As expected, I did end up dragged away for Jupiter's hearing.
The summons came as I was finally getting my apartment into a semi-presentable state. The worst of the broken glass had been cleaned up, the wallpaper replaced, and I'd retrieved the one roomba that had somehow ended up lodged in the vents.
I looked at the pile of garbage I intended to throw away. Old clothes and books, ruined by water. The latter belonged to Anjana, I hadn't touched a dead-tree book in decades. The random miscellaneous possessions that magically tended to accrue when you lived a life together, each unwilling to throw them away because they believed it belonged to another.
There were some children's toys, still working. A birthday card, too soggy to make out the name written on it, albeit it seemed familiar. Did we ever throw a party for Anjana's married friends?
I had taken the opportunity to order new furniture, I had a taste for good old Ikea that she had always found boring, but I found that sitting down and screwing in a new table took my mind off things.
A bunch of paintings, pictures of her deceased parents, makeup and accessories. Those could be put away pending her return.
I found a sun-dress that she'd worn last time she was home, still vacuum sealed. I inhaled the warm scent it carried, provoking a pang of longing, before putting it away with the rest of her things.
There was a ping, notifying me to get a space clear, so I ordered a French window to slide open, activated the floor markers and moved more junk out of the way, and then stepped clear myself.
With a pop, an old man appeared on my balcony, wearing biker leathers that hung off his skinny frame.
"Mornin' Adat. How's bachelor life treating ya?" He drawled, looking at the minor humanitarian crisis in my bedroom.
"I don't miss it, I'll tell you that much. Can I interest you in some tea?" I asked him, leading him to my kitchen table.
"Tea sounds plenty good, but on the other hand, brandy.." He said hopefully, pointing at my surprisingly intact liquor rack.
"Oldie, it's 8 am, and you're supposed to be teleporting me to Guiana. What you do is your business, but I'm not letting you carry me drunk." I told him, handing him a cup.
"Bah humbug. Haven't had me a TP accident since '39. I'll just visit that nice pub in Sao Paulo if I'll be in the neighborhood." Old Timer said, chugging the tea down as if it would make him drunk.
I was fond of the old fool, he'd been a good mentor to Anjana before she'd shipped out, and still made time in his busy schedule to check in with me. Still, today was all business and no pleasure. Well, a little pleasure wouldn't hurt, and I could use a drink myself..
"Why do you talk like that?" I asked him, opening up a bottle while he looked on appreciatively.
"I'm called Old Timer kiddo, that's why." He said, relishing the liquor.
" 'Sides, It reminds me of my son, he used to be so fond of Dickens, had me read him a story every single night. At a certain point, you begin to understand why those old men were so grumpy." I poured him another shot, he'd need it.
"Do you still have those dreams?" I asked him gently.
"Only when I can't get a nightcap. Damn good century it is, a man can drink without ruining his liver.."
"Right. Let's get you to France." He said, setting aside the glass.
"Hold on old man, it's French Guiana, not mainland France. You got them confused last time." I reminded him, keeping an eye on the manipulators restocking. They'd been glitching out, likely damaged by the salt water.
"Close 'nuff. Now, hold on tight." He told me. I nodded, and activated the transponder.
Oldie was a Class 4 teleporter, almost minimal warmup and cooldown, global range too, but with the disadvantage that he needed to sympathetically link to a transponder or other marker to make a jump. Still, when it came to getting to important, high traffic places, that wasn't an issue.
Another pop, and we were in Guiana. I sighed, he'd brought my table with him. Undoubtedly UN Logistics would try and charge me his usual rates if I had him send it back. He shrugged apologetically, thanked me for the drink, and vanished, off to do whatever they deemed him useful for.
I swallowed, letting the air equalize in pressure with my inner ears, and took stock of my surroundings. I was in the arrivals section of the UN HQ in Cayenne, a gorgeous old building done up in the resurgent Art Deco style.
It was a sunny day, the rapidly dissipating hurricane hadn't cast a blemish this far out. I cleared the cubicle set aside for teleporters, stepped over the telefrag warning signs on the floor, and walked over towards the people mover headed for the Kangaroo Court.
Not that that was its real name, in more respectable society, the Metahuman Tribunal, an arm of the ICJ, was the benevolent regulator helping keep humanity safe, alongside its sibling, the Transhuman Tribunal. I'd seen how the bacon was made far too often to hold onto that rosy image.
