by Julia Karr
Balance. Right. The balance is all on their side, I thought. Doesn’t matter how many times they tell us we are free. It’s their version of free; I was guessing it was nowhere near my father’s version, and it definitely wasn’t mine.
“We’re in courtroom seven B.” Mrs. Jenkins hurried us inside. “We don’t want to be late.”
With my free hand, I pulled out my charms necklace, touching the number 7 that Gran had given me—“For completeness.” Surely it was no coincidence that we were in courtroom seven. It was my lucky number. I squeezed the charm.
We had no problem clearing the scanners flanking the doors. Mrs. Jenkins’s heels clicked purposefully as we made our way through the expansive lobby to the information desk. I was surprised at the number of actual people, rather than bots, who worked here, although the man who directed us was as impassive as any Hal at school.
Outside the courtroom, a uniformed officer guarded the door. He sent us to a room across the hall. “Wait there until you’re summoned.”
Before we even entered the room, I heard a familiar whirring noise.
“Mrs. Marchant!”
“Yes, Miss Oberon. That is who I am.” She glided over to us. “This must be your sister, Delisa. Good morning.” She extended her hand. “I am Mrs. Marchant, the principal at Nina’s school.”
“Hello.” Dee’s eyes swept across the transchair, but she made no comment.
“This is Mrs. Jenkins,” I said. “She’s—”
“Yes, I know Mrs. Jenkins well.” A deep-throated laugh erupted. “We’ve met on more than one occasion regarding Wei.”
Duh. The first day I met Wei, Mr. Haldewick had threatened to send her to Mrs. Marchant’s office. She did like to create scenes.
“So nice to see you again.” Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes twinkled.
“I heard about Nina’s situation,” Mrs. Marchant said. “It seemed to me that a character witness might be a good thing. I didn’t care for the way CPS treated one of my students, in my school, in my office.” There was fire in her eyes.
The door squeaked behind us.
“Miss Maldovar!” Dee broke into a smile. “You came.”
“I told you I would.” She cupped Dee’s chin in her hand. “You look worried. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Why don’t you introduce me to your sister and . . .” She glanced at the three of us.
“Oh, this is Mrs. Jenkins. It’s her house we’re living in.”
Miss Maldovar approached, smiling. “Mrs. Jenkins.” She held out a gloved hand. “What a wonderful thing your family’s done, taking in Dee and her sister.” After they shook. Miss Maldovar turned to me. “You are, of course, Nina. I’ve heard so much about you. Your sister quite looks up to you.”
“Thank you. It’s very nice of you to come,” I said. “But you needn’t have, especially at Holiday time. We’ll be fine.”
Miss Maldovar’s smile changed to a look of warm concern. “I’m sure you will be. But as I told Dee, I have many years of dealing with Child Protective Services and even know some of the judges who hear these cases. Perhaps I may be of assistance. I hope you won’t mind if I at least observe.”
Mrs. Marchant cleared her throat.
“Excuse me.” I stepped back. “This is Mrs. Marchant, the principal of my school.”
Miss Maldovar extended her hand. “What a pleasure to meet another educator.”
Mrs. Marchant nodded. “It would appear that the school system is concerned about its pupils. That would make a good headline, wouldn’t it?” Her chair skimmed backward, and she set her gaze on Miss Maldovar. “You haven’t been at Dickens for long. Where were you before that?”
“Overseas at a private institution. I’m substituting while I decide if I want to stay in the Americas or go back to the European States.”
The officer from the hall stuck his head in. “Oberon?”
“Yes.” I tensed.
“They’re ready for your case. Please proceed to the front of the courtroom.”
Rows of straight-backed, worn wooden seats flanked the center aisle. The place was certainly not built for comfort. Miss Maldovar took a seat halfway up, and Mrs. Marchant whirred over near the wall. We installed ourselves at one of the two tables in front of the judge’s bench—the one marked DEFENDANT.
The doors opened again, and in walked Crow Face and Songbird. They were accompanied by a tall, lanky man clutching an oversize digi-pad in his bony hands.
