"The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice."

Martin Luther King, Jr.

It hadn't occurred to me that the room where I'd been staying had been the luxury option, or that it was possible to be more bored than I'd been while trapped there. I also didn't know anyone could be more upset about the announcement of the change than I was. Gem launched himself between the guards and me, in a futile attempt to keep them from taking me away. The outcome of a ten to one battle was predictable, which made me wonder if his goal was to set me free or to earn a spot in an adjacent cell. If that was the case, he failed.

Two days passed without a visitor. Voices in nearby cells covered the fainter sound of Denovo's voice somewhere beyond them. I found myself oddly comforted by Denovo's voice. It meant they hadn't turned him loose. At least, they hadn't yet.

The cell door opened on the third day. My heart ached, seeing Gem standing in the threshold, thinking he might have gotten his way after all.

"I'm being allowed to escort you to court," he said with a flat expression.

"They've charged me with something?" I asked Gem.

"Calm down," Gem said, reaching out to push down one of my fluttering hands. I slapped his knuckles before I could stop myself. He held his hands out in front of himself like an equal sign, with his body held static on the other side, acting as the solution to the problem.

I could feel eyes on us. Under this scrutiny, it didn't seem right to give my reaction more weight than it deserved. The only thing I could think to do was carry on speaking as if nothing had happened. "They should save themselves time and trouble, and just let Denovo go free right now. It seems like that's what they're going to end up doing in the end. Are they dragging me to court so that they can see my face when they let him walk out a free man? I'm starting to feel like this is an ambush—like I'm the one who's going to end up on the stand."

"I won't lie. The same thought crossed my mind. I wouldn't worry about what is going to happen today. I'm pretty sure it'll just be a lot of time wasted with the lawyers groping each other in the dark."

"That's probably not as fun as it sounds when it's lawyers doing it," I said.

Gem handed me a bag of clothes before turning to face the door, giving me privacy. I imagined him over the selection of straight-legged, skinny slacks and a satin blouse with frills down the front. It almost made me laugh. Then again, Gem might have enjoyed making a decision like that, happy to have a choice on his plate that was more complicated than whether or not to wear a vest with his dress shirt.

"You can turn around," I said.

He held out a bag with makeup and frowned when I tried to push it away. "Won't you put on even a little?" He said.

"Without the use of a mirror, I'll end up looking like a clown."

"I'll help," he said.

It appeared he was better at leaving low-lying fruit on the tree, considering I'd have said something to the effect that a mirror wouldn't make much of a difference. Gem went a step-further, braiding my hair after he finished applying the make-up.

"Good enough," he said and gave a knock on the door to signal that we were ready to go.

I wondered if the mob were still outside when I realized they were leading me to an exterior door. The sun blinded us for a moment as we stepped outside, making it difficult to see as far as the barricades. After a moment, the security agents led us to a flying transport craft. We boarded, soon were rising above Piradium.

"The justice hub is a small city built on neutral land that is considered separate from all Incepterrian territories," Gem said.

We travelled on a horizontal trajectory for several minutes, before beginning our descent towards a bulbous structure in the distance. Security agents met us in the parking lot, while others kept the crowd behind barriers. There was very little they could do to block their hostility. I reflexively shrugged away the hand that Gem set on my shoulder. He stepped back a pace, but I could still feel his eyes on my back as we followed the security agents into the building.

The outside walls were made of glass, with a smaller green glass dome on the interior, like a Russian nesting doll, except with snow globes. Doors were propped open all around the interior dome as we circumnavigated it. We stopped at one door that had Prosecution written above it. Seats bisected the rows of seating in the room beyond the entrance. Tiers rose on the curved walls in five elevated rings.

"Let's sit behind the prosecution box," Gem said. He pointed at the middle of the wheel. On the podium at the center of the room, there were figures dressed in black garb. They watched us move up the aisle toward them and take seats directly behind the prosecution box.

"Who thought a circular room was a good idea? Half the people are going to be staring at the back of the speakers the whole time," I said.

