Relativity of Justice

Our seaplane really was descending to land over "Baltmetall." Alina was at the controls with intense focus; I was listed as co-pilot, but in reality, my help wasn’t needed at all, so I just sat there with my arms folded, enjoying the view. Fandelli was smoking, even though that usually wasn’t allowed onboard — but this was a special flight. The only one who was nervous was Zakladchenko, but then again, he’d been losing his mind for the past four hours nonstop — his hands were itching so badly he’d knocked out his own shadow about fifteen times (I was counting) — that’s how eager he was to settle the score with Дед. A shame that...

“Clear hydro-strip, clearance received, we’re landing,” Alina commanded.

Good Lord, what a wreck "Baltmetall" had become. Just awful. I looked at the twisted metal ruins with disapproval, just so you know.

"Good thing we’re in a seaplane and not a regular plane," I thought, as Alina skillfully brought us down in the bay of Chernostok.

“What’s the matter, Дед? There’s your jury,” Frau Schicklbraun gave him a not-so-gentle shove on the shoulder.

He gritted his teeth.

“Warning you now,” said Fandelli shortly, in his usual manner, reining in the overly eager Zakladchenko, “one wrong move and we’ll ship you right back to Soltari, and I really don’t feel like escorting you for nine hours in the opposite direction. Got it, kid?”

He got it and exhaled calmly.

“Well, finally,” Дед exclaimed as we lined up outside the seaplane. “Let’s go, judge me, get it over with, and let’s all be on our way!”

“Alina Offenbauer, DMZ Level Five, mission complete!” she reported, tossing aside her aviator helmet as she spoke.

“Accepted,” replied Frau Schicklbraun curtly.

She stepped forward.

“Are you ****** *******?”

“I am ****** *******,” replied Дед.

And so on down the list.

“My God,” Дед rolled his eyes. “What a bunch of riffraff you’ve gathered — can’t even run a proper trial.”

“We’re not —” Zakladchenko started.

“Quiet,” Fandelli tugged on his shoulder. “He’s right. Armando Fandelli, DCMSJ for Soltari.”

Next came a nondescript guy in a leather jacket.

“Richard Möwius, DSMSJ for Soltari.”

“No tricks,” Fandelli hissed into Zakladchenko’s ear.

“Screw off,” he snapped, stepping forward and flashing his ID. “Kantemir Zakladchenko, 4th Overseas Garrison, Eastern Rudevia, Soltari.”

“Alina Offenbauer, DMZ Subscriber, Rank 5.”

“So in the end,” Дед turned to Frau Schicklbraun, “the judges never showed up. You lied, ma’am! With all due respect for your merits” — he gave an exaggerated bow toward the ‘seaplaners’ — “you have no right and no authority to judge me. But I’m not surprised. I’m absolutely not surprised,” he chuckled dryly. “It all became clear when the military police drew up the protocol on a shaky clipboard in the back of a jalopy, then brought me God knows where, gathered a bunch of thugs in fancy rags who can’t do anything but swing batons, and you call that a trial… No need to say more, lovely…”

Fandelli raised a hand.

“Not to diminish your achievements in” — he smirked — “turning once-flourishing Chernostok into a godforsaken wasteland — which, clearly, you’ve dedicated the last twenty-six years to — we’re not here for a trial. As you rightly pointed out, we’re not qualified to judge.”

Fandelli opened a folder and pulled out a sheet.

“Take a look. We’re not the judges, just the executioners of the verdict.” He handed the sheet over.

“I suppose I can accept this from you,” Дед grimaced. “You seem like the ‘most reasonable’ one here.”

“As you wish,” Fandelli replied.

For about a minute, Дед stared at the verdict intently.

“So what? You’re not even going to shoot me?”

“No.”

All five raised their hands.

“So…” Дед’s face changed. “There’s no mistake?”

Möwius stepped forward and began listing:

“Crimes against humanity, violations of the laws of war —the list goes on, Дед, and it’ll last you a long time, maybe forever. I won’t even go into the other abuses of Chernostok over the past twenty-six years, but universal jurisdiction is powerless now. The International Commission made its decision, and we just arrived from Soltari to hand that decision to you, personally. Express delivery, you could say.”

