Toxic Treacle (19 page)

As the usher addressed each of the rebels, reading out the charges against them, Eric sat down, looked at Monkey and gave a slight shrug as if to say,
it was worth a try.
The female officer went down the list in alphabetical order. Monkey heard Karl from the village and Darren Bates both speak out confidently, proclaiming their innocence. There were others whom Monkey didn't know. He waited anxiously for his turn.

‘Angelina Hope Ellison...' Monkey leant back and tried to catch her eye but she was staring straight ahead. ‘On the charge of conspiracy to commit treason, how do you plead?'

He held his breath.

‘Not guilty.' Angel spoke clearly, if a little faint. His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice.

‘On the charge of attempted murder, how do you plead?

Monkey closed his eyes, appalled at the consequences of having involved her in his activities and trying to shut out the enormity of the situation. Again, Angel's voice was soft but firm.

‘Not guilty.'

‘On the charge of kidnap, how do you plead?'

‘Not guilty.'

Monkey released the breath he'd been holding throughout and was so racked with guilt about the charges brought against Angel and the danger he had put her in, that he was startled when his own name was read out.

‘Michael Eric Gibbon. On the charge of conspiracy to commit treason, how do you plead?'

Monkey opened his mouth to plead, then hesitated. He rubbed the scar on his palm nervously, remembering the day he'd walked into Mov Felton's I.D.H.C. instruction trying to impress everyone with his injury; the day he'd seen the vid of the old man in the war crimes trial. Of course! This was his opportunity: he would show them that he wasn't the stupid idiot they took him for. He was going to be strong; he was going to be brave and be a part of the movement that was going to change the law so that he and Angel could breed together and raise children together and create a better future. He stepped forward from the rest of the rebels and steadied himself against the railing. He looked at his father, then glanced sideways at Angel and took a deep breath.

‘I refuse to plead because I do not recognise this Court - or The Assembly.'

Riotous Behaviour

The noise from the crowd outside seemed to be getting louder, penetrating the tension of the courtroom like a swarm of angry bees whining through the sultry anticipation of a storm. All three judges stopped writing. They looked at Monkey in bemused condescension. The female in the centre removed her glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose as though finding the whole business tedious, and spoke to Eric.

‘Provider Randall, may I suggest you speak to your client and inform him that he is in contempt of court?'

Eric rose, inclined his head to the judges, then turned to the dock. ‘You must plead guilty or not guilty to the charges against you. Do you understand, Michael?'

Monkey swallowed hard. He wasn't sure what to do. He'd wanted to take a stand; prove to the likes of Darren Bates that he was serious about the cause; show them that he wasn't some lamebrain; some immature hothead who messed things up. But it wasn't going the way he'd hoped.

‘Yes, but...' he faltered.

Then, from the other end of the dock, a small but confident voice spoke out. ‘He's right. I want to change my plea. I don't recognise this Court either.' It was Angel.

Monkey leant back and caught her eye. She smiled, reassuringly.

From behind him, another voice spoke, ‘I don't recognise this Court.' Monkey swung round to see Trevor grinning at him.

Another voice, then another spoke up, all repeating Monkey's statement. Until, soon, all forty four defendants were chanting in unison: ‘We don't recognise this Court! We DON'T recognise this Court!'

‘Order! Order!' barked the usher.

‘Silence in Court!' demanded the principal judge, banging her gavel on the bench.

But the chanting continued, drowning out the crowd outside, increasing in volume until no other sound could be heard. ‘WE DON'T RECOGNISE THIS COURT!'

The half-dozen guards inside the dock began swiping at the rebels with their batons, bringing them down hard on their shoulders and necks. Monkey saw Tom Patterson sink to his knees. Karl, too, was cowering as blows rained down on his head. Monkey, incensed at the treatment of his friend's father, kneed a male guard in the groin and, as he buckled, he brought his chained fists up under the guard's chin. It was the sign the rebels needed. Like a shoal of fish with one universal consciousness, the prisoners turned on their captors. The guards, completely outnumbered within the confines of the dock, found themselves helpless to control their charges. Some of the older rebels kept the defeated guards at bay, disarming them of their weapons and then using them to control them. The captors were now captive.

A key was located on one of the officers and quickly passed around. Within minutes, handcuffs and shackles were unlocked and a sense of liberation began to fuel the rebels' determination.

In the courtroom, Eric undid his lawyer's cravat and threw it down on the desk. He walked over to the dock, held out a hand to Monkey through the bars and joined in the chanting. Sally Ellison followed him, clasping Angel's hands and, soon, the rest of the defence legal team also swelled the ranks of the rebels. The few security officers within the main court appeared confused, looking from one to another, unsure what to do in the circumstances. Monkey and his fellow dissidents grabbed the bars of the cage and began rattling them violently, never ceasing in their chanting. In panic, the usher spoke into her ring-cam, obviously summoning more Security as the united voices of the prisoners increased in volume.

