by John Bowers
Victoria recognized it all as an act of defiance against the defendant, Antiochus Groening.
Maggie was sworn in and then sat down. As soon as the bailiff walked away, Victoria rose and approached the witness box. She caught Maggie’s attention and smiled. The girl, clearly nervous, smiled back.
“Hi, Maggie.”
“Hi.”
“I love your new outfit.”
Maggie’s nerves seemed to settle. Her face broke out in a genuine smile of pleasure.
“Thank you!”
“Would you state your name for the record?”
“Maggie D—I mean, Magdalene Downing.”
“Where do you live, Maggie?”
“I live in Trimmer Springs.”
“And how old are you?”
“Sixteen. Almost seventeen.”
“Thank you.”
Victoria strolled to within six feet of the witness box and stopped. She carried a notepad in her left hand, but it was more of a prop than anything else. She had committed to memory the questions she wanted to ask. She asked a few questions to establish how Maggie knew the defendant, then got down to the meat of things.
“Maggie, do you attend high school?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
“People in my church don’t attend public schools.”
“And why is that?”
“Father Groening says that government schools are of the devil, that if we go there, we’ll be led astray.”
“Led into sin?”
“Yes.”
“How are you supposed to get an education?”
“My mother home-schools me. But Father Groening says that girls don’t need education.”
Victoria turned raised eyebrows toward the defense table.
“Really? Did Father Groening ever say what girls do need?”
“Yes. According to him, we need to be good at cooking and cleaning and having babies.”
Victoria gazed at the girl as if hearing it for the first time. She let a touch of shock show in her face.
“Cooking. Cleaning. Having babies. Is that what Father Groening said?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Find a husband and obey him.”
Victoria nodded.
“Has Father Groening ever heard that men and women are created equal?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
Maggie frowned. She glanced at the judge, then back to Victoria, her mouth open as if to answer the question.
Victoria held up a hand.
“When the judge sustains an objection, you don’t have to answer the question. So I’ll ask you another one, okay?”
Maggie closed her mouth and nodded. She looked a little confused.
“Are women in your church allowed to divorce?”
“No.”
“No? Never?”
“Never.”
“Okay…but what if a girl finds a husband who turns out to be a brute? Let’s say he beats her every day and even injures her. She has to stay with him?”
“Yes.”
“Even if he might kill her someday?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that? It seems to me that anyone, male or female, should have a basic right to protect themselves from brutes. Don’t you think?”
“I think so, yes.”
“So there must be a reason why women in your church can’t divorce.”
Maggie sighed. She glanced toward the defense table, but looked quickly away. Groening was glaring at her.
“We were told that marriage is sacred, that what is bound in Heaven can’t be unbound on earth.”
Victoria tilted her head.
“Earth. That’s the ancient name for Terra, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s the word used in the Bible.”
“But we’re not on Earth. We’re on Alpha Centauri 2.”
“Objection. It’s a niggling point, your Honor, and argumentative.”
“Miss Cross?”
“Withdrawn.”
Victoria returned to Maggie.
“So what you’re telling the Court is that girls in your congregation aren’t allowed to attend school—”
“Wait…”
Victoria stopped. Maggie’s hand was up and she had an anxious look on her face.
“Go ahead,” Victoria said.
“I don’t want to mislead anyone,” the girl said. “I don’t go to school because I live in town, but the kids who live on the plain attend church school.”
“I see. Did you attend that school?”
“No. We moved into town when I was six, so the only schooling I get is what my mother teaches me.”
“The kids who live on the plain—do the girls also attend school?”
“Yes, but only up to the sixth grade. They learn to read and do some math, but after that they concentrate on practical matters.”
“Practical matters?”
“Sewing, cooking, cleaning, chopping wood, planting crops, harvesting…all kinds of stuff.”
“Well, I can see that those things would be useful in a farming community, but what about science? History? Literature? Girls don’t learn those things?”
“No.”
A chair scraped and Simpson stood up. He looked defeated, but gamely tried to defend his client.
“Your Honor…”
Moore nodded.
“Miss Cross?”
“Your Honor, I’m trying to set the stage. I believe it’s important for the Court to understand the context in which this crime took place. This is merely background.”
“Thank you, but I think I get it. We’re dealing with a religious sect that lives in isolation from the rest of society and follows their own rules. Is that about right?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Excellent. Let’s move along, then.”
Victoria nodded. She smiled at Maggie.
“Maggie, are the women in your congregation happy with all these rules?”
“Objection. The witness can’t possibly know how every woman in her church feels about things.”
“Your Honor, Maggie Downing has lived in that church her entire life. It seems unlikely that she’s never heard anyone complain. I’m not asking for hearsay, but merely whether there might be some discontent.”
Moore stared at her a moment and blew air through puffed cheeks.