They’d barely had time to sit at the Prosecution table before the court officer said, “All rise. The Honorable Judge Gordon Hughes residing.”
A short man with dark curly hair entered through a door behind the bench and sat.
“All be seated,” the officer said. “Court is now in session.”
Judge Hughes busied himself with reading something. There were voices behind me. I strained to hear what was being said. All I could make out was Miss Maldovar asking one of the officers, “Where is Judge Patton?” The only part of the officer’s reply I could hear was “emergency.” Had Miss Maldovar expected there to be a certain judge?
The judge raised his head. “All interested parties, please identify yourselves. We’ll start here.” He pointed directly at me.
“I’m Nina Oberon. This is my sister, Delisa, and our friend Mrs. Jenkins.”
“Where are Edith and Herbert Oberon?”
“Pops—I mean, Herbert—is, uh . . . he’s in jail, and Edith is in the hospital. I have a paper here that says she’s going to be fine.” I held out the doctor’s statement.
“Bailiff.” Judge Hughes motioned the court officer to bring him Dr. Silverman’s statement. While he studied it, he said, “Mrs. Jenkins, what is your interest in this case?”
“As friends of the family, my husband and I have opened up our home to the Oberons. They are now living in an apartment in our building.”
“Your husband is . . . ?”
“Jonathan Jenkins.”
“Jonathan Jenkins, senior Media investigative correspondent?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Interesting.” He laid down the paper and looked directly at me. “Nina Oberon, are you of age?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” I held out my wrist, showing the XVI.
“Your Honor, if I may speak.” Crow Face stood.
The judge narrowed his eyes. “When I am ready, I will ask for your input, Miss . . . ?”
“Griswold,” Crow Face answered.
“And you are . . .”
“Child Protective Services. You see, Your Honor—”
“Just answer the questions I ask. When I want more from you, you’ll be the first to know.” He turned to Songbird. “And you?”
“Angie Page, Child Protective Services, junior officer.”
“Thank you, Miss Page. Sir?”
“CPS officer Bolton, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded as his eyes scanned the courtroom. They lit on Mrs. Marchant. “Caroline? Caroline Marchant? Is that you?”
Mrs. Marchant nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen you since, well . . .” His voice trailed off. “Now is not the time, nor the place. To what do I owe the honor of having you in my courtroom?”
“I’m here on behalf of the Oberon girls,” she said. “I wanted to be certain justice was served. With you on the bench, I’m sure it will be.”
I couldn’t help but notice her eyes cut in Miss Maldovar’s direction.
“Thank you for that vote of confidence.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper, then looked behind us. “And you, ma’am?”
Miss Maldovar stood. “I am Delisa’s teacher, Adana Maldovar. Like Mrs. Marchant, I am here for the girls.”
“Thank you. You may be seated.” He turned to the Prosecution table. “Now, Miss Griswold, what are the specifics in this case?”
“Herbert Oberon was arrested for being a subversive. He’s the father of the infamous, late Alan Oberon. That ne’
er-do-well who pumped up the Resistance with his following of nonconformists. The law states that no child will be allowed to stay in the care and under the influence of a known—”
“I am well aware of the law, and hardly need you to remind me of it.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Crow Face at least had the intelligence to appear contrite, which I’m sure was all for show.
“Who brought this to the attention of CPS?”
“Anonymous.”
“Of course.” He turned away from Crow Face. “Miss Maldovar, please approach.”
She came down the aisle to the judge’s bench.
“How has the child been in school? Problems? Poor performance?”
“On the contrary,” Miss Maldovar said. “She’s quite well adjusted, given the horrible circumstances of her recent life—her mother’s death.” She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “And she’s in the top percentile of students. Very bright. I’ve appointed her my classroom assistant.” She lowered her voice. “She’s a delightful child. I think this writ business is ridiculous. Some busybody with a grudge against the Oberons, perhaps? Alan Oberon, whatever he may have been, has not been an influence in Delisa’s life. She’s not even his biological daughter.”
