Authors: Helen Douglas
‘First night out on the town in the twenty-second century,’ the reporter was saying. I recognised her from our ambush outside the club. ‘Sporting a cute blonde wig and blue dress, Eden was seen drinking and dancing with pals at the super-cool Watering Hole.’
The reporter thrust a microphone under a young woman’s chin. ‘She looked like she was having a really good time,’ said the girl. ‘She danced with two different men that I saw, maybe more.’
‘According to our sources, Eden still hasn’t returned to the hotel where she is staying, which begs the question: just where is she spending the night?’ said the reporter. ‘Back to the studio.’
The newsreader had a serious expression. ‘In other news, protesters spent a third day demonstrating outside Wolfe Energy Headquarters in New Marseilles.’ The screen showed a crowd of several hundred people holding signs that said
Rehabilitation not Exploitation
and
Close the Lunar Prison Now!
One of the protesters began speaking to the camera. ‘The average lifespan of a prisoner on the lunar colony is five years. They work seven days a week in horrendous conditions. There’s no opportunity for these prisoners to be rehabilitated. The lunar colony has nothing to do with justice, and everything to do with cheap labour for Wolfe Energy.’
‘You sure you want to watch this?’ said Peg.
‘Is this Admiral Wolfe’s company they’re talking about?’ I asked, twisting a mound of slippery noodles between my chopsticks.
‘Yup.’
‘On the news this afternoon, one of the legal commentators said Ryan might get sent to the moon.’
Peg looked at me. ‘That won’t happen.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘To start with, his dad will hire a shit-hot lawyer. But if things do go wrong, we’ll find a way to help him. I’m not letting Orion get sent to the moon.’
I tried to smile. But words were cheap. I just wanted the trial to be over and Ryan safely back in my arms.
The phone call came on Saturday morning, just after Peg dropped me back at the hotel. When the screen clicked on, I expected to see Peg telling me he’d forgotten something, but it was Admiral Westland. I quickly smoothed over my hair as the call connected and tried not to think about the news coverage he must have seen: Peg punching a photographer or me arriving back at the hotel this morning after our night out.
‘Hello, Eden,’ he said, his voice tired and strained.
It had been less than a week since I’d last spoken to him, but he looked like he’d aged ten years. His brown hair seemed greyer and his cheeks seemed hollow, with two deep vertical lines running from his mouth to his jaw.
‘Do you have news?’ I asked.
‘The trial is set for Tuesday. An official announcement is about to be made. I wanted you to hear it first.’
‘Tuesday,’ I said.
Three days and Ryan could be free.
‘Orion’s lawyer would like to meet you this morning. He will talk you through what will happen in the court and discuss your testimony.’
‘Where do I need to go?’
‘My driver is waiting for you outside. He will bring you to my apartment at the Institute.’
The admiral disconnected the call.
I checked my reflection in the mirror. As I thought – bags under my bloodshot eyes and hair matted and tangled from hours spent tucked inside a wig. Admiral Westland was going to think I was a slob. What I really wanted was time to shower and do my hair and try on a few of my new outfits to see which made the right impression. But Westland’s car was waiting for me and what really mattered was speaking to Ryan’s lawyer and getting my testimony right.
I found a dress with a high neckline, tied my hair back into a ponytail and dabbed some concealer under my eyes. It would have to do.
When we reached the Institute, the driver pulled round to a side entrance and stopped by the front door. I reached for the handle to let myself out, but there wasn’t one. The driver, who was dressed in a black suit and white gloves, opened his door and came back to open mine for me. His face was flushed and beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip.
‘Ma’am,’ he said. ‘I will collect you after lunch.’
I nodded and walked up to the front door.
Admiral Westland was waiting for me just inside the lobby. He nodded at the doorman. ‘Come inside,’ he said to me. ‘Saul White, Ryan’s lawyer, is waiting in my study. He’ll just want to hear your story, so there won’t be any surprises on Tuesday.’
We took the lift up to the next floor. It opened on to a wide hallway, lined with framed photos. I stopped when I saw a photo of Ryan in a school uniform, grinning at the camera. He looked about thirteen. There was another one of him holding a trophy. One of him and two other boys, all dressed in identical school uniform.
‘My sons,’ said Admiral Westland.
I followed Westland along the hallway to the last door on the left. Inside was a bright, book-lined room with a long conference table in the middle. Sitting at one end of the table – like the head of a family at a dinner party – was a man in a grey suit. He stood up as I walked in.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Eden,’ he said, pumping my hand up and down enthusiastically. ‘I’m Saul White, Orion’s defence attorney. Sit down.’
I sat down in one of the chairs near him. A crystal decanter and four crystal glasses on a silver tray were placed in the middle of the table. Above, an old-fashioned ceiling fan sliced through the warm air, whirring like a slow helicopter.
‘Mr White, do you think the court will find Ryan innocent?’ I asked, my insides twisting.
‘Please, call me Saul,’ he said. ‘I believe we have a very strong case. There is an old protocol – dating back to the earliest years of time travel – that states that in an exceptional circumstance a clean-up will not occur. The protocol says that a participant must have had an “unusual and vital contribution to a mission”. My job is to prove to the court that you played an unusual and vital contribution.’
‘Can we do that?’
He smiled warmly. ‘I certainly hope so. Tell me your story.’
Two hours later, after telling Saul the story about my best friend Connor discovering a planet that was the catalyst for Earth’s destruction, about Ryan’s mission to prevent that discovery, and my part in keeping Connor away from the telescope he was destined to use that fateful night, Mrs Westland came into the study to ask if we were ready for lunch.
Saul had taken copious notes, coached me in how to answer his questions and talked me through Time Court protocol. My head was aching with information and my throat dry from talking.
