Suddenly, violently, I'm awake. The hot feeling in my cheek tells me I have been slapped. I look around and everything is a little blurry around the edges, I'm surrounded by people. I feel like my body is moving on its own, like somebody else is using me as a remote-control drone. I feel strongly weird. Maybe drugged? Maybe they waited till I fell asleep to operate on me in some way, prepare me to be exactly what they want me to be at the trial.
So smart Ursula. Figuring that out now. How useful.
I'm being led, and it's noisy and there is a rough grip on my arms, someone's arms, think they must be mine, being led along a corridor, into a room and on my left, there is a high bank of theatre seating, yes, I'm in the school hall, the school theatre where we have assembly, but it's almost unrecognizable. And it all lurches in and out of focus, sways around.
Everything seems to be two dimensional like on a TV screen, and there are big screens mounted above the stage and I'm led onto the stage in my white tracksuit, still with my legs and hands bound in plastic wire.
There is a gasp from a large group, I look around. the theatre is full, crammed with people, I see all the faces from the protests, all the eyes on me, everyone in the room looking at this person that I think must be me, is there still a me?
And then in the centre of it all, towering above everything she is, the Witch Finder, Marketta. And she is like some kind of high priestess at this moment, the only thing in the whole world that seems vaguely real, like I want to cling to her. I want to hold onto her dress as the river of sensory data threatens to wash me away.
And up on the plasma screens there is a row of people behind desks, each with little name plates in front of them and I'm led up to a kind of witness stand thing, but it's all make believe, because it isn't a court room, it's a school hall and everything is ramshackle and improvised, and then I perceive the buzzing in the room, a cloud of tiny drones, all with TV network logos on them. I try to see a face in the room that is friendly to me, but there are none.
Ty isn't there, no other girls from the school, lots of people who might be parents, but I wouldn't know. And then Marketta starts talking, and her voice sounds clear and precise, and I just want to hold her words inside me, give me some kind of centre of gravity, make me feel like I'm not going crazy, she seems like she's here to fix everything, for everyone.
And I almost don't notice the screams as they drag out one of the other women, was that the woman from the cells last night? Forget her name. Forget all names. So tired, did not sleep in that tiny cell. Or did I? Feels like weeks have passed.
"Ursula Loveless you stand accused of the crime of cyberWitchCraft. How do you plead?"
It takes a while before I realise, I'm actually supposed to answer this ridiculous question. Is there a punchline coming? Are we doing the school play?
"Madame La Fey, is the defendant properly fed and watered? She looks like she hasn't slept in days."
Marketta turns to the little round man behind the microphone, who turns pink when she meets his gaze.
"You are welcome to inspect my cells any time councillor." She says, calm and crisp.
Another councillor cuts in.
"Proceed with the trial, we have a dozen more girls to try today and the council has urgent business elsewhere."
Then without any warning, the two girls, the accusers appear in our midst.
Am I losing time? Am I crazy now, is this the way things are now?
And the accusers come into the centre of the room, just like a troupe of dancers getting ready for a show. Then they look at me and the questions begin. But they are not the same nonsense questions from the bus. These are dressed up as sensible questions about misuses of illegal technologies.
YOU ARE READING
Cyberwitch Academy: Learn or Burn
Science FictionImagine you wake up one day and discover that your body is a cursed organic computer. To make matters worse you keep getting possessed by AI demons. You know you can use their power, if only you could figure out how. But the clock is ticking, becau...