"The walls act as projectors. Images are projected in the three-dimensional form above the court, the same way they were at the Ministry. No matter where you sit, they are oriented in your direction." Gem pointed to minuscule dots flecking the green glass dome.

Among a few small clusters of people, some brave souls were willing to have us catch them being curious. It didn't seem like a coincidence that these people also were wearing Severant badges. Gem's eyes looked troubled. "A few of them are Ministry employees," he finally said, not bothering to explain why this might be a bad sign.

Figuring he might need a distraction, I said, "You better tell me what I'm in for before this circus begins."

Gem shot me a nervous glance. "There's something you'll find alarming. I've already told you about how they upgraded the chips to include empathy enhancement. Equipment to scan the brain-waves of people giving testimony and translate them into images is installed in here." He took out an oval object about the size of a nickel from his pocket and held it toward me in his palm. I could see it was smooth on one side and sticky on the other. "They can access the chips of all Incepterrians. You don't have one, so you'll have to wear this on your temple." I took the object from him and adhered it to the spot where he was pointing on his temple.

"Why would anyone care if I'm wearing one?" I said.

"It's best to avoid anything that draws more criticism," he said.

"Fine. So I have to wear this thing. That's not so bad," I said, placing the chip on my temple.

"There's more," Gem said. "The technology forces us to share uncensored sensory experiences of what is being shown...as if we are the person. It can be painful."

"On the other hand, shouldn't the chips make decisions a lot easier to make?" I said.

"It forces us to share the experiences of the living, as well as the dead, without regard for how bad those experiences might be. Sometimes it includes death."

"Please, tell me that you don't shove a probe in the back of a corpse's skull. I used to watch a television show where a mad-scientist did something like that. He used the eyes of a dead guy to project his last moments onto a wall. It was alarming," I said.

Gem shook his head. "I'm sure you are aware that bodies can sometimes move after death. If we find a body soon enough, we can use the same electrical impulses that cause that to happen to replay their last moments. Energy takes some time to dissipate in a body."

"What about when they don't find the bodies soon enough?" I said.

"Unless they had their chips on and the data was undamaged, their stories would be lost."

"But, my brother..." I was starting to believe there was a more significant warning hidden inside of what Gemini was telling me.

"Your brother didn't have a chip. His Sentinel indeed had a chip, but for them to have images of your brother's last moments, the chip would have needed to have been turned on at the time of his death, and undamaged during the period that his body was floating in the harbour."

He was correct in saying that a lot of things needed to have been in place for Blue and Denovo to have access to the memories of

Daniel's last moments, but I'd seen stranger things happen. I sighed. "What if I can't handle this?" I asked him.

"You'll get through this." Gem's eyes brimmed with sympathy. "It is hard for everyone."

"What if Denovo knows how to fool the technology?" I said.

"To tell the truth, it might not be a hard thing to do. Emotions lie. The problem is that your heart convinces you it's the truth," Gem said.

"I'm getting a headache," I mumbled.

Gem held out a bottle of pills. "Figured you might need these," he said.

I popped open the lid and shook out a couple of pills, before handing the bottle back to Gem. Seeing Minister Dovie standing, I quickly dry swallowed them.

~ ~ ~

A woman who would be called Red during the proceedings, under Incepterrian traditions, was seated at the prosecution table. Blue stood in front of the defence table at a podium. Denovo sat behind him, looking supremely unconcerned with how the proceedings might affect his fate.

"Without being given a chance to establish a mutual understanding of basic terminology, we fear our chances of a fair trial will be limited. We want an opportunity to define the word self-defence clearly," Blue said.

Red stood. "I think we're all intelligent people who can be trusted to understand what the word self-defence means," she said.

The five black-clad Ministry who sat on a platform at the center of the dome gave each other looks before one of them pressed a button, which caused red lights to flash on the edges of their platform. The projected image at the center of the dome disappeared, and the sound cut out.

Although she wore the same shade of black as the other figures on the platform, Minister Dovie's gown was more ornate. A nun-like cowl hid her hair. Her central position and the distinctiveness of her clothing made me think she was serving as a mediator and tie-breaker.

