My time at the hall of knowledge was a whirlwind of defense, evidence, and plain old hard work, with Tazha and Terna counseling me in every point. The tapes got more mature as I advanced through the system, and despite all the many rules of etiquette for me to learn, processes of the council, and many reams of history to go through, my mind absorbed them all. And past the tapes, Tazha told me that anything I could learn of the Knowle Institute of history that might be helpful to me in some way.

I engaged my eidetic memory and spent my evenings pouring through the material she provided me. Most of it was terribly dry, but I managed to glean several minor insights into the Institute’s various processes and practices, as well as the three council members that would sit in judgment of my statements.

Each of them were elder Knowles, scholars of history. One was a master of Silken Sands history, another of the Sol system’s history. The third caught my attention the most, as she was a master of my own history. She had devoted his life to studying the year of chaos that had been my rule over the BuyMort system, as well as the months that came before. Her writings on the subject were insightful, and she divided my rule into three eras.

The Warlord of Arizona era, the Warlord of Nu-Earth era, and the Warlord of BuyMort era.

Her commentary on my history was almost always accurate, she had a knack for seeing through the haze of lies and the fog of war to find the truth of most any encounter I was part of.

My studies focused on her teachings considerably. Her name was Adjudicator May.

Throughout everything, I attempted to keep in contact with Nozzle, using a BuyMort bridging service to occasionally connect to him and his gobbs, and to occasionally send support their way.

During one choppy conversation I broached the topic of creating an affiliate with him, only to find that he’d already done so.

I visited it, finding it to be a fully immersive nightmare of chaotically random goods and services, including offers to “experience packages” that promised such scenarios as a “full space pirate experience” or a “Personalized Alien Abduction Experience”.

It was something that, when all of this blew over, I would really have to sit down and work on with him.

Time really flew by, and before I knew it, the first day of the trial had arrived. As I stood in front of the mirror, preparing for the day, the lessons of the prior week rolled through my head. First steps, of course, were appearance. I needed to appear confident, respectful, scholastic, and ready.

I was told my former warlike nature was something I had to keep out of everyone's minds. From behavior to image. Terna gave me a whole wardrobe to pick through, and my first attempt at non-hostile dress made her snort laughter, but I was pretty sure that the next time through I was picking the right stuff. I chose a suit that looked good on a business man, but avoided the corporate gray, going for a fabric that was a deep midnight blue and that shimmered when it caught the light. It was the sort of thing that less screamed CEO, or Warlord, and more whispered "mild-mannered reporter at the Daily Planet".

Keeping with that theme, the rest of it all sort of fell into place. Under the suit was a crisp white dress shirt. through the collar ran the fabric of my tie, a rich, dark red dotted with black triangles and knotted in a precise Windsor knot. My cufflinks were silver and polished, bearing the old insignia of Silken Sands and a reminder of not just who I was, but what the past had been.

On my feet I wore polished black leather shoes and for once my hair was neatly and professionally styled, and my face freshly shaven. I wouldn’t miss the beard, it had grown more out of neglect than any stylistic choice on my part.

I coughed and adjusted the knot of my tie, making sure it was centered correctly. There were bulges and outlines due to my starfish, but there was nothing I could do about those, so I turned my head, glancing over my cheek for stray hairs suit one final time when Tazha and Terna opened the door and entered the room.

"You’re looking good, Tyson," Tazha said, giving me a once up and down. “Appropriate choice of attire.” I noticed that she was wearing an even more expensive suit, one whose very blackness almost seemed to drain all the other colors of the room of their vibrancy. She was carrying a sleek, silver briefcase in her left hand, and she'd changed her glass to narrower, more aggressive shaped lenses.

Seeing her eyes through those glasses momentarily made me imagine her as a sniper, and I smirked.

"Looking good yourself, Tazha," I answered.

Terna checked my appearance and gave a nod of approval. She herself was dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal gray suit, custom fitted to every aspect of her athletic frame. It looked like it probably cost a ton of morties, and then I realized that almost assuredly one of her own people had made it outside of the system. Under her suit she wore a white blouse, and a slim black tie, no frills or funny shapes anywhere. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, and I couldn't help but think that her entire ensemble somehow made her appear that much more intimidating than her normal survivor self.

In her hand, she carried a slim black portfolio, the words Tyson Dawes scrawled over it in Hobb.

"Looks like we are all ready," Tazha said matter-of-factly, already turning away and starting to walk out the door. Terna and I followed, all of our steps clacking over the floors as we marched. "Remember, though logic is the most valuable aspect to a Knowle legal defense, the character of a witness is also on trial, as the mind of the individual can be questioned by their apparent demeanor as well as their public image. Remember your lessons on how to present yourself, how to speak, and how to handle their questions. No lies, no exaggerations, and complete confidence."

"Yeah. Got it. No pressure," I joked, eager to get this over with. I reached up to scratch my nose, and her hand knocked my hand away before it even got close to its target.

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"No! You must show your ability to resist such distractions."

I grumbled, letting the itch fester and spread out, thanking the spaghetti above when it faded away.

"Glad I'm not on trial," Terna added, scratching the tip of her nose. I frowned, feeling my own itch start up again.

We stepped out of the Hall of Knowledge, marching slowly down its many steps towards a sleek and stately shuttle waiting on its own private landing pad, surrounded by cordoned-off press and onlookers.

"Discover the Pinnacle of Interstellar Travel with the StarChaser Elite! Experience Unmatched Luxury and Efficiency!" an ad screamed in my ear. "Step into a world where elegance meets innovation. The StarChaser Elite is designed for those who demand the very best in interstellar travel. Whether you're a business mogul, a galactic warrior, or a discerning traveler, this shuttle promises an experience like no other."

I waved it away. It might have been interesting information, but I was hardly in the mood to go shopping.

