The first chapter can be found here:

https://www.reddit.com/r/zoophilia/comments/4quwk9/a_short_story_i_am_working_on_with_zoo_elements/

This is a rough draft of the second chapter. I have not worked on it for some time but as there were requests for it to continue and this reddit is currently full of political shitslinging, I thought it might be nice for a change of scenery.

The draft is as mentioned, rough. There may be typos or worse.

That said, enjoy.

Here we go:

The compound was noisy and soldiers bustled too and fro up the small corridors, weapons drawn. He was ushered into a back room, but this was intended as a courtroom, not a prison. Trax could hear most discussion in the backdrop.

A senior commander was particularly loud, arguing with an air traffic officer.

"No, we are in lockdown, redirect the generals shuttle!"

"Sir, they are refusing our redirects. They insist it is a matter of paramount importance that the general makes landing."

"No, it is a matter of state security that General Grisham does not land! I will not have one of the three members of the provisional government dying on my watch..."

...their voices trailed off, but he knew the name well. General Grisham. All of Tria's children knew it... doe and man alike. They did not call him by that name though. To him, he was known as but one title.

Trax couldn't contain his amusement, so he spoke it aloud to his guards: "So, you called the the Butcher of Trisad as a judge? I thought you at least wanted to pretend this is a fair trial."

One of the guards turned to him. To his surprise, these guards had an air of profesionalism about him, and neither hit nor berated him. Their answer was gruff and to the point "Terran provisional-constitution states a acting member of the generals council must serve as chief justice on all trials of importance to security of the state. This is a matter of state security, and Grisham was selected as your chief justice."

"Of course he was." Trax shook his head. Perhaps he deserved this, perhaps it was some sick form of justice for his own crimes... but couldn't it be... anyone else? Grisham was as much a murderer as he. He had just chosed the winning side.

But of course, he had his story too... and the populace of Earth would lap it up.

The voices in the backdrop grew louder again.

"Sir, I can't do anything about it? What do you want me to do? Shoot them down? They are landing. The General is pulling rank on you!"

"Fine, don't let it be said I didn't try. Open the landing bay doors."

A slow creak could be heard and through a small viewport, Trax could see the shuttle bay. A slender shuttle pulled almost mockingly into the bay at dangerously high speeds, and settled to the ground with a thud. On the shuttle's face was the symbol of the Terran war effort since the bombardment of Sol: The three crossed swords of the Earth-Provisional-Council were emblazoned on the front of the ship... One for each commanding general. He wondered, in the back of his mind, which sword was Grishams?

He knew the answer of course. The general had said it himself many times. "The first to strike back."

The shuttle bay door collapsed open and a stream of soldiers in black special forces outfits steamed out and formed a perimeter. Then slowly, in almost mocking contrast to his personality, came the general.

He came out in a motorized wheelchair, an armed attendant at each side. He was dressed in the criomson red of the provisional council, right down to the bandana covering his missing jaw, and matching red eye patch. His face was largely scarred and partially reconstructed. He spoke in a voice designed after his own, but it was computer processed, and emotions were handled poorly. "Much like the general himself" thought Trax to his amusement. He knew the truth. Though the general had been badly injured and indeed, nearly killed in the bombardment of Sol, he was no one worthy of mercy. He had returned the favor tenfold.

The general made his slow role towards the facility entrance, the guards were tense and seemed on edge. As he entered the airlock, he could just make out the compound comander's words to the general over the hiss of the airlock.

"Sir, we are in lockdown, I cannot advise you be here at all!"

The generals voice replied with an overtly annoyed tone, perhaps overemphasized by his voice-outputs emotion sensor, perhaps not.

"No, commander. You are not."

"Sir, I am confused. We ARE in lockdown."

"Then you are to lift it at once, commander!"

"But sir, we have evidence of a threat..."

The general cut him off, and his voice switched to overt anger.

"I have the report! You know nothing of his motives! He is delaying the trial, nothing more! We are to proceed at once! This lockdown is to end immediately!"

The commander paused for a moment. "Sir, I cannot advise..."

Again, the enraged sounding general cut him off.

"No, you cannot! That is not your duty here! End the lockdown!"

The commander stood to attention and saluted. "At once sir!" As he stormed down the hall, Trax could hear him swearing under his breath. The PA system announced the end of the lockdown moments later.

Trax couldn't believe what he was hearing. The general turned to Trax's makeshift cell, surely to examine his prize. This was his last chance to get them to pay attention.

Trax stormed forward, and slammed his fist down on the table in front of the general. "You are making a mistake!"