The flashing red lights disappeared. Minister Dovie stood and said, "The Peacekeepers would like you to explain why we need these terms clarified."

Blue answered, "The Citizen Spectators have been programmed by our societal norms to prioritize human lives over those of fellow citizens. How can we expect them to understand why we deem humanity a threat when they've been brainwashed to believe the opposite?"

A murmur passed through the tiers of seating as hundreds of Citizen Spectators whispered to each other. The microphones cut out once more as the Peacekeepers consulted with each other. After a moment, Minister Dovie announced, "The Peacekeepers would like to avoid accusations of hindering a good defence. With this in mind, they will allow Blue to establish the interpretation of basic terminology that he plans to use as the basis of his arguments. At this juncture, we will take a ten-minute break so the defence may prepare."

Gem tugged on my sleeve as I began to rise. "Too many people. We're better off staying in our seats."

It wasn't long before one of his Penitent colleagues brought us a coffee. Wisps of steam rose around Gem's lips as he surreptitiously examined my face over the brim of his coffee cup.

"What else do you know about the charges against my dad?" I made sure to keep eye contact so he would understand that I wanted a serious answer.

"Are you sure you want the answer right now?" He said.

"We might not get a better chance to talk about it. It's not like they're going to let me go home with you once this is over," I said.

"If you insist," Gem said softly. "We've already talked about the possibility that your dad might be a descendant of the Incepterrians left behind when the gates between our worlds closed. We already figured out that even if this was true, it shouldn't make a difference, not after such a long time. If they weren't mixing with the human gene pool, they'd have lost fertility from too much inbreeding a long time ago."

"Maybe you aren't giving them enough credit. I remember you telling me there was a way to communicate across the barrier at one time, and they could travel back and forth before the gates closed. If they were working on colonization plans before the gates closed, isn't it possible they carried on with it afterward?"

"Why would they have any remaining allegiance to a world that couldn't possibly be more than a fairytale to them?" Gem said.

"Any technology that was brought to Earth before the gates closed would've aged out a long time ago. After all, my cell phones seem obsolete after three years," I said.

"Technically, the wavelengths manipulated for communication across the membrane are a renewable resource, but you're right about the technology. None of it could have survived this long. There'd be nobody left alive on Earth who could replicate and update what was there," Gem said.

"You still haven't explained what this has to do with my dad," I said.

"Based on the principle that diligence is divine, we have a sect among the Penitents who are tasked with rebuilding and monitoring trans-dimensional communication devices. They must have gotten a shock when Sentinel appeared on your phones, especially since it coincided with their gadgets beginning to work again," Gem said.

"Are you saying someone Earth-side put your technology onto our phones in the form of the Sentinel app? Are you implying it was my father?" People seated nearby looked over at us, reminding me to keep myself under control.

"Your father's name is all over the patents for certain parts of Sentinel," Gem said.

"Barry Lyon is on the patents of tech used in phones all over Earth? You're trying to tell me that Barry Lyon is a tech wizard?"

"No, but Barjit Lyon is. We think he fixed the Earth-side tech and sold it to a company that turned it into the backbone of the Sentinel program on Smart-phones," Gem said.

"Barjit Lyon," I repeated the name slowly. "That was the name Minister Dovie had on that file. So you think my dad is an undercover computer programmer. The idea that my father has been traipsing around repairing trans-dimensional communication devices can't be the core of their dumb theory. There has to be more. What is it?"

"Think about it, Rory. If your dad were a normal human, the chances he'd have accidentally stumbled across the precise steps to make the technology work again would be astronomical."

"Maybe he's sensitive to his second self—you know, the same way I am. You can't seriously believe I'm the only human who can speak to their Incepterrian watcher through the membrane."

"All I know is that they built the charges against him upon the foundational idea that he's responsible for the Sentinel program being on phones all over your world," Gem said.

Citizen Spectators began to file back into their seats. Gem gave my hand a reassuring squeeze as Blue approached the lectern in front of the defence box. His image appeared once more as he began to speak.

