CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Aiden

T he following morning, the courtroom was absolutely packed, with a gaggle of lawyers and Associates on both sides of the case, six Eumadians, a dozen or so military personnel – here to act as witnesses to Kade’s behaviour and skills on the field – and about a hundred spectators packed into the rows of seats at the back of the room, including Ambassador Vendanu and half a dozen of her attendants in the front row.

The three judges for this case were all going to be Sedgegeds, with the final decision being a collaboration of opinions from the Associates and the judges. The three judges together would get fifty per cent of the vote, while each Associate would have a vote, their combined decisions making up the other fifty per cent.

The Sedgegeds had been the most recent species to join the Alliance, but they’d slid seamlessly into the fabric of our society, taking on many of the roles that required extended study, like doctors or scientists, while avoiding anything that involved intense physical activity. Sedgegeds were not designed for either strength or stamina, and not a single one of them had ever attempted to sign up for the military. They were highly intelligent and generally very even tempered, which made them ideal as judges, lawyers and politicians. Indeed, nearly a quarter of the Associates in parliament were Sedgegeds, despite them making up only one tenth of the general population.

“All rise,” a Denzogal at the front of the room announced in a booming voice, and we all stood, the room falling silent as the judges filed into the room and took their seats. They were all a similar height – about a metre and a half tall – and they had long, ornate claws and multi-coloured feathers over their entire bodies. They were the only species in the Alliance that did not routinely wear clothes, and they also had the quirk of walking around on all fours, when not engaged in formal business. In the courtroom, of course, all three of them were standing up straight and walking on their hind legs.

“You may be seated,” the Denzogal said to the room, once the judges gave him a nod.

The first judge – a woman who was quite advanced in years, if the fading colours of her feathers were anything to go by – pulled up a holographic file on her desk and regarded the room with stern eyes. Sedgegeds had beaks, not lips, and their native language was a series of chirps and trills. Thankfully, our translators interpreted their words without a problem, as they were incapable of speaking Alliance Common. “The case today; Claim by Eumadians of ownership of abandoned cargo and their request to regain possession of said cargo. Rebuttal by Alliance Legal Defence; Slavery is unnatural and the individual known as ‘Kade’ is an autonomous person, not a possession. To begin, I call upon the Eumadian representative Volgoch to state the basis of your claim.”

Over on the far side of the room, one of the Eumadians stood up, a Solof lawyer standing up beside him to guide him through the process. Eumadians’ skin was a slate-grey colour, and very wrinkled. Their heads were bald and their postures naturally hunched. I had the uncomplimentary thought that they would have made wonderful villains in a Derelian horror movie.

Volgoch opened a file on his comm and read the statement flatly, not making even a token attempt at emotion. “On the fifth day of Jengul of this year, a small Eumadian cruiser was attacked by a Culradish cargo ship, causing the freighter to lose its cargo on the planet of Rendol 4. This cargo included a dimari by the name of Kade, who was in transit to his intended master, who had legally purchased him while in Eumadian space. We understand that slavery is illegal in Alliance space, but the fact remains that it is not in many other parts of the galaxy.

“It may be argued that the Eumadians have not previously attempted to recover dimari who were lost on Rendol 4, which could be seen to negate our claim in this case. However, the value of the cargo in this shipment was far greater than most deliveries. A typical dimari would cost around forty thousand credits. However, Kade’s specialist training brought his price up to one hundred and fifty thousand credits. As such, the economic cost of losing him is significant.

“In Alliance space, the breeding and raising of livestock is common practice, along with their deliberate slaughter for food or other products. Our stance is that at the point that the dimari are sold, they are no longer capable of making independent decisions, of adequately caring for themselves without outside guidance, and have been ‘domesticated’, if you will, to perform a certain range of tasks. As such, we see no moral conflict in selling them to owners who intend to care for them, feed them, protect them, and make use of their skills to perform specific work. I could argue that plenty of animals in Alliance space suffer far worse fates.

“As such, we request the immediate return of Kade to the Eumadians, and permission to remove him from Alliance space.”

My gut churned as I listened to the entirely dispassionate statement. The Eumadians were doing well in addressing the primary rebuttals that the Alliance legal team were going to have; namely, the fact that they hadn’t previously attempted to regain any cargo, the legalities of slavery in other parts of the galaxy, and the fact that Kade wouldn’t have been here at all if the Culrads hadn’t shot down their ship.