As predicted, he was floored by the bodyguards within moments, as well as shocked a few good dozen times. But his point had been made.

Trax gasped for air. "The lockdown is not to delay the trial... you must know this!"

Grisham's next words were cold, cool, and calculated, in stark contrast to his vocalization systems angrily-raving emotionset it had chosen earlier. "You went to great lengths to delay the trial... all this makes me do is wonder why? What does it benefit you?"

Trax couldn't believe his ears. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I am telling the truth?"

General Grisham stared at him through his one remaining eye, until the silence was all that filled the room. When he spoke, he spoke in a low, almost whisper like tone... one he had not heard before. Was that sadness?

"No, emperor, it did not. I learned long ago that your people not only actively lie, but actively avoid the truth."

His wheelchair made an abrubt 180, and he began to drive out of the room into the hall. "Prepare the subject for Trial!" He shouted back as he made his slow advance.

The guards got him up, and began to prep him for trial. His attourney was brought back in. "and so it begins..." he muttered under his breath, in the language of a long dead world.

The trial proceeded as expected. The defense attorney advised him of his rights... which were basically to shut up and let him do the talking. He was not to respond unless addressed. He could not directly address any judge or juror. His attourney had his best interests at heart, and was knowledgeable in the laws of the Provisional Government, so to ensure a fair trial, he was effectively muted.

Or so they said. As the trial proceeded, he gripped the table he was handcuffed too with an almost vice like grip. He knew what was coming. He just didn't know how he was going to respond to it... it all depends on what happens.

They elaborated on his involvement in the bombardment, which of course was a fabrication. The last standing emperor had ordered it, direct orders from the speaker he had claimed. They had both died for those orders. They died in the very starship wreck that was visible from here, it was there tomb. All Trax had done was continue the war effort after his ascension to the throne. He had his fair share of blood on his hands, yes, but of course, that was not enough. Grisham wanted blood, and wouldn't settle for the convienient truth to get it.

He nearly jumped when the lights first flickered out, but it wasn't time. Not yet. The clock still had two hours yet to noon. They did it twice more before noon hit, and each time had him more on edge than the last.

Then, finally, as Grisham was preparing his coup de grâce in the form of his own survival story of the Sol bombardment, the clock ticked over to noon. At first, nothing happened. Then, the lights dimmed. They came back of course, and things proceeded for a moment as if normal. Grisham began to tell his story about surviving the collapse of the highrise he was in at the time the first warheads hit, and then the lights dimmed again.

"Seriously?!" He shouted. "I want the reserve generators online at once!"

An aide responded "Sir, they are already on, power is being rerouted at some point external to the compound. Solgrid is not responding to our inquiries. The only functional energy inputs are the camera feed and the emergency lighting system, which are under our direct control."

"Then we proceed." The general replied, without a hint of worry or concern.

"The aide gestured to the camera operators. "Cut the feed." He said.

"No!" The general shouted. "This is but a diversionary tactic! They lack the hardware to challenge this compounds security. They can mess with our energy grid, certainly, but again, all they aim to do is to disrupt this trial. Which is precisely why we cannot allow it! Do I even need to mention the London Proclomation and Occupation Law?"

The courtroom chuckled, as if on queue. Trax couldn't hold it in.

"Occupation law will not save you!" He shouted. His guard forced him back down. Grisham gestured to the camera crew with his one functioning arm. "Feed is off sir."

He turned to Trax. "Occupation law has your people living in the technological conditions at the turn of the industrial revolution, emperor. How on earth do you think they could mount an offensive here? What are they going to challenge us with? Gunpowder and prayers?"

He started to speak but they hit him with a stun weapon and he was knocked breathless again. "Take a moment emperor, but do not speak again!"

Trax was shocked... how could they be so blind? He knew where they could get weapons... There were rumors. And he believed them true. The flagship... Not all the crew had died in the crash. Or so it had been said. He had had contact with cells on Earth as late as the day of the bombardment of Trisad. Why would it be any different now?

As usual, the Grishams hatred for all things related to his people had blinded him.

"Turn the camera back on." Grisham said. An aide made a cut gesture and quickly rushed to his side. "Sir, the outside perimiter is reporting laser discharge... we expect a breach soon, we have to leave, now."

Grisham's response was in an annoyed tone "Laser fire is an impossibility, need I remind you of Occupation..."

And that was the last thing he heard. Suddenly, the room went black and angry, arcing red beams of light struck through the dark. The sound was deafening. A dirty, ragged figure came to Trax from the darkness, flipped his desk and forced him to take cover.