“So… no shooting… just send me to Soltari then! Let them… let them…” He weakly jabbed a finger at the sky.

“Easy now!” Frau Schicklbraun suddenly shifted from ferocious prosecutor to kindly aunt — the kind Дед knew well. “Guys!” she called to the ‘seaplaners.’ “You’ve legally pummeled him enough, let’s give the old man a break!”

“Let me show you something,” she whispered conspiratorially, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling a small package from her pocket. “See this?”

“Little violet pills. Just like you… prescribed…” Дед swallowed. “Twice a day.”

“Had the right — I’m a licensed pharmacist, by the way. Read the label.”

“Di…methyl…zyptamide.”

“Yep. AKA ‘DMZ,’ and I’m from ‘DMZ’ too. Funny coincidence, right?” She shook him by the shoulders. “Amazing stuff, if you know your dose. Everything’s poison and everything’s medicine, right? Дед, they doped you up with it on the 19th of November so hard it could’ve felled a galloping horse — no wonder your memory went out and your lips went numb. Poor thing… but then I gave you plenty of it after, remember?”

Дед nodded.

“Now look behind you,” Schicklbraun kept her hand on his shoulder. “Slowly, no sudden moves — see Alina? Alina Offenbauer? She introduced herself, by the way.”

“She’s… not my daughter,” Дед replied.

“Of course not,” Schicklbraun laughed. “Because she’s mine. And her letters weren’t for you, but for her late father — my husband — whom you worked to death in your damned war. Funny how life turns out, Дед. I get it doesn’t hit you full force right now, but understand one thing — your punishment isn’t about being executed or imprisoned. It’s that you were given life. Given the chance to live as a sweet old grandpa, trying his best, reading newspapers, playing with a cat, smearing snot on my knees, sipping tea during cozy talks. You liked it, didn’t you?”

Дед nodded.

“Punishment isn’t about not having — it’s about having and losing it. What was wrong with your life next to mine? You took a sip from that thermos while sitting in my car, the spell lifted, you remembered your past — now tell me: what was power to you, when you could’ve just lived your own life?”

“Everything,” Дед answered curtly.

She turned away.

“Guys!” Schicklbraun shouted. “He’s hopeless — pack him up!”

They shackled Дед and led him toward the factory buildings. The sun blazed over "Baltmetall," heating the rusted hulls. Дед was led toward a small, miraculously intact hangar.

“So, I’m going to be held here? Bit big for one cell.”

“Shut it,” Offenbauer kicked him behind the knee with evident satisfaction.

Inside, the hangar was completely empty, but in the center, a hatch was clearly visible.

“All right,” Schicklbraun commanded. “You guys show him the amenities — I’ll be right back.”

The hatch cover was badly worn — it seemed the underground facilities hadn’t been used in ages — but the impression was misleading.

“Welcome, Дед,” Zakladchenko grinned. “Your suite.”

Дед looked around. A bed — and surprisingly decent — a toilet in the corner, and two buttons on the wall.

- Left button – food, right button – drink. They work twice a day. They don’t have regular feeding schedule there, but at least you can choose the time yourself. Everything has its perks.

Дед nodded absently.

Someone ran quickly down the stairs.

– Relax, it’s me, Schicklbraunn! Step aside! Дед, catch!

– Fluffie?
– Just a stuffed thing. A taxidermy. She died last night, luckily we acted fast and managed to whip up a little housewarming gift for you. I think you’ll like it. I’ve been watching you for a while — it was obvious that cat meant more to you than any human, considering how many of them you ruined.

Дед sat silently on the bed, holding the stuffed body of Fluffie in his arms, his eyes filling with tears.

– Mount up, ladies and gentlemen – commanded Schicklbraun – no reason for us to keep rotting here with him.

– But what am I supposed to do now? – came Дед´s voice just before the lights went out.

– Whatever you want – Schicklbraun said, turning back one last time – just live. In an atmosphere of fear.