Escape to New Atlantis

19 And Nothing but the Truth

Sawyer

I like technical stuff. Writing code, designing things, playing with techy toys. But stuffy words? No, I don't like them at all. I don't like politicians' lies, I don't like Shakespeare's sonnets, and I really, really don't like this legal babble.

Catalina was great, and I think I did my part okay—at least Mom liked it—but all this "I object" and "after consultation" makes me want to hurl. Then again, maybe I should've stuck a seasickness strip behind my ear this morning. Whatever, because after my testimony, a little window popped up saying I have to sit through the rest of the trial, just in case a lawyer wants to call me back. I guess I don't have to literally sit; I could take a walk as long as I kept my eye on my tablet.

Mom just smiles and shakes her head as I head out the door. I walk down the street toward the ocean as some BakeThreads engineer explains how the hijacked communications port is the key link to the new engineering studio being developed in the sub-street levels of Anucha Suta's home. We have to suffer through lawyerspeak telling us Mr. Suta invented garment baking and is CEO of BakeThreads. Not mentioned is that he and his wife, Wandee, are taking great care of me and Mom in the wardrobe department.

At the end of the street, I reach an observation deck I haven't seen before. From here there's a magnificent view of the ocean, and off to my right I can see the beach Catalina and I fled when the rogue wave warning sounded. Even from here it's clear nobody's going to be frolicking in the waves in that wreckage for a while. To my left is the military installation. The docks for the Coast Guard boats look pretty messed up, but they're still in use. I guess the military always has to be ready to work with damaged stuff.

I turn to the left and walk along the perimeter of the military installation. Oh yeah, I'm required by law to watch the stupid drama on the tablet. Now Chief Arya is on the screen, wearing a uniform, which seems kind of off—I know he's the police chief, but he just doesn't strike me as a uniform kind of guy. I slow nearly to a stop and pay attention to what he has to say.

He responded to a call at 300 Port Bengal Street and found us down under the street. He marked everything with little stickers and took lots of pictures, which we get to see on the screen. I admit the pics don't show me at my photogenic best, but Catalina looks great. No surprise—the girl would look good dressed for Halloween as The Blob.

The chief gets to the part about the abandoned camera and the lawyers swoop in to peck at those bones. I take the opportunity to admire the Atlantean defense installation. You know, I'm the absolute lowest-rung defender in the city, but I'm proud of my little role. And I haven't forgotten my internal commitment to make my role much, much bigger. The thought puts a smile on my face, which is more than I can say for New Atlantis versus Norman Ray Finley. But I'm under orders to follow this trial and I've got to stay on task.

Chief Arya takes us to the school where he met Mr. Fix-It. We see the picture he took of the giant, gaudy watch, and it's entered into evidence. Then we see the remote control that allows you to pass security devices without being recorded. The chief says, "I personally went from Mr. Finley's classroom to an isolated portal downstairs near the shooting range. I used this device to override the portal's security electronics and pass into the catwalks undetected. Walking under the streets with a quick stride, I arrived at the communications cabinet at 300 Port Bengal eight minutes and seven seconds after leaving the classroom. The video record shows the individual in the hoodie was at the cabinet for approximately forty-seven seconds, thus they could have followed the same path as I and been on their way back within about nine minutes."

The prosecutor follows up. "Catalina Ortiz has testified that Norman Finley was in his classroom when she and Administrator Ioannis Trikoupis left him and proceeded directly to that destination, walking on the city sidewalks. Time stamps on the video record show that the person in the hoodie departed the scene three minutes, seventeen seconds before the two of them arrived. It would seem that timing exonerates Mr. Finley, does it not?"