“That’s a mighty fine line, Miss Cross.”
“Renew the objection, your Honor.”
Moore chewed his lip for a few seconds, then nodded.
“Overruled. The witness may answer the question, but don’t push it, Miss Cross.”
“Thank you, your Honor. Maggie?”
Maggie was staring at the judge, her face flushed. Now she saw Victoria’s encouraging smile and seemed to relax again.
“Some of them are okay with it,” she said. “But not everyone.”
“Thank you. What about you? Are you happy with all the rules?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Maggie’s eyes expanded slightly, as if the question was too big for a simple answer. She waved her hands in front of her.
“There are too many rules! You have to watch every word you say, every step you take, or you’ll be in trouble with the elders.”
“And what happens when a woman in your church finds herself in trouble with the elders?”
“She gets punished.”
“She gets punished. What form does such punishment take?”
“Usually it’s just a few stripes. But—”
“Wait a minute! Did you say…stripes?”
“Well—yes.”
“Explain what you mean by ‘stripes’.”
Maggie frowned, as if the answer was obvious.
“Stripes. You know, like…”
“Like stripes from a whip?”
“Yes.”
Victoria stood absolutely still for f
ifteen seconds. She didn’t utter a word. Maggie shifted in her seat, as if she’d said something wrong.
“So you are telling us that when a woman gets in trouble with the church elders, she can get flogged with a whip? A leather whip?”
“Yes.”
“How many stripes?”
“It depends. Maybe one or two stripes for talking back—”
“Talking back? To whom?”
“To your…h-husband.”
“Talking back to your husband can result in one or two stripes?”
“Yes.”
“What else? What other offenses can get you stripes?”
“Disobedience is good for five stripes the first time.”
“Disobedience? To your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Disobedience to your husband is good for five stripes…did you say the first time? What about the second time?”
“Ten stripes. Then twenty, then fifty.”
Victoria already knew the answers, but even advance knowledge of what Maggie was about to say didn’t prevent a shiver of horror rippling across her skin. Her breath came a little faster.
“What comes after fifty?”
“After fifty, nothing.”
“Nothing? Why nothing?”
“Any woman who gets fifty stripes will be lucky to survive it. Anything more than that would kill her.”
“But if a woman gets fifty stripes and is still disobedient? What happens then?”
“Then…she gets stoned.”
“Stoned. As in stoned? With people throwing big rocks at you?”
Maggie nodded. Her eyes had teared up and she couldn’t find her voice.
“Maggie, I know it’s hard, but I need you to answer the question out loud, for the record.”
Maggie jammed a fist against her mouth to stifle a sob. She nodded again.
“Yes,” she managed.
“Thank you. Have you ever seen anyone get stripes?”
“Yes. Several times.”
“Have you ever seen anyone get stoned?”
“No. That is…not until…”
“Not until it happened to you.”
“Objection. Counsel is testifying.”
Moore peered over his half-moon glasses.
“Was that a question, Miss Cross? It sounded like a question to me.”
“Yes, it was a question.”
Moore popped a candy into his mouth.
“Overruled. The witness may answer.”
Maggie glanced at the judge, then back to Victoria. She looked confused.
“Maggie,” Victoria said, “are you telling us that you never witnessed a stoning until it happened to you?”
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
“You were the victim of a stoning, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Tell the Court how that came to be. What did you do to merit such barbaric treatment?”
“Object to the term ‘barbaric’. Whether or not the alleged crime was barbaric is for the Court to decide, not the U.F. Attorney.”
Victoria rolled her eyes, but Simpson didn’t see it. She replied before the judge could rule.
“Withdraw the term ‘barbaric’,” she said.
“Very well. Proceed.”
“What happened, Maggie? Why were you stoned?”
“The Council of Elders ruled that I was incorrigible.”
“Incorrigible. What does that word mean, anyway? Do you even know?”
The young redhead squinted in concentration, but finally shook her head.
“Nobody ever explained it to me. All I know is that it’s pretty bad.”
Victoria walked back to the prosecution table and picked up her pocket ‘puter. She spoke into it.
“Display the definition of ‘incorrigible’.”
She gazed at the screen, then turned back to Maggie.
“According to my pocket ‘puter, the definition of ‘incorrigible’ is: ‘Unable to be corrected, improved, or reformed. Set in bad habits. Unalterable. Unruly. Delinquent. Depraved.’”
She looked up at the witness.
“Do any of these definitions apply to you, Maggie?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Victoria put the ‘puter back on the table and strolled toward the witness again.
“So tell me, Maggie—what happened? What did you do, or what did you say, that got you judged as incorrigible?”
Maggie Downing stared at her for five or six seconds, then lifted her chin resolutely.
“I fell in love,” she said.
Chapter 21
The courtroom was silent, every eye on the witness. The web reporters and holo-news crews were making notes. Other spectators seemed to hang on every word.
