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area, managing to look authoritative even in this room filled with authority figures.  Two uniformed men enter behind him, and array themselves on either side of the door, for all the world like bodyguards.  That doesn’t make sense.  Proctor Fonner is wearing a white jumpsuit and he stands out amongst all the black robes. He still looks like a praying mantis with his large head and long limbs, and when he sits he folds his hands together at chest height in the position I remember so well. He tilts his head up to take a good long look at me before facing Vestor. The silvery gray eyes beneath thin black brows still have the power to make me think I’ve done something wrong and am about to be slapped with demerits. I laugh inwardly. Demerits—if only my likely punishment were so mild.  The Kube seems like a long, long time ago.
    Vestor gets right to it. “Minister Fonner—”
    Minister?
    “—you’ve known Everly Jax since she was an infant. In your expert opinion, is she intelligent enough to have planned and executed the complicated plot the prosecution alleges? Could she have engineered an escape from the Kube, survived in the swamp, killed combat-hardened IPF soldiers, arranged an alliance with a band of outlaws, and finagled her way into a RESCO in order to steal a zygote?”
    Proctor Fonner lets a beat elapse before speaking, looking reflective. “Everly Jax is not unintelligent.  In her sphere—biochemistry—she is, in fact, quite gifted. However, I have never found her to be much of a planner—she was quite impetuous—and I find it difficult to believe she could have orchestrated a plot like the one you’re talking about. Why, she couldn’t even sneak down to the beach for an afternoon without getting caught. In my opinion, a youth named Wyck Sharpe planned the escape from the Kube and led Everly and another apprentice citizen, Halla Westin, into the swamp. I cannot hazard a guess as to how they became affiliated with the outlaws, but I have to think they were, perhaps, captured, since none of the three of them possessed any skills or abilities that would possibly make them a useful addition to an outlaw group.”
    Huh . I’m undecided whether to be grateful or affronted at his assessment of my abilities.  Grateful, I decide, given the circumstances.
    “Thank you for your time today, sir,” Judge Tysseling puts in when Vestor says he has no more questions, “and may I congratulate you on your recent appointment as Minister for Information?” His groveling is even less attractive than his tyrannizing.
    “Thank you. I am always happy to do my duty as a citizen,” Proctor— Minister —Fonner says graciously. “It is my earnest desire to see justice done in this case and, indeed, all others.” He stands, dwarfing Vestor, and departs, leaving a buzz of speculation behind him.
    Wishing I’d known about Minister Fonner’s testimony earlier, so I could have worked at looking stupid throughout the trial, I settle for letting my mouth sag open a bit and slumping my shoulders. I feel someone’s gaze and look down to see the middle juror is once again staring up at me. I meet his or her gaze without flinching, feeling challenged.  I’m almost certain the eyes behind the hood are not geneborn gold. It’s a moment before I realize I’m out of character and lower my eyelids and chin. With what might be a nod of acknowledgment, the hooded head returns to watching Vestor.
    At the judge’s command, Prosecutor Babbage begins her summation. “Don’t let the innocent act fool you,” she starts out. She gestures to me. “Everly Jax is not the feckless young girl she appears. She’s a cold-blooded killer and traitor to our beloved nation.”
    It gets worse from there as she recites all the atrocities I’m alleged to have committed, dismisses the testimony of Dr Malabar and Minister Fonner as self-serving—“He doesn’t want to admit a child raised under his supervision grew into a cunning,