Canvas Skies (Reliance on Citizens Makes Us Great!) (23 page)

My transceiver buzzed. Blindly, I reached
toward the nightstand. As I opened a connection, I glanced at the
clock, 2:11. Who would be calling at this hour?

“Hello?”

“Brody, it's me.” I recognized Aimee's
voice. I rubbed my eyes, stifled a yawn and sat up straight.

“Are you alright?” I took care to avoid
using her name. I fully understood that anyone could be listening
in and knew that someone from the Gov probably was, especially to
unexpected calls in the middle of the night.

I didn't want to give anyone the chance to
tail me, so I simply pulled on my coat, grabbed my keys and
left.

I pulled over in front of Aimee's apartment
complex but didn't see anyone. She was probably waiting inside. But
then a dark shape moved away from the wall and approached my
vehicle. I stiffened. Did someone beat me here? No, it was Aimee. I
breathed a sigh of relief as she slid into the passenger seat and
closed the door.

She asked me to take her to the art gallery.
The first thing I saw when Aimee turned on the lights was a
detailed sketch of Hisoka Watanabe. I'd first met him at the grand
opening. Only later, did I realize he was a lawman as well. My jaw
clenched.

The intense jealousy coursing through my
veins startled me, but then something amazing happened. Aimee
opened up. She told me everything. I was afraid to speak or even
move, lest she stop. She finally trusted me, completely, and there
was so much more than I'd guessed. When she finished, I held out my
hands, palms up. Aimee placed her fingers on top of mine and stared
at me.

“Thank you for telling me.”

She leaned forward then, and our lips
pressed together, so soft.

When she pulled away, I asked, “So why tell
me now? Why tonight?”

She laid down on her back with her head on
my lap and gazed up at me. I ran my fingers through her brown silky
hair.

“Well, Guy's coming around more often now.
They're happy together. But him being there, the nighttime
noises...it's bringing back memories. I haven't been able to
sleep.”

“You have to sleep sometime.” She rolled
onto her side and let me cover her with my coat. I gently rubbed
her back, and eventually, she slept.

When she stirred, my eyes fluttered open. My
left shoulder blade felt tense, the consequence of sleeping in an
upright position. I tried to rub it away but couldn't quite reach.
I stood and rolled my shoulder, trying to work it out that way.

“May I?” Aimee asked.

I nodded.

She took my hand and led me over to a chair.
I sat. Pressing with her thumbs, soft at first but then harder, she
worked the muscle. I began to relax and took a few deep
breaths.

“Better?”

“Yes, much. Thank you. What time is it?”

Aimee pointed to an ornate wall clock.

“Is it really that late? I have to go. Shall
I drive you home?”

“No.” She indicated the small bag she'd
brought along. “I'll stay. Thank you.”

I had just turned the key in the ignition
when I heard a tap, tap, tap. I jumped and turned to see Keira. I
rolled down the window and smiled.

“Good morning!”

“Good morning yourself,” she said. “What are
you doing here?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Look, either trust me
or don't. I can't take this bouncing back and forth anymore.”

She stepped back as if I'd slapped her. “I
do.”

“I have to go.” Keira shrank in the rear
view mirror as I drove away.

Two men in black business suits stood
waiting outside my front door. They visibly tensed when I reached
into my front pocket. I slowly pulled out my keys and held them
up.

“Just let me get dressed. I'll be right
back.”

I was on my way to session when my presence
was requested in the main chambers. Why, no one would say, and I
knew better than to ask. I looked around the room. Eight ministers
sat in comfy high backed leather chairs. They typed on keypads and
watched small vidscreens embedded in the oblong wooden table in
front of them. Nobody spoke. I sat for a long time, waiting.
Finally, I took out my transceiver and checked the time, nearly
10:00. I'd miss all of session today if we didn't get started soon.
Prime Minister Armstrong noticed my concern.

He pushed a button. “Please notify the other
lawmakers, Mr. Watanabe will not be joining them this morning.”

One chair remained empty until Minister
Brackaby arrived. “They've got him,” he announced, “and he's coming
willingly.”