"Rather than itemize the ways humans are a threat to Incepterrians, we've selected some recordings from Sentinel chips on file which span many periods. We will let these clips demonstrate our point. The first series focuses on disease—something both the rich and poor have in common, although we all know the experiences of disease among the rich are somewhat different."

Gem leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "Stay strong. Remember that the chip you're wearing will force you to experience what happens here as if you are in the images. We will experience it as if we were their second self even though a Sentinel took the original footage."

I took a deep breath as a sickening wave of vertigo washed over me. This person wrapped around my body seemed to be a woman. I could see her thin, worn hands as she dipped a bucket in the freshwater of a fountain. Hooves clacked against filth-covered, cobblestone streets. She weaved her way through a crowd gathered around the produce stands, haggling for better bargains. Not far away, rats scurried along the top of a pit where men were throwing bodies. The overwhelming stench, made worse by the muggy heat, barely seemed to register with the people buying food at the market.

It appeared primary school French wouldn't be enough to help me understand the conversations. If not for science fiction television, I might have had serious questions about how anyone on Incepterrene could understand their human second-self. As things stood, my best guess was that the chips implanted in Incepterrian brains translated human languages. It appeared I wouldn't need anything other than the powerful emotions that coursed through me to help along my imagination to create a script.

Terror washed over me as the woman passed a beggar with black-fingertips on her way home from the market square. She clutched the water container tighter and made the sign of the cross.

Her worst fears were brought to life by the sharp cry of an infant in the dead of night. Sweat stood out on the child's clammy skin. My hand—her hand—trembled as her fingers fell upon a lump under the child's arms. The woman's husband left the house, returning some time later with a man at his side. The woman whispered angrily at her husband, throwing aggravated glances at the stranger in their home. I could feel that somehow this wasn't the person her husband was supposed to have fetched. Watching the man making preparations to bleed the child, I couldn't say that I blamed her for being angry.

Black spots appeared and disappeared on the child as his fever steadily climbed over the next few hours. He choked to death on blood just before dawn. The children died, one after another. Our desperation grew until we were willing to try anything to stop it—even burning the black spots off with a fire-poker. While they watched one of their siblings die from the shock of the attempt, the rest of the children huddled together weeping. None of them remained alive to cry for their father's passing. It felt days had passed by the time the image disappeared. Tears stood out in the eyes of the Citizen Spectators, except for one. Denovo's eyes were as cold and distant as ever.

Red approached her podium. "We can all agree disease has run rampant among humans. What does this prove? It isn't like we always knew how diseases get spread."

Minister Dovie conferred with her colleagues before responding. "The Peace Keepers agree with Red's concerns. Why have you shown us this memory? It appears to have inflicted significant harm for questionable substantive value."

"We feel it's important to understand the scale of the problem. This particular pandemic was estimated to have killed anywhere from seventy-five to two-hundred million humans. As you all know, that means a similar number of Incepterrians died. Colourfully called the Black Death, filthy conditions caused the disease. They were putting bodies in open pits until the flesh rotted from bones, then they turned around and piled the bones in catacombs, so they didn't have to waste valuable land on graveyards. Some of these pits were located in densely populated areas, next to central water supplies. Corruption bled into the water. Rats went into the graves and carried the disease with them as they spread out through the cities. Regardless of what Red tries to say, even at a similar stage of development in our history, Incepterrene never had pandemics on this scale," Blue said.

"How do these historical events relate to humanity being a clear and present threat to Incepterrians," Red said.

Blue scowled. "Their ignorance alone makes humanity a threat. Penicillin did get invented for quite some time after this point. There were countless wars in the time that passed between those two points, including one horrific enough to be called a world war. An entire world. Scratch that. Two Worlds. They managed to find ways to kill each other with bombs, gas, tanks and all the other brutal machinations of their imaginations, yet they couldn't figure out how to stop infections. We guess it shouldn't be a surprise. Simple concepts appear to be quite challenging for humanity. We hope it won't take all of you as long to comprehend."

It wasn't a mystery to me. Blue had tortured us all so he could call me dumb. All around me, Citizen Spectators were sitting up straighter, clenching their fingers and pursing their lips, as they prepared for Blue's second barrage.

