Death: Genesis

“I don’t want to do this,” Zeke said, pacing back and forth. Silik had just explained the results of his investigation into the string of deaths that had occurred over the past week, and Zeke did not like what he’d heard. “But I don’t know how else I’m supposed to respond. I can’t let sabotage go unpunished.”

“Better to kill them all than let a single guilty party roam free,” Eveline stated confidently.

That was so contrary to how it had been on Earth, where the presumption of innocence was paramount. In fact, it was the exact opposite of how things were supposed to go. And Zeke had always adhered to that as a baseline. Unless someone was proven guilty, he would assume they were innocent. Yet, as a ruler dealing with a very real issue, that mindset felt like a luxury he could no longer afford.

Because people were dying, and in distressing numbers. Certainly, the tower’s administrators could stop the plot they’d already discovered. That only took increased surveillance during the process of gathering and distributing food. However, that didn’t solve the root of the problem. It didn’t take a genius to think that the saboteurs would simply find another way to cause problems. To kill innocent people whose only crime was living within the tower.

And if Zeke truly let it go unchecked, there was a possibility that things could get much worse. Instead of a few hundred deaths, the dissidents could undermine Zeke’s entire population by introducing foreign concepts to the impressionable kobolds. Zeke suspected that it wouldn’t take much to sow doubt among their population. And from there, it wasn’t difficult to imagine the entire culture failing.

He sighed, saying, “I don’t know what to do.”

Eveline said, “I do. Just –”

“Please stop. I’m not just going to kill everyone,” Zeke said inwardly. “It’s immoral, and I think it would do more harm than good.”

“Dictatorship works.”

Zeke shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. There didn’t seem to be a right answer. No matter how he looked at it, bad things were probably going to happen. If he simply killed everyone involved, there was a good chance that it would only serve to radicalize anyone who happened to be on the fence. There were still plenty of former peasants in the tower that had had nothing to do with any of it, and that wasn’t even considering the population of beastkin. They might see the executions as proof that Zeke wasn’t any better than their former masters and radicalize right alongside the former peasants.

But if he left them to their own devices, the sabotage would continue. Perhaps not in the same way – he could take steps against that – but there were a host of vulnerabilities in the tower that could be easily exploited. Giving the saboteurs free rein would assuredly backfire and end up with more innocent people dead. And that, in turn, would create unrest due to a lack of confidence in Zeke to provide a safe environment.

They would leave in droves.

Did it make sense from a survival perspective? No. Of course not. But people were rarely rational, and they often did things that made no sense, and for all the wrong reasons. Zeke wanted to help them, to provide them a safe place to live and grow. He wanted them to survive. And yet, he wasn’t sure how to bring about that eventuality without becoming something he didn’t want to contemplate.

Finally, he realized that he was just thinking in circles while Eveline tried to push him into taking the worst possible steps. So, he turned to Silik and asked, “Do we know anything for sure? Are there any people we’re certain acted?”

“Ten,” said Silik. “They are a mixture of beastkin and humans, but we are sure that they at least helped with the sabotage.”

“How?”

“Witnesses, Ak-Toh. The spiritweavers verified their stories.”

“Can they do anything else? Can they force a confession?”

“They can, though whether or not that confession is valid is not guaranteed,” Silik explained. He’d clearly thought along the same lines, which didn’t say much for Zeke’s own abilities in that department. Silik was barely sapient, and he was already better at that than Zeke.

“Do you have any suggestions?”

Silik admitted that he did not, which left Zeke back at square one. So, it was without a plan that he approached the group of gathered workers. As the kobold general had said, the collected laborers were a mixture of humans and beastkin, though they remained separated by species. Eight humans and two beastkin knelt at the front where they were bound and guarded by an equal number of kobold legionnaires.

As Zeke approached, each of the prisoners glared at him with undisguised hatred. It was an indicator of how they felt, yet it was not proof that they were guilty. Hating him was not a crime. Moreover, it was completely understandable, given the things he’d been forced to do in the conflict with Adontis.

