by Briana Ervin
After some deliberation, the judge waved his paw again, and the energy wall came down. He and his peers all turned back to Krysis.
“Initially, we weren't going to tell you this, but in the event that cooperation is not being given, we have authorization to use force to obtain the answers we need,” the main judge said. “This force can, and will be, as severe as you losing your mech and stripping down your code.”
I tensed up. Was he implying that we would be redeemed?!
“We could be here all day,” he continued. “We will cycle through all of you, until we can reach a decision and you are dismissed. You can be assured that there will be no breaks, no food, and no water. Only questions, and answers.”
All of the subjects exchanged looks of varying degrees of hopelessness, with the exception of Cyrii, who refused to make eye contact with anyone, Trista, who was still in a foul mood, and Krysis, who held his apathetic demeanor. I wanted to walk over to Cyrii to try and comfort her, but I couldn't move, not with so many hostile gazes in my direction. Plus, how would Joleus and Krysis respond? They didn't know that I had free will, like 562 and 438.
I began to really digest the situation while the tribunal questioned Krysis further. Considering there was only one Superiority model here, it made me suspect that the judges all had their own mechs ready somewhere else, and a Xinschi-uual didn't stand a chance by itself against a mech. If that shiny new model was alone because he could take all of us on though... No. It was extremely unlikely. At best a Superiority model could pacify three mechs at once, but eight? Those are five more mechs he has to deal with while struggling with the others! This is assuming though that all eight Xinschi-uual will be able to run to their mechs, shackled, while a Superiority model pursued them...
Perhaps that's his entire purpose, is to capture Xinschi-uual before they make it to safety.
With Krysis's boring story out, Stratien was called up next. He was now very nervous, continuously looking back at his mech. I could only watch in silent anxiety, wondering if the judges would be able to ease the entire truth out of him.
“Stratien, pay attention,” the main judge rapped his claws on the tabletop as the former looked back yet again. Stratien looked up at him, only to lower his head and stare down at the podium. “Tell us what you did after the launch.”
“I did what I was told, sir,” Stratien mumbled.
“Can you look at me, please?”
“I did what I was told,” he repeated, looking up. “Same thing. Well, not the same thing... Similar thing. I mean, sort of similar...”
“Just say what you did. Your story is separate from everyone elses',” the judge said patiently.
Stratien tried to cull his anxiety by taking a deep breath. “Well... I was with the Infiltration group. We went into...” he caught himself just in time. “Into the hostile territory. We did not go into the outpost with the Tank models. We stayed behind.”
It was hard to tell if the judges recognized his hesitation as skirting the truth. They all kept stolid faces. Every now and then one would look down and start tapping the tabletop, typing out notes displayed on unseen screens. The main judge didn't say anything as Stratien continued:
“We waited a long time for the Tanks to come back, and we were eventually ambushed. We stood our ground, but took a lot of damage,” he glanced over quickly at the mocha-colored Xinschi-uual. “Gilus almost died, sir. We had to use a protection tactic to keep him alive while the Tanks returned. When they did, we hauled out of there.”
I mentally sighed in relief. Not a bad cover story! He didn't even mention our musing about whether or not the battle was a simulation!
“And why did you retreat?” the judge asked, searching for discrepancies.
“The Tanks were being pursued sir. A lot of drones, most of them aerial.”
“How many?”
“I don't know, maybe... thirty-score?”
I had to refrain from wincing and calling attention to myself. That number was a little low to justify a retreat.
“Only three hundred sixty?” the judge mused.
“There could have been others sir!” Stratien said quickly, “I didn't stay to count, not with Gilus injured like he was.”
The judge didn't question him further, dismissing him from the podium, and he gratefully left and went back to his pod. I imagine being under all of that scrutiny made the pod look warm and safe.
Next up was Gilus, who backed up Stratien's story in a more timid nature. When prompted, he willingly came up with some realistic injuries, putting emphasis on a damaged fuel tank and the very real danger of his exposed engine lines igniting and exploding. The judges seemed to accept his story well enough, and I noted with interest that Gilus was a very animated storyteller once he came out of his shell; he put a lot of life into Stratien's half-hashed idea. Hopefully he didn't make it look too exaggerated...
Alesia was going to be up next, but she started hyperventilating from fright, causing the Superiority model to go over to her and give her a shot to calm down. I watched the mech warily. I had never seen a Superiority model with a needle and biocompatible chemicals before... that was a Support model trait. I didn't feel very comfortable, learning that.
While Alesia was forced to relax and the mech had taken her back to her pod, she was skipped and Trista was called to the podium, and wow, did she have the audacity to stand up to those judges!
“What did you do after the launch?” the head judge delivered the same exact question.
“You think it's any different?” she challenged right away.
“Trista, we asked you a question. We expect an answer. What did you do, after the launch?”
Her scales flared up again at the mention of her real name. “I did what everyone else did,” she said.
“And what would that be?”
“You just heard it!” she spat. Cyrii finally moved since the start of this whole thing, burying her face in her paws. I briefly wondered if she would have been this defiant, should she not know any better.