Suddenly I was looking through the eyes of a child. Unable to see over the child's swollen belly, it was a little difficult to guess at the gender of the child. It didn't sit well with me as a solution to the debate about whether people should worry so much about the gender of a child. It was strange to see my body subsumed by that of this child.

The child's lungs—My lungs—They burned with every breath. Infection oozed from my ears, my neck felt like a bicycle tire tube, and a painful rash covered my hands. Suddenly my stomach tumbled as if it were a dice flung by an invisible hand.

There was something strange about my erratic eye movements. I was cradled in someone's arms and found myself filled with a sense of comfort I never imagined feeling while being held by another person. It suddenly occurred to me that I should enjoy this while I could; that I might never again feel this kind of contentment in being touched. For once, I wanted to linger in the embrace, vicariously enjoying intimacy I'd always avoided. Something wouldn't let me. There was a dull ache that kept reminding me this wasn't my body. This wasn't my mother. These embraces weren't meant for me. This child might have been able to spend a long life filled with moments like these if not for—the dice tumbled.

Women stood in the shallow water of a river. It looked like they might be washing clothing. I wanted to join them, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I pulled the fabric down over my hands, numb and disfigured by pale sores. After glancing longingly one last time at the women, I retreated into the alley to hide from the world.

My mind whirled once more through the air, landing in the body of a child laying in a hospital bed. I couldn't see. An announcement came over the intercom. I understood the words, but it wasn't much of a comfort. I felt as if I might tear my skin off, if not for the bandage mittens keeping me from scratching.

I could make out three different voices talking about me near the door of the room. A woman said, "We didn't want him to end up with—"

"We realized our choice came with risks," a man cut her off to say as if saving her from a confession she'd never get over making.

"We didn't think the risks that big pharma listed for getting the shots outweighed the risks we knew existed to getting them," the woman said.

"He's lost his vision. The next couple of days will be critical," the third voice said.

The woman cried—the woman who was my mother cried—my mother cried, and I wanted to feel sorry for her. I wanted to feel sympathy for her pain. One thought crystallized in my mind to prevent it: Her decision on my behalf had landed me in the hospital. She had the nerve to tell the doctor that this seemed like a risk worth taking. I couldn't help wondering if she'd feel the same way if she was the one in the hospital bed.

The image disappeared. I was alone in a body that tingled the way a limb does when it's gone numb, and it's beginning to wake-up. People looked at each other with stunned expressions. Tears ran down their faces. They shot me sideways scowls, silently judging me for my lack of tears. I was too busy screaming in my head to cry.

Blue's booming voice broke the tension in the room.

"Preventable diseases kill thousands of humans every year. Most of the memories we experienced together today were of people too poor to access the medications they needed. The last was not. That child had parents who chose not to vaccinate. The child lost their vision. There must have been a point when this child wondered if the adults making decisions were thinking about his best interest above their egos. Keep in mind that the choice these parents made put an Incepterrian life at risk, and it wasn't even an issue of money or lack of access. With the indulgence of the court, we will show a series of images which will demonstrate why we shouldn't accept even poverty or lack of access as good enough reasons to forgive risking Incepterrian lives because of diseases."

Blue stepped back from his pulpit as images of mansions appeared above us. Each was more opulent than the last. Cars, private planes, large boats, and other recreational vehicles flashed through the space of the column. People shopped for ridiculously overpriced items, while others sat begging outside the stores.

Ten minutes had never passed so sluggishly. Blue stepped back in front of the podium and waited for the last image to fade.

"We will elaborate, in case our point has been lost. Humans can't blame all this suffering on poverty: Not when so many humans live with such excess. Some of the wealth we just witnessed came from pharmaceutical companies and hospitals. People expect a financial payoff for their work. That's understandable. What isn't understandable is why these same people believe their wealth should be propped up by someone working three jobs, only to earn enough money to pay basic living expenses. Decide for yourself if you've witnessed fair reward for work or abuse of power and position." Blue took a break while his images beamed into the column to circulate and scan the crowd. The certainty in his eyes was compelling.

