"Your Honor, I object to that—" That was Mom, leaping to her feet.
Judge Griffith sighed. She could see where this was headed. "Ms. Campbell?"
"I am not a bad parent, and I do put my children's welfare above everything else—"
Judge Griffith tapped her gavel gently to interrupt Mom. "Spare me the organ recital. Your husband came home and found you in bed with someone else. I was raised old-fashioned, Ms. Campbell, maybe you think that what you did was a generous and unselfish demonstration of commitment and dedication to your family, but this court is having a very hard time viewing it that way. This situation—this entire avalanche of errors in judgment—was all triggered by that first little pebble. Now, maybe they do things differently on Earth, but up here when two people make a promise to each other—especially a promise to love, honor, and cherish—there's a reasonable expectation that both parties will make some effort to keep that commitment. And when there are children involved, well then the commitment to the children and their well-being has to outweigh -everything else. Your children didn't get to vote on this situation—that's why the Court is involved now—to vote for the children."
"Your Honor," Mom started to protest, "with all due respect—we had a working custody arrangement, until he"—she waved her hand angrily at Dad—"went and violated it! All I want is for you to return my children to me so we can go home!"
"Sit down, Ms. Campbell. That's not going to happen. At least not because you or anyone else demands it. You pushed your husband into this situation. It's all here in the history." She tapped her clipboard meaningfully. "You kept challenging his visitation rights every chance you got—you gave him no rational choice. That doesn't excuse what he did, but neither did you provide an environment in which your separate disagreements could be worked out rationally. And for the record, let me stress this again: this Court has absolutely no interest in providing an arena for one more round of legal spouse-bashing. If you want to hurt each other, if that's the kind of post-marital relationship you both want, that's fine with me—I'm just not going to let you use my court for it.
"We're going to resolve this once and for all. At the end of this session, if you or your husband have issues that are still unresolved, then sign up for one of those silly courses you folks downside love to do. I can recommend a dozen good ones—there's the one where you call each other names, there's the one where you whomp each other with plastic clubs, there's the one where you process out all your bad feelings, and so on and so on and so on. Do any of them, do them all, I don't care. But stop using your children as weapons against each other!"
Judge Griffith poured herself a glass of water. Her hand trembled slightly as she drank. She put the glass back on the table and looked from Mom to Dad and back again. "In other words, Mr. Dingillian, Ms. Campbell, based on everything that has happened so far, this Court cannot justify awarding either one of you custody of these children. Do you understand what I am saying? The decision cannot be based on your credentials as parents. Neither of you deserves consideration. This Court is going to have to look elsewhere for advice in this decision. Fortunately, I think I have a way to reach this. Now, when you get back to Earth, you may both feel perfectly free to find a court that will return a ruling more to your liking, but right now, you are here in my jurisdiction, and what I say here carries the weight of law. Any questions? No? I didn't think so."
She looked around the room as if daring anyone else to speak. No one wanted to. So she rapped her gavel sharply. "Douglas Dingillian, as you are only two months shy of your eighteenth birthday, court sees fit to declare you an independent adult. You are hereby granted autonomy. You are no longer under the custody of either of your parents. Do you understand?"
Douglas nodded. He looked a little scared, but he nodded. Mom looked like she wanted to say something, but held her silence. Dad looked to Doug, but Doug wouldn't meet his gaze. Judge Griffith continued. "You are free to return to Earth, either with or without your mother; you are free to continue your outbound oddessey, either with or without your father. However, before you make any decision, we still have the matter of the custody of your brothers to resolve, and the Court will appreciate your input on this.
Douglas nodded again.
Now Judge Griffith turned to me. "Charles, the whole point of little exercise earlier was so I could find out how you think about things—how deeply you consider a question—and I have to tell you, I'm very impressed with you. I don't think the people around you know you very well. You're a very thoughtful young man; at least, that's my experience of you. I tell you this because I want you to understand, ordinarily I would not ask a thirteen-year-to make the kind of choice that I'm about to give you. But under the circumstances, I think this is the best way to do it—and I'm satisfied that you're up to the challenge. So here's the question—" I could already see it coming. And I was already formulating my reply.
"—Do you want to go back down the beanstalk with your mother, or do you want to continue outward with your father?"
I didn't have to think about it. I'd already been thinking about it long enough—ever since Dad went boom. I stood up. "Neither," I said.
Judge Griffith shook her head, smiling gently. "I'm afraid that's not an option, Charles."
"Yes, it is," I said. "I want a divorce."
THOREAU'S AX
Almost immediately, both Mom and Dad were on their feet, shouting:
"Your Honor—you can't allow this!"
"Charles, have you lost your mind?" Douglas looked surprised, though he shouldn't have been. Even Stinky was awake now. "Whatever Charles gets, I want one too!" he yelled, screeching above the tumult. Judge Griffith banged so loudly with her gavel that the head popped off. She had wait until her assistant, Joyce, went and got it and brought it back her.
"Everybody settle down, dammit!" she shouted over the noise, "and sit down! I'll handle this." She banged a few more times until everyone sat down again, then she turned back to me. "Charles—" she started to say gently.
