Rook Winters - Weight of Ashes

A gray-haired man with a frazzled look about him rushed into Court’s holding cell without preamble or introduction.

“Court,” the newcomer said. “Or is it Mr. Court? Is Court your given name or your family name? It doesn’t say here.”

“Who are you?”

“Right, of course, yes. I’m Kas Joranko. I’m your appointed counsel.”

“What do you mean? Appointed by who?”

“Appointed by whom.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m your duly appointed advocate for your upcoming arraignments, hearings, negotiations, and payment scheduling. You’re an odd case because there are no records of you anywhere. The governor’s office assigned me to assist you. Anyway, enough on me. All it says here is Court. Is that your family name?”

“I don’t have a family name. It’s just Court.”

“Like Madonna?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. A really, really old reference and not a very funny joke, if I’m being honest. Anyway, is Court your full legal name then? That’s what your mom and dad called you when you were a bouncing little baby boy?”

Court was feeling like a deer dazzled by a spotlight.

“Sorry, you’re who again?”

“Kas Joranko. We’ve already established that. I’m trying to figure out who you are, Mister Court with no last name.”

“You’re like a lawyer?” Marsh had told Court about lawyers. He hadn’t held a very high opinion of them.

“Sort of, I suppose, although no one’s used that term in decades.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t people use the word lawyer anymore?”

“You mean aside from all the bad lawyer jokes?” Joranko waited for Court to laugh. When he didn’t, Joranko continued, “Most of what I do isn’t strictly legal work. It’s a lot of contract enforcement, policy violations, and debt resolution for the syndicates.”

“What do I need an advocate for?”

“I’m going to get to that. I was trying to get your name first. Call me old-fashioned but I like to start with the basics.”

This Kas character was the first person to say more than five words to Court. He decided that he needed to play along while he tried to understand his situation.

“My parents named me Harcourt but everyone’s called me Court since… since I was young. I’m from an independent village out east.”

“Independent meaning off grid, no electricity, cut off from the world?”

“We weren’t totally cut off, but—”

“But, yes, that’s the type of place?”

“Yes.”

“And you met the girl when she escaped with Dr. Clint Donovan from a nearby Aldebaran research facility?”

“We rescued her, after a Qyntarak killed Clint Donovan.”

“Allegedly.”

“Huh?”

“After a Qyntarak allegedly killed Dr. Donovan.”

“No, it did kill him. I saw it.”

“That’s why it’s alleged. There’s no evidence other than your claim that you saw it.”

“I know what I saw.”

“It doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter whether or not I believe you. You need to deal with the situation you’re in now. Let me explain how this is going to go down. Your friends will get hit with so many fees and penalties to the syndicates that they will end up in forced work programs for the rest of their lives. Frankly, the same is likely to happen to you unless we can figure out a way to plead your case. Now, tell me what happened. How did you get mixed up in all this? Why are you and the girl working with smugglers?”

“I’m not mixed up in anything. I was helping to deliver a message about Clint Donovan’s death.”

“If that’s how you want to play this, that’s fine by me. I get paid regardless. But you’re in a heap of trouble and you’ll be paying off your newfound debts for the rest of your life. My job is to help negotiate the best possible settlement for your case. I can only do that if you’re forthcoming with me.”

Court massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He was in over his head. He had no one he could trust, no one he could turn to, except this advocate.

“Alright, since you’re the only person who cares about getting me out of here, what do I need to do? What do you need to know?”

“Everything.”

Court sighed then inhaled deeply. He explained life in the village and described the day Elle had arrived, the day Dr. Donovan had died. He talked about the grav flyers swooping in and the murders of everyone he’d known and loved.

Then Court told Joranko about helping Elle make her way to Toronto, meeting Britt, and being taken by the Qyntarak.

“Wait a second,” Court said. “I forgot about falling down the stairs. How come I feel totally fine?”

“You did take quite the fall. Brain scans showed that you suffered a concussion. You had numerous contusions and broken bones in your, let me see here, left hand, it says.”

“How long was I out?”

“Oh, not that long. Maybe ten or eleven hours.”

“How is that possible?”

“Seriously? You must really have lived in the middle of nowhere. According to my records, you had four hours of surgery and therapy with a medical bot. You also received a fairly large dose of nanobots that are doing internal repairs. Your bone was reconstructed by a surgical bot and you were given a high strength tissue growth accelerant to deal with swelling and bruising. These corporate syndicates don’t like the appearance of brutality. They’re pretty good about making sure that people are healthy and clean before they show up at a hearing.”

“What are nanobots?”

“Nanobots? They’re—well, I suppose you could call them microscopic robots that get injected into your bloodstream to repair tissue. Think of it as a robotic enhancement to your body’s ability to heal.”

“They did that without my permission.”

“Trust me, kid, in the state you were in when they brought you here, you wanted them to do that. With the bang you took to your head, you may not have been mentally fit to even make a decision about your own healthcare. You’re lucky. A lot of people who have a run-in with the syndicates end up bleeding somewhere in a dark corner of an alley.”

“I feel like I’ve been violated or something.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s standard practice. I’ve had nanobot repairs at least a dozen times over the years. It’s no big deal.”

“So, what happens now?”

“Now we’ll find out what damages are being claimed by your actions and involvement. The young woman that you were with, according to our data systems, her official designation is L37. Why do you call her Elle?”

“That’s what she told us to call her.”

“Interesting. Depending on how we need to position your involvement, you may want to refer to her as L37 when you’re in front of the juries or hearing committees. It may not be to your advantage for them to think that you have a close relationship with her.”

“It sounds like you’re thinking you can protect me by putting all the blame on Elle.”

“Yes, that is one possibility. I want to keep all of our options on the table until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“That one’s not an option. Elle is my friend whether that’s convenient for me or not.”

“Well, aren’t you just a hopeless romantic? I suspect you would change your mind after a few months of physical labor on a red ship.”

Britt rubbed her eyes, trying to convince her brain to sweep away the cobwebs that were clouding her thinking. They’d sedated her, she’d pieced that much together, but she didn’t know where she was. The two people who’d checked on her had refused to answer any of her questions.