The Lost Train of Thought (4 page)

“Bureaucrats in their ivory tower! What about ze people of Ze World? Have we forgotten zat zis should be our main concern?”

Figarro was as surprised as anyone when a round of applause exploded through the room.

“Order! Order in the court!” Second in Command High-tower angrily slammed down the gavel and brought the hall to silence. “I know a lot of people have strong feelings, but this trial is about more than one man’s job. It’s about who we are as The Seems and what kind of World we want to create.”

“Hopefully not one filled with Rules and regulations.” A disgruntled Nature Buff stood up without raising her hand. “Whatever happened to thinking for ourselves?”

“Sounds to me like you’re surfing the wrong wave, sister.” A Minuteman from the Department of Time got right in her face. “Maybe we should see what kind of necklace you’re sporting.”

Again, the Hall of Justice fell into disarray as the two workers charged at each other and had to be restrained by security. But this time, the pounding of gavels had no effect whatsoever.

“Order!” shouted all three judges to no avail. “Order in this court!”

While most in The Seems still had faith in the Big Building and its Plan, in the past year the underground movement known as The Tide had continued its alarming rise. Their efforts to remove the Powers That Be and take over The World had grown more brazen, and though few would publicly admit sympathies, the group’s proposals were starting to gain traction with the public. Which is why fights like this had become all too common.

It was only when a tall man with steely blue eyes raised his hand from the very back of the room that the hall grew quiet once more. Slowly at first, then all at once, as each person in the crowd realized who was requesting permission to speak.

“The court recognizes Samuel Hightower.” The Second in Command’s voice remained decidedly professional, even though everyone in the room knew their relationship was anything but. “Do you have an opinion in this matter?”

The tall man leaned back against the wall behind him and smiled.

“It’s my opinion that everyone should take a deep breath and remember that we’re all on the same side.”

When Samuel Hightower spoke, people in The Seems listened. His term as Second in Command had been the longest in recorded History and his approval ratings astronomically high. Though he had unexpectedly resigned his post seven years ago, he was still a consultant to the Powers That Be and with all the political upheaval, calls for his reinstatement had become louder and louder. Oh, and there was one more thing that made the gossip columnist for the
Daily Plan
lean forward in the press box.

Samuel was Eve Hightower’s husband.

“These are tenuous times in The Seems, are they not?” He lifted a well-worn cowboy boot to the rail in front of him and polished the toe with his thumb. “Who among us thought there would come a day when metal detectors lined the doors to every department? When Special Forces roamed the Field of Play, checking every bag and knapsack? When brother and sister would turn on each other as they haven’t since the terrible days of the Color Wars?”

Though he never looked at the Nature Buff or Minuteman, the reprimand was clear, and all who’d engaged in the scuffle dropped their eyes to the floor.

“It’s no secret who is responsible for the situation we now face. And though we can all agree that The Tide’s methods are distasteful—if not downright criminal— they’ve also forced us to ask some tough questions. Questions we’ve been avoiding since back in the Day. And trust me, no one avoided them more than I did, when I sat in the chair at the head of this room.”

Heads shook throughout the hall, as if to exonerate the man who had led them for so many peaceful and productive years, but Samuel would hear none of it.

“In many ways, this trial is about our unwillingness to look in the mirror. A boy too young to vote or drive a car in his own world was confronted by the intractable Rules of another. Did Becker Drane break these Rules? Of course he did. Did he violate the ‘granddaddy of ’em all’? Without a doubt. But in my opinion, that is not what we are here to decide.”

“What then?” said Dominic Dozenski, anxious to be told what to do.

“What we’re here to decide is what we, the people of The Seems, are going to do when the letter of the law and its spirit are at odds.” Samuel dropped his foot back to the floor and gazed at the teenager who sat by himself in a small box at the front of the room. “And I for one cannot make that decision without hearing from the Fixer himself.”

“Um . . .”

Realizing that everyone in the court was now intently staring at him, Becker stopped in mid-stroke and turned to a blank page in his Briefing Pad. The last thing he wanted anyone to see— especially at this point in the trial— was that the entire time he’d been on the stand, he had not been recording the opinions offered on or against his behalf. Nor had he been taking “notes to self” on case law for a potential appeal. Rather, he’d been pleasantly sketching the initials “J” and “K” in every conceivable combination and pattern.

“Fixer Drane.” Eve Hightower laid her gavel back down on the bench and focused her piercing brown eyes upon the kid from Highland Park, New Jersey. “If you would like to make a statement on your own behalf, now would be the time.”

By and large, Becker had kept his head down during the trial, both on his lawyer’s advice and because this whole thing was really embarrassing. But when the Fixer brushed aside his lengthy bangs and scanned the courtroom, he was soothed by the sight of friendly faces smiling back.

Over there was Johnny Z, program director of radio station
WDOZ, whom Becker had swapped mixes with ever since his first Mission to the Department of Sleep. And over there was Mellow, the barista at the Magic Hour coffee shop, who’d been sneaking Becker day-old scones long before he came to her rescue when the Time Bomb exploded. Flip Orenz had snuck away from the lunch rush at The Flip Side to lend his support, while leaning on his janitor’s mop was Brooks, Becker’s connection in The Know, who clenched a fist as if to say, “We’re with you, bro.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie to everybody,” Becker said as he loosened his paisley tie. “I’m pretty much guilty as charged.”