He tried to keep civilian casualties to a minimum, but they were entirely unavoidable. Sometimes, those deaths were the result of collateral damage, but in other cases, the so-called civilians had reacted poorly to what amounted to an invasion. They’d fought back, and they’d lost. Thousands had died to such circumstances. So, it was entirely plausible that the prisoners had lost family or friends in the turmoil.

So, while Zeke didn’t particularly enjoy the notion of being hated, he understood it. If he was in their situation, he would likely have responded in a similar manner.

When he reached the group, he looked them over, trying to find some indicator of their motivation. Yet, their appearance – on the surface, at least – was no different than any of the other newcomers’.

“You can’t identify traitors by looking at them, Ezekiel,” Eveline said. “That’s the problem. They don’t stand up and shout, proclaiming themselves your enemy. They look like everyone else, and most of the time, they behave the same as well. But they’re not. They’re like a cancer. A tumor that must be excised, lest they kill the host.”

“I know,” Zeke said in his thoughts. Suddenly, he understood the plight of every occupying army in history. Justification for occupation aside, dealing with a hostile populace came with a host of issues that couldn’t be solved by a simple application of force.

“You say that like it’s true,” Eveline stated. “You have your kobolds. From a purely strategic standpoint, you should simply wipe Adontis from the face of Heaven, so-called innocents and all.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Why?”

It was such a simple question, but the answer was complicated. Zeke wanted to believe he was a moral person, that, in most situations, he would do the right thing. And in this case, the moral thing to do was to save as many of the oppressed and enslaved people of Adontis as he could. The beastkin and peasants were innocents, and –

“That’s a huge assumption. You can’t see into someone’s heart. For all you know, every last one of them would murder their neighbor given half a chance. In fact, in my experience, that’s more likely than them being innocents,” Eveline remarked. “From my perspective, the only right answer is to simply kill them all. The kobolds are your people. The beastkin, maybe. But these humans? Trash, every single one of them. And I mean that in the kindest way possible.”

“There is nothing kind about what you just said,” Zeke stated.

“I know. That’s the point,” Eveline explained. “I don’t hate them. I just think they’re a needless complication in a world where things are complicated enough. If you want to advance, you can’t run around saving every stray animal you meet. Not only are they a drain on your resources without much in the way of benefit, but they will inevitably bite you when you don’t give them any better of a life than what they had thrust upon them by their former masters.”

“That’s not true. The Crimson Tower has opportunities they couldn’t have dreamed of as peasants.”

“And most of them will look at those opportunities as obligations. Or as requiring too much effort. I’m not saying they’re all lazy. Not as a baseline. Some surely are. But they’ve also been trained to only do the bare minimum it took to not be punished. Breaking them out of that routine is a path of failure. And what do you think will happen when they realize that, despite the change of scenery and masters, their lives are no better than before? Or even if they are better off, they won’t see it that way,” Eveline explained. “Because, by their very nature, they will always occupy the bottom rungs of any society. It is a difficult thing to accept, that people are not equal, and that that lack of equality – perceived or otherwise – will inevitably foster jealousy and, eventually, rebellion. They are the unwashed masses. The below average. The weak and undisciplined.”

“If they’re so weak, then we have nothing to fear.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? But society is a house of cards. It takes almost no effort to tear it down. And even then, it’s the work of days. Being successful is the work of a lifetime. The two are incomparable,” Eveline stated. “A few bad apples can spoil the bunch because discontent spreads like rot, infecting everything it touches. And then we have to address the other issue.”

“What’s that?” Zeke asked.

“Racism. Do you think a bunch of humans who were raised to believe that their species is superior will accept being lorded over by beastkin and kobolds? They equate them to monsters,” Eveline stated. “That will not end well.”