Aside from that, though, I didn’t know how to interpret the lack of enthusiasm in Volgoch’s request. Was it a cultural thing, or a genuine display of disinterest? I didn’t know enough about the Eumadians to know, and with all of the observers expected to be silent, now certainly wasn’t the time to ask Kade if this was normal for them.

I glanced over at Kade, wondering how he was reacting to Volgoch’s opening statement. He sat still, not seeming unduly tense or anxious, and also not looking particularly surprised by anything the Eumadians had said. I was sure we were going to have a very interesting conversation when we got back to the base tonight.

“Thank you, Volgoch,” the judge said. “I now call upon the Alliance Legal Defence for your opening statement.”

A stern-faced Solof woman stood up, wearing a navy business suit. “Thank you, Your Honour,” she said to the judge. “As Volgoch correctly pointed out, slavery is illegal in Alliance space. And both the Eumadians and the dimari themselves refer to the dimari as slaves. There is a vast difference between slaves and livestock, the primary difference being that slaves are people, with a deep and intricate understanding of the world, the ability to express both physical pain and emotional distress, and the capacity for self-awareness – both of their own existence and of their place in the galaxy.

“There are plenty of people from a multitude of species who are not capable of caring for themselves, for reasons of either physical or mental disability. But if a Solof child was born with a mental impairment, for example, we would not for a moment consider selling them to profit from their labour. Instead, we would provide for their ongoing needs, desires and abilities, as far as available resources would allow. We have a large number of witnesses here today who have interacted with Kade and can testify to his ability to make decisions – albeit within a defined set of parameters – to express his opinions and emotions, and to understand his own place in the world.

“Furthermore, it is entirely disingenuous of the Eumadian team to pretend that the dimari are docile and obedient for any reason other than their own manipulations and neurological engineering technology. The Eumadians kidnap Vangravian children soon after birth and spend the next two decades moulding them into submissive slaves. To claim a lack of responsibility for their state at the end of this process is laughable.

“I’m confident that as we explore the testimony of our witnesses, it will be clear that Kade is a person, not an animal, and that sending him back to his captors would be detrimental to his physical and mental wellbeing.”

I felt a touch better after hearing the woman’s confident declaration and well-thought-out arguments. And knowing that there were more than a dozen people here in this room willing to bat for Kade was reassuring. Logically, I knew it was incredibly unlikely that the court would ever rule in the Eumadians’ favour. But at the same time, I’d seen some profoundly bizarre things happen in the galaxy, which made it impossible to simply assume our victory. If I’d learned nothing else in my twenty-eight years alive, it was that life loved to throw a curve-ball.

When it was the Eumadians’ turn to speak again, Volgoch stood up, addressing the court in that same flat monotone. “We have been accused of kidnapping babies. This is entirely untrue. The Vangravian babies are given to us by their mothers. They do this willingly and deliberately, and they are entirely satisfied with the way we care for the children.” He went on to detail the supposedly mutually beneficial agreement they had with the Vangravians, to ‘care for’ the excess children born, who would otherwise not have a safe home or adequate resources to raise them. His story was fascinating, even as it was horrifying. I had wondered how the Eumadians had such a steady stream of Vangravians to train, but if their mothers were willingly handing them over, it explained why the Vangravians hadn’t declared war on Eumad for their child-trafficking activities.

Once Volgoch sat down, the defence team stared at each other in bafflement. “Uh… Your Honour, this topic would require more time to explore properly,” the Solof lawyer said, sounding less confident now. “We do not have an expert witness on Eumadian affairs, and we cannot currently verify the truth of Volgoch’s statements.”

Accurately researching what Volgoch had said would take weeks, if it was even possible at all. Where the heck would we find a Eumadian expert who wasn’t Eumadian themselves?

Unless, of course…

Risking the displeasure of the court if I was overheard, I leaned over to Kade. “Do you know where they get the children from?” I asked him. I was a little frustrated with myself that I hadn’t thought to ask earlier. Kade nodded, seeming entirely at ease with the question. “And is it what Volgoch says?”

“Not exactly,” Kade replied .

I moved to catch Associate Nors’ eye… but then had a second thought. “How confident are you about the truth of what you know?” I asked Kade.

A faint smirk tilted his lips. “Very.”

That was good enough for me. I raised my hand in the politest ‘may I speak’ gesture I could manage, and Nors immediately sat up. “Your Honour, I believe Lieutenant Hill has some information that may assist us with this issue,” she announced. Given that the Eumadians were not Alliance members, and that they didn’t really understand all of the usual court processes, we’d been warned that proceedings might breach the usual protocols. In this case, that worked in my favour, if it meant I could interrupt the court to toss my own ideas into the mix.

