"It makes perfect sense to me, Charles. What's your favorite music?"
I thought about John Coltrane. No. That was still my private thing. So instead, I said, "The Copeland Third. Fourth movement." Dad looked at me, surprised. But I think he understood why, because he smiled.
"What about your mom?"
"I still love her—I guess. When she's not fussing or nagging or screaming, she can be a pretty funny lady. But ... she hasn't been very nice to be around for a long time. I'd like to say good-bye to her, but I'm afraid to. Last time, all she did was scream."
"Ah, I see," said Georgia. "What if you knew how much your mom was hurting today and how much she was going to miss you and how much you were going to miss her? Would that affect your decision?"
I swallowed. Hard. I hadn't thought about it that way. Not really. Tears started to come up in my eyes. "If I do this, I'm never going to see her again, am I?"
"No, you won't."
"But if I go back to Earth, I'll never see Dad again either, will I?"
"That's right."
"So you're asking me to choose between one parent and another, aren't you? For the rest of my life."
"Yes, I am. I know it's a tough decision. But this is a lot more decision than you had last time this battle was fought, isn't it?"
"Last time wasn't for keeps."
"I guess not," Georgia said. "Nevertheless, this is the decision you have to make. So what's it going to be, Charles? Do you know?"
I wiped my nose, my eyes. I tried to imagine what life would be with Dad, wherever we were going. I couldn't, because I didn't know where we were going. I did know what life would be like if we went back. If I went back ...
If I went back, I'd be going without Douglas. And maybe without Stinky too. And even though I always used to joke about wanting to be an only child—or even an orphan—now that I had the chance to decide who I wanted to live with, it was suddenly a much bigger decision than I'd realized. This was like running away from home. Only worse. Because we could never go back again. This was a one-time deal.
"Charles?"
"I don't want to leave my mom," I whispered. "But I don't want to lose my dad either. I don't know."
Georgia sighed. She turned to Olivia. "I've heard enough."
"You haven't talked to the little one."
"Do you think that's going to be any better?"
"No. I guess not."
Georgia patted me on the shoulder. "You did well, Charles. You told the truth. You made my job a little harder, but that's okay. We'll try to find a way to sort this out."
"Listen, wait—" I said. "If I could just talk to my Mom. Just to say good-bye. Just to tell her that ... well, you know ... that I love her and not to hate me, please. That would ... I think that would make it all right. Maybe. Because I do want to go with my dad."
"I understand," Georgia said. She patted me on the shoulder one more time, then wheeled her way over to Olivia. "I'm not going to vacate the order. Howard has a case. At least enough for a hearing. You'd better be well-prepared tomorrow, Counselor. Thanks for the pizza."
"Wait a minute, Judge—" Olivia scooted her own chair in front of Georgia's, effectively blocking her access to the door. "You've heard Mickey's testimony about conditions downside. You can't send these children back down into that."
"Are you invoking the Evacuation Act?" Georgia asked.
"I think I'm going to have to."
"It's never been applied to a whole planet. No matter how I rule, it'll be certain to come up for review."
"Georgia, you said that you have to rule on this case based on what's best for the children. That overrides both the mother's claim and the father's. Remember the father has a viable custody action too. I'm asking for both of those to be set aside on the grounds that the Earth no longer represents a safe environment for these children, and that the custody cases are therefore irrelevant until such time as both parents are available to this court to present their claims. In the meantime, I'm arguing for assignment of custody to the only parent who is available."
Georgia frowned in thought. "If I even entertain that theory in court, you know it'll go right up the ladder of appeals, Counselor. And that's not a direction I want to go. And even if I were to find for the children under such grounds, I'd still have to compel residence until such time as the appeals played out. Do you really want to pursue that course?"
Olivia came right back at her. "Georgia, these are children, for God's sake! Do you want to send them back down? You heard what Mickey said. Maybe he's wrong—and maybe he isn't. But what if he isn't? What if the whole thing is finally coming apart?"
"And what if you were on the other side of this case, Counselor? What would you be arguing?"
"I'd still be arguing for the children."
Georgia gave her a skeptical look. "Olivia, you and I are like sisters. We have argued about everything that two human beings can possibly argue about. We're both passionate about justice. And we're both passionate about finding the laws that will guarantee it. And sometimes we both get passionate about finding ways around the laws. I don't even have a problem about that either, when what we're in search of is justice. But I do have a problem with this case. A big problem. Where's the justice in this one? I don't see it yet. And we're not going to find it in precedents or emergency acts or anything else. I'm terribly afraid that this is one of those cases where there will be no justice for anybody and everybody is going to end up hurting. We're already quite a way down that slippery slope, and I'm not going to sleep very well tonight, and I don't think you are either. Now, if you'll please—?"
Olivia stood up and pulled her chair out of the way. Georgia wheeled backward and swiveled toward the door. "Mickey, give me a hug. Nice meeting you, Douglas, Charles, Bobby—under different circumstances, I might say the same thing to you too, Max. See you in court tomorrow." She wheeled out and the room was painfully silent.
Nobody looked at me, but it was my fault. What I'd said to Georgia hadn't been good enough. I'd screwed up everything. Again.
PLANS
I said a word. The word. The word that Dad keeps telling me not to use, and I keep using anyway. "All right," she said. "Let's try something else." She went back to her console, while Mickey began clearing the table. Douglas got up to help him and the two of them exchanged sad smiles.
Stinky had fallen asleep on the couch. The monkey was beside him—picking its nose, pretending to examine imaginary boogers, and then flicking them at me. Ha ha.
After a while, Dad got up and walked over to Olivia's desk. "Now what?"
She looked at him, almost startled, as if she'd forgotten we were all here. Then she snapped back to reality and said, "Okay, we go back to Plan A. We get your ass off this station as fast as we can. You'll have to fire me—sign that—and then you can hire Mickey as your agent instead. The placement will be on his license and he'll collect the fee. I'll be out of it. Here's his authorization, only don't date it until tomorrow. Otherwise, you'll be putting him in violation of the law when you leave the station."
Dad looked at me. And Stinky. "What about the kids?"
Olivia shrugged. "They're your kids. You know them better than I. Will they be all right with it? Probably not. They're going to have a lot of anger to work out—just like before—only this time you'll get the brunt of it."
Dad didn't answer that. He just nodded in acceptance of the truth. Finally, he said, "I suppose I should tell you that I really appreciate what you're doing for me, but—"
"I'm not doing it for you," Olivia snapped. She looked up from her keyboard. "I'm doing it for the children."