The blood drained from my face. I hadn’t thought that would come up. If they did a DNA scan on Dee, they’d know the truth.
“Of course,” Miss Maldovar continued, “with Herbert Oberon in B.O.S.S. custody he is not caring for nor influencing her. And Edith Oberon has been charged with nothing that I’m aware of.”
Crow Face burst out, “But she’s—”
The judge held up a silencing hand. “Has Mrs. Oberon been charged with anything?”
“No.” Crow Face looked downright disappointed.
If everything hadn’t been so serious, I would’ve laughed at her discomfiture. I was rather enjoying seeing her be treated the way she’d treated me.
“Thank you, Miss Maldovar. Mrs. Marchant. Do you mind?” The judge indicated the space in front of his bench.
Mrs. Marchant’s transchair skimmed to the center of the room.
“What about Nina Oberon?”
“Nina’s a good student. A Creative with a part-time job at the Art Institute, which hasn’t interfered with her schoolwork. I can vouch for her integrity and her responsibility.”
“Thank you.” A look of almost desperate tenderness crossed the judge’s face. “Bailiff.”
The officer went to the bench. The judge whispered something to him and handed him a sheet of paper. The bailiff gave the sheet of paper to Mrs. Marchant, who had returned to her spot by the wall. I tried to catch her expression, but the judge rapped his gavel and all eyes were on the bench.
“It is the finding of this court that there is nothing defensible in the writ as it stands. Delisa Oberon is currently to stay in the custody of her grandmother, Edith Oberon, and her of-age sister, Nina Oberon. Should Herbert Oberon be released from incarceration, the court will ascertain if, at that point, he is legally being considered a subversive. If so, this case will be revisited. But for now, case closed.” He struck his gavel on its block.
“All rise,” the bailiff intoned, and the judge exited the courtroom.
I pulled Dee into a huge hug. Mrs. Jenkins put her arms around both our shoulders. With my eyes closed, and the smell of Mom on Dee’s clothes, I could imagine Mrs. Jenkins was Ginnie. Family. Together.
The spell was broken when Miss Maldovar and Mrs. Marchant joined us at the Defense table.
“I’m so glad it turned out in your favor,” Miss Maldovar said. “I hope I was of some help.”
“You were,” Dee said. “And, Mrs. Marchant, thank you so much for saying all those things about Nina.”
“They’re true,” Mrs. Marchant said. “She’s an excellent role model. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She glided past us, exiting through the same door the judge had used.
Crow Face noisily pushed back her chair and huffed out of the courtroom. Songbird ducked her head, giving me the slightest of smiles. The nondescript man followed them both.
We’d won, and Dee could stay with us, her family. I couldn’t help but wonder who’d actually filed the writ and how this outcome would make him or her feel.
XXIII
On the way home we stopped at Metro. Gran’s spirits lifted with the news that the writ had been denied. Dr. Silverman was moving her to Edgewater Rehabilitation Center after Holiday, and hopefully home shortly thereafter. The one thing she didn’t bring up was Pops. Which was probably for the best. If she got all worked up again, Silverman might make her stay in the hospital longer, and none of us wanted that.
As we were leaving, Gran said, “Call Harriet and let her know what’s going on. They’ve only let me talk to her twice,” Gran said. “Make sure she won’t be alone on Holiday, what with her son, Johnny, being taken away by B.O.S.S.”
***
When we got home, Chris and Wei were waiting for us. After congratulations on the outcome of the hearing, Chris spirited Dee away to the grocery for Holiday food supplies. She was becoming quite the chef under his tutelage. Wei took me to her room for a PAV meeting with the Sisterhood. Everyone was on the call except for Dorrie.
“How’d the hearing go?” Brie asked.
“The judge dismissed the writ.”
“Awesome. Did they ever figure out who filed it?” Brie asked. “That was ultracruel. Your poor grandmother.”
“It was filed anonymously,” I said. “It’s what caused Gran to have the heart attack, that and Pops’s arrest by B.O.S.S.”
“My grandparents’ doctor goes to their house once a month to do a routine health scan. All elderly people should do that,” Paulette said.