The words stopped abruptly, and we made our way into the craft.

Inside, the shuttle's cabin was something like I'd imagined the Presidents experienced on AirForce One. The seats were upholstered in rich, dark leather, massage controls set into their side and chock full of various positions and settings. The walls were paneled over with a dark wood finish, the symbol of a pyramid entrapped in a circle burned into the center of each. Soft, ambient lighting illuminated the cabin, casting a warm, golden hue over everything.

I raised an eyebrow at it and Terna laughed. "No, this isn't what I'd normally use. But we have to keep appearances. Expect crowds."

There were also recliners. Each of these seats had their own holo-display embedded into the armrest, networked through BuMort to allow passengers access to various games, videos, and other electronic amenities, and there was a table in the center of the craft, with swivel chairs bolted in a circle around it, obviously good for last-minute face-to-face meetings. I wondered if I might be guided there, and given even more information to process, but instead Tazha and Terna made their way to the recliners, and kicked back almost immediately.

I took my own recliner, but didn't kick it back, instead staring out at the multiverse that I had once known.

As the shuttle ascended smoothly from Terna's world, the view from the windows was breathtaking. Below us, the sprawling landscapes of Terna's homeworld flowed by, glass twinkling and shining. Stars glittered and blinked, and I couldn't help but wonder if there were fewer of them than there had been before. It seemed like everything had gone to hell after I'd gone.

The flight was smooth and soundless, and I watched and ruminated as we traveled across the surface of Terna’s World. Soon, we descended again and flew through large tunnels that provided access to the specialized hab block that housed our destination.

The ship flew smoothly inside flowing lights that guided our way beneath ground, and once we entered the hab block, the Hall of Judgement came into view. It was one of the larger buildings near the Hall of Knowledge I had trained at.

I stared and felt my heart race as the shuttle began its descent. We dipped down, swooping into a park filled with monuments and statues of Knowle scientists and philosophers, angling and then coming to a stand still over the landing pad. This pad was part of the structure itself, one of many I could see now. It was large, circular, and had a long stone bridge connecting it to the main building.

I sighed as I looked at the bridge. It was full of people, most likely protestors.

The shuttle touched down with a soft thud, and Terna and Tazha's recliners automatically repositioned themselves. Both of them stood and I followed suit. As the engines powered down, the cabin doors slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a group of BlueCleave guards and judiciary officials waiting to greet us.

None of them smiled, and all looked ready to get down to business.

We stepped out of the shuttle, and I briefly took in the cultivated sight of the Judgement grounds. They were quite beautiful—lush gardens filled with exotic flora, meticulously maintained paths, and statues of past scholars lined the walkways that circled the behemoth complex.

"Welcome to the Hall of Judgment," one of the officials said, bowing slightly. "We have been expecting you."

I bowed back, as I had learned was custom. "Thank you. I look forward to judgment."

"Thank you," Tazha replied, on script. "We are ready."

The officials and BlueCleave surrounded us and marched us forward through the mess of people on the bridge. At first our presence instilled a curious quiet over them, but as we moved, I could see people starting to get worked up. It started with the media, of course, reporters going up to the guards and yelling at us over their shoulders as the camera drones zipped about like mosquitos on a summer night.

"Tyson, over here! Can you give us a statement?" one reporter shouted, her voice barely audible over the din.

"What do you say to the accusations of genocide in your official capacities?" another called out.

"Is it true that you ruined the multiverse?" yelled another.

We all marched on, stone-faced, as the questions continued to come. I kept my gaze forward, maintaining the calm and composed demeanor we had rehearsed. Tazha raised her hand as we walked.

"Mr. Dawes will not be making any statements at this time," she said firmly, her voice firm and demanding. "The trial will reveal the truth. Please respect the process."

With that, we moved through the throng, parting the sea of people just enough for us to pass.

The interior lobby of the Hall of Judgment was impressive. The floors were a pristine white marble, inlaid with golden patterns that formed intricate geometric shapes. Grand staircases flanked both sides of the room, leading to upper balconies upon which some onlookers had begun yelling insults, others their support. A scuffle broke out between two and a guard rushed in from seemingly nowhere to break them up.

Above us hung a massive chandelier, each of its thousands of tiny, glowing orbs rotating as if they were planets. And hanging just below them flickered the holographic image of the first Knowle scholar, his stern visage looking down upon us. We marched on through, and I resisted the urge to turn my head and examine everything.

"Stay close," Terna muttered as we made our way through the lobby. "Crowds like this are perfect cover for anyone wanting to cause trouble."

I kept to the script, not reacting at all. As we neared the entrance to the trial chamber, a final checkpoint awaited us. Security Knowles, dressed in sleek, dark uniforms, scanned our credentials and waved us through.

The trial chamber itself was a vast, circular room with high ceilings and walls lined with bookshelves, all of which were filled with ancient texts and legal tomes. The room was bathed in a soft, ambient light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, leaving no shadows.

At the far end of the chamber was the council’s bench, a structure made of dark wood and adorned with the insignia of the Knowle Institute of History. Behind the bench sat the three elder Knowles, their faces just as devoid of emotion as my own.

To the left and right of the chamber, rows of seating were filled with spectators, all of whom watched us silently as we made our way to the defendant's table.

Tazha placed her silver briefcase on the table and began organizing our documents with practiced efficiency while Terna took a seat. I, as per protocol, strode past them and bowed to the judges, thanking each of them for presiding over my case, before sitting back down next to Terna.

A voice boomed through the room, a stern Knowle woman's voice who managed to sound downright doom-laden.

"The trial of Tyson Dawes will now commence," she announced, her voice echoing through the chamber. "Let the proceedings begin."

With those words, the trial was in motion. There was no turning back.