“State your name for those gathered,” Judge Rudolf demanded in a firm baritone, looking not at Margreta, but at the crowd before them. Margreta did not answer and looked as though she did not realize she had even been asked anything. A second of silence passed, then when it was evident she would not answer she was struck in the left arm with a baton by one of the human officers. A gasp, excited and distraught, shot through the crowd upon hearing the sickly, hollow thud.

A cry of horror erupted from Dahlia, and their father reached forward to restrain her and keep her from leaving her seat. Aunt Margot, who was directly to Aster's left, remained stoic, betraying not the slightest movement of her face. Aster, however, felt as though she had been struck in the side of the head, so suddenly did her vision blur and disorient in the face of the massive shock. There was a general commotion running through the room following this, which Judge Rudolf tried his best to get under control. Aster turned now and again to her father, her heart racing and her eyes wildly searching for an explanation she knew he could not deliver. The words of her father, who had implored his daughters from the depths of his soul not to react to anything the state might do, rang with crystal clearness as she watched something die in his sullen face. His expression was waxen, like a death mask, and it seemed as if he were burning up the last of his Earthly reserves as far as the will to live was concerned, so that he might face this horrible sight with no reaction.

The expressions of the jury and some of the audience were contorted in cautious smiles of excitement, not having expected fireworks so early. Margreta had not seemed to really register the strike, but still passed her right hand softly over the area which had been struck and looked about herself innocently.

Aster lurched forward and began to dry heave.

“State your name for those gathered,” Judge Rudolf repeated, the room having quieted. She turned to Judge Rudolf, appearing as if she had just noticed his presence. It was at this point that Aster noticed various hues of faint purple and blue dotting here and there on her skin, like a blueberry patch.

“Margreta,” she said hoarsely.

“Thank you,” Judge Rudolf replied, turning back to the audience. “We are here to determine the role which Margreta, who shall henceforth be referred to as the “concerned”, plays in society. In particular, we are to investigate her financial and communal benefit as well as the burdens she places upon the community. I shall remind you all that this is not a criminal prosecution, but a discussion of one's life and the merits therein, and thus should be treated with respect.”

Judge Rudolf went on to say more but the high-pitched ringing of nervous condition soon rendered his words inaudible, and Aster set her eyes firmly upon her mother. She had changed so much in so little time that Aster could only feel sick looking at her. It had scarcely been two weeks and yet already she resembled her former self as little as a picture taken in childhood would.

What good came of treating people like that? Aster thought, shuddering at the severity of her mother's emaciated looks. Was it just okay because some people figured it was within their right to determine the usefulness of another human being? It was deeply, bitterly ironic to Aster that this argument would be given in a world where AI had apparently made every person's existence redundant, and thus the reason for this hearing moot.

They should just kill us all. We're obviously making no good of our lives.

Yet that would never happen because AI had yet to subjugate the one core human drive— the desire for power. As long as it existed people would exert dominion over one another as well as the machines which threatened to stop them. She thought about all the kind things Sylvia said about people, and considered it a mercy that she would never have to see this hearing and realize just how wrong she really was.

“The concerned has been exhibiting psychotic tendencies over the past few years, evidenced by medical data showing a steady and continual decrease in mental stability,” Judge Rudolf was explaining. “She was interred into the state's custody two weeks ago after a physical altercation with her eldest daughter, whom reports indicate she has a contentious and sometimes physically abusive relationship with. This call was made under the directive of a Mother's Helper who attends to the family, specifically the eldest daughter, and was worried about the concerned's worsening condition.”

Judge Rudolph paused and looked past his AR screen to the crowd, as if seeing if they were following along. He sighed. “'There is no hope of rehabilitation'— is the official verdict given by several state officials as a result of their examinations. However, it is ultimately up to you, the citizen body, to determine if any worth remains in this life.” He extended his arm out in a showcasing gesture to Margreta, who sat unmoving, the light of the court dancing in the craters of her eyes. Judge Rudolf continued. “It is true that the concerned held a significant role in society before her downturn— namely, several consultant roles on a number of founding revolutionary boards on the topic of AI ethics. This is of great patriotic consideration, and it must be investigated how much of that love and honor still exist.”

Margreta raised a frail hand and saluted the citizen body.

