Dove Arising (31 page)

What about the 8,000 Sputniks of bribe money, our last resort? That sum would influence a normal jury, but not the Committee, whose members want for nothing.

The six of them sit motionlessly, forearms balanced on the table. Do
they
know they’re being filmed? Nebulus reaches down to adjust his pants leg. I’ve never seen a Committee member fidget in public. He checks his handscreen as he sits up, earning a sharp look from Andromeda.

“Please disable your handscreen messages, my friends,” Andromeda says. Other citizens can’t cut off handscreen communications, but it seems the Committee has that privilege. “I don’t want
any
disturbances. We must give this case our undivided attention.”

The five men oblige her. “It’s your base, after all,” Hydrus says.

It’s a small comfort that they’re clueless about Cygnus’s cameras. My mind spinning, I consider begging my team to turn the ship around. But my team would never obey an order to abandon a mission; that command might lead my friends to mutiny. Even if I returned to Base IV, what could I do? Cutting the broadcast short wouldn’t change the fact that the base has already seen it. An official investigation will be necessary. And the verdict of the trial is in the Committee’s hands—no one can change their minds.

Hydrus says, “We the Committee do observe that all three participants in the trial of Mira Theta are present. Atlas Phi, defense. Phobos Xi, prosecution. And the accused.”

Andromeda speaks. “Mira Theta is hereby charged with disruptive print. The defense has one minute to make an opening statement before calling upon witnesses for questioning.”

That’s not right—from years of dinner conversation with the Phis, I know that the Law codes allow three minutes.

“Yoo-hoo,” Nash calls. “Everyone’s being awfully quiet. Phaet? Wes? What you guys looking at? . . . What in the—”

Seeing Nash’s stunned expression, Orion peels his glove back just far enough to tune in to the news on his handscreen. “Fuse!” Appalled, he yanks the glove back into place.

“Never thought I’d see one.” Nash could be referring to the trial or a passing landmark. She’s picking her words carefully, in case Committee minions are tuning in to
us
. “What, Orion, you scared?”

“I never
wanted
to see one,” mutters Orion. “Good-for-nothings”—he points his thumb over his shoulder—“belong in the Pen—”

“Shh!” Wes hisses.

Back in Law, Atlas rises. His voice is steady, as are his vital signs.

“I’m going to argue chronologically. Mira was born to a pair of well-to-do Nuclear Physics workers with pristine records. She showed little aptitude for the natural sciences herself. . . .”

“Upsetting her parents and leading to a minor identity crisis,” Nebulus mutters.

“. . . but her fifth-year Primary teacher noted that she had ‘a talent for finding patriotic words, backed by a precocious understanding of what makes our Bases great.’”

Phobos slaps his hand down on his armrest. “Objection!”

Drumming his spindly fingers, Cassini glances at Hydrus for approval. “Granted.”

“Unauthorized procurement of video evidence.”

Exasperated, Atlas shakes his head. “It wasn’t video. The statement was so important that it shows up on her stats.”

Was Phobos so sure he could win that he didn’t check Mom’s stats beforehand?

“Defense’s one minute is up,” Cassini croaks. “Please call upon witnesses.”

“Sol Eta,” Atlas says, looking irritated. “Journalist and Mira’s colleague.”

On a nearby wall, his handscreen projects the image of a short woman with a close-cropped bob, a pointy nose, and quick-shifting eyes. I remember her; Mom sometimes invited her for dinner. She’s another Opinions writer for the
Luna Daily
, a talkative woman with a husky voice that seems to originate in the pit of her belly.

“Present,” she says.

Hydrus recites, “Place your right hand on the projection of
On
the Origin of Species
.”

Sol’s hand passes through the projection of an old paper book several times as she awaits further directions. Darwin’s work, one of the only Earthbound texts allowed to circulate on the Bases, reminds us that we are as susceptible to nature as any other species, and that we must continually adapt to our harsh environment if we wish to survive.

