Back on Earth, General Beckett sat at his desk. Behind him, encased in a gunmetal grey display box and lit by ambient lighting, stood his armor—sleek and imposing, a relic of wars past and warnings of battles yet to come.
A holographic display hovered before him, cycling through a report on Squad 5A9 of the White Horn Company.
An alert chimed.
"Doctor Wolmer is at the door," announced the AI.
"Let him in," Beckett replied, dismissing the display with a flick of his fingers.
The doors hissed open, and Doctor Wolmer entered with his usual snide smile. He offered the general a half-hearted salute.
"Good day, General," Wolmer said smoothly.
Beckett motioned with his arm. At his command, the overhead lights dimmed, leaving only the cold glow of ambient lighting.
"Let's get this over with," he said.
"As you wish," Wolmer replied, stepping aside.
In the center of the room, a holographic feed flickered to life.
It showed a long table, around which several figures sat. At the head was a man with steel-grey hair but a youthful face. He wrote with an actual pen—archaic and deliberate—on a sheet of paper. Draped across his shoulders was a toga praetexta, its white fabric trimmed with purple. Around his neck hung a silver medallion, emblazoned with two interlocking gold rings. In the space between them—the vesica piscis—a Roman numeral II.
No one spoke as the man in the toga continued writing, his movements deliberate and silent. The only sound came from General Beckett's holographic display, which he had reactivated at some point, scrolling through fresh reports as though the room—and the waiting—meant little to him.
Eventually, the man placed his pen down with care, as if concluding a ritual.
"Good day, General Beckett. Good day, all," he said, nodding politely toward Doctor Wolmer.
Beckett switched off his display again and sat straighter in his chair.
"Good day, Magistrate Cornwall," he replied evenly. "If you would, I'd prefer we begin."
"As you wish," Cornwall said, gesturing to the person seated on his right.
A thin, bespectacled man leaned forward, datapad in hand.
"Good day, Magistrate. General," he began. "We are convened today in response to an incident that occurred yesterday at 15:52 Federation Time. It is alleged that General Beckett willfully abused his authority and military strength to obstruct the apprehension of Knight 141—a subject suspected of possessing a unique physiology. Said individual was marked for detainment and immediate transfer for clinical evaluation and asset classification."
The statement concluded in silence. All eyes turned to Beckett.
He remained motionless for a moment, save for one hand propping up his chin. With his other hand, he tapped the surface of his desk—a slow, hollow rhythm.
Then he asked, calmly, "Is that it?"
His words drew frowns from many in the chamber—except Magistrate Cornwall, who remained unreadable. Doctor Wolmer stepped forward, his ever-present smirk intact.
"I'm sure General Beckett meant no disrespect," Wolmer said smoothly. "But as a career officer, he's accustomed to… more direct environments."
He turned to Beckett with mock courtesy. "General, they would appreciate a formal explanation for your actions."
Beckett gave Wolmer a brief, unimpressed glance before locking eyes with Magistrate Cornwall.
"I saw unauthorized ships flying over my school," Beckett said flatly. "So I stopped unauthorized ships. Plain and simple."
A woman seated near him turned sharply, her expression cutting.
"That is no excuse," she said coldly. "Those vessels bore the seal of the Magistrate's Office. You had no jurisdiction to impede them—and even after being informed they were on official business, you continued to obstruct."
"As a General," Beckett replied, inspecting his black-painted nails with indifference, "I have supreme authority over my base and its airspace—unless countermanded directly by the President or my Legion Commander. Anyone else needs clearance."
Another official began to rise, clearly ready to challenge him—but Beckett spoke first, his tone sharpening.
"Speaking of which—no such report ever crossed my desk. So I'll ask: who told you about this allegedly 'unique' Knight? And where is the evidence of this so-called uniqueness?"
His gaze locked once again on Magistrate Cornwall, unblinking.
A hush fell over the room. Slowly, almost instinctively, several of the attendees turned their eyes toward Doctor Wolmer—furtive glances.
Wolmer, to his credit, didn't flinch. He stood tall, wearing that same infuriating smile.
Beckett pretended not to notice.
For the first time, Magistrate Cornwall opened his mouth.
"The Magistrate's Office is not obligated to reveal its confidential informants," he said calmly. "However, we will provide you with the evidence we acquired."
He placed his hand on the table. Holographic documents materialized above the surface, then floated toward General Beckett.
Beckett caught them mid-air and began reading, his eyes scanning the contents from beginning to end. Then, for the third time, he activated his display and brought up an internal file.