“The marked decline in the concerned's mental state was first observed approximately ten to fifteen years ago. Acquaintances and intimates noted a drastic change in that whom they had described as once lively and vivacious, now becoming quick to anger and growing distant. These abrupt changes naturally brought about concern and suspicion of political perversion or of synth-drug abuse, but an extensive inquiry revealed that it was likely the result of stress stemming from the troubles of the revolution, and medical suggestions were given to the family to limit the subject's sources of stress as much as possible. It's evident from regular inquiry and check-ups, that while the decline has been reigned in and the concerned was able to return to a modest level of functioning, they are no longer able to achieve the economic output or capability of societal enrichment that they once possessed. Thus, the concerned is considered 'damaged' in the eyes of the state, and thus our gathering here today to investigate the extent of that damage.”

Judge Rudolf straightened out his back and exhaled deeply. A wave of chatter, quiet and delicate like a tiny wave lapping against a calm shore seemed to come every time the judge finished speaking. The combatants were drawing near the gates of the coliseum and the audience could not wait.

“Now, with the brief of the concerned complete, we will take a look at the particulars of the individual. To understand the concerned and thus make a just decision, we will need to establish a map of their person. The following is a truncated report from the state's sources with an overview of the physical and mental health of the concerned as well as decline.”

With these words, a glassy-eyed look befell all in the stands and jury as one by one they opened up their personal AI assistants on which the presentation regarding the concerned awaited. To any bystanders coming upon this scene, it would appear to them as if they had happened across a congregation of the blind, all staring listlessly and aimlessly up at the same uniform point in space where nothing of interest seemed to exist. All that is, except for the human officers who watched the group intently.

A layout of data, dense and bureaucratic in its presentation came before Aster. Her mind was still spinning and failed to make sense of any of the charts, models, or paragraphs, drawing not from the wealth of information a well-detailed portrait of the mother she was to judge, but a chilling glimpse at just how keen the state's eye was.

Everything that could ever be wished to be known about Margreta was contained within it and would be read in detail to them over the next hour. Her sleep cycles, serotonin levels, cortisol levels, the frequency of her laughter vs. periods of no laughter, the amount smiled vs. amount frowned, time spent silent, reported periods of stress, her menstrual cycle, the composition of her blood, the health of her bones, her general whereabouts over the past decade, her relationships, amount of time spent on personal hygiene, quantification in dollars of her contribution to society; it was all fair game, because as the state put it— the moment that their life was in question was the moment they lost the right to the private shawl thrown over it. The citizen body were the stockholders and the concerned the stock— everyone took part in society's well-being following the revolution, and thus had a say in how the herd was culled.

Aster's father was essentially comatose during the report. His only reactions were those of a mute being stabbed; a pained groan emanated from him every now and then when it was apparent they had touched on something sensitive or dear. He could only sit by as those in attendance came to know Margreta as well as even her family; at least in a factual sense. They were privy to all the major milestones of her life— family photographs and videos, transcriptions. They were even shown AI models used to simulate hypotheticals in her personality. They were presented with a portrait of Margreta which they would use as their codex; their compass while steering her through the most important storm of her life.

—

Privacy is not a virtue; it is the selfish need of those unable to live in peace with others.

Aster's eye was drawn to this inscription, etched upon a shining silver wall which hung high above Judge Rudolph's head. It revealed its bitter irony to her the more she stared at it and contemplated all the thoughts it brought to mind; how Judge Rudolf had excused himself to a judge's chamber following the small break between prosecution, or how in Nancy's penthouse she was afforded the ability to pause the data collected on her. Aster had always believed in the veracity of the statement wholesale; why should she want to hide if she did nothing wrong? This virtue was instilled in her since childhood, and it was one of those slippery modes of thinking that seem to make perfect sense when they are not examined under a careful lens. But now, with the picture of her mother's life clear as the sun in her eyes, that inscription on the wall seemed like only bitter mockery.

Peppermint Plains seemed to function just fine with its secrets and its privacy. In all respects it functioned better; people were happier, and Aster was too. A loathing unlike she had ever felt for her time and place began to grow inside of her. It was different than the usual apathy, which told her that life was a naturally dull and trifling affair. It was rage, a personal hatred directed at the inscription above, because Aster now knew that this wasn't the way things had to be, yet it told her otherwise so confidently.

Her neighbor Jacob was passing through the stands, making his way up to the bench. He was to be the first in a long line of incidental witnesses— people who had at least ten hours of contact with Margreta over the past decade— to be questioned before the main witnesses— significant relations chosen by both defendant and prosecutor— would take the stand to close out the day. All were to make their statements while being questioned by the Judicial Eye, which would monitor heart rate, pupil dilation, perspiration, and a myriad of other attributes to determine truthfulness. Their responses would be fed through millions of simulated conversations (the government maintained models of all its citizens for crime-prediction reasons) whereupon the final results would be fed to the jury for their discussion and analysis.