The Metahuman Tribunal building stood tall and imposing at the corner of the UN compound, its impressive architecture drawing the eye of all who passed by. The building was a fusion of sleek, modern design and classic elegance, combining the latest in technological advancements with the timeless beauty of marble.
From the outside, the building appeared to be made entirely of shimmering, iridescent graphene panels, the material reflecting the light in a way that made it seem as though the building was constantly shifting and changing. The sleek lines and sharp angles of the structure gave it a futuristic feel, and the way it seemed to blend seamlessly with the sky made it almost seem as though it was floating.
As one approached the building, however, it became apparent that the exterior was merely a facade. The interior of the building was lined with towering marble pillars, their smooth surfaces polished to a high shine. The marble gave the space a sense of grandeur and opulence, and the high ceilings and expansive windows let in plenty of natural light.
The layout of the building was equally impressive. The main entrance led into a grand foyer, where visitors were greeted by a reception desk staffed by friendly, impeccably dressed attendants. Beyond the foyer was a large atrium, with a soaring glass ceiling that flooded the space with sunlight. The atrium was surrounded by balconies and walkways, giving visitors a breathtaking view of the building's interior.
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I craned my neck back to trace the lines of the Space Elevator, acting as the world's tallest sundial as it cast a shadow over the Tribunal building.
My clearances let me pass through expedited security, leaving behind a rabble of hopeful applicants and anxious hangers-on behind.
An anxious mother was yelling in Spanish, surrounded by security guards. A few unarmed drones were doing circles by the ceiling, their programming not quite sure what to do when faced with a baby that cooed happily, uncaring of the ruckus, while happily crawling upside down on the roof a dozen meters above the ground.
I bet the kid would have a security clearance and an ID card before the day was done. Hell, a bigger salary than I had to boot.
"Dr. Sen, you're here for the trial of Sam Gray aren't you?" An official with a bob cut said, calling me away from the other harried workers headed to their stations.
I handed her my summons, got my hair in order, and followed her away from the public-facing part of the structure to where a blast door lead underground.
The décor underground was much the same as that above. There were multiple life-sized sculptures, commemorating the superhumans who had given their lives in the course of duty.
They included only the important ones here, the 4s and above. To keep a full count of all the millions who had died out there among the stars would take up far too much space.
Tiger. Depicted mid-transformation, roaring at a Centaur warform, hardly half-way done but still rivaling it in size.
He's died choking on his own vomit, biochemistry obliterated by a neutron sweep.
Potemkin. Seen arranging a game board, akin to some kind of tabletop roleplaying game, but with military structures. No, instead of living out the Warhammer nerd's dream, he'd died in an orbital bombardment once the Centaurs wised to his tricks.
Patois, killed during the first contact, her talents at translation no good in the face of a devouring nanite swarm.
They stretched on and on, mirroring the public replicas up above.
I took a left turn, passing through discreet scanners, and found myself before a courtroom, with a rather disgruntled looking biomech, like a minotaur with digitigrade legs, pawing at the marble floor in front of it.
Some kind of one-off tinker piece, more for intimidation than anything else.
A few journalists milled about, drinking coffee and talking shop, while a small family huddled in a corner.
I recognized them, Jupiter's kin. His mother was sobbing, eyeliner and makeup running, while his father, clad in the eye-catching uniform of the US Space Force, did his best to appear stoic. His younger brother and sister were wide-eyed, busy hiding behind their mother and avoiding the gaze of the mech to observe their surroundings.
They clearly recognized me, from the days when I counseled Jupiter instead of arresting him, I gave them an even wider berth than I did the mech, submitting my ID for another scan, trying not to wince as an antiquated bioscanner poked me unexpectedly for a blood sample, and then entered the courtroom.
It was a more restrained environment compared to the exterior of the building, you could have been in any large courthouse in the Western hemisphere. The most remarkable part was a statue of Justice, mounted on a pedestal behind the judge's podium, a fully animated and moving sculpture created by the supe artist Jennifer Lee.
I tried not to flinch beneath her uncompromising gaze, and went over to my booth, as a small buzzer rang and people started trickling in.
Judge Xiao walked in, imposing as hell in his outfit, a nanite cloak that swirled around him. He took his seat as if he was rooted in place, unwilling or incapable of one twitch out of turn.
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It was rare to see him venture outside the PRC, I assumed he was here more for the PR than anything else, what with how much demand there was for his abilities.
He banged his gavel, a sound that reverberated through the room, making everyone sit up just a bit straighter, suppressing the urge to fidget. More Crafter technology.
