Trial of an Old Man

Plisken sat in the cell, the ocean grey walls bearing down on him. The metal was cool to the touch but the cell itself was at a pleasant enough temperature. For a cell. Jamie was sitting on the floor, getting his bearings. The young man tugged at his collar slightly and Plisken broke the silence, "Don't pull too hard." Came the aged, wise voice of Plisken. "It's a shock collar of some kind." Plisken spoke from an experience of this: the design seemed all to familiar of those used during the 3rd Rhineland Invasion of 4432, and they weren't attached to POWs.

<Modified Snip>

"Do you know where we are?" Jamie asked.

"Some kind of ship. A Brig. Your guess is as good as mine." was the reply. Plisken leaned back against the wall and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes.

It wasn't long until the door opened.

"You will come with us, Prisoner 133925." The robotic guards said, looking down at the paper in front of them. "You stay here for now" pointing their weapons at Plisken.

"What for?" Jamie asked.

"Judgement." was the reply. Not wanting to find out the power of the Shock collars, they both exchanged a glance and nod, figuring it to be safer to find everyone else before planning an escape. There was nothing to say that anyone else was even here.

"You will be collected momentarily." They said to Plisken.

</Modified Snip>

When Jamie was out of ear shot, the guard came close to Plisken and struck him over the head violently. Plisken gasped as the air was shot out of him and he collapsed to the ground, onto his knees as he tried to retain some sort of awareness. A further blow from the butt of a rifle to the back of the head sent the old man to the ground, knocked out.

It was cold. Not a natural coldness but a cruel, metal and emotionless cold and it clung to everything in the room. The room was drenched in stale air and it was uncomfortable to breath. As Plisken slowly awoke, and his eyes attempted to adjust to the dim and gloom of his surroundings, he found that he was suspended from the ceiling by chains, binding his hands to together. He desperately looked around the dark as he tried to get his bearings but it seemed fruitless. Then, a bright light broke through the gloom.
“Good evening, Prisoner SS9,” said a twisted voice in the haze of Plisken’s blurred eyes. His eyes eventually settled and he could make out a tall lean shape, dressed in thick and padded armour. The new found light opened up the walls of the cell, revealing them to be glass and looked down upon a much greater and larger area far below. He glanced down at his clothes, which felt strangely uncomfortable, and found his great coat gone, much to his shock and horror. It had been replaced with an orange jumpsuit with a serial number stencilled in on his breast. He tried to bend his hand down to pad his head and found that his hat too was gone.
“I have never been so insulted in my life!” he declared. The figure’s face remained unchanged, only a flash across his eyes signified that he had been heard. “I demand my hat!” Plisken shouted.
The figure crept closer, rolling on a small ball that balanced its entire frame. Clearly, then, this was neither a human nor humanoid. The face vaguely resembled a heart shape, with two red eyes glinting on top. “Hat?” its voice slowly croaked.
“Yes, my hat. It’s a small browny thing that sits on my head!”
“All prisoner belongings have been confiscated,” the robot, if it indeed was one, declared.
“But I demand my hat!” Plisken shouted again in an overly theatrical voice, plainly just amusing himself.
A loud claxon blared throughout the cell and the door slide open. The figure, which Plisken was considering calling Jeremy, rolled into a corner of the cell and stood silently as two hulking mechanoids entered from the dimly lit passage way outside.
“Prisoner SC9 to be transported for trial,” said one of the mechanoids, his voice brutal and detached, and every syllable given as much emphasis as possible.
The chains holding Plisken up suddenly broke apart and he collapsed to the floor, his againg and wizened frame barely taking the toll on his body. “Trial?” he spluttered as he leant a hand on the mechanoid for support as he slowly raised himself up.
“For crimes committed against the universe.”
“Well, this could take a while.”