Neighbor Jacob took the stand appearing nervous, but also resolute and ready to fulfill his role as an instrument of justice. He glanced over at Margreta, who had been relocated to the left side of the room and surrounded by sentries. A weary smile crept over his lips, and he was asked by the Judicial Eye to give his impression of the concerned.

“I never knew a kinder person, really. She was very amicable to me when I first moved in, which was twenty, twenty-five years ago, I think? Always cordial, which you don't see enough of nowadays, and very supportive of me when I told her my wife had passed and that I had moved to the tower to spend my final days.”

“By 'tower' you refer to the Elysian Pillar?”

“Yes, sir. It was a dream of my wife's to move there ever since they announced its construction.”

“Let it be known that the witness refers to the Elysian Pillar, a Class A superscraper constructed with the purpose of housing Tier 1 constituents. The witness was granted residency within the Pillar on January 23rd, 2042, under the National Relocation Act in honor of his work in the electric automotive industry and net worth exceeding $250,000,000 USD.”

Neighbor Jacob nodded as if the Judicial Eye needed confirmation.

“What do you mean by 'final days'?”

“I'd like to live out the rest of my days in the tower.”

“So you declined life extension therapy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You planned instead to use the Eden device?”

The courtroom lit up with hushed chatter. There were gasps and excited eyes turning on one another. Aster felt herself go numb, felt all the breath leave her as if she had been punched in the gut. But this was almost more dangerous than an exclamation, for Aster knew, and had been warned extensively, that eyes were everywhere in the room, peering both outside and in. She had to control herself, or her obvious agitation would be picked up by the security sentries and she'd be detained.

She held her breath and turned her eyes towards her ghost of a mother. This way at least, she figured, it would appear that her mother was the source of her considerable anxiousness and not the mention of that device.

“I had plans but they are no longer being considered,” Neighbor Jacob answered.

“Why not?”

“I would like to see my wife again, but they tell me it cannot do that. I don't see much point in sticking around if she's not here, so I've opted to die naturally.”

“Death is not natural, sir. It is an illness caused by the degradation of cells over time or brought about by unfortunate accident.”

“Excuse me; I've opted to die of 'degenerative cell loss'.”

“Did the concerned ever ask you about the Eden Device?”

Neighbor Jacob thought for a moment.

“No, not that I can remember. In fact, when I had mentioned my earlier plans to retire into it she seemed rather put off and wanted to hear nothing about it. She said it was a 'crutch' for degenerates too weak to face reality, and that they'd be better off dying than spreading their 'disease' among innocents.” Neighbor Jacob couldn't help but glance at Margreta with a playful smile, though one tempered with pity at the sorry sight of her. The jury was evidently pleased with this recollection and looked themselves at her with the eyes of someone admiring their kin.

“Anyways, I remember this verbatim because it was the first time I really noticed a significant change in her personality. If we're talking about the Margreta I've known since that discussion, then I've seldom met anyone with a more vocal hatred of the Vanguard.”

“You agree with the sentiment that there was a major change in the concerned's behavior?”

“Of course. But that's not to say I think it's necessarily a negative thing; we've all changed since the revolution. I just figured it was a natural response to the stress that she might be going through. I would also argue that a hardened approach to life could be more beneficial to aiding the state. I mean, just look at her daughter, Dahlia— she's a sterling example of reverence to revolutionary ideals, and Margreta brought up her starting well past the time I noticed any change. Even her firstborn, Aster, is a very respectful woman.”

Aster went deathly pale and averted her eyes from the stand and her mother, hoping to disappear.

“So, I would say that all in all while there was a change, I don't think it was for the worse and I don't think that it has been harmful in any way to the state.”

“You said you first noticed this change during your conversation about the Eden device. Can you recall when that conversation took place?”

Neighbor Jacob fixed his bottom lip up in an expression of deep thought, causing his plump jowls to quiver involuntarily. “Fourteen years ago, I believe? This was when I was still getting to know the family— I had only moved in a year and a half before.”

“What is your opinion regarding the worth the concerned can still bring to society?”

Neighbor Jacob did away with his pensive thought at hearing this question, as if he had been waiting for it specifically. “She's still got it in her, I think,” he gave cheerfully. “She helps out with the Sunshines, and like I said her daughters show nothing but promise towards being great assets for the state. If they're anything to go by— her day is not yet done.”