“Good. Then let's get started.” The Prime
Minister looked directly at me. “This conversation will be
recorded.”

I nodded my assent, a binding agreement in
these chambers. He pushed another button, and I glanced at the
vid'recorder that hung from the ceiling. This was a trial, but who
was the accused? Was I on trial, or was I a witness? And what was
the charge?

The minister on my left spoke first. “Mr.
Hisoka Watanabe, you know both Kendra James and Aimee LaFleur.
Please explain your relationship with these two women.”

“Of course.”

I chose my next words carefully. The
ministers had ordered me to investigate Kendra and Aimee, but I
couldn't say that. To do so would implicate the Gov, and that would
never be allowed.

“I've been spending time with Aimee LaFleur.
We've...um...been seeing each other. In passing, I've become
somewhat familiar with her roommate, Kendra James.”

“What do you know about them?” another
minister asked.

“Well, they appeared in the spotlight,
seemingly out of nowhere, and even though their backgrounds checked
out...”

“You did a background check on a girl you
were dating? Why?”

The ministers continued to fire off
questions, sometimes letting me finish a thought, sometimes
not.

“Just to be careful. In my line of work, it
seemed prudent.”

“And what is it you do, Mr. Watanabe?”

“I'm a lawman.”

“Why such care?” One minister pressed for
more information.

“Well, we all know the Resistance is just an
urban legend, but even such unlikely stories could provide the
perfect opportunity for someone to try and step into such a role.
These women were new to our community. I just wanted to be
careful.”

The men around the table nodded.

“What did your background check
uncover?”

“Aimee LaFleur has been running a new art
gallery in town called Art Fantastique, an extension of the Art
Fantastique gallery in Mediterra owned by Ms. Danielle
Bellami.”

“Do you believe she is who she claims to
be?”

“I do. I'm an artist myself. It's a hobby I
pursue with a passion. I believe Miss LaFleur shares that same
passion and is here simply as an entrepreneur.”

“What is your proof?”

“The Art Institute of Parisio has her listed
as as a recent graduate. She also has a natural talent and an
artist's eye, and her diploma is in a frame in her office.”

“Have you found any evidence to support her
claim that she is of Mediterran descent?”

“Most of her overseas records are tightly
sealed, but that's not unusual. She speaks the language and reverts
to it when she's angry.”

“Which means she has spent some time
overseas, not that she is of Mediterran descent.”

“Yes, sir, but...”

“What is it, Mr. Watanabe?”

“Mediterrans aren't known for letting
strangers move in or run their businesses overseas.”

“Not usually, no.” The Prime Minister
thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

The ministers typed frantically. After a
time, the questioning resumed. “What have you learned about Miss
Kendra James?”

“She's from Vanover. Her parents are
recently deceased. I questioned her honesty for a time but am now
convinced she is who she claims to be.”

“Why?”

“Well, her birth certificate is on file in
Vanover, but primarily because of her reactions to me. She
demonstrated strong emotion when I pushed into her background,
especially regarding the recent death of her parents. She doesn't
appear to be acting.”

Prime Minister Armstrong watched his
vidscreen as another minister typed a message from the other end of
the table. “Have you been able to attain any physical evidence that
we could test in our laboratories? Any blood samples or hair, tears
perhaps?”

“No, sir. I thought I was only to do that if
I suspected something.” No doubt, my last statement would be
stricken from the record.

“Sirs? He's here.” A woman's voice announced
through a speaker in the wall.

The Prime Minister hit a button, and the red
light on the vid'recorder turned off.

The door swung open. All heads swiveled to
look as Brody Delaney entered.

“Welcome, Mr. Delaney. Please take a seat,”
the Prime Minister said.

Prime Minister Armstrong turned and looked
at me. With a wave of his hand, he indicated that I should move to
one of the observation chairs nearest the windows. My portion of
the trial was over, but I wasn't to leave. Delaney avoided my
gaze.

The Prime Minister began with the same
opening he had used with me. “This conversation will be
recorded.”

Delaney nodded his assent. Does he realize
this is a trial?

Prime Minister Armstrong pushed a button,
and the vid'recorder's light turned on.

“Mr. Brody Delaney, where were you last
night?”

