Page 104 of Border Control
And she's almost laughing.
Imaya interrupts. “What do you do on your world? Research?”
Ah, the question dreaded by the unemployed. “Lawyer. Law interpreter.”
“Oh, the Prif's laws are so clear, we don't need interpreters,” a redhead says, taking a gulp of her drink. “It doesn’t take long to understand them.”
That's not necessarily a good thing. Clear can still promote inequality.
“Lawyers also have another function. In a way, we test the laws.” I glance at Imaya. “Rather like scientists do, we're trying arguments and testing both the spirit and the letter of the law.”
Her attention focuses on me. “Spirit of the law? What's that?”
I've hooked her. Good.
“It's the intention behind the law. The letter of the law is literal interpretation, but the reason it came to be and what it’s supposed to remedy might be missed in application,” I explain.
The redheads and blonde lean in. Imaya's eyebrows rise. “How do you test a law?”
“They're usually tested and added to in trials.” I'm being a bit loose here, but trial outcomes do form precedent for other similar cases coming after them.
Imaya's eyes gleam. “Sounds interesting. I'd love to see it in action. I'm a Voice for Samara, whenever my research doesn't need me directly supervising it.”
“What's a Voice?”
“I implement our laws to new situations and speak on how the law will apply to them.”
Sounds like a judge. “And are there Voices for either side of the argument?”
“Only one Voice is needed, because my laws are clear.” Samara’s expression darkens, her face tightening. “They were designed to be easy to apply.”
“Ah, yes.Yourlaws.”
I let the resulting quiet sink in to the others, especially Imaya. I can only hope she's using her obvious intelligence to see what I see: Samara making the laws as she sees fit. Next I need to help others question whether that's in everyone's best interests.
And Samara knows that's what I'm doing.
‘Dom, I'm fighting for you,’ I send to him.‘I'm doing battle the best way I know how, with words.’
There's no response, nothing from the connection between us. Without him listening, soaking me in, my thoughts echo, hollow and empty.
Like my promise to him. He got shot, when I promised he'd be safe. My sanity may be on the line, but I didn't think it'dtruly be at the cost of his life. He knew what would happen; he willingly embraced death for my sake.
I have to do better. I can’t fail him. He might think himself replaceable, his culture might view him as little more than a malfunctioning cog, but he’s so much more than that.
The sleek car hums beneath us as it hovers, then gently descends, touching down on a stretch of pristine, cream-colored stone. I peer out the window. We've landed inside the walls of a compound, like the walled estates of the ultra-wealthy back on Earth, an oasis of luxury hidden behind towering walls that cut it off from the rest of the world.
Polished stone walkways arc away from us, lined with lush, vibrant gardens bursting with exotic flowers. Fountains sculpted into graceful shapes gurgle peacefully in the shade of trees. A massive, ivory-white mansion sprawls in the distance, its sleek lines and shimmering windows catching the light as if carved from opalescent stone. The walls surrounding us are high and smooth, and while I’m sure they’re great at keeping intruders out, they feel more like an embrace. Like Dom’s arms, shutting the world out and creating a sense of absolute security.
This place is its own little world.
As the door slides open, I climb out of the car. The air’s still hot but there’s a breeze from somewhere, and the gold and red plants give everything a fall vibe. Small groups of young girls walk along the pathways chattering to one another, all dressed in simple, elegant robes that flutter in the breeze. They move with self assurance, their little hands gripping sleek, shiny devices, or hoisting themselves into hover cars without a second thought. It’s clear they’re perfectly at home here, as if they’ve never known fear or danger.
One of the youngest, a tiny girl with golden curls and wide, curious eyes, skips right up to Samara.
“Hello, Prif!” she chirps, flashing her a bright smile. Around us, more young girls echo the greeting in cheerful voices.
Samara’s cold demeanor softens instantly. She smiles down at them with genuine warmth.