—

With this Neighbor Jacob was dismissed and returned to his seat while another— a woman Margreta conversed with every Saturday at the old oak park down the block— took her place at the stand. The hearing continued on in this fashion, with each person put to roughly the same questions until an hour had elapsed and the court adjourned for a lunch break. (Meaning that robotic cafeteria servants brought ordered lunches to the seated audience, who were forbidden for reasons of security from leaving the courtroom until the hearing had finished.)

“There's no question about it!” Aunt Margot was proclaiming in a heated voice to Noah. “You know that Margreta loves the state. It's like your neighbor was saying; it's clear as day in Dahlia!” She gestured towards her niece who beamed proudly in the rays of her praise.

“I know that very well, Margot. I struggle to keep Margreta at home because she's always out attending to some event of the Sunshines',” Noah replied.

Aster grimaced and withdrew her attention, though she knew she was supposed to be taking part in the purposefully loud and patriotic discussion of her mother's merits. She instead focused on the court servos gliding around with lunches, all the while trying to wrap her mind around the immense dismay that her coming ascension to the stand brought up within her.

I can't, she thought, shaking her head and dropping her eyes which had darted to the stand for a moment. I cannot go up there. Even if they got me into the seat I know I couldn't speak, she told herself, recalling every painful past moment where her anxiety had turned her mouth into a vice which refused to open. Even now that vice was working its power upon Aster's very mind; it felt like the room was closing in every minute her turn grew closer, and her thoughts crowded upon each other until she could make sense of nothing and was only aware of a dull, confused, frantic worry within her.

Dahlia was practically hopping in place as she, her father, and her aunt took turns praising her mother; the incidental connections had now been questioned and it was time for the hearing to proceed on to the major witnesses, the first of whom would be Aunt Margot and then Dahlia herself.

The jury was in their stand discussing the merits of their arguments while they ate. Aster looked over at them and saw them enraptured in some particularly lively conversation. She tried to read their expressions in the hope of any sign of how they could be feeling, but their faces only ever showed the delighted glee of one at the races, and would only ever show that, regardless of which way their axe would fall. She looked then at her mother, up in the stands near their position, and noticed that nobody had brought her anything to eat. She glanced back down at her own lunch, a malt-bread sandwich of gourmet impossible turkey, and pushed it aside with an absent-minded motion. She did not want to eat at all but Aunt Margot had ordered for her, and was even at this moment admonishing Aster to take 'just a little bit of it'.

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Aster scowled, which was normally a dangerous thing to do around Aunt Margot, but her nerves were so frayed that the only reaction she had left within her was that of aggressive rebuke. Aunt Margot, however, did not relent and Aster was forced to take several small bites, all the while keeping her eyes from her skeleton mother as far as was physically possible.

Roughly fifteen minutes passed in this fashion before Judge Rudolf returned to the chamber from through his private door, a fresh red hue now on his pleased face. Dahlia began a renewed fit of excitement upon seeing him and at hearing the excited chatter around her and drummed her feet about the floor as though she were mimicking the stampede of horses.

With no further delay, Aunt Margot was called to the stand, which she took to at her own pace and as though the whole ordeal meant nothing more to her than an afternoon stroll. Upon taking her seat she glanced at her sister, retained the same unaffected expression, and readied herself.

“You are the sister of the concerned?” The Judicial Eye began.

“That is correct. I am her older sister by ten years.”

“And how has your relationship with your sister been? Amicable?”

“Very. We did have our fights in our youth, but those are long past and I have known nothing but friendship since.”

“Fights?”

“I'm ten years older than her. Of course there were going to be fights when an adult had to contend with their ten-year-old sister throwing a ball at their head.”

There was a light murmur of laughter in the crowd.

“Your relationship hasn't suffered due to the concerned's change?”

“If it did I would've answered so. No, I understand that people change as they grow older. I have changed plenty myself.”

“This change wasn't at all violent? Anti-social?”

“No, not at all. It was simply maturation.”

“Maturation?”

“She grew up and realized that the world needed a different person than what she had been.”

—

Dahlia was called following Aunt Margot, who looked at her niece with thinly veiled disdain as she rushed past to take her seat at the bench. Aster's stomach writhed in pain; she tried to avoid meeting the eyes of her sister but knew she could not escape the purview of that excited glance that swept over the audience like a lighthouse beam. Dahlia was bubbling over with enthusiasm, looking as pleased as could be at her place in the stand, like she had set right some scene in a painting that was so desperately missing her ascension to the stand. She beamed at her mother, whose hollowed-out and vacant stare could barely fix itself on that set dead in front of her, let alone respond to her daughter with any show of emotion.

The Judicial Eye began.

“You are the youngest child of the concerned?”