“You fell in love. Is that what you said?”
“Yes.”
“With whom did you fall in love?”
“Nick Walker.”
“Nick Walker? United Federation Marshal Nick Walker?”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me for asking, but isn’t Nick Walker the man who supposedly killed your father in the war?”
“Yes.”
“And you fell in love with him.”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t he a little old for you? I think he’s close to thirty, isn’t he?”
“Something like that, I guess. But I don’t blame him for what he did in the war. It was kill or be killed. He had to do it.”
“Okay, but Marshal Walker isn’t a member of your congregation. Are you supposed to marry—or even date—men from the outside universe?”
“No, we’re not. But that was the whole point! I wanted to marry someone who isn’t a part of all that crap, someone who treats me with respect.”
Victoria nodded.
“Did you even know Nick Walker?”
“No. But I met him in town.”
“And, just like that, you fell in love?”
Maggie nodded. “Maybe it was just infatuation, but I thought it was real.”
“You fell in love with him the first time you laid eyes on him? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Why? How could you tell he would treat you the way you want to be treated?”
“Well, I guess I didn’t know for sure, but he was with a woman. A beautiful woman, and she seemed happy to be with him, so I figured he must be doing it right.”
“Did you know the woman?”
“Not at first. I thought she was his wife, but I found out later that they aren’t married.”
Simpson clambered to his feet again.
“Is any of this relevant?”
Judge Moore glanced at Victoria. She nodded.
“Your Honor, the witness testified that she was deemed incorrigible because she fell in love with a man not in her faith. I’m trying to show a contrast between this man and other men that Maggie did not want to marry.”
“Well, I’m certainly having fun, but can you move it along?”
“Of course, your Honor.
“Maggie, if you thought Marshal Walker was married, how did you expect him to marry you?”
“It was stupid. I realize that now. I wanted to be his second wife, but I didn’t realize that most people—people outside our congregation—only get to marry one person.”
“You’re referring to the exception in Colonial law that permits your church and the Homerite church to practice polygamy?”
“Yes. I didn’t know it was just for us. I thought it was for everybody.”
“So you no longer hope to marry Marshal Walker?”
“No, I don’t. We’re just friends now.”
“You testified that, when you fell in love with Marshal Walker, it led to you being judged incorrigible, which led to your being stoned. Is that accurate?”
“Yes.”
“Was there any other reason you were condemned to die?”
“Yes. Lots of things.”
“Will you explain all that to the Cou
rt?”
Maggie drew a deep breath, as if gathering her thoughts. Suddenly, she stood up.
“You see this dress?”
“Yes. As I mentioned earlier, it’s beautiful, and it compliments you.”
“If I were still in the congregation, this dress would get me stoned all by itself.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it’s modern. Because it’s sleek and sexy.”
“Sleek and sexy are sinful? Modern is sinful?”
“Yes.” She pointed to her face. “See this makeup? These nails? That’s sinful, too. Makeup is forbidden. Modern music is forbidden. Dancing is forbidden. Anything that makes you look good, or feel good, is forbidden. Having fun is a sin.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“The Bible says that after God created the ‘verse, He looked it over and saw that it was good. All of it. It was all very good. But not in our church. We have to hide our bodies under yards and yards of cloth. We have to wear fashions that are centuries out of date. We can’t enjoy the simplest pleasures without offending God. It’s like living in Hell. It’s worse than Hell.”
A rumble on the other side of the courtroom interrupted the witness. Antiochus Groening was on his feet.
“Hell is where you’re going, Magdalene!” he thundered. “You’re condemning yourself to eternal fire! Every word you speak adds another nail to your coffin, and as for that dress and the clown paint, well…you look like a whore!”
Judge Moore’s gavel banged loudly until Groening stopped talking. Moore cleared his throat for a reprimand, but Maggie beat him to it.
“You shut up!” she shouted in a cracked voice. “This is all your fault! You’re an evil, self-righteous old man and you deserve whatever you get!”
“As do you!” Groening retorted.
Maggie lost it. Still standing, she gripped the edge of the witness box with both hands and leaned as far over it as she dared. Tears spurted from her eyes, washing some of her mascara with it.
“FUCK YOU!” she screamed. “You’re no man of God! You don’t speak for Him! You never did! You’re just a pitiful old fool who doesn’t have the decency to admit when he’s wrong. You almost had me killed, and I never even knew I was related to you! I didn’t know you were my grandfather until Grammaw Dru said so at the quarry.” She pointed a shaky finger at him. “The blood in my veins is your blood…Grandpaw! You knew it, but you didn’t care! Did you? DID YOU?”
She collapsed into the witness chair, sobbing. Victoria glanced up at Judge Moore, who had raised his gavel but now laid it down.