MEANWHILE

A long way away, yet very near, the silent station of Greyman floated in the infinite quiet of space as the neutron star raged beneath them. Greyman himself was staring out into the abysses, his eyes hypnotised by the raging torrent beneath him as they always were, sat with a small datapad clutched in one hand. 6 of 27 stood fearfully nearby, her hands clasped behind her. Her long brown hair tasselled down onto her shoulders, a broad set of bones encased within a fair complexion and hide beneath the tight, but flexible, basic nano-suit that every operative wore. Her dark hair was offset by the bright white that coloured the large portions and the orange elements that decorated the suit.
“So, this Lindstrom,” said Greyman, breaking the silence and making Six jump a little, “Has captured 64, then?”
“Yes, we believe so,” Six said, trying to keep control of her fear filled voice.
Greyman ran a hand across his chin, feeling the sharpness of his slightly unshaved jaw. He rested his hand against the cool metal of the chair’s arm rest and quietly allowed this information to sink in. “And Mordonis? Is Project Lazarus nearing completion?”
“We believe so, sir.”
“Good, good,” he said slowly, a small smile permitted to creep across his features, his ice blue glinting in the dim, “Tell Emily to keep an eye on Lindstrom, he might prove useful later.”

MEANWHILE

The last Dwarfer assembled was returned to his, or her, seat as the trial was coming to a close. With everyone’s past crimes out in the air, they were to busy feeling ashamed, worried or just plain old sad at the prospect of several years in prison. But someone whispered that the Dwarf’s resident grandfather was missing, and the various expressions displayed told more than enough about what they thought of Plisken. Many of the woman were fearful of the old man’s well being, as he had taken the role of the grandfather for the whole ship (a drunken, war drenched grandfather, but a grandfather nonetheless), even Cass betrayed her thoughts for a moment. But Artemis and Alex gave a small smirk as they considered what kind of trouble the old man was getting himself into. The thought of the old man standing up to this mighty establishment gave them a small hope for the future. As the collected group thought they were to be dismissed there was a rattling and the heavy thud of boots as the door slied open to reveal the man everyone was thinking about.
“Loves to make an entrance…” a Dwarfer commented with a smile as they saw Plisken escorted in by not two but six guards, a happy grin on his face and his brown hat sitting proudly on his head. But Plisken looked more vulnerable than before, the poor fitting clothes making him look ill and thin, which he was.
“Petty Officer Thomas Humphrey Plisken,” read allowed the lead judge. A smattering of laughs and guffaws spread through the Dwarfers as the heard the name. Plisken just smiled, he liked the name Humphrey.
“Petty Officer Thomas Humphrey Plisken,” repeated the judge forcefully, “Guardsman of the Jupiter Mining Corporation vessel Blue Dwarf, formally know as Admiral Danforth Evergreen, Sgt. John Doe, Lt. John Smith, Capt. Zelda Decker, Dr. Josiah Hatt, Mycroft Holmes, Alan Quartermain [Plisken turned and mouthed a ‘told you so’ to Alex], Charlotte Davenport and Jackson Young. You have been found guilty of the following offences, 1 act of petty theft…”
“I was hungry and it was lunch,” explained Plisken.
“… 3 acts of vandalism…”
“I call it art…”
“…2 acts of public indecency…”
“I was framed!”
“…13 acts of intoxication within designated dry zones…”
“…Stupid idea anyway…”
“…7 acts of taking part in intoxication with animals and/or non-sentient mechanoids…”
“Who knew squirrels and parking meters liked to drink so much?”
“… a library fine exceeding the value of the United States…”
“Hey, they can get another copy of Alice in Wonderland!”
“…13 accounts of research into forbidden fields of science and religion…”
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
It was here however, the list of crimes took an all too real and dark twist.
“…57 accounts of murder…”
“It was war,” Plisken growled, his voice suddenly developing an edge.
“… 123 accounts of participating in gang related activities…”
“It was war.”
“…12 accounts of illegal prolongation of lifespan…”
“It is war.”
“… 21 accounts Planetary Destruction…”
“It. Is. War.”
“… 5 accounts of System Destruction…”
“…”
“…2 accounts of Galaxy Destruction…”
“…”
“And you have been charged with the Class A Crime. You are hereby sentenced to the highest possible punishment I can bestow upon you: Life Without Life. You will be held in suspended animation as you watch time pass by. You will not require food or air and will be conscious from now until it is no longer within our power to keep you here.”
Plisken had stopped listening long ago and was barely present when the robotic guards grabbed him around the shoulders and carted him off to his cell where he would spend the rest of reality.

<OOC - Hey Stitch, you read my mind!>