“Yes!” Dahlia chirped.

“What has your experience been, having the concerned as your mother?”

“I couldn't ask for a better one,” she answered bashfully, pawing at her mother with her eyes like a puppy full of unspent affection does. “She's been supportive, she's my best friend, and she's really shown me how a good citizen should be!”

“Your relationship with your mother has been good?”

“The best! Like I said, she's my best friend and we do everything together.” Her eyes had moistened and were flickering in the light as they fluttered now and then towards Margreta with loving little glances. They then turned toward Aster and changed completely, as though a person entirely alien from the one just on the stand

“My sister hates her, though,” she declared with a stark tone. Aster immediately froze.

What?

Before she realized what was happening the entire courtroom was looking in her direction. Eyes were on her from all angles and there was nowhere to avert her gaze. She felt a pressure on her right hand and looked down to see her father clasping it.

“She always gives her trouble, and yet mom never stoops down to her level! If anyone is to blame for her problems then it's Aster!” Dahlia exclaimed, pointing now directly at her. Aster felt her chest seize at the action; it tightened as though it were bound with twine held around Dahlia's finger, who was now pulling it taught.

A commotion was tearing through the crowd. Glances scoured her, the jury leered at her with excited smiles. Aster's heart was beating so quickly that she thought it would give out. The room was spinning, reeling; in all of the sisters' mutual animosity towards one another Aster had not foreseen this happening. The shock of it was like a sudden punch to the gut, and Aster felt herself keeling over from the weakness the sheer impact of it had wrought. Her father and Aunt Margot helped her steady herself while the theater continued.

“Please be more detailed in that accusation,” the Judicial Eye replied.

“Aster's just an awful person! She's mean, she's stuck up, and she's always angry! Mom always tries to be kind to her and Aster knows it so she behaves awfully, because she knows she's too nice to do anything to her!”

“Let the jury know that the 'Aster' in question is the eldest child of the concerned, details of whom you can find on page four section 2a within the layout of genealogy.”

“She was fine until Aster started getting moody and weird. Everyone's talking about mom changing but Aster's the one who became a problem! She cussed at mom when she was only scolding her and stormed out of the house! It's not surprising that anyone would be angry at that! And then she causes more trouble, and then— and then mom tries to stop her, and—” Dahlia had begun to cry, and couldn't continue her words.

The Judicial Eye waited a moment, before pressing her.

“The report states that the concerned struck her eldest daughter.”

“No— that's because Aster just kept pushing her!” she cried. “Every time anything bad happened it was Aster! She didn't want to join the Sunshines, she doesn't respect anything!”

“You believe your mother to be mentally sound?”

“Yes! She's smarter than anyone I've ever met!”

“What do you think of her worth to society?”

“She's the hardest worker you could ever find! She helps me all the time; she hates the Vanguard; she helps out around the tower; she's the best! You've already called my entire Sunshine squad up; they said the same thing! My mom was only having a bad day!”

—

How could she go up to the stand following this? The thought was already borderline impossible— placing herself before so many eyes to speak on a topic she knew not where she stood under such pressure— but now it was beyond even the realm of impossibility, where Aster figured that even in an infinite amount of realities there would not be one which had her going up there. Her entire body was numb, and even her unfathomable senses of panic, dread, and anxiety seemed to be swallowed up by the sheer magnitude of the event, which was such that her body was shutting down to protect her from it. She began to lose track of the goings on in the room by greater and greater degrees until what seemed like a second had passed and Dahlia was already rushing back down to them, radiant in smug joy like she had nailed the part in a school play. Their father and Aunt Margot stepped aside to let her pass like the clouds opening to welcome Nephilim. Aster looked at her father as he rose and was struck by the absolute vacancy of hope within; as though he had finally accepted the human race was a flawed, hollow creation.

A great commotion followed Dahlia's descent, and Aster felt the eyes fixed on her break away one by one as the room directed its attention towards the next person to speak— Marienne.

Aster tried to inhale but only felt the sensation of one sucking through a broken straw. A deep, painful wheeze shook her lungs and she was suddenly met with the feeling that all hope had evaporated. It was truly impressive, she thought while watching Marienne make her way to the stand, how she did so with such decorum and dignity, looking so refined that it would've been admirable if her presence alone didn't preclude all hope for the future.