As the defendants rammed against the railings from within the dock, the legal team began to pull from the court side. Soon, the wooden supports that held the bars began to creak under the strain.

‘All together!' cried Monkey above the chanting. ‘Push! Push!'

He could feel movement in the bars. Again and again, the defendants crashed against the barrier until the wooden framework of the dock gave way, sending shafts of wood and metal bars across the floor. Monkey, Trevor and the others, liberated at last, fell out of their cage with a victorious roar. At the same time, the large, panelled doors at the back of the court were thrown open and dozens of back-up security officers spewed into the courtroom, visors down, stun guns at the ready. Almost unnoticed, the judges scuttled to safety through the door to their chambers.

Monkey grabbed a metal bar. Others wielded stakes of broken wood, lashing out at the guards as they descended on them with batons and stun guns. The courtroom was in chaos. Storm troopers opened fire with wax bullets, forcing Monkey to take cover. He grabbed Trevor and the two of them crouched down behind the benches and desks.

Some were too slow. Monkey watched as two darts pierced Darren Bates' pink Farm fatigues and he fell to the ground, shocked and temporarily paralysed by the effects of a stun gun. Others followed and were dragged from the court. National Guard soldiers had taken up position on the balcony. At any other time, it would have been full of members of the public but, for this trial, the public had been barred. Instead, it had become an ideal vantage point from which the security forces could attack the rebels, raining down hundreds of wooden, rubber and wax projectiles from above.

‘Have you seen Angel?' Monkey shouted into Trevor's ear.

Trevor shook his head. Monkey peered out from under the desk, scouring the mayhem of the courtroom for a glimpse of her.

Then, above the din of the fighting, he heard the sound of double quick marching echoing along the corridors. With a sinking heart, he realised that reinforcements had arrived. It had been a brave attempt to break free, but a vain one. Before he was re-arrested, he needed to find Angel. If he was going to spend the rest of his life on The Farm, he wanted one last chance to tell her how he felt.

A security officer was lying unconscious on the ground in front of them.

‘Help me!' he yelled in Trevor's ear and, together, they dragged her out of the aisle and into the space behind the desk.

Quickly, Monkey slipped the visor from her head and placed it over his own. Then, deftly removing her armoured vest, he strapped it over his pink jumpsuit. He pulled the tiny stunning-device, no bigger than a plasma-card, from the guard's hands and, crawling on all fours, groped his way along the aisle between the benches. All around him, screams and cries told him that his fellow rioters were falling victim to the hard projectiles that had been designed to hurt but not kill.

Carefully, he edged his way towards the front of the courtroom, hoping that Angel might still be at the end of the dock where the females had entered. A storm of bullets hailed down around him and he dodged back into the relative safety of the space under the defence team's seats. Carefully easing his head out from behind his shelter, he saw her: as he'd thought, still in the dock, crouching down at the very back, using a panel of splintered wood as a shield; her nurturer's unconscious body by her side.

‘Angel!'

But his voice was lost in the din of the riot and the confines of the helmet. He stumbled forward, arms outstretched towards her. A sharp, stinging blow hit his hand, knocking the commandeered stun gun to the ground, forcing him to recoil in pain. He turned, coming mask to mask with a storm trooper, his stun gun poised to render Monkey incapable of movement the minute the red light indicated it had recharged. Instinctively, he sprang forwards and grappled the trooper to the ground. Retrieving his own device from where it had fallen, he thrust the prongs into the leg of the trooper, who crumpled, limp and dribbling, unable to defend himself. More wax bullets fell around them, glancing against the broken dock as Monkey quickly removed the soldier's head protection and weapon, and tossed them to Angel.

‘Put it on and follow me!' he shouted at her though the unbreakable visor. A heavy, rhythmical thud was now resounding from outside the courtroom.

Angel grabbed his hand and clasped it desperately. ‘What about Sally?' Her voice was tremulous and distorted through the visor's mouthpiece.

Monkey hesitated. ‘I'll come back for her,' he said, eager to appease Angel but aware that it was unlikely he would be able to do so. ‘Keep low. We're going to get out of here.'

Using the wooden panel as a shield against the showers of bullets, he led her to the door where she'd entered. He knew it went down to the female holding cells and might be leading them to further danger, but anywhere was better than being in the fracas of the courtroom. He rattled the door, but it was securely locked from the other side.