I didn't let her finish. "I want a divorce," I repeated.
Judge Griffith looked very unhappy. "That does complicate things, doesn't it?" she said. "I wonder who could have put that idea into your head."
"You did," I said, bluntly. "Over pizza."
"So I did. Well shame on me. I must learn to watch my big mouth. The karmic chicken has come home to roost. Charles, do you know what's involved in that kind of action?"
"Yes, actually, I do. At least as much as I could find out from reading about it."
"Somebody should hang a warning sign on you, Charles: 'Caution, contents will probably explode in your face.'" She smiled wryly, to let me know she was joking, but I could see she meant it too. Well, so what? I did want a divorce. "I'm probably going to regret asking this," she asked, "but why do you want a divorce?"
"Do I have to have a reason?"
"Not really. You and your brothers are the only ones who didn't promise to love, honor, and etcetera. And if that's not a promise you want to keep, you shouldn't be held in a situation where it's a requirement. But it would help if you did have a reason. Otherwise, children would be announcing right and left that they want a divorce every time they get sent to bed early."
I pointed at Mom. I pointed at Dad. "Those are my reasons."
The judge nodded. "Those are two pretty good reasons. And considering everything else that's happened, the Court would ordinarily be inclined to grant your request—but let's look over the edge of this cliff for a while before we jump, okay, Charles?"
"Sure," I said. "Whatever. But it's not going to change my mind. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Not because you mentioned it. I just never knew how to do it before."
"Charles—" Mom called across the room "—you don't have to do this. If we could just sit down and talk things out—"
"Leave him alone, Maggie! Haven't you done enough damage already!" Dad shouted across at her. "Look at the poor kid! Charles, I'm sorry
for what I said back there—"
Judge Griffith rapped her gavel only once. Without even looking up: "Any more outbursts and I'll put the both of you in jail. In the same cell!" The threat worked. They both sat down again, glowering at each other. "Howard?" Howard-The-Troll looked up. "Are you still representing the interests of the mother?"
Howard looked to Mom, she nodded, and he said, "Yes, Your Honor."
"Would you like to question Charles Dingillian?"
"Uh—I haven't had time to prepare."
"Neither has anyone else here. Perhaps giving lawyers time to prepare is why justice always takes so long. Maybe in the future, in the interest of producing results, I should deny all recesses and continuances. Don't panic, Howard, it's a joke."
Howard-The-Repulsive came over and stood in front of me. "I know you're impatient to have the privileges of an adult, Charles. I member being thirteen once—I was a kid just like you. We might have liked each other. We might have been friends—"
"I don't want to be your friend, Howard. I want a divorce."
His expression hardened. "All right, let's approach this another way, Charles. You're having doubts about this, aren't you?"
I shook my head. "No, I've been thinking about it for a while. I can't see anything better to do."
"Ahh," said Howard-The-Smarmy. "Maybe you haven't asked yourself all the questions you should have. Let me ask you this one. Do you think running away is going to solve anything?"
"Some people do."
"Yes, I know. Do you?"
I knew what he wanted me to say. I mean, everybody knows the the answer to that question. No. Running away never solves anything. But ... sometimes running away buys you time to think. And that lets you solve stuff. Doesn't it?
He held my eyes with his. He didn't look nasty. He looked like was trying to be friendly and it was a strain. He said, "Charles, you think your parents have a responsibility toward you?"
"Yes. Everybody knows that. That's what they teach us at school. Don't make babies unless you're also willing to make a lifelong commitment."
"Good. Do you think you have a corresponding responsibility to your parents?
"I don't understand."
"Well, your parents worked hard to give you a home and an education and take care of you. I know that it hasn't worked out the way you think it should, but don't you think that your parents have your best interests at heart?"
"Your Honor—?" That was Olivia. "I realize that I no longer represent this client, but as a friend of the Court, I must object to this transparent attempt to manipulate Charles Dingillian through the use of guilt."
"The Court appreciates your concern, but I think young Mr. Dingillian is quite capable of sorting this out for himself. Nevertheless, Howard, would you please lower the level of rhetoric here ... ?"
"Yes, Your Honor." He turned back to me. "My point is, Charles, that you've taken a lot from your parents. You owe them something in return. Do you think this is the right way to repay it?"
And when he put it that way, something clicked. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, Charles—what is it?" He seemed genuinely interested.
"Well, when I was in school—I don't know if it's the same way up here—we had classes about social responsibility. My teacher taught us that everybody is part of society. We all depend on each other in lots of different ways. We all make work for each other, so we need each other for jobs. And we all make messes—like garbage and pollution and sewage and crap—so we all have to clean up after ourselves. And sometimes, like during flu season, we're all infectious. And stuff like that. And even if we like to think that we're individuals, we really all depend on each other all the time. My teacher said it was Thoreau's ax."
"I beg your pardon?" said Howard-The-Puzzled. "Thoreau's ax?"
