By the time I reach my destination, I’m sweating buckets. The Tribunal is a chrome-and-glass building with, I’m guessing, ten bazillion stories. At the reception desk, I’m told a courier will take my Shell to my apartment, and I’m given a visitor pass. The debriefing is taking place in room 1010.
The number gives me pause. Double tens.
If ten means complete, does 1010 mean doubly complete? If complete means one door has closed, does doubly complete mean a new door will open?
Is this a coincidence?
Trick question. I don’t believe in coincidences.
There are Laborers in the lobby and elevators, though no one speaks or looks anywhere but at the floor. Got it. This is a somber, nerve-racking affair.
Ding.
The doors open on my floor, and I step into a spacious room where Levi, Kayla, Reed, Elizabeth and Victor are lined up in front of seven desks. They are wearing white robes while I’m in my catsuit armor.
Double zero! Someone should have sent me a dress-code memo.
Behind each desk is a fellow Troikan. People I’ve never met.
I take my place at the end of the line, and search for clues about the men and women—and boys and girls—before me. Only the desks hint at individual personalities. One looks like the wing of a plane. Another is made entirely of hand-carved wooden roses while another looks like a simple stack of logs. The youngest boy, who can be no more than ten, has a desk shaped like a car and the youngest girl, who can be no more than eight, has a desk shaped like a glass slipper. The final two are absolute opposites of each other. One offers clean lines and sharp edges while the other is a mash-up of different metals that have been bowed.
“Children?” I whisper to Levi.
“Haven’t you heard?” he whispers back. “Lo, that we all had the innocence of a child.”
Innocence—great. But I’m supposed to tell these kids everything I did and why I did it, and they’re going to understand?
He bumps my shoulder with his own. “One day, after your training has been concluded, you’ll be summoned once a year for a week behind a desk, overseeing debriefings like this.”
Kind of like jury duty for spirits. Which means these people might not want to be here. How wonderful for us.
He says no more, and silence thickens the air, soon cracking my calm veneer. I release a shaky laugh and whisper, “This is right on par with whipping hour at Prynne.”
The oldest juror regards me with keen displeasure. He is black, with swirling tattoos along his temples and jawline. “Being kept waiting is never fun, is it?” He bangs a gavel. “We shall begin.”
I sputter for a response. “I got here as soon as I could. I only found out about the meeting a few minutes ago.”
“Had you observed Dior Nichols as ordered, you would have been on time,” he states.
“I had permission to—”
“Only after you had disobeyed.”
Levi gives me a gentle push forward. “We’ll each have a turn at the wheel, but you, the self-proclaimed Leader, get to go first.”
“Are you kidding?” I squeak. “You had better be kidding.”
“If I give you the key to a car, Miss Lockwood, and you crash it, which of us is at fault?”
Zero! This is going to be a trial by fire, isn’t it?
A tall man I failed to notice when I entered steps from the corner to take my hand. My trembling embarrasses me, but I don’t pull away. He leads me directly in front of the desks, where an elaborately carved podium rises from the floor. My mouth dries. He helps me step up before returning to his post in the corner.
“Watch,” someone says.
Jellyair spills down each wall, and video feed of what transpired during the mission plays across them, everything on fast-forward. Funny thing. My mind processes the images and sounds at warp speed, courtesy of the Grid. What should have taken hours takes only a few minutes.
By the end, my critics—and that’s what these people are, if their scowls are any indication—know every word that was spoken and every action that was made, with the exception of Dior’s trip to Prynne and every mention of Penumbra.
Why were those deleted? And who did the deleting? Meredith, who’d witnessed the events? Or someone higher up on the food chain? Levi? Or maybe even the Secondking?
One of the main reasons I selected Troika as my Everlife home was the promise of justice for all. Here, there are no favorites. Everyone lives by the same set of rules, faces the same consequences and truth always prevails. I take comfort in that.
When the jellyair evaporates, every gaze glues to me. The urge to fidget is strong, but I press my weight into my heels, remaining still.
“Do you consider the mission a success, Miss Lockwood?” The voice comes from the left.
Well. We’re going to start with a bang. My opinion versus their perception. No prob. I can roll. “Yes, I do. Dior Nichols is safe, and she has reclaimed ownership of her beloved dog.”
“But you yourself once said a victory achieved by the wrong means is not a victory at all,” another male pipes up.
I did say that, yes. To Killian. In private. As a human.
My mind spins and rattles. “I...” Have no idea how to respond to an admission of such rampant voyeurism. Hope you got a good view of my ass seems inappropriate.
“Today your Shell was destroyed by a known Troikan enemy. Is Killian Flynn a boy you trust without exception?” This voice comes from the right, courtesy of a gorgeous Asian man with hair dyed green. “Oh, and in case you haven’t been told, if you lie during these proceedings, you will be stripped of your duties indefinitely.”
