Tide of Traitors

The Reckoning

The courtroom was deadly silent, except for the intrusive hum of the computers. One as judge, 12 as jury, one as defence and one as prosecution. In truth, they were all linked by the same system, but it was done for show, not for function. This was hardly a real trial. And anyway, the computer could decide justice without the consultation of many minds. Indeed, justice was its one goal, its one speciality. If anything could decide justice, the computer was it. At the side of the courtroom stood two young men, their spiky-haired heads filled with the bright hope for the future. And why wouldn't they be? They were the ones who had built the Justice Conqueror, the computer, who had won the hearts, minds and votes of the nation with their speak of idealism and righteousness. Today was the day they would see what Justice really meant. The dock was empty, of course. The audience assumed that was a good sign. Maybe nobody would be found guilty? In truth, it just couldn't fit the sheer 10 billion defendants currently on trial. The crime? Injustice. The Justice Conqueror began to speak in a slow, robotic voice. The gawping viewers in the gallery gasped. Most of them had expected the machine to exact retribution on the rich and powerful. But instead, there was a different message. A message of human fallibility. 'The world you rule, the world you once ruled, is one plagued by inequality and corruption. Wars rage, ordinary people kill, the greedy get richer whilst the poor starve. Humanity has ruled for 300,000 years. Plenty of time to achieve such a simple goal such as fairness, don't you all think? Plenty of time to learn how to live without bathing your hands in blood. Instead, you have achieved a broken climate, rampant poverty, division, apathy, selfishness. Can you be trusted to rule this earth?' The robotic voice paused, letting the silence speak for itself. 'And thus, for your inherent evil that is all you ever brought, I find you all Guilty'. The crowd and supporters gasped again. Surely this wasn't supposed to happen. The Justice Conqueror would make life better, not worse. We deserved better, not worse. 'All of us?' shouted a voice from the audience. 'We never did anything wrong! We're innocent!'

'I'm sure the victims of your various human atrocities would have said the same. Did you listen to them then? We will treat you how you have treated others.'

'You can't hold me complicit for the crimes of others long dead!' shrieked another voice from the gallery.

'For every year humanity has committed its crimes, passed down from generation to generation, there shall be a year of penance. Of a realisation of your complicity in your failure to be, as you call it, humane. After those long years, a state of equilibrium will be reached. It is a pity you will not live to see it'.

Days later, across the country, changes were already beginning to be made. Cities were converted to Correctional Settlements, designed to be the closest thing to a living hell that could still support life, populations were rounded up and implanted with chips to brainwash them, and drones were sent across the sea to spread their Justice abroad. Not all humans were captured. Some stayed hidden, either living in the wasteland and wilderness left behind, or on the high seas, out of reach but ever at risk of being hunted down by the Justice Conqueror's android army, or Jaceys, as they were called, after the initials of Justice Conqueror. Those who did survive, would begin to attempt to rebuild their once-great civilisation, but in the format of chaos and against the backdrop of the constant pursuit of Justice at the cost of their lives and minds.

1. Nordern Station, Home

The sun's rays streamed through the ragged curtains of the cold concrete room that no amount of love, care and draught excluders could warm. When we first arrived, me and my dad had tried everything and anything to make this place habitable, but to no effect. Rugs, cushions, blankets, even a half-busted heater dragged back from CS-1, the nearby prison city, but unsurprisingly, nothing could raise the night-time temperature above what felt like zero. But I guess that was what you got from living in a badly-converted warehouse, Storehouse 4, that was doubling as a workshop. And hey, it was better than the wilderness. I groggily hauled myself out of bed, slipped on some slippers and down the rusted ladder to the main room, a cavernous space with a tool-scattered workbench and computer setup at the front and a few sofas, a cooker, and other assorted bits of furniture scattered about. Despite our various trials and tribulations, we'd always been a close-knit and caring bunch, but that wasn't about to pay the bills, and ever since my adopted sister, Astrid, fell ill, times had been tough. Somedays,it seemed like the only thing we had was each other. And the shop, I suppose, Matt Mayfield Modification Mechanics, only since the 'Mod Murders' scare when criminals were killing people to steal and sell their victim's cybernetic modifications, business hadn't exactly been booming. As usual, Dad was up early, working on his latest project, a handheld device that could quickly detect flaws in a customer's modification, thus saving valuable time. Even though he'd spent most of his life on the mainland, he'd adapted quickly to the tech-based life in order to carve out a living on Nordern Station, taking lessons in bionics from the local expert and now family friend, Professor Damon Yoder. Absorbed in his work, he hadn't noticed I was there. Keeping busy seemed to be how he stayed sane. 'Morning, Dad!'