On his order, a door opened, revealing Jupiter flanked by guard androids. They weren't truly necessary, any nonsense and he'd be seizing on the floor.
He walked, mildly unsteady, over to his booth, eyes slightly glazed as the relieving agent for the parrot I'd given him worked to undo the erratic brain activity.
The studs had been removed, far too brutal for public viewing, instead, what he wore resembled a tiara or coronet, but it was just as embedded into his brain.
His lawyer looked anxious. I knew the type, fresh out of law school, eager to make a name for herself, still not truly internalizing the reality that her client's fate had been set in stone well before he had crossed over the marble, no, fixed when he first manifested. She'd learn, they usually did.
The Judge read through the usual procedural bullshit, identifying the accused, calling on witnesses to identify themselves. I gave my name and credentials and sat myself down as quickly as I could. The less reason he had to use his powers on me, the better.
"Today, we decide on the fate of Mr. Samuel Gray, also known by the alias Little Jupiter. He stands accused of desertion, insubordination, Grand Terrorism, aiding and abetting the Centaurs in their scheme to deal ruin upon humanity." He intoned, his voice shaking my very bones.
Jupiter bucked, fighting against his nerve shackles, and on hearing the last charge, became almost apoplectic.
The procedures were quick, especially with a judge who was proven to be able to detect a lie from fifty paces. He listened gravely to the military prosecutor from the US lay out the charges, only turning to look at Sam once before stamping his seal on the relevant documents.
"The charges speak for themselves. It would be a farce to force this court to go through the usual motions, Mr. Gray is incontrovertibly guilty on all counts. All that matters now is what cannot be dismissed as a simple matter of truth or lie, but requires judgement and my eye. The court will now hear of any extenuating circumstances and decide on an appropriate punishment." Xiao declared, his word law. I couldn't even think of disobeying.
"Your honor. As per the documents I filed, I believe my client is due a trial before a jury of his peers. I have no wish to impugn any deficiency in your judgement, but I only wish to state that I believe that he deserves more leniency as a minor." Sam's lawyer said, looking timid as Xiao mulled over her words.
"Denied. Take your seat, Miss Clark." She collapsed as if struck by lightning.
The court moved as if on a timer, witnesses rushed on to give their statements before Judge Xiao, his face more graven and less animated than the moving statue behind him.
My time on the stand was mercifully brief. I did what I could for the boy, telling the judge that while mental fitness standards had been loosened in the face of the onslaught in AC, that Jupiter still shouldn't have been approved for his second tour.
I described his PTSD, stating that in my opinion Gray was simply not in his right mind, and asked for clemency. My mind itched under his scrutiny, but thankfully I was dismissed before I risked an aneurysm.
It was all over within twenty minutes barring the sentencing.
"In my opinion, justice delayed is justice denied. My time is short, and Mr. Gray will need all the time he can get to begin making amends for his misconduct. It is my final decision, not subject to appeal, that Samuel Gray may best commence his penance by submitting to the Florence-Sen procedure. While tragic, it is the opinion of this court that nothing less suffices. Should Mr. Gray survive his ten year stint, I will pre-emptively approve a Healer to reverse it. Dismissed."
His words shook the courtroom, the majority of people compelled to walk out without a second look.
I couldn't move, I willed myself to leave, but it was almost as if I was paralyzed. I could only turn my head a fraction, just enough to see Jupiter's mother too hold her ground, muscles twitching as she fought the compulsion and mustered just enough strength to spit. It had no force behind it, and little more than dribble ran down her chin as her husband held her tight and half dragged her away. He turned back and looked at his son as if he was already a dead man.
Why couldn't I move? Why couldn't I-
WARNING: EXPOSURE TO USER-DEFINED COGNITOHAZARD, CLASS NULL
OPENING USER NOTE:
Don't. Just don't. You don't want to know. 13/6/2042
I didn't listen. But you should. 8/5/2041
You'll always regret remembering. 1/11/2039
REDACTED Redacted/Redacted/Redacted
END USER NOTE
TO UNLOCK MEMORY ASSOCIATIONS, IMAGINE A PINK ELEPHANT ON PARADE FOR (30) SECONDS
IF APHANTASIC, SUBVOCALIZE THE FIRST 5 NUMBERS IN THE FIBONACCI SEQUENCE
The lace released my voluntary control of my muscles, and I staggered up to my feet and walked out.