A low rumble went through the hall, but seemed to soften the mood.

“Talk to any Fixer who’s ever gone on a Mission and he’ll tell you the same thing— if it comes down to saving The World or breaking the Rules, I’m gonna save The World every time. But obviously, the same logic doesn’t apply to why I broke the Golden . . .”

Since Becker’s fellow Fixers had been asked to recuse themselves, a handful of Briefers and Candidates had jumped at the front-row seats marked “reserved for IFR.” All of them were shaking their heads at Becker, trying and failing to get him to change the direction of his testimony.

“I wish I could say I did it for some important reason or because I was trying to make a political statement, but the truth is, that had nothing to do with it.”

Samuel Hightower leaned forward and asked the question that was on everybody’s tongue. “Then why, son? Why did you do it?”

“I guess . . .” Becker flushed red and felt like he wanted to puke, but he had little choice other than to throw himself on the mercy of the court. “I guess because I really like this girl.”

There was no response from the crowd, other than an instinctive turning toward Samuel, whose voice for so many years had been the most important in The Seems. For his part, the former Second in Command just sat back down on his chair and concluded:

“That’s good enough for me.”

Becker might’ve caught the present Second in Command rolling her eyes— just like his mom did when his dad pulled some sort of grandstanding move at a dinner party— but she quickly regained command of the floor.

“If there are no further opinions, then it’s time to take a Straw Poll in the case of Fixer #37, Ferdinand Becker Drane III.”

In the Court of Public Opinion, each citizen was issued a packet of three different-colored straws. A red straw equated to “guilty” (and sentencing by the current tribunal), yellow to “guilty, with mitigating circumstances” (usually a slap on the wrist or community service), and green, “not guilty” (leave the court house steps a free man, woman, or child). One straw per person could then be deposited in any of the countless drop boxes used by SPS,
⁶
where they were rapidly gathered and tabulated in the Mail room.

All that remained to set the vote in motion was for each of the judges to ceremoniously bang their gavels and declare the hearing over. From the way Judge Altman and many others smiled at him, Becker was confident that his “honesty is the best policy” approach in the trial would land him a majority of yellow straws. The last thing he wanted was a sentencing hearing where Administrator Torte would no doubt be pushing for Seemsberia or a complete unremembering of everything he’d fought for and believed in these past four years. But just as he was about to button up his blazer and step off the stand, the doors to the courtroom swung open.

“If it pleases the court, Your Honors.” A voice with the peculiar twang of southern Australia froze the gavels mere inches above the bench. “Central Command would like to offer an opinion in this matter.”

“Of course.” Eve Hightower and her two fellows leaned back in their leather-bound chairs. “The court recognizes Cassiopeia Lake.”

Dressed in a smart pantsuit, her hair up in a bun for this formal occasion, was Fixer Casey Lake. Becker had never seen her in anything other than flip-flops and cutoff jeans or a sundress, and the wry look of amusement she usually wore on her face was gone. She looked deadly serious. But as she stoically handed Clarence the Bailiff a thin brown envelope stamped with a Wrench, Becker couldn’t stop himself from celebrating the fact that his fellow Fixers were coming to his defense. Considering how much weight they were given among the Powers That Be, maybe a not guilty verdict was on the table after all.

“We, the undersigned Fixers”—Clarence pulled a single sheet of paper from the envelope and began to read aloud— “with one Fixer abstaining— submit the following opinion in the case of
The Seems v. Ferdinand Becker Drane III
.”

Becker shot a smile at one of his closest Fixer friends, but when Casey did not return it, the suit that he’d worn to so many confirmations and bar mitzvahs began to feel abnormally tight and small. And that was before he heard the rest.

“Despite our respect for the defendant’s skill and dedication to The World, each and every one of us swore an oath on the day we received our Fixer’s Badge. A promise to protect the Plan for The World and live by the Rules that govern its enacting. And though every Fixer has been forced to bend or even circumvent those Rules with the fate of The World at stake, we believe that Fixer Drane’s violations came not from any allegiance to our sacred oath or dedication to the Mission, but from a desire to meet his own selfish needs. Therefore, it is with profound disappointment that we recommend a verdict of guilty . . . without mitigating circumstances.”

The bailiff looked up from the page and delivered the final blow.

“It’s co-signed by Jelani Blaque.”

Gasps shot through the Hall of Justice, as literally no one could believe that the IFR’s legendary head instructor had thrown his weight behind the opinion. As for the defendant himself, Becker’s heart started to pound so viciously that he thought he might pass out right then and there.

“The opinion of the Fixers is duly noted,” declared Judge Alvin Torte, smug satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “Does anyone have anything to say in response?”

No one did, least of all Becker Drane. Thus, three gavels simultaneously banged down upon the bench, and Second in Command Eve Hightower rose to her feet. “Then let the Straw Poll begin.”

4.
Court of Public Opinion Tele vision.

5.
“World-based employees of The Seems, in all cases regarding those without knowledge of The Seems, should (except when permission has been granted by the Powers That Be) keep their mouths shut.”

6.
Seemsian Postal Service: “When it maybe, hopefully, sort of, really needs to get there relatively on timeSM.”