Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [29]
A pleasurable shock—she’d mentioned they needed to expedite the process, but that’s fast by any standards. If only March had waited. I could have gone with him, maybe. The dart of anger sparks and fades, leaving me wrestling with guilt. I made the choices that landed me here . . . and I don’t expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. We’re not one soul, one being, however much we love each other.
I fix my mind on business, crushing my wounded feelings. “Can you check into some things for me?”
“Certainly.”
“Find out whether Commander March has left New Terra . . .” I’m sure he has. He wrote days ago that he was heading out to look for his nephew. Don’t hope. “. . . and if Argus has started training the other navigators yet.”
“I’ll put my assistant on it as soon as I return to the office.”
“Thank you. What do you need from me for the trial?”
Ms. Hale spends a considerable amount of time briefing me on how to comport myself in court, how to elicit sympathy, and how to avoid alienating the jury of my peers with my attitude. From there, we proceed to fashion tips and other crucial trivia that will allegedly make the difference between success and failure. I listen with full attention, as I don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked up.
“Any questions?” she asks, once she finishes.
“I think I got it.”
“The guard will bring your court clothes the day before.”
That gives me almost a whole week to think about the ordeal to come, so I’m preoccupied during the exercise period, usually my favorite time of day, because at least people surround me, even if they don’t talk to me. But on the fourth day after the barrister’s visit, one of the other prisoners takes the machine next to mine. She’s young and covered in ink. Blue whorls twist up her arms and beneath the plain gray of her prison garb. Red spirals crawl down the back of her neck. The girl, for she’s hardly more than that, has dark hair that looks as though she trimmed it in the dark with a razor blade.
“You’re Jax, right?”
I offer a cautious nod, not pausing in my reps. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe,” she says. “The girls figure there’s no way in hell you’re staying here. Not you. So when you run, we want in.”
The other women watch us from the corners of their eyes, as if they expect drama. I’m not giving it to them. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m going to serve my time and stand trial.”
Her face falls. “You didn’t before.”
“That was different.” But I can see from her expression, she doesn’t see the distinction. “What’d you do anyway?”
“I killed a guy,” she answers flatly.
“I guess you had a good reason.”
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Turns out he had credits and a powerful family. Bad luck for me. I shoulda just let him stick his thing in me. Not like it’d be the first time.” But beneath the bravado, she’s nursing a grave wound.
This girl did what she had to defend herself, and now she’s rotting in here because some bastard’s family has connections. For the first time, a spark of the old Jax comes to life. Maybe I’ve done terrible things, and maybe I deserve to be in here. If I’m past saving, it doesn’t mean I can’t help somebody else.
“You did the right thing,” I tell her. “What’s your name?”
“Pandora.”
Of course it is. As I recall, Pandora had a knack for trouble, but I can’t blame this girl for her situation.
“When’s your trial?”
“Dunno. I think they’re trying to make sure I die in here without ever getting a fair shake.”
“How long have you been in?”
“Eight months.”
Frag. That sounds like a hellishly long time for jurisprudence to take its course, even if the wheels of justice do turn slow. That’s glacial.
“Do you have a barrister?”
“Can’t afford one.”
Which means she’ll have to take court-appointed counsel if they ever call her number in the system. Thinking about her problem gives me something to do, at least. I’m not positive how much I can help her from in here, but I’ll try.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Are you really staying?”
“Running