The chatter did not cease as Marienne sat and began to make herself comfortable. The audience was well aware of her stature as a high-ranking member of the Mother's Helpers, and were hopeful that her testimony would liven up what had been up to that point a considerably dull affair. They were looking for drama; for shouts, for cries, for people being tazed and led out of the courtroom in handcuffs. This was what happened in all of the high-ranking cases and was perfect fare to be talked about for months in living rooms across the country. Events of such magnitude were of course rare, and so there was a palpable disappointment manifesting in the air before Marienne had been called to take the stand. The judge was not alone in experiencing a feeling or at least being cognizant of the underwhelming events that had played out thus far; he was a servant of the state, a special member of the citizenry given the precious responsibility of one of the few jobs left to humanity. It was thus not stated but implicitly understood that he had a certain duty in his hearings, where he was responsible for refining the optics which the lower classes used to look at the higher ones, in the form of theatrics which could incite and excite citizens to support their government.

The hearing so far had been composed of almost nothing but good words; of endorsements and refutations that the concerned's change in mental state and even the striking of her child could all be traced to a response to stress. It seemed fairly clear cut and dry that the jury would acquit her and that he would have to try much harder to produce fireworks with the next hearings.

—

“Records show no familial connection; state your relationship with the concerned.”

“I am a close friend of the concerned. I was also responsible for the rehabilitation of her eldest daughter, Aster.”

“Files show that rehabilitation has concluded; it was successful?”

Marienne pursed her lips and smiled ironically.

“I would not say successful. I did not have enough time with her to get any real work done.”

“Why were sessions terminated, then? The directive of a Mother's Helper is to continue therapy until the patient is either deemed rehabilitated or brought up for euthanasia.”

“Certain facts came to light following our last session, which, owing to this hearing required me to bow out due to conflict of interest.”

A great roar erupted from the audience, which in its din seemed to steal away all the heat in Aster's body. It passed over her like a wave buoying her body; so numb was she that it felt as though she were no longer even contained within herself. With agony, she watched as fear, surprise, and terror, like a rubber mask bunched up in someone's hands, contorted her father's face. This grotesque expression turned to her but said nothing, could say nothing, but only implore through that pained glance a message from a well of fear deeper than most people ever experience in their lives— What does she mean? What did you tell her?

“What are these facts?” the Judicial Eye asked above the clamor. Judge Rudolf was failing to gain control and was now threatening the use of tear agents on the crowd if they did not contain themselves. Their cries quickly abated and the crowd pursed their lips in contemptuous, scolded smiles.

Marienne readied herself with a look of great severity, contrasting her earlier breezy expression like the black of a shadow on the face of the moon. “To understand the gravity of what I learned it is necessary to understand what brought about the concerned's sudden shift in personality.”

More clamor.

“You're disputing the explanation that stress was the source of her mental agitation?”

“Yes. While stress certainly played a part in it, it was not the chief reason for her sudden decline; that is owed to a significantly traumatic event.”

A sharp groan from her father caused Aster to turn in alarm. He was looking on in fixed determination at the stand like nothing had occurred and didn't even return Aster's look, but the sound had been clear as day.

“There was an event which occurred on the 25th of October, 2051.” She looked at the Judicial Eye. “Shall I recount it or shall you read from the police records?”

“Proceed.”

“Very well. The event I speak of pertains to the abduction of two children— the eldest daughter of the concerned and my son. Both were very good friends and were together often, chiefly because her mother and I were often together. Naturally, I entrusted my son to her whenever I couldn't watch him myself; I preferred him having the company of a real friend to simulated companionship or a pediatric servo. It was a wonderful arrangement; it gave him a sense of socialization other children were missing. “Then one day I learned that Margreta— the concerned— had turned her eye from the children for a moment. It was recounted to me that while she was away, her daughter— Aster— had taken my son from their apartment with the intention of showing him the recreation room located in Hub Three: “Campagnia”, which she had first visited with her father some days before.

“Unbeknownst to them two individuals had been in the hall waiting for this opportunity and abducted the children. The chief aim of this, I was told, was to ransom the concerned's daughter.”

Aster turned to her father— and he turned away instantly. A chilled hand passed through her, and the great unknown of what her parents were— which she had never bothered herself with because within her insular, self-absorbed life it never mattered— stared back at her with the threat of extraordinary reckoning.

“You see, her father— the concerned's husband— was a chief AI architect on several revolutionary boards. The goal of the men was to abduct his daughter and extort a ransom, but unfortunately, my son was caught in the crossfire. While we have no reason to suspect that they intended to kill anyone, he ended up dying at their hands.

This was all we knew. Even the number of individuals was a guess garnered by interviews with neighbors. No one leaves their homes, so nobody saw anything; nobody knew anything. And then I had a productive session with the concerned's daughter.”