“Don't talk back to us,” one of the other judges spoke up. “Your job is not to compare your story to your peers'. Your job is to tell us your story.”
“I don't see why you're so interested when it's the same,” Trista scoffed.
“This is not the place for attitudes,” the main judge said testily. “Here, we divulge information, collect it, assess it, and reach conclusions using it. Emotions are irrelevant.”
Says a lot about why they're so calm, I observed.
“Why are you making it about emotions?” the beige Xinschi-uual fumed, “The story is literally the same!”
“And if you don't tell us, your life won't be the same.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It is.”
Confusion flickered over Trista's face. Clearly she wasn't expecting such an answer. I heard a clunk close to me, and the soldier whipped around, only to burst out into more anger.
“You drop her!!” she screeched, slamming her paws on the podium. Every pilot in the room winced.
“74-199 is one of fourteen other 74 Pusher models that still bear a one-hundred-digit ID,” the main judge said calmly. “That number can easily be reduced to thirteen, if you do not cooperate.”
“Put my mech down!” Trista shrieked. I grew antsy, struggling to restrain to urge to flee or even move from my “hangar”. I couldn't see what was happening to 199, but I had a bad image of the floor opening up and swallowing her up in flames. I wasn't the only startled one either: all of the other subjects were now especially anxious, grimacing and trying not to make eye contact to show they were worried.
“Will you cooperate?” the judge asked smoothly.
“Ffffffff-!” Trista nearly swore aloud. “FINE, I'll tell you your stupid story! Don't you dare burn her up!” she finally screamed. There was another clunk, and without permission Trista ran over to the back wall – even with the shackles on her she moved pretty fast – and disappeared from
my viewing angle. I felt sorry for her, and frightened for myself. Her mech was her friend, the same way I was Cyrii's... tearing such a thing away had to be a horrendous feeling. It made me realize that Cyrii was probably as defensive about me as I was for her, and she wasn't even forced to be through programming...
The judges' expressions were stagnant, but it was far too tempting to think that they were smug and be infuriated by their behavior. They knew they could get away with a lot. The main judge patiently waited for his peers to finish typing up some more notes, glancing down at his screen.
“While Subject E calms down,” he said dismissively, “let's go to Subject F. S.A.I. is Sirun. Code Level Green. Will you step up please?”
Sirun wasn't any more composed than he was at first, but ascended the podium anyway. He was squinting and was wringing his paws, as if trying to distract himself. The main judge noticed the strange behavior and input something in his hidden computer, studying its screen for a bit.
“Your prescription is overdue.” He somehow picked up the information. “Our 72 model has a similar drug you can take, if it will help you at all.”
“Similar... similar...” Sirun echoed, not looking up. The judge checked on the mentioned Superiority model, who was still crouched beside a now-drowsy Alesia – what the heck did he give her? Morphine? – and he stood up to walk over to Sirun, discarding the old needle and readying a new one. It annoyed me greatly that I could only sit and watch the process. The Xinschi-uual barely winced when the mech stuck him with the needle.
“We'll just reset your prescription timer...” the main judge said in satisfaction, swiping something off his screen, “and you can go ahead and tell us what happened to you after the launch.”
“Happened... what happened...? What had happened...” Sirun mused, rubbing his arm where the mech poked him. I saw Joleus growing fidgety in my peripheral, looking around at everyone and at Cyrii in particular, as if he wasn't comfortable in his own scales. Cyrii was practically a statue in comparison to everyone else, unmoving with her head still in her paws and every now and then shivering just slightly. It wasn't helping my protectiveness. With all of this anxiety affecting me, I tried to ignore it by studying the behavior of the tribunal, to see what they were looking for... This was no ordinary reporting process, evidently. They were searching for something, and if it required all of us to be in the room at the same time in such a manner – especially with those shackles on the pilots – then it had to be something serious. The only serious thing I could think of though would be free will, and I doubted they were concerned about that. How could they find out? Unless...
I dug through my memory logs, even as Sirun recovered enough to give his “version” of Stratien's fumbled story. Anything could have happened after I shut down from lack of fuel for the second time, but only sheer negligence and betrayal could have given away the changes made to Sirun's mech. If it was betrayal, then why were all of the Pusher model pilots a suspect? It didn't match up, and 438 wouldn't be negligent when he knows the law just as well as the rest of us. Alesia could have slipped up since I had no clue what she was doing the entire time, but as hyper-aware as she acted before we left the military complex for that outpost, even that seemed far-fetched. Going back further, there was the time when 562 was overhauled, and that Superiority model was powered on above us... At that memory I looked over at the Superiority model in the room. He was white with a green eye – white is a popular color for that type of mech, it seemed – but there was no luck there. The other mech had an orange eye. Still though, it was worth wondering about.
The tribunal was mildly satisfied with Sirun's story, even though they had to keep asking him to speak up and stop mumbling. He wasn't shaking anymore, but clearly there was something going on in that Xinschi-uual's head.
All of the time spent dealing with Sirun made the head judge feel it was time to call Trista back to the podium. The beige Xinschi-uual was pouting about how they intimidated her more than she intimidated them, but grudgingly sat up in the center with her arms folded regardless.