Suddenly, Beckett burst into laughter, slapping the table with his palm. The unexpected outburst startled everyone.
"Is something amusing, General Beckett?" Cornwall asked, his tone steely.
Beckett gave a theatrical wipe of an imaginary tear, then leaned forward—his voice sharp and deliberate.
"If this 'evidence' had come through the proper chain of command, I could've told you myself—you've got the wrong Knight. In fact, no Knight registered at the Citadel matches the bio-data attached here."
Before anyone could respond, he sent both files across the table. Cornwall reviewed them silently.
Elsewhere, deep in Beckett's mind.
Doctor Aniela Eden, you brilliant woman, he thought with approval. Mixing Gilbert's data with other cadets—perfect misdirection.
Cornwall looked up. "I see. You are correct. The data does not match."
He placed the holographic files aside. "That clears the issue of mistaken identity. However, it does not excuse your interference with the Advocate's business. I will be reporting your actions to the President. Until then, by authority of the Magistrate, you are restricted to Aeskrow Citadel—except in emergencies."
Beckett gave a tight smile. "Do what you must. But understand this—whoever leaked this false information acted with gross insubordination."
His eyes narrowed slightly as his tone dropped in temperature.
"I will find them. And they will be punished."
A silence fell once more across the chamber.
This time, no one dared glance at Doctor Wolmer.
"General."
"Magistrate."
With those final acknowledgments, the holograms winked out of existence.
Doctor Wolmer turned to General Beckett, offering a crisp salute.
"Good day, General Beckett," he said, already pivoting toward the door.
Beckett didn't respond. He moved instead to the liquor cabinet, his back to the room as the door hissed open.
"Doctor Wolmer," Beckett called, voice steady. "Why do you think that report was sent—and why target that particular Knight?"
Wolmer paused at the doorway, then slowly turned back.
"I couldn't begin to fathom who would do such a thing, General," he replied smoothly, a practiced coolness in his tone.
He offered one final salute, then exited without waiting for a response.
Beckett placed an ice cube in his tulip glass as he poured himself a brown liquor.
"Confining me to the Citadel… interesting," he thought
Back in his own office, Doctor Wolmer let out a slow breath as he sank into his chair. A few seconds passed before a private holographic channel engaged.
Magistrate Cornwall appeared, this time alone, seated at his ornate desk. He was once again writing with pen and paper, his face unreadable, his focus never shifting from the page.
"General Beckett saw through the falsified report," Cornwall said, his voice measured. "As expected."
"Is it possible for him to trace back the stolen files?" Magistrate Cornwall asked.
"The person who completed the task is no friend of mine," replied Doctor Wolmer
"Good. Do you know why he protected that Knight?" he asked, still not looking up. "Or was it something else?"
"I can't say for certain," Wolmer replied. "But based on my observations… Doctor Aniela Eden likely discovered the Knight's condition. She may have used her relationship with General Beckett to shield him."
Magistrate Cornwall gave a curt nod.
"If I may ask a question, sir," Doctor Wolmer said.
Cornwall glanced at him, then gave a small nod for him to proceed.
"Why constrain General Beckett to the Citadel? As punishments go, it seems more like a mild inconvenience than a true restriction."
The magistrate set his pen down, folding his hands as he regarded Wolmer directly.
"Now that the Knight is in space, what is your next move to capture him?" Cornwall asked.
Wolmer adjusted his coat before answering.
"I plan to find another method, though it will be more difficult now. With him off-world, considering that's under jurisdiction begins shifting toward the Third Magistrate's office."
"And if Beckett decides to intervene again?"
Wolmer hesitated. The weight of the question—and its implications—settled on him. Realization dawned.
Seeing the change in his expression, Cornwall continued evenly.
"While a Legion Commander could overturn such a restriction, you must remember—Beckett was originally with the Asura Legion. He was one of the Asura's most trusted confidantes. The Dragon Legion will not act swiftly on this matter."
"I see… You make it sound as if you have something personal against General Beckett," Wolmer said, testing the waters.
Magistrate Cornwall gave him a long, pointed look.
"I hold nothing against General Beckett," he said. "But we have our own objectives. Truth be told, his so-called indiscretion barely warrants punishment. His forced stay in the Citadel… was the best maneuver I could manage under the circumstances."
Wolmer nodded slowly, now fully understanding the scope of the political play.
"A containment disguised as consequence," he murmured.
Cornwall gave no confirmation. He simply picked up his pen and resumed writing, as though the conversation had never taken place.
The hologram then blinked out.
Wolmer sank into his chair before he pulled up the stolen data perusing it once more