The dining room was large, with an entire wall of glass so clear that at first I thought there was nothing between us and the world outside. Beyond the glass a silver lake glimmered, its edges blackened from the shadows cast by the deep forest that reached to the horizon.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, staring through the glass.
‘The apartment comes with the job,’ said Admiral Westland. ‘We don’t usually spend a lot of time here; we have a home just out of town. But this week, we’ve stayed here a lot. Closer to Orion.’
That explained the feel of the place. It was too clean and tidy. Beautiful, expensive-looking furniture, but all styled like a show home photographed in one of those dream home magazines Miranda sometimes read. Apart from the family photos, there wasn’t much personal stuff lying around.
Mrs Westland came into the room with two men who I guessed were in their early twenties. Immediately I recognised them from Ryan’s photos.
‘Sit anywhere,’ she said.
The table was set for six. I took one of the end places.
‘Let me introduce everyone before we eat,’ said Mrs Westland. ‘These are my sons. This is Jem.’ She gestured towards the taller of the boys. ‘And this is Jove.’ The two boys shook hands with me and Saul. They both had the same brown eyes and hair as Ryan, although Jem was taller and Jove was stockier.
‘This is Saul White, Orion’s lawyer,’ Mrs Westland continued. ‘And this is Eden Anfield, the girl . . .’ She seemed to run out of words.
I could feel everyone looking at me.
‘The girl from 2012,’ said Saul. ‘The girl who is Orion’s best chance of a not-guilty verdict.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Westland. ‘The girl from 2012.’
Two women came in then, with platters of food. There was a silver tureen of cold green soup, a plate of rice cakes, pieces of meat in spiral shapes that reminded me of worms, squares of toast no bigger than postage stamps, platters of berries and a bowl of salad. One of the women began serving the green soup.
‘So does Ry have a good case?’ asked Jem, the older of the two brothers.
Saul reached for the rice cakes. ‘We will be arguing that Orion invoked the Clemency Protocol. It’s an old protocol, from way back when time travel was first invented. It’s only ever been used in a time trial once before.’
‘What is it?’ asked Jem. ‘I’ve never come across it in my studies.’
‘It allows clemency for a civilian who would otherwise need to be cleaned up,’ said Saul. ‘It can only be used when that civilian has made an important contribution to a time mission.’
‘Eden made an important contribution?’ asked Jove. I caught him looking at me sceptically.
‘She certainly did,’ said Saul. ‘She succeeded where your brother and the other time agents failed. She is the only reason their mission was a success.’
‘So it’s an open and shut case?’ said Jove.
Saul sighed. ‘Nothing is ever as simple as that. However, I believe we have a strong chance of success. It will be very difficult for the Court to deny that Eden made an unusual and vital contribution.’
Jem frowned. ‘So where’s the element of doubt?’
Saul took a sip of water. ‘Law is open to interpretation. It is my judgement that Eden’s rescue falls clearly within the remit of the Clemency Protocol. However, if the court believed that Orion travelled back to 2012 for reasons other than clemency, they could disregard the protocol.’
‘You mean, if Ry travelled back because he was in love with her or something,’ said Jove, throwing a quick glance in my direction.
‘Correct.’
‘Was he in love with you?’ asked Mrs Westland.
My spoon slipped out of my fingers. It clanged against the side of my soup bowl. ‘He came back to save my life.’
She held my gaze a second longer before turning away.
‘The prosecution will try to argue that Orion went back for love rather than duty,’ said Saul. ‘Which reminds me – make sure you’re dressed in a suit, Eden. Tie your hair back. It’s important to make the right impression.’
‘I’ll have a suit sent to you,’ said Admiral Westland. ‘It will save you having to deal with reporters following you around the stores.’
‘How’s Ry coping?’ asked Jem.
Admiral Westland’s face tightened. ‘He’s putting on a brave face.’
‘It’s the media speculation,’ said Mrs Westland. ‘I’ve told Ry not to watch the news, but he insists on watching it. All this talk about the lunar colony. Of course he’s scared.’
‘They won’t send him there,’ said Jove. ‘That place is reserved for terrorists and murderers. He’s not exactly in the same category.’
‘That’s what I keep telling him,’ said Mrs Westland. ‘He’s just a boy. He should never have accepted that mission in the first place. He hadn’t completed his training. He was too immature. Too impulsive.’ Her eyes brushed across me. ‘He has too strong a sense of duty.’
‘All things I will be saying at the trial,’ said Saul.
‘Can I see him?’ I asked.
‘That won’t be possible,’ said Mrs Westland. ‘Ry is only allowed one thirty-minute visit a day, apart from time with his lawyer. Jem and Jove have both flown in from Greenland today to see him.’
I nodded. ‘Oh.’
‘I think we can spare ten minutes of our time,’ said Jem. ‘If Ry finds out we stopped him seeing Eden today, he’ll kill us.’
Ryan was dressed in a green long-sleeved T-shirt and grey trousers, each marked with the Institute logo, the elongated clock with the distorted numbers. The clothes were too baggy on him; they hung off his body, making him seem thin and underfed.
He stood up from the table and pushed his hair from his eyes. ‘Eden.’
I crossed the space between us in seconds and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him tightly towards me. He smelt different and the same all at once. Different soap maybe, different clothes, but the same clean boy smell of his skin.
‘No physical contact,’ said the guard.
For a moment we ignored him. Ryan bent his head down and let his lips brush lightly against mine.
‘I said no contact,’ said the guard. ‘Unless you’re looking for a full body search, Westland.’
I dropped my arms to my sides, but we remained standing in front of one another, as close as it was possible to be without touching. My skin prickled with the desire to close the gap between us, to feel skin against skin.
‘Opposite sides of the table,’ said the guard. ‘Sit down. Hands where I can see them.’