“Are you willing to answer our questions now?” the main judge asked. She scoffed, but said nothing.
“If your story is really the same, then it should come out easily,” one of his peers spoke up. “From the beginning, you went out to the outpost. What happened?”
“We split up.”
“How did you split up?”
“Into three groups!”
“Which were for?”
She bristled, simultaneously annoyed about being expected to explain herself and being led by the nose to do it.
“There was an infiltration group, and a backup group, and a middle group in between!” she spat, “I went with the infiltrators! We stopped in front of the outpost! We were attacked! We held position! The Tanks came back! We retreated!” She upheld Stratien's leading story with angry vigor. “I ran and I'm not proud of it!! There, you happy?!” She whipped around so her back was to them and continued to pout. It was a humiliating – funny to watch, but humiliating – lesson she just had. The corner of the main judge's mouth twitched while his peers exchanged looks of mild amusement.
“Quite. You can exit the podium now,” he said flatly. Trista ground her teeth and balled up her fists, stomping over to her pod like she wanted to tear a hole in it. Sirun – whose pod was next to her's – took a few steps closer to Joleus, keeping his distance. Joleus just grew more antsy and shuffled closer to Cyrii, who – despite being the closest Xinschi-uual to me – looked like she just wanted to run off and hide. I could glimpse her face past her paws now, and she looked terrified! She must be fearing they knew we were illegally-modified mechs.
Don't worry, I assured her silently, just as she assured me in the past. We'll get through this. I can't let anything happen to you.
Joleus wasn't exempt from the process, even though he looked like he wanted to hide just as much as Cyrii did, and was called up next. When he stammered out his version of the story – with a few more details sprinkled here and there to make it seem individual, yet coherent – about his experience in the median group, the tribunal dismissed him and called Alesia back up. Cyrii still had yet to say a word, and I imagine she was relieved about the extra time.
Alesia was... definitely drugged. She was no longer the panicked, hyperventilating Xinschi-uual, instead looking the whole time like she would nod off any second. Her drowsiness gave her a dumb smile, and she had to lean forward on the podium to stay upright.
“You seem to have recovered immensely,” the main judge commented.
“Mmmm.” She slumped forward. The Superiority model, who was still positioned next to the podium, prodded her in the back to wake her up.
“So far things are looking... well, for you and your peers,” the judge continued. “We are certain that you will all be all be to leave in due time. So, tell us what happened to you after the launch.”
The relief that permeated the room was immense. This bizarre reporting process was almost done! Alesia and Cyrii just had to back up Stratien's story, and we would be out of here, no longer scrutinized by these superiors.
Something was still off about this whole thing though... if our story was believable, then what did they expect?
Alesia had to be told to wake up and be alert several times, but she eventually mumbled about her experience of staying in the median group. This side of the story actually seemed pretty real: they stayed behind and did literally nothing, simply regrouping with the Infiltration group when they retreated from the outpost, a supposed horde of drones behind them. She personally mentioned making some effort to repair the damaged mechs. I expected the questioning to end as usual, but instead one of the judges spoke up with an unusual question:
“Did you mend 767 when she returned?”
There was a long pause, many of the subjects looking around in bafflement. I was thread-tied; that wasn't part of the story... I was hardly even mentioned in the story! Alesia appropriately stared d
umbly at the tribunal.
“Alesia. Did you, or did you not repair Cyrii's mech when she returned with the Infiltration group?”
Why me? I wondered, Gilus was the broken one!
“I... didn't, sir,” she said, trying to shake off the drug's effects.
“And why is that?” the main judge asked.
“I... why would I need to? If I can ask, sir?” she said. The main judge looked down at the tabletop, as if studying a record.
“According to eyewitness accounts, 767 was reduced to a main body riddled with holes. As your own General put it, and I quote, 'She was a deadweight. I don't know how we're going to repair so much damage. Heck, I don't even know how Cyrii managed to live'.” He looked up at her. “Do you remember this at all?”
“N-No sir...” Alesia stammered. Cyrii tensed up as it dawned on all of us: I was powered down, and must have been dragged back! Gilus was the injured one in the story. Everyone completely glossed over me!
Come on, Alesia, I thought, come up with a good reason. We all backed each other up. We'll support whatever you choose!
“Did you see 767 at all when the Infiltration group returned?”
“I... I...” Alesia was too tired to wring her paws, simply using them to hold her head. Gilus had a light in his eye like he knew what to say, and Joleus practically vibrated in place, trying to keep from bursting something out, but both of them could only sit in anxious silence with the rest of us.
“Take your time, Alesia,” the judge said calmly.
No! Don't take your time! Every hesitance means something to them! I shouted at her in my head as if she could hear me.
“I didn't see her,” she finally said.
“How many Pusher models did you see returning, if I may ask?”
I refrained from wincing. It was a pincer-hold question. If she said she didn't see me but saw others, the “others” would become suspect, Cyrii included. If she said she didn't see anyone, that would raise eyebrows about what she was doing, and cause conflict with her story. She had already dug herself a hole that said she didn't see me, so she couldn't back out of it either!