"Yeah. Thoreau was this guy who thought it would be a good idea to go out in the woods to Walden Pond and commune with nature. He thought worldly goods distracted people and kept them from really finding themselves and getting in tune with everything good."
"Yes, I know who Thoreau was. What about his ax?"
"Well, that's the point. Where did his ax come from? If he wanted to build himself a shelter, or chop a tree for firewood, or stuff like that, he needed an ax. Where does the ax come from?"
"From a ... blacksmith," offered Howard.
"Uh-huh. You got it. Thoreau was a dope. You can't just go off and live by yourself. You need the products of other people. Everything you need to survive, all that comes from other people. They contribute to you. And you have an obligation to contribute to them too. In whatever way you can. That's the social contract. And even if you think you're not obligated, you really are, because just like Thoreau, if you're going out to the woods to live, where are you going to get your ax?"
"Judge Griffith is looking at her watch again. What does this have to do with your situation?"
"Well ... I can see what's going on. Some kind of evacuation. People who can afford it are leaving the Earth. Like guests leaving a party after they've trashed the house. They're taking their money and they're going up the Line to the moon and everywhere else. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, Charles. I won't lie to you. There are people who are afraid of the possibility of war and disease and economic turmoil—"
"That's my point—if you grownups can't keep your promises, if you can't keep your part of the social contract to the whole planet—if grownups are running away from the problems they made, then how can you ask a kid like me to stay behind with the mess? I don't know that running away solves any problems, but I don't see that I accomplish anything useful by staying either."
For a moment there was silence in the court. A lot of people looked real uncomfortable. Dad. Mom. Judge Griffith. Olivia, Mickey. Howard. Dr. Hidalgo. Finally, Judge Griffith said, "I think he's pretty well nailed the lot of us to the wall."
But Howard-The-Merciless wasn't finished. He said, "I can think of a reason to go back."
"What?"
"Because you love your Mom."
I looked over at Mom, she looked hopeful. Her eyes were shining. I looked to Dad, he looked kinda proud. I looked at Douglas, who wished me a quick nod and a smile.
"Yeah," I said to Howard-The-Duck. "That's a good reason." Mom smiled at me—until I added, "But it's not good enough. Not anymore," and her expression collapsed into grief. I should have stopped there, but I didn't. "I love my mom. I really do. I love my dad too. But I don't like being in the middle anymore. Love's a good reason for lots of stuff—but not for doing something stupid. And going back to either of them is the stupidest thing I can think of."
Howard sat down, defeated.
BUYERS AND AGENTS
Judge griffith glanced at her watch and made a face. She turned sideways in her chair to face me. "Thank you, Charles. That was very nicely argued. Have you ever considered becoming a lawyer?"
"Only once. Dad threatened to strangle me in my sleep."
"And he's probably right. Never mind. Do you still want a divorce?"
I nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. I do."
"Hmm." She frowned. "You know, I can grant it, right here and now. It's irregular, but so is this whole situation. So it wouldn't be out of line to resolve it with an unorthodox decision, particularly in light of some of the other pressures on us." She sighed, glanced at her watch again, and began to explain. "But I'll tell you honestly, I'm very reluctant to just bang the gavel and be done with it."
"Why?"
"You see, Charles, we have a problem here. You and I in particular. I can declare Douglas an adult, because he's only two months shy of his majority. And I can ask you what you want to do, because even though you're not yet old enough to be independent, you're still old enough to have a say in what happens to you. And if you want a divorce, I can put you in Douglas's custody. But I can't give the same choice to Bobby, can I? Do you think he's capable of making an informed decision? Do you think so, Douglas?"
Douglas
and I both shook our heads.
"So you see the problem here. We have to make a decision about what's best for your brother, you and I and Douglas. I already know what your mother and father are going to say. They're going to fight over custody of Bobby, even more ferociously, because he's all that's left; so I need to hear what someone else thinks—someone else who knows your Mom and Dad, and nobody knows them better than you and your brother. So what do you two think I should do? Charles? Douglas?"
Douglas and I looked at each other. I searched his face for a clue, even a hint, of what he was thinking. He shook his head slightly—a signal to be careful? Or that he didn't know, either?
"Well ... first of all," I said slowly, "I want to go with Douglas." I looked to him for reassurance. He gave me a quick nod of okay, and I smiled tightly and blinked fast before any tears could come. I was surprised I'd said it, and even more surprised he'd agreed.
"What happens if Douglas chooses to go someplace you don't want to go?"
"I can't think of anyplace like that, Your Honor. I want to stay with my brother. We're family. We've always been together. I know how to live without my mom and without my dad. I've been doing that almost all my life. I don't know how to live without my brothers, and even though Douglas can be real weird sometimes, I still want to go with him."
"You're sure about that?"
"As sure as I can be."
"Hm. Well. I see." Judge Griffith mulled that over. "I could probably do that. As I said, I can grant Douglas acting custody over you, subject to the approval of the jurisdiction you end up in; in the absence of any other contesting relatives, they'd probably confirm it. Your problem is going to be—or rather, it'll be Doug's problem—supporting yourselves. I understand that you're looking for an indenture, Douglas?"
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