"If you take away the wealthiest members of any country, there would still be many who had more wealth than they need. Some of them distribute their wealth in generous ways, while others hoard wealth, watching those around them live in desperate poverty. We can't change what human beings do. That doesn't mean we have to forgive it. There's one more thing I need to show you. As you view this memory, consider occasions when you've overheard these kinds of conversations. Think about the times you've been forced to watch someone you love die before their time."

The world shifted. It was a warm summer day. Gem stood across from me, shimmering like sunlight through water mist. I closed my eyes and let myself experience the memory, knowing the Citizen Spectators were looking through a window opened into my mind. They could sense my confusion as Gem told the child version of me about how Incepterrians died at the same time as their second selves. They could feel me push away the knowledge that one day, I would kill my best friend. They listened to me grieve for a child I'd never met who lived on the other side of the world, and a sister who was not my own. I opened my eyes and caught Denovo in what I was sure was the first genuine expression of emotions I'd seen from him—one of unadulterated rage.

~ ~ ~

After zombie-walking back to my cell at the end of the day, all I could hear were garbled, nonsensical sounds. My tongue felt thick when I tried to thank a security agent for the prison issue clothes he handed to me. It was probably for the best, seeing as it wasn't standard practice to thank someone for keeping you in a cage. I slipped into sleep the moment my head touched my pillow.

Gem's arrival in the morning gave me an answer to a question I hadn't wanted to ask. The torture wasn't going to end any time soon.

I had a pretty good idea of the kind of thoughts that robbed him of sleep, leaving him with dark circles under his eyes. He had a new bag of clothes under his arm. This time he'd selected an asymmetrical t-shirt, long-tail hoodie, ankle-length skirt, and yoga sandals. Gem made it sound as if most Incepterrians were happy to have the fashion conundrum taken off their plate, which made me wonder who was making these clothes. The idea of someone keeping a stash of contraband clothing in a secret cellar might have made me laugh if it weren't so sad.

Gem turned to face the cell door while I changed. He knocked on the door for the security agent to let us out when I finished. "Eight hours of Blue explaining what threat means to look forward to; I wouldn't want to miss a minute of the fun," Gem said over his shoulder as we waited.

"I don't understand why they're allowing this torture to continue," I said.

Gem didn't get the chance to answer before one of the guards ordered us into the vehicle. Our escort sat with us in the car, which wasn't a flying one like the day before, which made it difficult to have a conversation with Gem. I suggested a game of I Spy to kill time but was a little surprised when the security agent when along with my suggestion. He rambled off a long list of things when I got to 'I spy with my little eye, something beige,' before finally admitting defeat. I couldn't tell if he knew I was making fun of him, but it was clear that Gem understood. Whether he disapproved was a little less obvious.

We exited the vehicle between two barriers that held back the crowd. Gem pulled me against his body, keeping his eyes from straying to the signs people along the sides of the corridor waved. He had more self-control than I did.

Once we were inside the building, he guided me back to the spot where we'd sat the day before, and we waited in silence for the proceedings to begin. Blue was the first to speak.

"Yesterday, we demonstrated to the court how a disease is not always a natural event. Sometimes it's a cruel and unnatural choice made to deny medical aid to someone in need because the cost isn't good for the bottom line of some faceless corporate stakeholders. As terrible as a disease might be, there are human actions that threaten the lives of Incepterrians every day. There are decisions made that cause more intentional harm than what we've already shown. Today we will begin our exploration of war and murder."

Blue took his seat. An image of a castle appeared above the court. My stomach twisted momentarily. The next thing I knew, I found myself standing among men holding pitchforks and axes. A knight sat astride a horse nearby, shouting orders to advance. I somehow reached the castle wall and wondered if the worse was over, only to feel my mind melt with the pain of hot oil raining down over my body.

The dice rolled. A new atrocity awaited. The stench of rotten meat and feces mingled with the sickly scent of infected wounds. Petrified faces of boys surrounded me in the trench. A lump caught in my throat as I caught sight of one boy who had Daniel's red hair and freckles. Casper's ardent eyes watched me from another mud-smeared face.

