THE PLANET THAT LOVED PEOPLE (standard:science fiction, 1507 words) [2/18] show all parts
Author: Danny Raven	Added: Mar 04 2016	Views/Reads: 1770/1273	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
PART 1 - CH 1

PART ONE  :  THE PRISONERS 

ONE 

The Inner Council Room at the Presidential Complex on Earth was a quiet,
spacious room devoid of the usual array of communications equipment 
associated with high-powered decision making. There were a couple of 
viewing screens on one wall, blank for the moment and there was a 
direct link with the Control Room at Fleet Headquarters should it be 
needed. The main item of furniture however was the heavy rectangular 
table of polished oak around which sat the four most powerful men in 
the known Universe – the men who made up The Inner Council of Earth. 

The senior Judge from the Supreme Court was in the chair. On his right,
Earth's President. At the other end of the table, the Marshal of the 
Space Fleet. To his right, the Treasury Director, controller of Earth's 
finances. 

They had all seen the films from the Zenon and for the last hour had
been trying to come to some sort of decision about their next move. 

Wearily the Judge leaned back in his chair and studied the room's
vaulted, marbled ceiling as a fresh round of arguing broke out at the 
table around him. 

The carvings on the ceiling were of a most intricate nature and had been
beautifully sculpted and idly he wondered who had been responsible for 
them. He made a mental note to make enquiries about them sometime, if 
he ever found any to spare that is – he seemed constantly on the move 
these days, travelling from one planet to the next, giving rulings, 
listening to appeals, confirming sentences. And now this – summoned 
from an interesting legal seminar with his Supreme Judges to preside 
over some nonsense about disappearing Ships. 

The arguing at the table grew louder and he dragged his eyes away from
the ceiling and glanced at his fellow Councillors. The Inner Council. 
The most powerful men in the known Universe and here they were, 
bickering like schoolboys. He shook his head then considered each of 
them in turn. 

On his right, the President was the exact opposite of his usual
impeccable public image – jacket and Presidential Cross had long been 
discarded, the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and his hair, 
normally combed precisely into place was ruffled and untidy as he 
constantly ran his hand through it. 

At the other end of the table, the Fleet Marshal was immaculate in his
white uniform and campaign ribbons. There was a thin film of sweat on 
his forehead however and he alternately brushed at it or tugged at his 
uniform collar as if it was too tight. 

The Judge studied him intently for a few seconds. ‘Looks as if there's
something bothering you,' he thought, ‘and it's not just the 
arguing...a problem with the Fleet perhaps?' 

His eyes flicked on to the man to his left. The Treasury Director.
Usually all precise and controlled in his dark, pin-striped suit, he 
was now red-faced and angry, his papers scattered all around him. And 
that vein in his right temple, always a give-away when his temper was 
rising, was throbbing noticeably as he pounded the table trying to make 
a point. 

The Judge sighed and closed his eyes. ‘And to think I had to leave that
interesting legal seminar for this,' he thought. He groaned inwardly as 
the arguing grew even louder. It was no good. He would have to 
interrupt them or they would go on all night. He opened his eyes, 
pulled himself upright in his chair then smacked the oak table loudly 
with the flat of his hand, cutting into the argument. 

“Elections in six months, gentlemen!” he announced and waited for their
reactions. 

The arguing halted and the others turned and looked at him. 

“Inner Council elections in six months,” he repeated, smiling at each of


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