THE ART OF BURNING

X: WHAT'S WRONG WITH LIBRAS?

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MARIEKA

            LUCA TERRANOVA IS being sued for human rights violations. Again.

            Marieka desperately wishes she was the one defending him.

            She knows her husband, his institute and the law better than anyone else. It would be an easy case: all it would take would be a red herring. If she could get the focus off the defendant and onto the plaintiff, Luca would walk free. She could dig into the dirt of the plaintiff's past, find something real nasty . . . or maybe she could lie. She could make something up, something controversial and bound to raise eyebrows and a public outcry. Pay a crisis actor to cry sexual assault. Even better, pay several crisis actors to cry sexual assault. Accuse him of hate speech. Even better, accuse him of hate speech against Luca. Who cares if Luca Terranova purposely infected several hundred children with the Mara virus? The man raising charges against him's racist and sexually assaulted some of his interns!

            Would her argument be morally upstanding by any definitions of the word? Absolutely not. But Luca is as guilty as they come. The way she sees it, a distraction is the only way to win the case.

            Besides, you know how the saying goes. A lawyer is a shark.

            Marieka Wu Terranova's a shark, all right. A total-fucking great white.

            The Terranova Institute closed two hours ago. Aside from a handful of miscellaneous scientists working over-time, hoping for a raise that will never come, Marieka and Luca are the only people still in the building. The two of them are digging through the plaintiff's public records, trying to dig up some dirt on him so they won't have to invent any. Lying about a red herring is the work of a cunning lawyer; telling the truth about a red herring is the work of an intelligent one. Marieka knows she'll be far more likely to convince Luca's lawyer of her plan if they have something concrete to work with.

            Marieka's in the middle of contemplating whether or not the fact that this guy's a Gemini would hurt him in a court of law when the doorbell rings.

            Why would anyone be out there, Marieka wonders? This place isn't some walk-in emergency clinic. They take clients by appointment only. The police, again? Why would they bother showing up twice in one day?

            Marieka glances up at the security footage playing on a little TV in the corner of the office. On it, in blurry black-and-white, she sees two figures, a man and a woman. The man's tall and tattooed and—Marieka thinks, squinting at the screen—maybe Asian? Despite the chill of the night, he's only wearing jeans and a tank-top. The woman's nearly a head shorter than he is, short-haired and Latina. She would have a good fashion taste if it weren't for the hideous five-sizes-too-big leather hunting jacket she has on. Marieka knows who that girl is.