A man squeezed down the line of soldiers in the trench. "Ready yourselves. We're going over the top," he shouted.

I didn't want to go. I was too young to die. Moments later, my commanding officer shouted the command. I didn't move. I couldn't make myself run. A warm stream flowed down my legs as

I lost control of my bladder. My commanding officer walked behind me and issued an ultimatum. The last thing I felt was the back of my skull blasting apart as a bullet burst through the bone. The last thing I saw was my blood saturating the trench wall.

I knew the gaps had been filled in by my imagination—that there was no way I could understand these people's last thoughts—but sharing their emotions made it easier to imagine. I could replace the faces of people they'd loved with the faces of my loved ones. Although the dreams they'd had for their lives were a mystery, I could imagine the loss I'd feel to know everything I'd hoped for my life was about to be ripped away.

Without having a chance for the shock of dying in the trench to fade, the world flipped once again. I found myself onboard a troop transport boat headed toward a beach. Machine gunfire and the sound of Ack-Ack guns further up the beach made me think of the bells that would ring in a church belfry before a funeral. I knew that in a matter of moments, the rear gate would open and we would be expected to exit. In all likelihood, this would be the beach where I would die.

I watched friends drop in the water as a salvo of bullets hit them. Saltwater filled my mouth as I slipped under the waves. I told myself it was the only thing I could taste, although I couldn't make myself believe it. I would carry my friends inside of me forever. Stumbling up the beach, I felt relieved to have made it far enough to be able to die on dry land. The thing was, I didn't die.

We surged up the beach as machine guns continued to pick people off. Soldiers stumbled into craters and stayed down. Some were dead. Others were praying to be spared from the bullets ripping up the dirt around them. We took the machine gun nest against all the odds. I was forced to shoot one boy who looked no more than fifteen years old. As the pain twisted his childlike features, I felt pieces of the boy lodge in me like shrapnel. I would carry him inside me as well.

At some point, I lost count of how many bullets I'd fired, and how many of them had found their mark. Boys who were my age. Men who looked like my father. Boys who were probably someone's lover. They all fell.

The world twirled, and I found myself in a village surrounded by dull gray hills. The Canadian maple leaf emblem on my shoulder didn't quite jive with the blazing heat or being unable to understand my own words.

As a group of girls exited the school in front of me, I felt pride in the knowledge that I could pay back the women who came before me by being the shoulders these girls stood on. The moment was fleeting. A man screamed something hateful, then threw something at a girl who was no older than eight-years-old. I reached out to push the girl behind me. Acid hit me in the face, splashing across the girl's torso.

It felt like I was in a moving car, and someone had slammed their foot down on the brakes. The images went black. As my vision refocused on the courtroom, I could see that everyone around me looked as sick as I felt. I rushed forward to vomit in a trash can. Raising my head, I caught sight of people wrinkling their noses at the smell wafting their direction. Blue smirked at me, before turning to speak to Blue.

A speaker system announced an hour-long recess. I wondered if it might be better to press on and be done with the torture, except there was no guarantee the end was anywhere in sight. Even if Blue had finished with war, he still hadn't touched on murder. Gem guided me to a private courtyard to stretch. I was happy not to talk. I wasn't even sure if I could. At the end of the hour, I dragged myself back into the courtroom and took my seat. I didn't scan the faces around me, not wanting to see the smug expressions of the people in the defence box. I didn't want to see the hammer and chain symbols on the clothing of Citizen Spectators. Most of all, I didn't want to see people pointing their fingers in my direction.

I was flooded with feelings of euphoria as an image appeared. My legs steadily propelled me forward in a shuffling run. It didn't matter that I wasn't moving quickly. It didn't matter that forty years ago, I could have done the same route in a fraction of the time. The only thing that mattered was the cold air I was breathing and the pounding of my heart, both a testament to the fact that I was still alive.