“Yeah, well, not everyone has a personal doctor, or the credits to hire one. And when you’ve only got one medical option, that isn’t going to happen. Can we stop talking about my family now?”
“Sure,” Wei said. “So what’s up? And where’s Dorrie?”
“Today’s the day,” Brie said.
“Rogue?” Mag said.
“Uh-huh. Dorrie’s recording right now. It’ll be on at six tonight.”
“So wait, how does Rogue Radio work?” I asked.
“Each of us gets a turn at putting together a broadcast. After it’s recorded, Dorrie hacks into the signals of three obsolete communication satellites and programs them to play at a set time on a specific frequency. We’ve done some vid interruptions, too.”
“Wait a nano! Did you guys do the clips of the Fems’ rally that interrupted that XVI Ways fashion show?” I said. “That was ultra!”
“Sure enough,” Brie said. “Dorrie loves interruptions. She’s got her PAV programmed to hit those satellites from anywhere at any time.”
“I have to admit, I’ve only ever heard Rogue Radio by accident,” I said.
“Chris can set up the channel on your PAV,” Wei said.
“There’ll be an impromptu vert interruption this afternoon,” Paulette said. “Just in time to hit all the last-minute Holiday shoppers. If you want some free entertainment, go down to State or Michigan. Should be fun.”
“I would, but all my shopping’s done,” Brie said. “And I sure don’t want to be part of the mob that’s doing the last-minute routine.”
Mag and Wei nodded. I did, too, although in reality I hadn’t bought one single present. Everyone was getting something I’d made or drawn. Sometimes it really sucked being low tier. Really.
“Sorry your parents can’t make the New Year’s party, Wei. Lots of top-tier people will be there,” Paulette said. “Mom hinted that even Kasimir Lessig might attend.”
“That jerk?” Brie asked. “Who’d want to be in the same room as him?”
Wei passed me a note. You going to tell her about your invite?
I shook my head.
“You guys been listening to the Alerts?” Mag asked. “Do you believe there’s a fake space station out west?”
“I don’t,” I
said. “Although Ed used to take a lot of trips. I suppose he might have been doing something like that.”
“Ed? Ed Chamus?” Mag gasped. “You know that guy?”
Skivs! I’d forgotten that they didn’t know about my connection with Ed. About my killing him. About anything.
“What gives, Nina?” Paulette’s steely eyes bored into me.
“Yeah, I knew . . . know him. He’s my sister’s father.” I nearly choked on the words.
After what seemed an eternity of silence, Paulette said, “Well, if he did what B.O.S.S. is after him for, he’s as good as dead. My guess is he’ll be killed while they’re apprehending him. The GC can’t afford to let him reveal who gave him his orders. He didn’t look smart enough to have figured out a scheme like that on his own.”
I couldn’t believe she hadn’t ripped me for Ed being Dee’s dad—even though he really wasn’t—which, of course, I couldn’t say. To be safe, I changed the subject. “I saw my friend Joan on Monday. Some doctor’s been treating her on the sly. She seemed a lot better. Has anyone thought any more about what we could do to help her?”
“We’ll figure something out,” Mag said. “It’s tough to plan anything during Holiday because so many people have family obligations. However, we’ll come up with the right plan. And I bet we can get her out of town ourselves. Don’t you guys think so?”
Wei’s eyes lit up. Brie did a slow, affirmative nod. We all looked at Paulette.
“Are you willing to plan a daring rescue, Paulette?” Wei asked, teasingly.
“Only if it’s after New Year’s. There’s no way I can leave my mother in the lurch with this party.” She set her jaw. “After that, I’m game. No reason the guys should have all the fun.”
My eyebrow shot up. Paulette was a constant surprise. Now she’s up for helping a homeless girl? It stood to reason that she must believe some of the same things as the rest of us, since she is in the Sisterhood. But this?
XXIV
I left Dee in the kitchen, absorbed in her newfound passion for cooking, and headed over to Harriet’s. I thought a visit would be better than a call.