Advocate

1. Advocate


Advocate
16.01.09 Debbie L Kean

Far above, the dirty skylight let in bright sun, a white glare hitting the marble floor a hundred metres below. Some time in the year before, all knew, the centuries old glass of the roof had been broken. Not all of the repair was permasteel.
A ray of hope?

She strode across the floor, her heels echoing as she walked. The hall was hushed - her progress was marked by the many who stopped to watch.
‘An important woman’ some thought. ‘An intruder’ others opined to themselves. She didn’t need her ability to know that.
She reached the high desk at the end of the long walk, meant to intimidate as of course it had. From his perch two metres above contradiction, the uniformed functionary bent towards her.
“Yes”?
“Karen Fisher. Advocate. I’m here for a hearing”.
He took his time, consulting a sheaf of papers before him, then a porta-comp at his side.
“Room 12A, to the left” and then he withdrew his attention. She took a deep shuddering breath.

Room 12A though dark, and smaller than the central hall (as were all the hearing rooms of course), was nevertheless crowded. As Karen approached the Arbiter, news-hounds recorded her every movement, every expression as much as they could. She was glad for once, that she had to shield her eyes with dark glasses.
What the news-hounds could capture with their cameras would be sent around the world by nightfall.
The Arbiter was an Augment of course, an implant enabled him to refer to questions to the Law Base, and receive the answers direct to the screen replacing his left eye.
“Lady Fisher” he said. “You’re advocating for ...”
“Lady Knolls, sir”.
He knew. The news hounds knew. Still, there was a ripple of oohs and aahs throughout the room.
How did she dare?

Patrina Knolls sat to the right of the Arbiter. Shackles bound her wrists, her ankles and crossed her lap and chest. Absurd, Karen thought, that such a small woman should be so bound.
She was a symbol, however.
No longer herself.
But not, God be thanked, drugged. Her blue eyes were clear and bright. Were those tears?
“Karen” she whispered.
The Arbiter quelled her with a glance, his remaining eye black and angry.
“Your client has been convicted, Lady Fisher” he warned, “nothing you say can change that outcome”.
“I am aware of that, Sir. I am here for the sentencing.” (The trial had been, as all since the 21st century ‘War on Terror”, held in camera, as security demanded.)
“Very well” the Arbiter pulled a wooden box toward him, and inserted a small gold key in the lock on the front of it. Karen felt a surge of terror go through her belly, and wondered how Patrina felt.
There was no doubt about that.
Her fear was so palpable, that even the news hounds, 90% of whom were without a shred of Karen's ability, could feel it.
The Arbiter took out the traditional black cap and adjusted it neatly on his cropped grey head.
“Patrina Catherine Knolls. Having been found guilty of terrorism, communism, and destruction, you are hereby sentenced to ....”
Like a game show presenter, he paused. The news hounds ceased their clicking and sub-vocalising, thrusting their microphones forward.
“It is my painful duty to sentence you to serve as a surrogate for the term of eighteen months, or two pregnancies, as necessary. At the end of that term, your tissues and organs will be separated as required by those who have successfully bid for them, and have demonstrated medical needs. Thus, the sentence passed is discorporation by donation”.
Patrina swayed, appeal in her eyes, then straightened staring straight at Karen who nodded. Then she straightened herself, and spoke.
“My husband met the same fate” she said clearly “as did the others. I consider myself honoured.”
“Lady Knolls” said the Arbiter sternly. “You must not speak for yourself, your Advocate will speak to your concerns.”
“Lady Knolls cannot serve as a surrogate, as she has been sentenced.” Karen said firmly. She moved closer to the woman as she spoke, reaching out with her augmentation, soothing, calming, and drawing Patrina’s aura into hers.
“No one wants to be a surrogate or a donor, but state your reasons.”
“My husband and my daughter were discorporated. I am psychologically incapable...”
“Lady Fisher”...
“Lady Knolls is correct, Sir. She has a psychological and ideological difficulty”.
“Irrelevant” snapped the Arbiter. “The donor laws of 2015 have stated that ideological or religious objections to the medical use of any tissue could not over rule the medical needs of any patient requiring...”
“Lady Knolls has undergone interrogation?”
“That has been stipulated.”
“She must not undergo the slow death to which she has been sentenced.”
“Nevertheless she will do so. It has been decreed.”
“I over rule.”
Karen stepped forward the remaining 30 centimetres between her and her client. She “pushed” as she had been taught, thrusting the syringe through the force field shackle.
Patrina’s blue eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell forward, dead.
“The poison will render her organs useless” Karen spoke for the news hounds. “She wouldn't kill herself, so I did it for her.”
And I'll take her place, as I deserve, she thought, as guards stepped forward to take her.

END