Suddenly, something slammed into my forehead. My vision blurred for a moment, slowly refocusing to see the bottom of the train bridge and the sky beyond that. A young man stood over me with a rock in his hand. I brought my leg up between his legs and rolled onto my knees.

I found myself desperately wishing I could lend my modest karate skills to help with the fight. I knew the inevitable end of this encounter would be murder. The problem was that the barrier between this body and my own seemed thin enough to cross through and force something to change.

The boy grabbed me by the waist as I tried to scramble up the snow-covered embankment on my hands and knees. I smashed my elbow into the side of his face and made another mad dash for the road up top. My foot slipped on the slick rocks, and I whipped down a snow-chute, cracking my head against something right before I shot out over space and landed in the freezing water. The current was too strong to fight. The cold was too intense to allow me to think about much more than my screaming nerves. I caught sight of the boy's panicked expression, right before the water pulled me under, and almost felt sorry for him. This hadn't been his plan. The boy hadn't planned on killing me. He just wanted my money, and I'd have given that to him without much argument. He had a long life to look forward to, where he'd have to find a way to live with what he'd done for a little cash.

It didn't bother me that I might not be right about the details of what this person was thinking in their final moments. I was too preoccupied with how the water felt like a mother's arms rocking me to sleep. For the second time in as many days, I'd found myself lost in the comfort of someone's arms.

Then I was gone.

The next memory began. A bunch of older children surrounded a kid who looked about fourteen-years-old. I was him, and he was me.

Children surrounded me as I lay sprawled on the ground in a demolition site. They threw chunks of cement at me, not stopping even when they drew blood. I looked for escape routes, or for someone who would help. Unable to find either, I tried to convince myself to take the beating without crying.

A boy knocked me to the ground, jumped on top of me and punched my face until blood gushed from my nose. I begged him to stop. I tried to push him off and run, but another boy pushed me back to the ground. I tried again to run. Rebar caught my foot. Another piece of rebar sticking up from the ground met my body as it fell, puncturing my chest and spraying my life into the wind as the metal ripped a hole through my back.

The images disappeared. I glanced around and saw that everyone was struggling as much as I was to get their bearings. I put my head down and concentrated on my thoughts. Rage—that was what I was feeling.

I stood and screamed at Denovo, "What about the murder you committed? What about my brother?"

Gem placed his hand firmly on my shoulder and pushed me back into my seat. Minister Dovie gave me a pointed stare but didn't say anything. She must have been feeling the impact of what Blue had put us through as much as everyone else.

Blue put on a sweet smile. "We'll be done soon, Miss Lyon. We only have one more image to show. You don't need to worry, Rory. It's not the murder you committed."

I didn't have time to figure out what he meant by that. The images appeared, and something about them was familiar. I was sure I'd been in this room, but out of context, I couldn't figure out when. Gem shifted uncomfortably in his seat, making me think he'd also seen this room before.

The eyes I saw through stopped to look at a picture on the wall. I gasped as recognition hit me. It was a picture of my family. Gem closed his hand around mine. He knew what was coming. Blue was going to show the murder of my brother.

It made no sense! Denovo's defence team must have had Daniel's Incepterrian watcher at some point. How would this show humans were a threat? Denovo admitted to killing my brother as part of one of his experiments. If Denovo had been telling the truth, showing Daniel's murder should prove the opposite of Blue's current argument. There was no reason for me to believe he'd told the truth, or at least not all of it.

My mind refocused on the sound of a creaking door. I opened my eyes to see a man wearing hospital scrubs. He jumped on my chest before I had the chance to ask him why he was in my room, pinning my arms down with his knees. He stabbed a needle into my neck and injected something, then threw pills into the back of my mouth. I suddenly understood how our dog felt when we'd hold her mouth closed until she swallowed her medicine. Swallowing was inevitable, but I resisted as long as I could.

My ears rang as the memory ended. Mouths moved soundlessly on faces all around me. I caught a glimpse of Gem's mouth, forming a silent command for me to stop as I launched myself toward his brother. Gemini grabbed me around the waist, heaved me over his shoulder and hauled me out of the room, with my fists slamming into his back all the while.