Eastern Standard Tribe

next thing Art knew, Gran wasshaking him awake. He was draped in a tablecloth that he'd pulled over himselflike a blanket, and she folded it and put it away while he ungummed his eyes andstaggered off to bed.

  Audie called him early the next morning, waking him up.

  "Hey, Art! It's your cousin!"

  "Audie?"

  "You don't have any other female cousins, so yes, that's a good guess. Your Grantold me you were in Canada for a change."

  "Yup, I am. Just for a little holiday."

  "Well, it's been long enough. What do you do in London again?"

  "I'm a consultant for Virgin/Deutsche Telekom." He has this part of theconversation every time he speaks with Audie. Somehow, the particulars of hisjob just couldn't seem to stick in her mind.

  "What kind of consultant?"

  "User experience. I help design their interactive stuff. How's Ottawa?"

  "They pay you for that, huh? Well, nice work if you can get it."

  Art believed that Audie was being sincere in her amazement at his niche in theworking world, and not sneering at all. Still, he had to keep himself fromsaying something snide about the lack of tangible good resulting from keepingMPs up to date on the poleconomy of semiconductor production in PacRimsweatshops.

  "They sure do. How's Ottawa?"

  "Amazing. And why London? Can't you find work at home?"

  "Yeah, I suppose I could. This just seemed like a good job at the time. How'sOttawa?

  "Seemed, huh? You going to be moving back, then? Quitting?"

  "Not anytime soon. How's Ottawa?"

  "Ottawa? It's beautiful this time of year. Alphie and Enoch and I were going togo to the trailer for the weekend, in Calabogie. You could drive up and meet us.Swim, hike. We've built a sweatlodge near the dock; you and Alphie could bake uptogether."

  "Wow," Art said, wishing he had Audie's gift for changing the subject. "Soundsgreat. But. Well, you know. Gotta catch up with friends here in Toronto. It'sbeen a while, you know. Well." The image of sharing a smoke-filled dome withAlphie's naked, cross-legged, sweat-slimed paunch had seared itself across hiswaking mind.

  "No? Geez. Too bad. I'd really hoped that we could reconnect, you and me andAlphie. We really should spend some more time together, keep connected, youknow?"

  "Well," Art said. "Sure. Yes." Relations or no, Audie and Alphie were basicallystrangers to him, and it was beyond him why Audie thought they should bespending time together, but there it was. *Reconnect, keep connected.* Hippies."We should. Next time I'm in Canada, for sure, we'll get together, I'll come toOttawa. Maybe Christmas. Skating on the canal, OK?"

  "Very good," Audie said. "I'll pencil you in for Christmas week. Here, I'll sendyou the wish lists for Alphie and Enoch and me, so you'll know what to get."

  Xmas wishlists in July. Organized hippies! What planet did his cousins grow upon, anyway?

  "Thanks, Audie. I'll put together a wishlist and pass it along to you soon, OK?"His bladder nagged at him. "I gotta run now, all right?"

  "Great. Listen, Art, it's been, well, great to talk to you again. It reallymakes me feel whole to connect with you. Don't be a stranger, all right?"

  "Yeah, OK! Nice to talk to you, too. Bye!"

  "Safe travels and wishes fulfilled," Audie said.

  "You too!"

  25.

  Now I've got a comm, I hardly know what to do with it. Call Gran? Call Audie?Call Fede? Login to an EST chat and see who's up to what?

  How about the Jersey clients?

  There's an idea. Give them everything, all the notes I built for Fede and hisdamned patent application, sign over the exclusive rights to the patent for onedollar and services rendered (i.e., getting me a decent lawyer and springing mefrom this damned hole).

  My last lawyer was a dickhead. He met me at the courtroom fifteen minutes beforethe hearing, in a private room whose fixtures had the sticky filthiness of abus-station toilet. "Art, yes, hello, I'm Allan Mendelson, your attorney. Howare you?