“Lieutenant Hill?” the second judge said, a woman who still had vibrant feathers, and a prominent plume of blue on the top of her head. “What would you like to add?”

I stood up respectfully. “Your Honour, I believe Kade himself could provide expert information on the process by which the Eumadians acquire the Vangravian children.”

“Objection,” one of the Eumadians’ lawyers spoke up immediately, and I idly wondered how the man was expecting to live with himself once this was over. Did he actually believe in his cause? Or was he just being paid enough that he didn’t care? “It has been proven that dimari are dedicated to obeying their master’s orders, rather than to telling the truth. How would we know that Kade is not simply saying what his master wants him to say?”

That stumped the judge… but only for a moment. “Lieutenant Hill, would you be willing to order Kade to tell the truth to the court?”

“Of course,” I agreed easily.

“Then I’m happy to admit Kade as a witness.”

There was a bit of shuffling as we moved out of the way to allow Kade to walk to the witness stand. Once he was there, I stood up and said, “Kade, you are to tell the court the truth, in response to any questions you are asked, to the best of your knowledge, and to also inform the court where there is any doubt as to the accuracy of the information you know. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Kade replied, still not looking at all stressed by having to speak to a room full of angry people.

“Please continue,” the judge said to the Solof lawyer.

She stood up, smoothing her skirt to compose herself. “Kade. You were raised on the planet Eumad, under the care of Eumadians. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kade replied, and I was immediately impressed that he’d thought to address her that way. Somehow, we’d neglected to teach him the appropriate ways to address people in court, too caught up in all the other details we needed to worry about. Hopefully, he’d picked up on the ‘Your Honour’ title used for the judge, as well .

“Volgoch stated that Vangravian babies are given to the Eumadians by their mothers, freely and willingly. Is this true?”

“Not entirely, no,” Kade replied. “Vangravian children are only given to the Eumadians if they are male. And they are not given freely. They are sold. The Eumadians pay a fee of twenty thousand credits for each child they buy.”

I looked across to Volgoch as Kade spoke, wondering how he would react to being called out on his lie. He sat there, entirely impassive, like this case was the most boring thing he’d ever taken part in. Either he was supremely confident in his ability to manipulate the courtroom to do his bidding… or he just didn’t care.

The legal team looked at each other in consternation at Kade’s words. They muttered amongst themselves, then the Solof woman spoke again. “Why would any mother sell her own child? Can you give us more details, please?”

Kade nodded. “Vangravian society is a vehemently matriarchal one. They see females as supreme, and males as worthless. A Vangravian woman would never consider selling her daughter into slavery. But their sons are considered expendable.”

“So all dimari are male?” the lawyer clarified. We’d all suspected as much, never having seen a female dimari, but this confirmed it.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kade replied.

The woman seemed to be struggling to find her next question. “If that is that case, then why are male children born at all? Surely the Vangravians could make use of gene selection technology to only birth females?”

“They could,” Kade agreed. “But the boys are too lucrative. It only takes three months to gestate a Vangravian child. A few select males are kept for breeding purposes, but the rest are sold. It’s very common for a woman to deliberately have a boy as her first child, so that she can sell him. That puts her in a far better economic position, in order to raise her subsequent daughters.”

Holy fucking hell. An entire species was deliberately manufacturing children for money? And then abandoning them to a life of servitude? I swallowed hard and gritted my teeth. If I ever met a Vangravian female, I would be sorely tempted to put a bullet in her skull.

The lawyer seemed equally as stunned. “So, in conclusion, Your Honour…” She grimaced, then cleared her throat. “In conclusion, it seems that the Eumadians are not just opportunistically taking advantage of unwanted children, but are deliberately manufacturing a demand for them, in order to buy them, train them, and then sell them. Kade, are there any other pertinent details to this situation?”

“Not that I’m aware of, ma’am,” he said .

“Volgoch, do you have anything to add to this topic?” the lawyer asked, looking like she wanted to punch the man if he dared to say a single word in his own defence.

Volgoch rose halfway out of his seat. “No, ma’am,” he said, before abruptly sitting down again.

The trial went on. A handful of witnesses were called up, and I was heartened to hear each of them stating how impressed they had been with Kade’s work, and defending the idea that he was capable of independent decision making. Henderson, Vosh, Nichols… even Kent gave a rousing endorsement of Kade’s abilities, despite his initial dislike of having a dimari around. We broke for a recess after two hours of debate, before picking up again right where we’d left off.