The conversation played out over the course of seconds, during which Zeke stood over the captured prisoners. In a way, he wished they would try to escape, that they would attempt violence. If they did, he could kill them without a hint of guilt. Yet he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not only were they bound, but they knew precisely how weak they were. As Eveline had said, they weren’t fighters. They weren’t exceptional. But the danger they represented wasn’t limited to their ability to sabotage food supplies. It was systemic, and unless something was done to stop it, they had the capacity to cause no shortage of problems for Zeke’s budding kingdom.

But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that they were a lost cause. He refused to look at the problem through the lens of Eveline’s worldview. Sure, her arguments sounded reasonable, but that was almost assuredly because Zeke lacked the capability to refute her claims. He’d never been much for debate, after all. The realization of his own weaknesses made the solution clear.

He raised his voice, saying, “You ten have been caught sabotaging the food supply, which has resulted in more than a hundred deaths. However, you will be afforded a trial before an impartial judge. If you are found guilty, you will be executed. Until that time, you will be confined to the Jail.”

“This is a mistake,” Eveline insisted. “Just kill them and be done with it. A sham of a trial proves nothing.”

“It won’t be a sham.”

“Oh? Then who will be impartial? Who do you trust to levy judgement on these criminals?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted to her.

In the meantime, the prisoners stirred, with one of them shouting, “You have no right to judge us, demon!”

Zeke stepped forward, and the thin man flinched backward. “I have every right,” Zeke stated. “You had the option of staying. Of picking up the pieces of whichever city you came from. Yet, you came here. We welcomed you. Gave you responsibility, a way to contribute. We gave you a roof over your head and food to eat. We healed you. And you returned that hospitality with ire. If anyone has the right to judge you, it is me. This is my home, and you live here at my discretion. If you choose to spit on my kindness, then I will show you the door. If you instead attempt to undermine my authority, I will punish you accordingly. If you hurt my people, your life is forfeit. That is the law of the Crimson Tower. Abide by it or suffer the consequences.”

With that, he nodded at the kobolds, who wasted no time in gathering the prisoners and escorting them toward the teleporter. Meanwhile, Zeke watched, his hands behind his back. He knew he’d likely sentenced them to death. In fact, he preferred it that way. As much as he didn’t want the responsibility of meting out justice, the reality was that it rested solely on his shoulders. If he didn’t do it, then whatever it was he was building in the tower was doomed to fail. To fall before their enemies.

Zeke couldn’t stomach that.

“You called it a kingdom before,” Eveline said. “Only in your mind, but…still.”

“I know.”

“Kings stand in judgement of criminals.”

“I’m aware.”

“Do you trust anyone else to be impartial?” she asked. “Kianma, perhaps?”

Zeke gave her a mental shake of his head. “I don’t,” he admitted. “But this represents a wider issue. Since the beginning, I’ve let Kianma run things. She has done a fair job. We can’t run a kingdom like this, though. We need laws. Structure. We need a government and people to enforce those laws.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still watching the prisoners being escorted to the teleportation platform. “But we’re going to need to take care of that, because I can’t afford the time to deal with every little issue. If we had a system in place, I wouldn’t have even needed to be consulted for this. With rules and guidelines, everyone would already know what to do.”

“And you wouldn’t have to personally take responsibility for whatever punishment they received,” Eveline said.

“Does that make me a coward?”

“No. I don’t think it does.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Zeke admitted. Indeed, he didn’t like the idea of pushing responsibility onto someone else shoulders, but he knew it was necessary. As much as he wanted to take charge and guide the tower’s development with his own hand, the reality was that he simply couldn’t do it. Part of that was temperament. Some was due to time constraints. And a bit came from a simple lack of desire. Whatever the origin, though, Zeke knew he couldn’t manage the tower’s population. Not without going over the edge into a territory he didn’t want to contemplate.

With those thoughts dancing in his mind, Zeke watched the last of the prisoners disappear. Then, he let out a deep breath and set off for the platform. He had work to do and decisions to make.