“Do you, Sol Eta, swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you Reason?”

“I swear.”

Nebulus says, “Begin direct examination.”

Atlas stands and squares his shoulders. “Sol Eta, what kind of Journalist is Mira?”

“Thorough,” Sol says. “Hardworking.”

“On the day she was arrested, did she act strangely at work?”

“No—she was well on her way to meet a deadline for an article—‘The Miracles of Mathematics.’ It called for more Militia alumnae to choose math programs as a Specialization. The Committee asked Mira to write it—Aerospace Engineering needs more analysts, as you know.”

“Thank you, Sol. Anything else?”

Sol tosses her head back. Her shiny hair swooshes around her ears. “Mira is one of the most effective Journalists on the base. If she is found guilty, the population will have lost a leading voice in patriotism and positivity.”

Wolf bangs on the table before him. “Time’s up!”

“What?” says Nash. “Two minutes, not—” According to Law protocol, questioning should last 120 seconds, no less.

“A minute and fifteen seconds,” Wes finishes, looking at his handscreen. He’s been timing the interrogation.

Nebulus blows his nose into a handkerchief before speaking. “Phobos, would you cross-examine the witness?”

“Unnecessary.” Phobos slouches, one foot resting on the other knee. “Can I bring mine in and get this over with?”

Hydrus says, “Yes, by all means.”

Sighing, Atlas taps the back of his left hand. The projection of Sol Eta vanishes, replaced by another hologram, this one emanating from Phobos’s handscreen.

I let out a gasp that prompts Io to poke Orion in the shoulder and say, “Captain sounds scared.”

“Shh!” says Orion.

On my handscreen, Atlas gapes, mouth open like the entrance to a lava tube, but no words flow forth. His heart pounds away; the wall displays show that his stress hormones have spiked. Beside him, Mom’s eyes shift rapidly. She’s trying to look anywhere but at the witness.

The tear-streaked face of Caeli Phi looks out at her husband and the woman he has tried so hard to protect.

34

AS CAELI SWEARS THE WITNESS OATH, SO help her Reason, I imagine Umbriel, wherever he is, swearing unprintable things of his own. My best friend’s family is splitting apart—at least, that’s what it looks like. If not, if Caeli’s not alone, I can’t trust any of them anymore.

Should we turn back? If my siblings and the Phi twins are in shock from Caeli’s betrayal, it’s my duty to help them. . . .
No
,
the team will never agree.
And I won’t be able to help my family, let alone find them; if Cygnus is using our HeRP, then Anka must be somewhere else, probably with Umbriel.

On my handscreen, Atlas rises, eyebrows bristling, fists clenched. “Caeli. What are
you
doing here?”

To silence him, Wolf says, “Direct examination first.”

Atlas tucks himself into his chair, tucks away his powers of intimidation.
Stay sturdy,
I want to tell him.

Caeli’s short index finger swipes tears off her cheeks. “They were going to get her, anyway! I did it for us, Atlas, so no matter what that woman—that
traitor
—did, our family wouldn’t be guilty by association. Don’t you see?”

Atlas opens and closes his mouth, chewing on the words he needs to set loose, words standard trial procedure won’t allow.

“I question her first,” Phobos says, rising from his chair. “Caeli Phi, were you in Mira Theta’s home on the evening of April 4, 2347?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us what you found there.”

“I—I was using the HeRP. I forget why. There was a
big
document in Mira’s files. Hundreds of kilobytes. Her Opinions articles never go over fifty. I couldn’t help myself. I read the first few lines—and it was so unpatriotic, so radical.” Caeli shoots a glare at Mom, who doesn’t react.

Phobos says, “That will be all.”

Atlas leaps from his seat before the Committee has a chance to call on him for cross-examination. “Mira surely protected the document with a thumbprint and a password. How did you get past those?”