The number gives me pause. Double tens.
If ten means complete, does 1010 mean doubly complete? If complete means one door has closed, does doubly complete mean a new door will open?
Is this a coincidence?
Trick question. I don’t believe in coincidences.
There are Laborers in the lobby and elevators, though no one speaks or looks anywhere but at the floor. Got it. This is a somber, nerve-racking affair.
Ding.
The doors open on my floor, and I step into a spacious room where Levi, Kayla, Reed, Elizabeth and Victor are lined up in front of seven desks. They are wearing white robes while I’m in my catsuit armor.
Double zero! Someone should have sent me a dress-code memo.
Behind each desk is a fellow Troikan. People I’ve never met.
I take my place at the end of the line, and search for clues about the men and women—and boys and girls—before me. Only the desks hint at individual personalities. One looks like the wing of a plane. Another is made entirely of hand-carved wooden roses while another looks like a simple stack of logs. The youngest boy, who can be no more than ten, has a desk shaped like a car and the youngest girl, who can be no more than eight, has a desk shaped like a glass slipper. The final two are absolute opposites of each other. One offers clean lines and sharp edges while the other is a mash-up of different metals that have been bowed.
“Children?” I whisper to Levi.
“Haven’t you heard?” he whispers back. “Lo, that we all had the innocence of a child.”
Innocence—great. But I’m supposed to tell these kids everything I did and why I did it, and they’re going to understand?
He bumps my shoulder with his own. “One day, after your training has been concluded, you’ll be summoned once a year for a week behind a desk, overseeing debriefings like this.”
Kind of like jury duty for spirits. Which means these people might not want to be here. How wonderful for us.
He says no more, and silence thickens the air, soon cracking my calm veneer. I release a shaky laugh and whisper, “This is right on par with whipping hour at Prynne.”
The oldest juror regards me with keen displeasure. He is black, with swirling tattoos along his temples and jawline. “Being kept waiting is never fun, is it?” He bangs a gavel. “We shall begin.”
I sputter for a response. “I got here as soon as I could. I only found out about the meeting a few minutes ago.”
“Had you observed Dior Nichols as ordered, you would have been on time,” he states.
“I had permission to—”
“Only after you had disobeyed.”
Levi gives me a gentle push forward. “We’ll each have a turn at the wheel, but you, the self-proclaimed Leader, get to go first.”
“Are you kidding?” I squeak. “You had better be kidding.”
“If I give you the key to a car, Miss Lockwood, and you crash it, which of us is at fault?”
Zero! This is going to be a trial by fire, isn’t it?
A tall man I failed to notice when I entered steps from the corner to take my hand. My trembling embarrasses me, but I don’t pull away. He leads me directly in front of the desks, where an elaborately carved podium rises from the floor. My mouth dries. He helps me step up before returning to his post in the corner.
“Watch,” someone says.
Jellyair spills down each wall, and video feed of what transpired during the mission plays across them, everything on fast-forward. Funny thing. My mind processes the images and sounds at warp speed, courtesy of the Grid. What should have taken hours takes only a few minutes.
By the end, my critics—and that’s what these people are, if their scowls are any indication—know every word that was spoken and every action that was made, with the exception of Dior’s trip to Prynne and every mention of Penumbra.
Why were those deleted? And who did the deleting? Meredith, who’d witnessed the events? Or someone higher up on the food chain? Levi? Or maybe even the Secondking?
One of the main reasons I selected Troika as my Everlife home was the promise of justice for all. Here, there are no favorites. Everyone lives by the same set of rules, faces the same consequences and truth always prevails. I take comfort in that.
When the jellyair evaporates, every gaze glues to me. The urge to fidget is strong, but I press my weight into my heels, remaining still.
“Do you consider the mission a success, Miss Lockwood?” The voice comes from the left.
Well. We’re going to start with a bang. My opinion versus their perception. No prob. I can roll. “Yes, I do. Dior Nichols is safe, and she has reclaimed ownership of her beloved dog.”
“But you yourself once said a victory achieved by the wrong means is not a victory at all,” another male pipes up.
I did say that, yes. To Killian. In private. As a human.
My mind spins and rattles. “I...” Have no idea how to respond to an admission of such rampant voyeurism. Hope you got a good view of my ass seems inappropriate.
“Today your Shell was destroyed by a known Troikan enemy. Is Killian Flynn a boy you trust without exception?” This voice comes from the right, courtesy of a gorgeous Asian man with hair dyed green. “Oh, and in case you haven’t been told, if you lie during these proceedings, you will be stripped of your duties indefinitely.”
