‘You must be really smart.’
He shrugged again and went to make up the bed in the spare room. I wandered over to the window and looked out across the lake. A dozen pleasure boats were sailing across the darkening water, their lights ablaze. I wished I was on one of them, drinking and dancing with no worries in the world other than what classes I would take when school resumed at the end of the summer.
‘The bed’s made up, whenever you want it,’ he said, scanning on the com-screen and flopping on a couch. There were two couches in the living room, both angled towards the com-screen. I took the other one and opened my box of noodles.
The screen opened to the news. The first thing I saw was a large image of me in my blonde wig, Peg’s arm around my shoulders.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll switch channels,’ he said.
‘No, don’t. I want to know what they’re saying.’
‘First night out on the town in the twenty-second century,’ the reporter was saying. I recognised her from our ambush outside the club. ‘Sporting a cute blonde wig and blue dress, Eden was seen drinking and dancing with pals at the super-cool Watering Hole.’
The reporter thrust a microphone under a young woman’s chin. ‘She looked like she was having a really good time,’ said the girl. ‘She danced with two different men that I saw, maybe more.’
‘According to our sources, Eden still hasn’t returned to the hotel where she is staying, which begs the question: just where is she spending the night?’ said the reporter. ‘Back to the studio.’
The newsreader had a serious expression. ‘In other news, protesters spent a third day demonstrating outside Wolfe Energy Headquarters in New Marseilles.’ The screen showed a crowd of several hundred people holding signs that said Rehabilitation not Exploitation and Close the Lunar Prison Now!
One of the protesters began speaking to the camera. ‘The average lifespan of a prisoner on the lunar colony is five years. They work seven days a week in horrendous conditions. There’s no opportunity for these prisoners to be rehabilitated. The lunar colony has nothing to do with justice, and everything to do with cheap labour for Wolfe Energy.’
‘You sure you want to watch this?’ said Peg.
‘Is this Admiral Wolfe’s company they’re talking about?’ I asked, twisting a mound of slippery noodles between my chopsticks.
‘Yup.’
‘On the news this afternoon, one of the legal commentators said Ryan might get sent to the moon.’
Peg looked at me. ‘That won’t happen.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘To start with, his dad will hire a shit-hot lawyer. But if things do go wrong, we’ll find a way to help him. I’m not letting Orion get sent to the moon.’
I tried to smile. But words were cheap. I just wanted the trial to be over and Ryan safely back in my arms.
Chapter 10
The phone call came on Saturday morning, just after Peg dropped me back at the hotel. When the screen clicked on, I expected to see Peg telling me he’d forgotten something, but it was Admiral Westland. I quickly smoothed over my hair as the call connected and tried not to think about the news coverage he must have seen: Peg punching a photographer or me arriving back at the hotel this morning after our night out.
‘Hello, Eden,’ he said, his voice tired and strained.
It had been less than a week since I’d last spoken to him, but he looked like he’d aged ten years. His brown hair seemed greyer and his cheeks seemed hollow, with two deep vertical lines running from his mouth to his jaw.
‘Do you have news?’ I asked.
‘The trial is set for Tuesday. An official announcement is about to be made. I wanted you to hear it first.’
‘Tuesday,’ I said.
Three days and Ryan could be free.
‘Orion’s lawyer would like to meet you this morning. He will talk you through what will happen in the court and discuss your testimony.’
‘Where do I need to go?’
‘My driver is waiting for you outside. He will bring you to my apartment at the Institute.’
The admiral disconnected the call.
I checked my reflection in the mirror. As I thought – bags under my bloodshot eyes and hair matted and tangled from hours spent tucked inside a wig. Admiral Westland was going to think I was a slob. What I really wanted was time to shower and do my hair and try on a few of my new outfits to see which made the right impression. But Westland’s car was waiting for me and what really mattered was speaking to Ryan’s lawyer and getting my testimony right.
I found a dress with a high neckline, tied my hair back into a ponytail and dabbed some concealer under my eyes. It would have to do.
When we reached the Institute, the driver pulled round to a side entrance and stopped by the front door. I reached for the handle to let myself out, but there wasn’t one. The driver, who was dressed in a black suit and white gloves, opened his door and came back to open mine for me. His face was flushed and beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip.
‘Ma’am,’ he said. ‘I will collect you after lunch.’
I nodded and walked up to the front door.
Admiral Westland was waiting for me just inside the lobby. He nodded at the doorman. ‘Come inside,’ he said to me. ‘Saul White, Ryan’s lawyer, is waiting in my study. He’ll just want to hear your story, so there won’t be any surprises on Tuesday.’
We took the lift up to the next floor. It opened on to a wide hallway, lined with framed photos. I stopped when I saw a photo of Ryan in a school uniform, grinning at the camera. He looked about thirteen. There was another one of him holding a trophy. One of him and two other boys, all dressed in identical school uniform.
‘My sons,’ said Admiral Westland.
I followed Westland along the hallway to the last door on the left. Inside was a bright, book-lined room with a long conference table in the middle. Sitting at one end of the table – like the head of a family at a dinner party – was a man in a grey suit. He stood up as I walked in.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Eden,’ he said, pumping my hand up and down enthusiastically. ‘I’m Saul White, Orion’s defence attorney. Sit down.’
I sat down in one of the chairs near him. A crystal decanter and four crystal glasses on a silver tray were placed in the middle of the table. Above, an old-fashioned ceiling fan sliced through the warm air, whirring like a slow helicopter.
‘Mr White, do you think the court will find Ryan innocent?’ I asked, my insides twisting.
‘Please, call me Saul,’ he said. ‘I believe we have a very strong case. There is an old protocol – dating back to the earliest years of time travel – that states that in an exceptional circumstance a clean-up will not occur. The protocol says that a participant must have had an “unusual and vital contribution to a mission”. My job is to prove to the court that you played an unusual and vital contribution.’
‘Can we do that?’
He smiled warmly. ‘I certainly hope so. Tell me your story.’
Two hours later, after telling Saul the story about my best friend Connor discovering a planet that was the catalyst for Earth’s destruction, about Ryan’s mission to prevent that discovery, and my part in keeping Connor away from the telescope he was destined to use that fateful night, Mrs Westland came into the study to ask if we were ready for lunch.
Saul had taken copious notes, coached me in how to answer his questions and talked me through Time Court protocol. My head was aching with information and my throat dry from talking.
The dining room was large, with an entire wall of glass so clear that at first I thought there was nothing between us and the world outside. Beyond the glass a silver lake glimmered, its edges blackened from the shadows cast by the deep forest that reached to the horizon.