Page 1 of Rebel
1
Marick
My boots echo on the polished floor as I’m led to the inquisitor’s private chambers. My hands are shackled. My clothes are rumpled from lying on a narrow cot all night, and my head is fuzzy from lack of sleep. That bitch, Rogue. This is all that bitch’s fault.
I was so close to having the status and power I’d been working for. The right House, the ear of the most powerful Trad on Vesper V, and then she had to escape.
The guards stop outside the huge oak door to the inquisitor’s chambers, and one of them knocks sharply. There is silence, and then the door is opened by a slender Trad male with a pinched face and bulbous eyes—the record keeper.
“Please enter,” he says in a nasal voice. The guards practically shove me into the room, and then the opulence closes in on me, wooden shelves and books and the distinct smell of venerian leather. The inquisitor is seated behind his intimidating desk, and another man sits in an armchair to the right. He looks familiar, but the inquisitor is speaking, and I’m forced to pull my gaze away from the stranger.
“This is a closed hearing, to determine the events of lunar day 6, month 8. Tradacyh year 43001.”
The record keeper taps away on his tiny tablet, noting the words coming out of the inquisitor’s mouth.
“Marick Vantor, you’re accused of treason to your House.”
This can’t be happening. Treason? I thought this was about the discharge of weapons in the mining shaft.
“Do you understand the charges?”
I nod and then shake my head.
The inquisitor smiles. “Let’s start at the end, shall we. You discharged your firearm in the mine shaft.”
“Yes, inquisitor.”
“And you fired at the human female?”
I stand tall, my hands behind my back as I answer the inquisitor’s questions. “Yes, sir. She was attempting to escape.”
“So, was your aim to maim or kill?”
“I was merely aiming to incapacitate her.”
The inquisitor arches a brow. “Reports say you aimed for a head shot.”
“Reports are incorrect.”
“And you’re telling me the truth?”
“Yes, sir.”
My gaze flicks to the man sitting in the armchair. He is silent and watchful, with an aura that commands respect, but the inquisitor hasn’t introduced him, and it would be rude to ask.
“Marick Vantor, you were the manager of House Ryker, and then you suddenly switched allegiance to House Zantar. But before you switched, you picked a team that was less than optimal for a fight between your soon-to-be old house and your new one. Is that correct?”
He isn’t wrong, but there is no way I will admit that. “I picked the team I felt would fight hardest.”
The man beside the inquisitor fixes his pale blue eyes on me, and suddenly I know who he is. I have seen pictures of this man. Conrad Hummer, the head of the acquisitions department on Tradacyh, the man who pioneered the fertility program. What is he doing here?
But the inquisitor is speaking again. “This looks bad for you, Marick.” He sits back in his seat and drums his fingers on the desk in front of him. “In fact, this looks an awful lot like you manipulated events to hurt the human female and to ensure that House Ryker would lose the match. It looks like you had a personal vendetta against the human, and her escape is on your head.”
“But—”
“I did not ask a question,” he snaps. Then his thin lips curl in a smile. “However, there is a way for you to avoid a prison sentence for your duplicitous actions. To avoid the consequences of treason to your House.”
The closed hearing makes sense now. They want something from me, and I’ll give them whatever they need to save my neck.
