Nick James - Skyship Academy

The elevator came to a stop and the doors pulled open, revealing a large plaza. They marched along the marble stonework at a hurried pace. Madame ignored the guide, taking the lead and sizing up the approaching Tribunal Building like it was an enemy to be defeated. Cassius gazed up at the clear sky. Though he knew there was a large dome stabilizing the air pressure around them, it was invisible from the ground, leaving the air open and uncluttered. No Bio-Net, no chemical smog. He expected to feel dizzy from the altitude. The dome controlled that as well.

He caught quick glances at the city as he followed Madame. Everything hunkered low to the ground. The tallest building he could see was only three levels high. There appeared to be roads, but no cars or chute system like in the Chosen Cities. The only vehicles were small buggies, no bigger than golf carts, that whizzed silently across the plaza. He avoided eye contact with the drivers.

They continued around an impressive, three-tiered fountain and advanced onto a narrow, tree-lined pathway that led to the two-story Tribunal Building. It had been modeled after the White House, of course. A mini version.

“One last security measure,” their guide stammered as he regained the lead and ushered them up a staircase. Three bulky security guards patted them down at the top before they were allowed into the building. Cassius winced, convinced that they’d find the disassembled pistol sewn into his pack. But they moved quickly, brushing against the three pieces, assuming they were part of the reinforced corners of the pack. Madame was right. They were easily fooled.

Madame wore a disgusted expression as the guard touched her. Once cleared, she pushed past their escort and stepped into the entryway, heading up a second set of decorative stairs.

Cassius followed her into what looked like an old-fashioned courtroom. In place of a judge’s seat, there were three wooden podiums. Behind each sat a member of the Tribunal, their party’s icon etched into the wood beneath them. A Democrat, a Republican, and a Libertarian-two men and one woman. All three were older than Madame by at least a decade.

Cassius followed Madame down the aisle between rows of empty seats and to a table directly below the Tribunal’s watchful eyes. Madame motioned for her bodyguard to set the briefcase in front of her, then took a seat, clasping her hands and waiting. Cassius pulled up a chair beside her and sized up each Tribunal member.

“Good afternoon, Jessica.” Democratic Representative Leone spoke first, rubbing the stubble on his chin. His droopy, glazed eyes gave the impression that he could fall asleep at any moment. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Cassius glanced over at Madame, expecting to find outrage. Nobody used her real name.

Her expression remained stony. “I would ask you to please honor the title my party has given me during proceedings such as these.”

The old man smiled. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to humanize things.”

Republican Representative Buchanan, a portly woman wearing an expensive red jacket, leaned forward in her center seat and met Cassius’s eyes directly. “Is this your son, Madame?” Her voice was thick with a hint of a southern accent.

Cassius gripped the edge of the table, waiting to hear Madame’s answer.

“Yes,” she responded.

Buchanan smiled, her heavily colored lips prodding full cheeks. “How beneficial for him to witness the outcome of the Hernandez Treaty firsthand. What are your impressions of Skyship Atlas, boy?”

Madame grabbed his wrist, whispering to him. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Libertarian Representative Chandler, the youngest of the three, cleared his throat, producing a stack of papers from under his podium. “I believe you’ll find all of our reports are in order. Military engagements, energy consumption… it’s all there.”

Madame nodded, motioning for her bodyguard to grab the papers. He quickly transported the stack from the Tribunal to the tabletop, then moved behind her once more.

She opened the briefcase, removing an ink pen from a small pouch inside. Cassius knew that she had to read and sign each document in the presence of the Tribunal. The ritual was bound to drag on for a few hours at least. He was counting on it. Boredom was part of the conceit that would allow him to escape.

Madame flipped through the first document, adding her signature to the bottom. “A group of your schoolchildren were seen on the Surface the other day.” She spoke without looking up. “Collecting a Pearl from a group of Fringers.”

Cassius watched as the members of the Tribunal exchanged furtive glances.

“Impossible,” Leone muttered.

Madame smiled as she ran her fingers along the text. “Impossible that they were down there? Or impossible that they were seen? This is in direct violation of clause three of the treaty, as you well know.”

Chandler leaned back in his seat, hands clasped. “And you have proof? Photographic, documented proof?”

“Of course not,” she responded, flipping through another document. “I don’t believe you’d be so careless as to offer us proof. No, I have my suspicions, as always.”

“Suspicions won’t hold up in a court of law.” Buchanan crossed her arms. “Even one as… unified as yours.”

“I just wanted you to know, Representative. Don’t get sloppy. We are waiting.”

Buchanan shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Madame’s eyebrows raised as she ran her finger across the top of a page. “I’ll have to put on my glasses to read such tiny print. One would think that you were trying to squeeze something past us here.”

Leone frowned. “We have no secrets.”

“No, of course not.” She dug through her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of spectacles. “That was a lovely little circus downstairs, by the way. I don’t remember the crowds being as large last time.”

“We can’t help the way our people feel.”

“No.” She finished scanning through the document and signed at the bottom. “I suppose you can’t be blamed for the actions of your people. They were contained well enough.”

Buchanan glared down at Madame. Cassius watched as the red of her face deepened. “Listen, Madame. People don’t like the idea of a dictatorship being allowed to flourish right under their noses.”

Madame set the pen down on the table, clasping her hands once more. “It is not a dictatorship.”

The woman scoffed. “What is it, then? It’s certainly not the three-party democracy the people voted on.”

“Your democracy died along with the White House,” she replied. “Tragedy unified us. Finally. After years of partisan bickering we were free to get on with it, to unite and preserve our way of life. If you would care to float down from your cloud and visit one of our Chosen Cities, you’d realize that our people are quite happy-and very well taken care of.”

Buchanan controlled her expression, taking a deep breath before responding. “Does that include the people outside of the Net? The people in the Fringes?”

“You mean your friends down in the Fringes?” Madame smiled.

“No. The people you’ve forgotten. The people your cities are killing every day.”

Madame sighed. “Despite what you may think, we cannot control the human will. It’s true, some people opt out of our environmental tax program and choose to stay in the Fringes.”

Buchanan laughed. “Poor people, sick people, nonconform-”

“It is a choice,” Madame interrupted. “Without the funds collected from the tax, there would be no Bio-Nets.”

Chandler held up his hand. “From what I hear, Fringers don’t like you very much.”

Madame scowled. “I’d be careful what you say, Representative. One might get the impression that you’ve been spending more time on the Surface than is legally allowed.”