“I was at home. I went to bed around
10:00.”

“You stayed there all night?”

“No, I woke up shortly after 2:00.”

“You woke up?”

“Yes, shortly after 2:00.”

Is he toying with them?

“What happened at 2:00?”

“I received a call, and I left.”

I caught his eye and shook my head. He
glared at me. Tell them! I pleaded with my eyes, but he either
didn't understand or didn't care. Just tell them. They wouldn't
have brought you in unless they already knew something.

“And where exactly did you go, Mr.
Delaney?”

“Oh, I drove around.”

“You were at Art Fantastique last night,
isn't that right?”

He was where? I leaned forward in
anticipation.

Brody smiled. “You're speculating. You have
no idea where I was.”

Prime Minister Armstrong did not return his
smile. “Aimee LaFleur, otherwise known as April Maddock, certainly
had a lot to tell you, Mr. Delaney.”

The color drained from Brody's face, and I
shrank back in my seat. Aimee really was April? April was Aimee.
She was wanted for murder. Had I been wrong about Kendra too? Was
she really Keira, wanted not only for murder, but also for the
destruction of Ramsey Corps? But she couldn't have done that, not
alone.

No, not alone. Kendra was part of the
Resistance. The Resistance had brought down Ramsey Corps. It made
sense, all except...why had they murdered a man? Was that for the
Resistance too? Lance Beckett had no ties to Ramsey Corps.

The Prime Minister pushed yet another
button. The lights dimmed and a time stamp appeared directly on the
white wall, 3:00 A.M. I recognized the back room of Art
Fantastique. The ministers turned to watch. Aimee's voice was loud
and clear, thanks to the bugs I'd planted.

“My name is April Maddock...”

I fought down nausea. Now was not the time
to lose it.

She poured out her heart while I studied
Brody carefully. Why had she chosen him? I liked her, loved her
even, yet it was I who had betrayed her.

Her voice, torn and ragged, continued on.
“He'd raped me and beaten me so many times by then. I don't know
why, but I could never stop him.” She took a deep breath. “That
morning Keira rescued me. We were leaving, I was finally going to
be free. But then he grabbed her by the neck, and I just snapped. I
couldn't let him hurt her too. It had to stop.” Aimee cried. Her
face was red, and her shoulders shook. “We killed him, Brody. Both
of us together. We stopped him for good, and then the Resistance
helped me escape. I've never thanked you for that.”

She was silent for a good five minutes. How
had Brody helped? Had they known each other before she fled?

She said, “I hid in Parisio for a year and
learned about art.”

All this time I'd been searching for April
and Keira, and they'd been right in front of me. The Beckett murder
had given Parliament good reason for the wanted posters. The
lawmakers had discussed it in great detail. Working Class girls
couldn't be allowed to murder the Elite and get away with it. They
had crossed a line, and I had pushed for justice along with the
rest of them.

I continued to listen to Aimee's story.
She'd survived the injection? I looked around the room. No one else
seemed surprised by this revelation. Then she told of a baby, a
little girl, left behind in Parisio where she would be safe.

Certain decisions had been authorized by the
current administration that I didn't agree with. That's why I'd
joined the Resistance. The ministers and lawmen knew it wasn't a
legend, although they tried to convince the public it was. But now
I realized for the first time, the Resistance was protecting
citizens from us. If only she'd trusted me. I looked at Brody with
newfound respect. But she doesn't, she trusts him.

“Lawmaker Hisoka Watanabe.”

I stood. Everyone turned toward me as the
lights came up. Prime Minister Armstrong addressed the
vid'recorder.

“You have been tried for aiding and abetting
an enemy of the realm. You have been found not guilty of this
charge.”

I nodded once and sat down.

“Mr. Brody Delaney,” he continued, still
looking at the vid'recorder. He paused and gestured for Brody to
stand.

Everyone looked at Delaney.

“You have been tried for aiding and abetting
an enemy of the realm. You have been found guilty of conspiring
with April Maddock, a Working Class citizen wanted for murder. You
will be held in custody until 4:00, two days hence, when you will
be brought forward for sentencing.”