Madame flipped through the first document, adding her signature to the bottom. “A group of your schoolchildren were seen on the Surface the other day.” She spoke without looking up. “Collecting a Pearl from a group of Fringers.”
Cassius watched as the members of the Tribunal exchanged furtive glances.
“Impossible,” Leone muttered.
Madame smiled as she ran her fingers along the text. “Impossible that they were down there? Or impossible that they were seen? This is in direct violation of clause three of the treaty, as you well know.”
Chandler leaned back in his seat, hands clasped. “And you have proof? Photographic, documented proof?”
“Of course not,” she responded, flipping through another document. “I don’t believe you’d be so careless as to offer us proof. No, I have my suspicions, as always.”
“Suspicions won’t hold up in a court of law.” Buchanan crossed her arms. “Even one as… unified as yours.”
“I just wanted you to know, Representative. Don’t get sloppy. We are waiting.”
Buchanan shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Madame’s eyebrows raised as she ran her finger across the top of a page. “I’ll have to put on my glasses to read such tiny print. One would think that you were trying to squeeze something past us here.”
Leone frowned. “We have no secrets.”
“No, of course not.” She dug through her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of spectacles. “That was a lovely little circus downstairs, by the way. I don’t remember the crowds being as large last time.”
“We can’t help the way our people feel.”
“No.” She finished scanning through the document and signed at the bottom. “I suppose you can’t be blamed for the actions of your people. They were contained well enough.”
Buchanan glared down at Madame. Cassius watched as the red of her face deepened. “Listen, Madame. People don’t like the idea of a dictatorship being allowed to flourish right under their noses.”
Madame set the pen down on the table, clasping her hands once more. “It is not a dictatorship.”
The woman scoffed. “What is it, then? It’s certainly not the three-party democracy the people voted on.”
“Your democracy died along with the White House,” she replied. “Tragedy unified us. Finally. After years of partisan bickering we were free to get on with it, to unite and preserve our way of life. If you would care to float down from your cloud and visit one of our Chosen Cities, you’d realize that our people are quite happy-and very well taken care of.”
Buchanan controlled her expression, taking a deep breath before responding. “Does that include the people outside of the Net? The people in the Fringes?”
“You mean your friends down in the Fringes?” Madame smiled.
“No. The people you’ve forgotten. The people your cities are killing every day.”
Madame sighed. “Despite what you may think, we cannot control the human will. It’s true, some people opt out of our environmental tax program and choose to stay in the Fringes.”
Buchanan laughed. “Poor people, sick people, nonconform-”
“It is a choice,” Madame interrupted. “Without the funds collected from the tax, there would be no Bio-Nets.”
Chandler held up his hand. “From what I hear, Fringers don’t like you very much.”
Madame scowled. “I’d be careful what you say, Representative. One might get the impression that you’ve been spending more time on the Surface than is legally allowed.”
“Please.” Buchanan sneered. “Why would we want to go down to the Surface? You’ve ruined it. As if taking care of your so-called terrorists wasn’t enough.”
Madame grabbed her pen, returning to the stack of papers. “Retaliation was necessary.”
“Killing millions of innocent people? When is that ever necessary?”
She signed and dated the next sheet. “Our country was destroyed. They would have done it again.”
“Oh, here we go.” The lady grabbed the edge of the podium. Her nails matched the red blazer. “Revenge, revenge, revenge. It’s always the same with you people.”
Cassius shifted in his seat. Madame flipped to the next page.
But Buchanan wouldn’t stop. “You know what I think? I think you were all ashamed. All of your anti-terror initiatives weren’t enough. After everything you asked the American people to give up, you didn’t even see it coming. Nobody did. No terrorist organization ever claimed responsibility for the bombings. You and I both know that.”
Madame pushed her chair back, standing up and meeting the Republican head on. “Who else, Representative? What would you have had us do? Wait? Wait until they destroyed the rest of the country? They would have done it again.”
“They didn’t.”
“Because we didn’t give them a chance.”
Buchanan rested her chin in her hand, smiling. “And now look what you’ve done. It’s karma. The planet’s becoming more unlivable by the day. Your Unified Party can hide behind monikers as long as you’d like. But someday soon the people are going to know what you did. And heaven help you then.”
Madame sat down, clearing her throat. “We have Pearls now. Nobody need suffer anymore.”
“There’s no telling how long Pearls will last,” Leone replied. “Your control is weakening.”
Madame returned to the documents. Cassius knew he wasn’t supposed to move on with the plan until halfway through the meeting, but he couldn’t stand to sit and watch the Tribunal antagonize her. So he leaned over and whispered in her ear.
She nodded, glancing back up to the three podiums. “My son needs to step out and use the restroom.”
“Of course.” Chandler motioned to the far door. “There’s one down the staircase in the hallway to your right.”
Cassius stood, the black pouch clutched tightly at his side. He looked down at Madame, knowing he wouldn’t see her again until he’d captured Fisher.
She kept her face forward, ignoring him. “Would it be all right if he stays downstairs for the remainder of the meeting? I don’t wish him to be subjected to any more of this.”
Buchanan chuckled. “You brought him up here.”
“And I regret it.”
“Sure.” Chandler flashed Cassius a patronizing smile. “There’s a waiting room in the same hallway with some old Wi-Fi pads. Make yourself at home.”
Cassius nodded, then looked back to Madame. He waited for a show of support. A smile. Something. Her eyes never left the papers in front of her.
Rather than wait around, he turned and walked away, moving down the aisle until he exited the meeting room. Once down the stairs, he found the restroom and darted inside. Although it was empty, he stepped into the nearest stall and locked the door behind him just in case. Then he quickly unbuttoned his jacket and slipped into the plain suit he’d brought with him.
Stuffing his government clothes into the now-empty bag, he quickly checked the skin graft on his right wrist that covered his hexagonal identification socket. If it peeled off during his stay in Skyship Territory, he’d be instantly revealed as a Surface inhabitant.
Next, he ripped the light blue passport from the lining of the bag and placed it in the breast pocket of his suit. He was now Michael Stevens, born and raised on Skyship Orion. His life could depend on remembering that information.
His heart raced as he realized the full ramifications of what he’d just done. He was no longer an invited guest on Atlas. He was an undercover agent. If he was caught before finding Fisher, he’d be punished like one, thrown into one of the prison ships down south.
Still, what had transpired back in the meeting room made him even more anxious. Madame had often talked about the Tribunal and life after the bombings, but had never offered details outside of what was written in the instructional databases. He’d never seen her so angry before. So angry that she hadn’t even paused to pat his shoulder or smile at him.