Page 8 of Claimed By the Condemned Alien

“Procedures?”

Kesta saw again the blue-black scales at the prisoner’s throat, the surgical ports, the desperate intelligence in his eyes when the sedative failed. Before custody officers dragged her from the ward, he had caught her wrist. The grip was firm enough to make her look at him, never hard enough to hurt.

“Not first,” his translator had rasped. “Not last.”

Then Major Senn injected something into the line at his neck. The alien’s hand fell away. His chest stopped rising forty-three seconds later. Kesta had counted. She counted because numbers could not be intimidated into changing their testimony.

“Experimental procedures,” she said. “Performed on prisoners who had not consented and were not legally dead.”

The prosecutor smiled as though she had delivered the answer he wanted. “You admit access to Project Helix material.”

“I admit that Project Helix killed a ward full of people.”

“Species classification?”

“Multiple.”

“Military status?”

“Unknown.”

“Criminal designation?”

“Unknown.”

“Then you cannot establish that any lawful protection applied to them.”

Kesta stared at him. “They were alive.” The prosecutor turned to the judge. “The accused substitutes personal sentiment for imperial law.”

“No,” Kesta said. “I substitute a pulse.”

The assigned advocate touched her sleeve, warning her to stop. Kesta pulled away.

“What happened to Iven?” she asked.

No one answered.

“What happened to the other ward staff?”

The judge avatar’s eyes remained flat and luminous.

“Your tribunal does not concern them.”

“It will when you need more bodies to blame.”

A guard struck the back of her knees. Kesta caught herself against the rail, reopening the cut in her palm. Pain flashed white. Beneath the skin, the stolen memory crystal shifted but did not surface.

She had copied the casualty ledger while Major Senn believed she was certifying it. Twenty-three names. Procedure codes. Transfer origins. One repeated destination hidden in the metadata.

KHARON-VEIL.

At the time, it had meant nothing to her. Now every official in the chamber avoided saying the name.

“Permanent relocation under Emergency Custody Statute Nine.”

“Relocation where?”

The judge’s image flickered.