Marienne, knowing the weight of her words, paused, letting them sink into the audience. She seemed to relish the chaos that unfolded, delighted in the power mere words could have; and she hadn't even told them what she discovered, yet.

“Go on,” the Judicial Eye demanded of Marienne. Aster turned to her father, but unlike the majority of the room he wasn't reacting; in fact, he seemed as though he were no longer there. He had gone pale and looked at Marienne like he was gazing far into the distance at the arrival of something he long feared would come. Dahlia was holding onto him compassionately and he still held onto Aster's hand, though now all strength was gone.

“I learned that there were indeed two men; they belonged to the Vanguard.”

The crowd exploded in shouts. People rose and hollered, and with no hesitation, tear agents were being let loose indiscriminately into random quadrants of the room. Noah suddenly came to life, and unbuttoning his upper dress shirt, took both the long sleeves and gave them to his daughters so that they could protect themselves from the stinging mist which threatened to draw near. All the while Marienne continued to testify.

“State your evidence,” demanded the Judicial Eye.

“My patient recalled that the two men wore emblems of a lamb eating a wreath of roses; the symbol of the Vanguard. While I can draw no connection of the concerned to the Vanguard, I do believe it curious that they would have any reason to kidnap her daughter; I do not believe them to be an organization that would need to lower themselves to the level of attaining funds through ransom. Furthermore, the majority of accounts and sightings of the Vanguard have been spurious, making this a claim of the highest importance to the state, and the reason why I have included it in my testimony, rather than confiding it privately.

“In conclusion, I believe that the kidnapping was the primary trigger of the concerned's marked decline. It formed an animosity between herself and her eldest daughter, whom she took to represent the physical embodiment of that event; a constant reminder. I cannot explain as to why the Vanguard took an interest in her daughter, but perhaps her husband and the daughter herself will be able to explain.”

—

There was a tumble, and then a turning of heads like blades of grass brushed by gale towards a spot in the middle of the room. Aster had collapsed, and her father and aunt, as well as several strangers, were attending to her.

“She needs room!” her father shouted, trying to clear the onlookers who were rubbernecking around them. Several officers and police servos made their way over to check on the situation and talked with her father for a minute before coming to the decision to take Aster to an adjacent waiting room in the building while the hearing concluded. Noah was deeply conflicted, believing that Aster had a right to defend her mother and should be there to see the verdict, but he also saw the state she was in, pale and sticky with a sheen of sweat, and trembling. There was no way to expect anything but this reaction to the news she had been delivered; he long tried to keep it from her, but was now realizing the greed on his part.

Margreta's eyes passed over Aster as she was carried out of the room, but as they had the entire session went through her as though she wasn't there. Judge Rudolf, assured that after several minutes the hysteria was dying down, and seeing that the servos were vacuuming out the tear gas, instructed the hearing to proceed.

“Two more questions,” declared the Judicial Servo. “I would like you to elucidate on your relationship with the concerned; were you friends?”

“Yes, very good friends. We met in high school and grew inseparable in college, having only each other as companions. She then met Noah— her husband— in one of her classes and we soon became a regular clique. They were very passionate about AI and its potential to help the world, while I lamented the eventual loss of what I saw as my autonomy. Thus, as all passionate relationships do, it cooled under the influence of changing winds; though this was more true for me than it was for her; I kept this hidden.

“My son's death was the ultimate notch in a signpost pointing towards the end of all our tenderness; and to me, truly, the end of all tenderness.

“In regards to the question which has brought us all here today— a statement on the continued benefit the concerned could bring to society— I state that there is none.”

A roar erupted.

“There is no benefit I can see in allowing somebody who has already inadvertently brought death into the state's house— who continues to act out and even strike her own child— to walk among us. Our society is our one hope of survival; you do not allow weeds to fester in your garden just because you have some affinity for them.”

—

Many things passed through Noah's mind as Marienne rose and disembarked from the stand. Most were scrambled, frantic worries, coalescing around one supreme terror— that his wife was surely dead— like the halos of Saturn. The crowd was rapturous in actual applause and the jury looked like there couldn't have been a happier group of people on Earth. His name was called and the stand loomed large in his sight, but he couldn't help but feel empty. He couldn't help but feel that he was going through the motions of a play that was already written, but that he was only seeing for the first time.

A hot wind in the form of the crowd's roar carried his back like a sail up the stand into his place, where he turned and faced them for the first time. Their eyes ate him up and tickled him with the gleam of their fever, utterly rapturous in excitement at what the husband of the concerned could say.