More witnesses, more vague justifications for the slave trade from the Eumadians, and then Kade was called up by the Eumadians’ lawyers to answer a few questions.

“No, I was never beaten as a child,” Kade told the court, in response to the lawyer’s latest question. “I have only been struck a total of three times in the whole of my training. Two of those were for putting a fellow dimari’s life at unnecessary risk, and the third was for refusing an attempt at sexual training.” My jaw clenched at that one. I had enough fury about whatever Kade had been forced to do already. I really didn’t want to hear more details about the Eumadians’ sick practices.

“What were they attempting to train you to do?” the lawyer asked.

“Sounding,” Kade replied, completely nonchalant. A couple of gasps drifted from the public gallery, earning a scowl from the judges.

“And did you comply with subsequent attempts to teach you this practice?” Was this fucking lawyer for real? How the hell was that an appropriate question for a courtroom?

“No, sir,” Kade said, as respectful as ever. “They stopped trying to teach me to do it.”

I pressed a hand over my mouth, fighting back the urge to laugh. In that one statement, Kade had inadvertently proven the point we were all so desperately trying to make. He’d objected to a particular requirement of his training, to the point that the trainers themselves had given up trying to get him to do it. If that wasn’t a solid defence of his own ability to express his desires and make decisions, I didn’t know what was.

“Overall, would you say your childhood was enjoyable?” the lawyer asked.

I smirked, wondering why he was deliberately digging such a deep hole for himself… until Kade’s answer pulled me up short. “Yes, it was,” he said, with that same unruffled calm. “The Eumadians primarily train us through positive reinforcement. Tasks were designed to be enjoyable. Greater difficulty meant greater rewards. As a whole, the dimari are highly mo tivated to please our trainers. We felt privileged to be undergoing the training, not oppressed.”

Well, fuck me sideways. That was something that, oddly enough, had never occurred to me. Humanity’s own history, blackened with so many instances of slavery, had always been about subjugation, not reward. Maybe that was why we had such a hard time understanding the dimari. They genuinely enjoyed their work, while we firmly expected them to hate it.

“How old were you the first time you were required to undergo neurological engineering?” the defence lawyer asked, several minutes later.

“I believe I was about seven,” Kade replied. “The Eumadians don’t generally keep accurate records of our ages. But I know my first experience with it was in the Eumadian year of eight hundred and ninety-four. Assuming that I’m currently twenty, that would have meant I was seven.”

“And what do you remember about the experience?”

For the first time since he’d begun being questioned, Kade’s mild politeness cracked. A look of sorrow crossed his face, like the memory of something he’d once known, but that was now lost. “I remember being very scared,” Kade said. “I didn’t understand what the machine did, but I’d seen some of my friends be put inside it. When they came out, they were… different. Different in a good way, I guess. They were more cheerful. More helpful. But they were…” He flinched. “It’s hard to describe. They played less. They didn’t want to think up new games anymore. It was like looking at a person reflected in a pond, instead of at the person themselves. They seemed just a little bit… hollow. I didn’t want to be like that.”

“And after you were put into the machine? How did you feel about it then?”

Kade shrugged. “I realised there was nothing to worry about. It didn’t make me less of a person. It just made everything clearer. My purpose. My training. It made me better. There was no reason to object to it.”

Oh fuck. I felt tears pricking at my eyes, and I blinked them away. I was not going to fucking cry in the middle of a court room. These fucking bastards were ripping the souls out of children , for the sake of a fucking profit .

The case dragged on. Another recess. More questions. I felt like I was getting emotional whiplash, torn between grieving for the man Kade should have been, raging at the Eumadians, feeling a flood of gratitude every time the defence team pulled out a new argument as to why the Eumadians were assholes, and drowning in a deep, existential fear that I would never be a good enough master to make up for what had been taken from Kade.

In the middle of the afternoon, the defence finally asked the question of Volgoch that I’d been waiting for the entire day. “It is my understanding,” a Sedgeged lawyer said, having taken over from the Solof, “that once a dimari has bonded with a master, they cannot be bonded to anyone else. The bond is unbreakable. So how could it possibly benefit the Eumadians to reclaim a dimari who has already been bonded?”

“It’s an excellent question,” Volgoch said, in a voice that said he didn’t give a shit either way. “And until now, that has been true – the bond could not be broken. However, with the number of dimari we’ve been losing, we’ve been working on technological upgrades that can reverse the bonding and allow them to bond with a new master. And we believe we have now achieved that.”