A Knomira is locked up for throwing a very violent temper tantrum in a shop which caused a large amount of damage to property and some injuries to various cogniscents. Now they're throwing another violent tantrum, because they're still locked up, and being required to go to therapy. -- Anon Guest
The habitat was a pale and inoffensive grey. Every possible surface was padded with cellulose fabric and cellulose stuffing. It did not help Marciatrude's general mood to know that any surface she tore was instantly repaired by the fastest nanites that the B'nari could provide.
Even the air recycling system was beyond her ability to ruin. Algae tubes inside battle-rated Duran-ALON[1] were a welcome visual relief from the bland grey of everything else.
Nevertheless, she vented her rage at anything it was possible to rage at. They had no right to do this to her! This was a violation of her God-given freedoms! She wanted to see the manager! She demanded a lawyer! She was going to SUE! What she got, instead, was a mild-mannered probably-human[2] in Therapist's red and black.
Now that Marciatrude had worn herself out to a breathless puddle on the padded floor, they spoke. "Are you feeling calm, yet? When you are calm, we can discuss your situation."
Marciatrude raged! Shouting at this person about her horrible treatment, how dare these people drug her without her permission! How dare they lock her in this prison cell when she was being perfectly reasonable! How dare they keep her from her legal representation! Who was in charge here? Who decided to deprive her of her freedoms? As soon as she spoke to her lawyer, she was going to sue everybody so hard that she would own this pissant little station!
The therapist only took notes. They had the patient air of someone who was very comfortable and could wait all day.
Once Marciatrude had screamed herself hoarse and worn herself to a standstill, the therapist spoke once more. "Are you ready to listen? Because you've made some very bad choices."
Marciatrude gave a rude gesture and crossed her arms.
"I understand why you're angry. It's natural to be angry when this level of restraint is placed upon anyone. Especially since you don't seem to understand what responsibilities are expected of you as you exercise your rights."
She had lost her voice, and most of her willingness to move, so Marciatrude rolled over to face the therapist and croaked, "What kind of horseshit?"
"Are you used to only having rights?" asked the therapist. "Or are you merely used to getting what you want and calling it your rights?"
"I refuse to speak to you until I have spoken privately with my lawyer," rasped Marciatrude.
"As you wish." The therapist left, and the man in the obnoxious suit who used to get her everything entered.
"Uh. So. Bad news. You screwed the pooch, Lady."
This was not the script she expected. "What?"
"Mountains of uncontravertable evidence, victims, property damage. On entering the station, you agreed to follow all the laws as part of your sign-in process and that includes the rights and responsibilities these Galactics keep going on about. And before you say you didn't read it - I know. Dumb move. You signed it voluntarily and you can't even claim duress. You're in therapy until you take responsibility for your crimes. I can't help you."
"You're supposed to help me," croaked Marciatrude.
"Then take my advice. Listen. Learn. Participate. There is no other way out if this nice little box you've locked yourself into. I can maybe argue Diminished Responsibility, but that means trackers and a minder and remedial education. Which you're getting anyway."
"It's not fair," she rasped.
Her lawyer sighed. "You say that so often. What's your basis for comparison?"
[1] ALON is the brand name for transparent aluminium which does exist; however, Duran-ALON is future technology that renders ALON virtually unbreakable.
[2] Convergent evolution has done some wild, wild things.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / ryanking999]
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