“The court finds the defendant, Michael Armstrong guilty of aggravated assault,” the judge stamped a piece of paper with a thump, “Now onto sentencing. Mr. Armstrong, your actions could have seriously or fatally injured other people. These actions were taken by you, a citizen of Egregia, on Citadel soil, against members of the Edenian government.” The judge paused, giving his words a sense of gravitas. “That being said, you still bear the physical signs of someone who was not treated well, even if that treatment was legal in Eden. Your daughter was taken, your belongings were taken, you were separated from your wife, and you were beaten,” the judge removed his spectacles and wiped his eyes with a tissue, “After taking everything into consideration, I sentence you to ten years.” Smithy shrieked, then covered her mouth. “Ten years, house arrest,” the judge clarified.
A servant wheeled a medical cart up to the defense table. “You gotta be kidding me,” Mike mumbled under his breath.
“Please roll up the sleeve on your dominant hand,” the servant asked politely.
Mike rolled up his right sleeve and watched the servant swab him with alcohol. Tying a tourniquet around his bicep, she took a large needle off the cart, “Make a fist please.”
“I’ll make a fist,” Mike thought, “and put it straight through your face.” Meekly, he made a fist.
The servant stuck the needle in his arm and pushed the plunger. A strange feeling rippled through Mike’s skin, covering him with a buzz of electricity. “And done,” the servant removed the tourniquet with a snap, covering the injection site with a cotton ball, “Would you like a unicorn bandaid or a plain pink bandaid?”
“What did you do to me?” Mike shivered, then retched.
“It’s the monitoring device. We can now determine your location and map your actions. You should adjust to it within three days.”
“Great,” Mike doubled over in pain. As it eased, he placed his right arm back on the table, “I think I’d like the unicorns.”
—
Normally, a case like Mike’s would have taken six months to a year just to work its way through the system. Because of the strain in relations between Eden and Citadel, it was fast-tracked, with court appearances starting the day after his crime occurred. Now that it was over, he had new problems to work through, “Am I supposed to go back to Egregia?”
“No, the court order states that you are under house arrest in Citadel, and moreover that you’re to remain in the Summit district,” his lawyer flipped through an electronic copy of his file, turning the tablet so he could see.
Mike could feel the skin on his arm bubbling. He slapped at it absently, “I don’t have a house to be arrested in here.”
“The court has already arranged for you to stay at the Recitizen House.”
Smithy raised her hand, like a child in a classroom, “Ms. Dean, are we in the Summit district now and what is a Rect - Recit -?”
“Yes, we are in the Summit district. It was named that for its northern-most location in Citadel. A Recitizen House is a place where people stay who are either awaiting trial or are released from jail with no other place to go. It’s not normally used for situations like yours, but I guess you have some powerful friends,” Ms. Dean took the tablet back.
“What about my wife?” Mike tried not to look at Smithy. The thought of being separated from her again made his ribs crawl, or maybe that was just another side effect.
“Apparently they’re lodging both of you,” Ms. Dean looked behind him as she spoke, “Here come the servants to take you there. Behave yourself.”
“I’ll try,” Mike shook Ms. Dean’s hand as two servants entered room. Both stood a head taller than he, and from the size of their necks alone, he would guess that they were muscular under their red robes.
“Armstrong, Michael?” barked one.
“That’s me,” Mike tried to stand and fell over. It was going to be a long three days.
__
The Recitizen House was a beige, three story, wooden structure. Cameras mounted on the outside of the building recorded the arrival of their drone. As they hovered towards the ground, Mike watched two men exchanging something. Either the cameras had blind spots, or the men were doing something legal. “Blind spots,” thought Mike, “definitely blind spots.”
The drone hissed its door open and unfolded its stairs. One of the thick-necked servants thumped down the stairs. Smithy followed him, then waited at the bottom of the steps. Mike held on to the side of the drone as he exited. The last thing he needed was to be hit by a wave of dizziness and miss a step. With his luck, he’d break an ankle. They were escorted to a 3’x3’ lobby with a plexiglass window set in the wall. As they stood in line, Mike watched the man in front of him blow into a breathalyzer. “I feel like a criminal,” he hissed to Smithy.
“You are a criminal,” she reminded him.
“Oh, yeah.” They moved up to the window. “Uh, I guess I’m checking in?” Mike peered through the plexiglass at a heavyset servant.
“You must be Michael and Smithy Armstrong,” the woman pointed at her own head, “The horns give it away.” She slid a clipboard through a slot in the plexiglass, “Both of you need to sign in. You will need to fill out this paperwork, but you can do it in your room. Basic rules: You must sign in and out, you’re only allowed to leave for pre-approved activities, you will accrue rent. No going to the second floor, that’s the men’s floor. No going to the third floor, that’s the women. The dorm for the cursed is through that door, down the hall to the left. Cafeteria is on the right. There are drug tests, um . . . I think that covers everything.”
Mike signed the clipboard, passing it to Smithy. The servant buzzed the door open, and they stepped into a sally port. The servant reappeared with a metal detector wand and scanned him. As she scanned Smithy, the wand squealed. “Oops,” Smithy took a hammer out of her pocket and passed it to the servant.
“No weapons are allowed,” the servant waved the wand, only to be met with another squeal.
Smithy handed her a set of tongs.
“No whatever that is,” the servant lifted the wand again.
“Can I have those back when I leave, Ma’am?” Smithy asked politely. The woman filled out a form and handed it to her. Smithy signed it and returned it. The door on the other end of the sally port buzzed open. They wandered down the hall, trying a few doors before hitting one that was open.
It was a large room with five sets of bunk beds interspersed with bureau drawers. There was only one other resident, sitting on a top bunk, his legs dangling off the edge, and a distinct chill permeating the room. “You guys again?”