  He was well over 6'6", but weighed no more than 120 lbs and hunched over hisskinny ribs while he talked, dry-washing his hands. His suit looked like thekind of thing you'd see on a Piccadilly Station homeless person, clean enoughand well-enough fitting, but with an indefinable air of cheapness and falsehood.

  "Well, not so good," I said. "They upped my meds this morning, so I'm prettylogy. Can't concentrate. They said it was to keep me calm while I wastransported. Dirty trick, huh?"

  "What?" he'd been browsing through his comm, tapping through what I assumed wasmy file. "No, no. It's perfectly standard. This isn't a trial, it's a hearing.We're all on the same side, here." He tapped some more. "Your side."

  "Good," Art said. "My grandmother came down, and she wants to testify on mybehalf."

  "Oooh," the fixer said, shaking his head. "No, not a great idea. She's not amental health professional, is she?"

  "No," I said. "But she's known me all my life. She knows I'm not a danger tomyself or others."

  "Sorry, that's not appropriate. We all love our families, but the court wants tohear from people who have qualified opinions on this subject. Your doctors willspeak, of course."

  "Do I get to speak?"

  "If you *really* want to. That's not a very good idea, either, though, I'mafraid. If the judge wants to hear from you, she'll address you. Otherwise, yourbest bet is to sit still, no fidgeting, look as sane and calm as you can."

  I felt like I had bricks dangling from my limbs and one stuck in my brain. Thenew meds painted the world with translucent whitewash, stuffed cotton in my earsand made my tongue thick. Slowly, my brain absorbed all of this.

  "You mean that my Gran can't talk, I can't talk, and all the court hears is thedoctors?"

  "Don't be difficult, Art. This is a hearing to determine your competency. Agroup of talented mental health professionals have observed you for the pastweek and they've come to some conclusions based on those observations. Ifeveryone who came before the court for a competency hearing brought out a bunchof irrelevant witnesses and made long speeches, the court calendar would bebacklogged for decades. Then other people who were in for observation wouldn'tbe able to get their hearings. It wouldn't work for anyone. You see that,right?"

  "Not really. I really think it would be better if I got to testify on my behalf.I have that right, don't I?"

  He sighed and looked very put-upon. "If you insist, I'll call you to speak. Butas your lawyer, it's my professional opinion that you should *not* do this."

  "I really would prefer to."

  He snapped his comm shut. "I'll meet you in the courtroom, then. The bailiffwill take you in."

  "Can you tell my Gran where I am? She's waiting in the court, I think."

  "Sorry. I have other cases to cope with -- I can't really play messenger, I'mafraid."

  When he left the little office, I felt as though I'd been switched off. Thedrugs weighted my eyelids and soothed my panic and outrage. Later, I'd be livid,but right then I could barely keep from folding my arms on the grimy table andresting my head on them.

  The hearing went so fast I barely even noticed it. I sat with my lawyer and thedoctors stood up and entered their reports into evidence -- I don't think theyread them aloud, even, just squirted them at the court reporter. My Gran satbehind me, on a chair that was separated from the court proper by a banister.She had her hand on my shoulder the whole time, and it felt like an anvil thereto my dopey muscles.

  "All right, Art," my jackass lawyer said, giving me a prod. "Here's your turn.Stand up and keep it brief."

  I struggled to my feet. The judge was an Asian woman about my age, a small roundhead set atop a shapeless robe and perched on a high seat behind a high bench.

  "Your Honor," I said. I didn't know what to say next. All my wonderful rhetorichad fled me. The judge looked at me briefly, then went back to tapping her comm.Maybe she was playing solitaire or looking at porn. "I asked to have a moment toaddress the Court. My lawyer suggested that I not do this, but I insisted.

  "
Here's the thing. There's no way for me to win here. There's a long story abouthow I got here. Basically, I had a disagreement with some of my coworkers whowere doing something that I thought was immoral. They decided that it would bebest for their plans if I was out of the way for a little while, so that Icouldn't screw them up, so they coopered this up, told the London police thatI'd gone nuts.

  "So I ended