Fuel Part 3
By J. L. Young
The Colonel stepped into the room and set a thin plastic cup on a steel table. “I thought you could use some refreshment. Wasn’t sure what it is your kind drank.”
Serena could smell the liquid inside. “Water is acceptable, Colonel Henrick. But you needn’t waste something so precious on me. I am but a lowly Quaesitor.” She saw the cup sweat and pool around the base.
“You called it water. You’ve been on this planet for too long.”
“You have no argument from me.” She took a drink. A pair of handcuffs tightly affixed to her wrists.
“You killed a human. I want to know why.”
She placed the cup back on the table, slowly dragged her fingers through the ring where the cup had been, and licked the water from her fingers. “He had mortal knowledge.”
“Mortal knowledge? You mean he killed someone?”
Nonchalantly she said, “Yes.”
“He had the right to due process, and you took that from him.”
“No, I judged him fairly and executed him. His death was also needed to leverage the attendant into activating the fuel pump. What I’ve done was perfectly legal under the Spiral provisional government’s new laws. They supersede yours, as your planet is still under protectorate status. Thank you for the water, Colonel. One day, I will return to your kindness. I request that you release me from your custody and allow me to continue my mission.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
She tossed the handcuffs onto the table. “The request was a formality, Colonel. Your position dictates that you keep the alien in custody. I understand that. Release me to my mission with my gear and I will give you the victim.”
He paused to think. “One moment.”
“I will allow you to speak with your superior.”
Sometime later, the Colonel stepped back into the interrogation room.
Serena tilted her head toward him. “My story checked out.”
“Yes. The victim?”
“Sophia Rasmussen, human. A hitchhiker. Leonard Ray Harold, human, caught sight of her on Highway Eight and offered her a ride to the next town. The clock on his car radio said it was 1:28 A.M. He engaged in sexual intercourse with her against her will. Afterward, he took a white rock road. From the stars visible through the starscreen, he was heading east. Once Harold was far enough from the highway, he tied a natural rope around the axle of his vehicle and the other end around Rasmussen’s neck. He accelerated hard and drove his vehicle for nine minutes. Then checked the victim’s pulse.
He continued to a cattle ranch where Harold proceeded to bury the body. The house has a large United States Flag and a Civil War-era Confederate battle flag flying over the front porch. You’ll find six more bodies there. Sophia Rasmussen was the latest.”
The next day, the local police checked the road off Highway Eight. Blood was found on the white rock. It leads to the ranch. They raided it and found the bodies.
The Colonel stepped into the holding cell. He took a deep breath. “It was as you said it was.”
Serena looked up at her interrogator. An unheard softness entered her voice. “Give them proper burials, Colonel.”
“It’ll be done.” He turned toward the open door and paused. “Quaesitor, we can’t have your brand of justice during your stay on Earth. Get your fugitive and be gone.”
“You have my word, Colonel.”