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“Yes, I guess it would.”
Though her voice was even, her confusion flicked through me. She, like me, had no idea where this line of questioning was going.
Anthony’s expression, however, suggested that he did. He rose and said, “Objection, Your Honor. The power rating of the witness plays no part in the accusations that stand before the court.”
Moderno turned to face the dais. “It is our intention to prove that it does.”
The adjudicator glanced at the other six then nodded. “We’ll allow the line of questioning for the moment, but do get to the point, Counselor.”
He nodded and returned his attention to Belle. “Does this mean you are, in fact, strong enough to rearrange memories?”
Belle stared at him for a heartbeat and then glanced toward my father. “Seriously? This is going to be your defense, you fucker?”
The adjudicator banged her gavel and said, “Ms. Sarr, please refrain from speaking directly to the defendant.”
“The defendant,” she said, contempt evident, “is obviously intending to victim blame, and that fucking sucks. As does he.”
I swallowed a laugh and resisted the urge to stand up and cheer. Belle, you need to be careful. They might be intent on stirring up an angry reaction so they can claim you’re an unreliable witness.
Both now and on that night long ago.
Hey, my response was utterly restrained. I mean, I could have given a demonstration of said telepathic strength and have him mewing the truth like a child... while making him shit his pants like one.
Appealing options one and all, although I would prefer the latter when we’re not stuck in the same small room as him.
“Ms. Sarr,” the adjudicator said, “please answer Mr. Moderno’s question without side commentary.”
“No, Mr. Moderno,” she said, “I cannot totally rearrange someone’s memories and make it stick. Even if I could, any good telepath or auditor would see the tells and know what had been done.”
“But theoretically, it is possible.”
“Theoretically, yes, if you have had years and years of appropriate training. I have not.”
Moderno shifted his stance. He looked pleased, and that worried me. “Let’s talk about the night you rescued Ms. Grace.”
“That’s what I’m here for, babe.”
“Ms. Sarr, please address the counselor correctly.”
“Only if he—and this court—start addressing me correctly.”
“Ms. Kent,” Moderno all but drawled. “Is it your claim that you—a low-rated Sarr armed with nothing more than a very strong telepathic gift—were able to break through every protection Clayton Ashworth had around his building? Without help, and as a fifteen-year-old?”
“Your Honor,” Anthony said, again rising to his feet, “the adjudicators’ reports have been verified and found to be a correct reflection of memories. This line of questioning is out of line.”
“I assure you, it is not,” Moderno said.
“We’ll allow it for the moment,” the adjudicator said.
As Anthony sat back down, I leaned close and whispered, “Are you sure my father hasn’t paid off those twats?”
Moderno shot me a glance, obviously having heard the comment, but there was no reaction from the dais, suggesting the seven councilors hadn’t.
Because I threw a minor shield around them when I saw you lean sideways, Belle said. Thought something less than polite might have been coming.
Might want to keep it up. I suspect there’ll be more impolite comments coming.
And they’ll undoubtedly be warranted.
