Another prosecutor stands. “Further, any attempt to introduce convoy classification context exceeds tribunal mandate in this case.”
Drax’s expression tightens, and I can see the political calculus grinding behind her eyes. She knows what the words convoy classification imply; she also knows what it will do to the Senate if that implication becomes explicit in open session.
Drax lifts a hand. “The tribunal will restrict inquiry to corridor deviations and blackout conditions. No convoy classification layers will be introduced without explicit tribunal approval.”
Selene’s face remains still, but I see the tension in her shoulders, the micro-stiffening that suggests she’s swallowing fury.
“Yes, High Arbiter,” she says, voice level.
Thane’s smile returns, satisfied. “Thank you.”
Selene concludes with clinical precision, presenting only what cannot be denied without sounding absurd. “The telemetry inconsistency indicates a coordinated update at 14:01. The mechanism and authorization chain require further verification to determine origin.”
Further verification.
The phrase is a doorway.
Thane moves to shut it with procedure. “The prosecution notes that verification is unnecessary for establishing negligence.”
Selene’s gaze flicks to the bench. “The inconsistency impacts reconstruction integrity.”
Drax’s voice is firm. “Noted. Liaison Ardent is excused.”
Selene steps back, posture controlled, and as she moves away from the console I see a faint sway in her balance, quickly corrected, as if her body tried to betray her and she refused.
My chest tightens, and I remember the prep room, the moment her focus fractured, the way she insisted she could manage her own body. Whatever she is carrying, she is carrying it alone.
Thane returns to me, voice warm again. “Commander Varos, you have heard Liaison Ardent’s presentation. Municipal telemetry suggests an update. Updates happen. Commanders remain responsible. Do you deny responsibility for civilian deaths?”
The question is bait. If I deny responsibility, I look monstrous. If I accept it, I let them close the case cleanly.
“I accept responsibility for issuing the evacuation order,” I say, voice steady. “I will not accept a simplified narrative that omits critical intervals and suppresses verification.”
Thane’s eyes flash. “You still refuse to implicate League command.”
“I refuse to accuse without confirmed documentation,” I reply. “I will not trade one destabilizing lie for another.”
Drax watches me, expression unreadable.
I turn my gaze toward the bench, feeling the cameras tighten. “High Arbiter, I formally petition for an extended investigation window before sentencing.”
Thane stiffens. “Objection?—”
Drax lifts her hand. “State grounds.”
I keep my voice controlled, but I let the weight of the moment sit in it. “New evidence has emerged requiring verification: coordinated corridor guidance update at 14:01 corroborated by municipal telemetry; external authorization anomaly indicated by communications blackout conditions; and unresolved evidence integrity concerns regarding a tribunal-approved file flagged corrupted following an unlogged maintenance window.”
A low wave of murmurs rolls through the chamber at the mention of the corruption flag, because the Holonet thrives on scandal as much as grief.
Thane’s voice sharpens. “These claims are speculative, inflammatory, and beyond scope. The tribunal has already accelerated sentencing due to diplomatic urgency.”
“Diplomatic urgency,” I repeat, and the bitterness in my tone is carefully measured. “Is not an excuse to rush past verification.”
Drax’s gaze hardens. “Commander Varos, you are asking this tribunal to delay sentencing under extraordinary political pressure.”
“I am asking,” I reply, “for the tribunal to choose law over optics.”
Silence drops, heavy and bright.