‘Don't worry,' he told her, not even knowing if she could hear above the screams and cries all around them. ‘The judges' bench is only a few metres away. Once we're up there, we can head out of the door they used.'

Keeping low, Monkey guided Angel to the three steps that led up to the raised dais where the judges had been less than ten minutes before, only to discover that that door had been barred from within as well. Frustrated, his eyes darted round the room, eager to locate a way out, other than the main door which was blocked by National Guard troopers.

‘Get under here,' he said, indicating the judges' desk.

A rhythmic pounding penetrated the noise in the courtroom, rising above the screams and shouts of the riot. It was coming from the outer doors and Monkey suspected it heralded the arrival of more troops. With a sense of urgency, he ducked down next to Angel. He took off his protective headgear and helped Angel to remove hers. Then, taking her face in his cupped hands, he kissed her.

‘I want you to know, I am so sorry for everything,' he said.

Angel put a finger over his lips. ‘Don't apologise. You've been brilliant, Mickey. I am so grateful to you. If you hadn't...'

The rhythmic banging suddenly stopped. A thunderous crash and a victorious roar told them that that the crowd from outside had successfully battered down the doors. Hundreds of supporters swept into the courtroom; males, females and children - all cheering and yelling; their placards becoming both protection from, and weapons against, the security forces. With the doors open to the outside, a blast of fresh air swept through the court and more rebel supporters poured up the stairs, into the gallery, their sheer numbers overpowering the State troopers. Monkey saw several uniformed officers topple helplessly from the balcony in the mêlée, landing with sickening thuds on the floor or across the wooden benches.

As the protesters took control of the courtroom, Monkey stood up and helped Angel to her feet.

He was shocked to see the extent of the damage. ‘Shiltz! The place is wrecked!'

Bodies, both protesters and security forces, littered the once regal interior. The courtroom furniture, made of sturdy oak, lay broken and splintered. People were writhing and groaning, others lay unconscious. But what Monkey noticed more than anything, was the number of people in the room not in uniform far outnumbered those wearing it: the rebels had beaten the State forces. People began to cheer and give each other congratulatory hugs as though they'd won.

‘Wow! Look what you've achieved, Mickey,' Angel turned to him with unabashed admiration in her eyes. ‘All this is down to you. If you hadn't taken a stand...'

Monkey shook his head. ‘It's not over yet. We might have won in here, but there's an entire country out there still under Assembly rule. The only way we can achieve anything significant is to get to The Assembly; show them that we mean business.' He climbed onto the elevated bench, behind which the judges had been sitting. Without realising, or intending it, Monkey's stand against The Assembly had elevated him to leader and he took on the mantle unselfconsciously. ‘OK - listen up. We might have won the battle of the courtroom, but there's still a war going on out there. We need all the able-bodied adults to take the visors, guns and ring-cams from the security forces and then guard them up on the balcony! Anyone with any medical or nurturing experience, is to bring the injured and children into this courtroom and keep them safe. The rest of us...' he paused, suddenly aware that he was the focus of everyone's attention, ‘...will, er, make our way to The Assembly.'

A roar of approval went up and he felt Angel slip her hand into his. ‘Quite the revolutionary, aren't you?' she teased.

‘Come on,' he said, jumping down from the bench, then kissed her lightly on the lips before heading for the door.

From the foyer of the court, he looked out through the battered doors, down the steps to where thousands of protesters had gathered. But, the atmosphere was no longer that of the peaceful protest he'd seen when he'd arrived at Court that morning. Monkey was shocked at the scene before him. The crowd had become ugly. Pavements had been torn up and slabs of stone, smashed and bloodstained, littered the ground. Metal bins rolled across the streets where they had been wrenched up and used as weapons. Discarded placards and banners formed a carpet of debris over which the security forces charged in waves, wielding batons. The noise was deafening.

Monkey was momentarily confused. Faced with such an orgy of violence, his plan of going to The Assembly seemed naïve. He didn't even know how to get there! He hesitated, looking round for Eric who, he was sure, would know the way - preferably without having to negotiate the riot in front of him. He clutched Angel's hand and drew her back inside the foyer of the courthouse to give himself time to think.

But the scene inside was only marginally less intimidating than outside. Bodies lay all over the floor, many groaning in pain, others silent and unconscious. Monkey's attention was directed to where a nurturer was tending to the needs of the injured, speaking into her ring-cam, organising others and administering first aid from a medical bag. Instantly Eric went over to speak to her. And, when she looked up, Monkey was struck by a jolt of recognition. It was his own nurturer: Vivian.

He stormed across the forecourt; all the old bitterness he'd felt towards his nurturer rising like bile again. ‘What the fegg do you think you're doing here?'