He saw them all; neighbors, his youngest, the absence of his oldest, his sister-in-law, Marienne, the anonymous mask of humanity represented by those hundred people, and lastly— beside him— his wife and dearest.

A sinking in his heart unlike that which he had ever felt brought him almost instantly to tears before everyone. He had never felt before that the words which he held inside could be so useless; that his every action carried as much weight behind it as a paper bag. But he had to take the stand; it was required if he wished to continue living with himself, for the sake of his daughters.

“You are the husband of the concerned?” the Judicial Eye asked.

“Yes.”

“In your opinion, what is responsible for the decline of the concerned's mental state?”

“The kidnapping, as Helper Marienne stated. It was traumatic, and Margreta hasn't really ever gotten over the guilt.”

“Did you take any action to try and help the concerned following this?”

“Of course. We tried various neural augmentations and scheduled her with a Mother's Helper; though it seemed the slope was too precipitous.”

“You are the most intimately acquainted with the concerned, and thus would know best; do you believe the alteration of her mood poses a threat to society?”

There was a slab of granite in the belly of Noah; an unbearable weight to remind him that his feelings were not his alone; the calcification of mistrust in himself and fear that he could not truly stand by his love. His lips felt as though they were nailed shut; he had to open them, but knew that they would loose Margreta's fate and so he did not, because she lived as long as he kept silent.

“Answer.”

“I do not.”

A dull murmur was the response to this, and Noah felt like seconds bled into eons waiting for the shrill reprimand he'd receive for a lie. Yet, nothing came.

“Do you believe, even in her altered state, that she can provide worth to the productivity of society?” the Judicial Eye continued, accepting his answer.

Noah began to shake, and tears welled up in his eyes from the force of the shock. He hadn't realized how hard his heart was beating but he could feel it undulating within his throat.

“Yes,” he answered, suddenly growing more confident. “There is no need to look any further than the two daughters she has raised to see that it would be a disgrace to the world to deny them of her.

“She is as fallible as each and every person in this room, but that's the entire reason why we invest in this great society; because we are stronger together and make up for each other's shortcomings. The minute that we feel it is appropriate to throw anyone overboard for exhibiting the slightest sign of weakness is the moment that the entire thing collapses. There will be no end to the denouncements, and there will be no ground on which strong moral character will be ever firm enough to stand.

“You have not seen her truly; you have not seen the love she shone on Aster when she was born, or the lengths to which she devoted herself to ensuring her happiness. You have seen only the end result of evil actions, and contented yourself with thinking that the tip of the iceberg resembled the whole.”

His voice was suddenly cut off by tears which choked him, and he excused himself as he wiped them away.

“There is an entire universe within her you do not know and will never understand. It is a tragedy that the young boy died— a young boy I knew well and was very fond of— but it is no more a reflection on Margreta's character than any light upon the sun.

“She responded to that terrible event how any person with depth of soul would and the very fact that there was a negative decline in her following it is evidence that she is a person of merit, because anyone truly dangerous to society would not care. Anyone truly dangerous would not mourn the loss but would instead take it as a mantle saying they can hurt because they have been hurt.

“Margreta has only been hurt. And your decision determines whether you will continue that trend, and inflict the final blow.”

Noah gave a deep, shuttering exhale and concluded. "Your choice is not just whether or not a person benefits society, but whether you will excise my heart."

—

A circus-like atmosphere came upon the courtroom following the conclusion of the review of the witnesses. The jury looked jubilant; not ten minutes had passed since Noah had finished his speech and yet they were already signaling to Judge Rudolf that they wished to deliver their verdict. (The jury's deliberation was usually drawn out to extend their fun and to aid the suspense of the audience.)

“Not guilty!” they cried excitedly, evidently basking in the significance of having final decision on this woman's life. Still more, it was a decidedly contrarian decision that only excited the group further because everyone was expecting death, as that was the standard outcome of these procedures.

Dahlia and Aunt Margot embraced Noah as all three wept like they never had in their lives. Noah was absolutely numb and the news had not yet sunk in, both because he was so exhausted and that he had not dared to believe in the impossibility of an acquittal.

But the verdict was registered clear as day on their AR screens, and Margreta was taken back into state custody pending several days of bureaucratic odds and ends which needed to be resolved before she would be released to the family under probationary watch.

The first conscious thought that crept into Noah's head was that of his eldest daughter, who was still under care in one of the adjacent rooms. He shuddered in terror, not knowing how to navigate the revelations which had been made known to her and fearing that there wasn't enough wind left in his sails to explain to her what he just had before the crowd. But in this tumult twinkled at least one dim hope— that she could love Margreta once again.