legislation we discussed."
Wyatt's beaming smile faded. "But... There will be considerable opposition against the new regulations and fees, especially among the independents. They are becoming more vocal. And many in the Parliament will resist."
"Your speech won you wide acclaim. We should leverage it. I want you to convince the public that a strong Trade Consortium is good for all. And it will also be good for you, Wyatt. As for the Parliament, let us handle the opposition." Diego turned to the Empress. "Empress, you shall issue a statement in support, for the good of the Commonwealth, of course."
Ali Zahara opened her mouth as if to speak, but then pulled her thin lips tight. A faint nod came instead. She fixed her eyes on Diego for a moment, her lips quivering.
His voice growled. "Do you have something you wish to say, Empress?"
Her voice faltered. "It's about... Priestess Ciel..."
"What about her?" He narrowed his focus on her.
Her eyes dipped down. "Insolent and rebellious perhaps, but she is no terrorist. She abhorred violence. What basis is there for the charge against her?"
He leaned back in his chair. "We uncovered coded messages linking her to Red Dawn."
The Empress gritted her teeth and raised her eyes. Her voice took an edge. "She would never support the anarchists that killed the former Empress!"
Diego stilled, glaring at her. She wavered and dropped her eyes again, unable to hold his angry gaze. "This makes me and the Sol Priesthood look bad."
He suppressed a grin. So that's the basis of her objection.
Diego's voice took on a conciliatory tone. "I understand, Empress. A carefully worded response on your part is in order, one forcefully condemning her actions but also expressing sorrow that a Priestess turned from her calling. The people will react favorably to such leadership."
And it will further the Trade Consortium's goals.
She stammered, "But--"
He interrupted. "And we also need you to revoke her status as a Priestess."
"That has not been done for decades--"
Both the Empress and the Prime Minister jumped as Diego slammed his fist on the table. He bared his teeth. "Remember, Ali, it was we who made you Empress! And we can have you removed!"
She jumped up. "I... I am the rightful Sol Empress! Iona should never have been named!" Her words cracked with emotion.
Ali's mother, a sister to the former Empress Iona, made no secret of her resentment at not being named Sol Empress many years ago. She left the Temple and, finding little support among the people, faded away into obscurity. Her resentment passed on to her daughter.
Diego raised his hands. "Please forgive my outburst, Empress." He bowed his head. "These have been trying times. The Trade Consortium recognizes your rightful claim. The people need a strong Empress to lead them. I hope you understand that our guidance is for the good of the Commonwealth as it is for you."
Ali Zahara nodded and her face relaxed.
Diego rose, glancing at both the Empress and the Prime Minister. "Thank you both for your time. I shall not keep you any longer. We all have our duties to perform."
Diego grinned as they disappeared out of the door. This is justice.