Why was I part of the Florence-Sen procedure? I knew Florence, she was a pretty famous neurosurgeon, but I was just a psychiatrist. What did I have to do with it?
YOU HAVE DECLINED TO UNLOCK COGNITOHAZARDOUS MEMORIES
PLEASE TAKE A GRADE 1 AMNESTIC AT THE EARLIEST CONVENIENCE
I walked out into the lobby, the bored journalists already preparing for the next unfortunate to walk through those doors. I turned right, following the signs, and found myself before a public amnestic dispenser, helpfully mixed with coke to make it go down easier.
I found his family there, the kids sipping from their cups, fearfully looking at their mother, sobbing into her husband's uniform. He looked at me, but there was only pity, not the burning rage I expected.
Major Gray? Had I ever met him?
I decided to take my amnestics some other time, and left them to their sorrows.
I trudged back the way I'd come, forced to catch another slow suborbital flight. Once aboard, I closed my eyes and checked the news hoping it would take my mind off things.
DISPLAYING DAILY DIGEST:
(1) ITEM HAS BEEN PROMOTED DUE TO HIGH RELEVANCE, REASON: You have been mentioned in a news article.
A God Brought Low
....
Little Jupiter was once ranked number 14 among the most desirable young superheros in the extended US by Vogue in their annual contest. Fans, once disappointed by radio silence regarding his whereabouts after he was drafted at the age of 14, were outraged and confused when the young prodigy, widely considered one of the most promising aerokinetics of his generation, only just resurfaced in the courtrooms of the ICJ MT this morning, facing a laundry list of charges ranging from desertion to terrorism.
Fans expressed a wide range of opinions regarding said events:
"Why the fuck did he sign up with those losers? If he wanted someone to worship him body and soul, we're right there!" Said Molly and Milly, twin sisters from Detroit.
"I always knew he was a traitor. Always acting like was too good for us. I hope that when they're down scooping his brains out, he's going to be pissing down a tube for the rest of his life." Are the words of Nikita [Redacted], a young girl claiming to have been his girlfriend prior to his departure. She went on to state that he was an asshole for never texting or calling while he was on the run.
Mr. Gray was sentenced guilty on all charges, and has been sentenced to a controversial neurosurgery designed by Drs. Danielle Florence and Adat Sen.
Dr. Sen's assistant has denied calls for comment, but we have been able to acquire a transcript of a statement made by Dr. Florence prior to her death in the terrorist attacks in New York last year:
".. Calling it a lobotomy is frankly inaccurate and insulting. We use gradual nanite integration to map and isolate the pathways responsible for manifesting powers, always ensuring that the Ship of Theseus doctrine and ELMER-KLIPOT are followed. After the CNS is disconnected from the patient, it can be sealed in a hermetically isolated container. No, it's not a brain in a jar, we don't keep most of the hindbrain or irrelevant tissues such as the.. -"
Further details on the procedure are scarce, but as per details recovered from the partially censored whistleblower leaks from 2040, the Florence-Sen procedure has been employed multiple times in Alpha Centauri, with at least twenty UN and USSF warships suspected to be equipped with similar facilities, leaving aside a very similar procedure that is considered near standard for Chinese vessels.
Human rights activists intend to stage a vigil outside the Metahuman Memorial in Paris, decrying the perceived procedural irregularities in his sentencing.
"With all due respect to Judge Xiao, the powers he applies so indiscriminately were only sanctioned by the Existential Emergency Act of 2033. Amnesty International remains committed to our campaign to have the EE abolished, it's been ten years and five extensions with no end in sight. The widespread use of nerve stapling, the accused's inability to respond to the allegations is-" Dr. Amanda St. Claire, an Amnesty International observer in the UN.
I dismissed the article, and stared at the amnestic pill I'd requested from the flight attendants. It glistened, moist and inviting, promising me temporary relief from my guilt.
I listened to my previous selves for once, and hadn't unpacked the censored memories I'd locked away from myself. Was that the right call? I contemplated putting a full block on the procedure, but I suspected that might be a severe inconvenience, given that it might likely affect any other mention of my name in other contexts.
No, I couldn't censor my name outright, that would almost certainly backfire.
I crushed the blue pill and sprinkled it into the waste container next to my seat. I couldn't run from my actions forever, and it was the least I could do for Sam, wherever he might end up.
I wondered if in time, as his consciousness faded and was subsumed by the system, he'd eventually forgive me for my sins. I wasn't sure that I could forgive myself.