“She programmed our thumbprints into the sensors. Her passwords were
easy
to guess. The initials of her children. And their birthdays. It was a matter of time.
With the way she was acting, the things she was saying . . . someone was going to catch her!”

“She trusted us, Caeli, as you should have trusted her! Atlas Theta and I . . . After Militia, I owed him my life, and he owed me his, until the day he . . . The twins love Mira—
I
love her, as I loved her husband! Did you ever think of our feelings?”

“Did you think of mine?” Caeli wails, covering her face. “All these years, hiding
her
indecent spirituality,
her
blasphemy, protecting
her
children. . . .”

“Settle down, Caeli,” says Atlas. “Breathe.”

My mother doesn’t seem to hear them. I know the look on her face—from seeing it on my own. She’s fled into a quiet space inside her head. Her heart rate is under sixty-five beats per minute.

“Poor lady,” mumbles Io.

“Which one?” Nash says.

“Both.”

They stop talking when Caeli resumes her rant. “You always
had
to visit them, and you knew I didn’t like her. Atlas, you put her before me!” These are words she’s held inside for decades, and as they leave her body, she smiles.

Pain shows on my mother’s face, in her shining, unblinking eyes. Again, it’s echoed on mine. Caeli Phi pretended to love me, my mother, and my family for almost twenty years. She was especially tender toward me and Anka because she “always wanted daughters too.”

Atlas’s voice loses its stability once more. “That’s not fair! You . . . you . . .”

The Committee bangs the conference table, making a terrible racket. “Cross-examination is over.”

Atlas just wasted a valuable segment of the trial.

“Phobos, present the evidence,” Cassini says.

Atlas towers over Phobos, glaring, as Phobos taps his handscreen. Caeli disappears and a projection of a document takes her place. I gnaw my nails as Phobos reads out loud.

“
Grievances and Propositions for Basic Consideration
.”

Basic.
Nice pun. I know before Phobos continues that Mom wrote this.

“The magnificent city of Jinjiang was named for the water upon which it floated: a river filled with silt and chemicals that glowed gold as the sun rose and set. Among towering bronze buildings reaching for the sky remained square temples with tiered roofs that curled upward at the corners. But Lina hardly saw these things. She and her father, Jon, lived belowdecks, among other poor families. While he worked long hours taking photographs for the Jinjiang Ministry of Broadcasting, she came home after school and stared out their apartment’s one window, at the brown water that the Jinjiang government called ‘gold.’”

I blink away confusion. Mom began her “treasonous” document with a description of an old Earthbound city?

“
On Lina’s fourteenth birthday, Jon didn’t bring her
maqiu—
a sticky sesame and red bean pastry—as he usually did. Instead, he presented her a collection of photos he had taken
.

“‘This is what the Ministry doesn’t want you to see,’ he said. ‘Knowledge that it doesn’t want you to have.’

“
A group of living skeletons covered with thin layers of ashen skin. ‘A family of engine room workers. That one, the child missing three fingers, was fired last month because he could no longer lift the shovel.’

“Silver coins, being passed from one well-groomed hand to another, with the tips of rifles making up the background. ‘A woman buying her son’s promotion in the armed forces.’

“A group of soldiers leading a man to a row of gallows. ‘He led a demonstration against our government’s pension policy, or lack thereof.’

“Lina began crying. ‘This city is horrible, but I never knew.’

“‘Truth is ugly here,’ Jon replied.”

Then the story’s meaning hits me like rib-crushing cannonball. Jinjiang is not the only place Mom is portraying.

In Law Chamber 144, Mom doesn’t move. If only I were there; seeing me might jolt her awake, make her remember the three children who need her, and spur her to fight. Yesterday, Mom told us to value every loved one present and not to wish for the departed. I will not let her leave now.

I regain control over my larynx and prepare to give orders. This is
Mom
. Disagreements from subordinates don’t matter. “Turn back, Orion.”

My request takes long seconds to sink in.