“So, what do you suggest?”
“Take one or two of the clones with us. Openly. Then if someone tries to wipe them out, they’ll get only two—or one—whatever.”
“Ah. So which should I take?”
“I don’t see that it matters; let them choose.”
“Get us ready, then. I want to leave as soon as possible.”
“I suppose I should warn you that Oblo’s made some new friends.” But there was a trickle of amusement in Petris’s voice.
“What this time?” Heris asked.
“Well, he got a good deal on a new ship identity that he thinks will hold up better than the last one. . . . we’re now the Harper Valley, in case you want to know.”
Chapter Eighteen
“This Court is now ready to record the first session of the competency hearings of Lady Cecelia de Marktos, who is petitioning for the reversal of the Order of Guardianship imposed by the Crown Court after medical certification of irreversible coma. Present in the Court—” Present in the Court were local magistrates, attorneys Bunny had hired on Lady Cecelia’s behalf, her medical staff, and attorneys representing those who had originally instituted the Order of Guardianship: her family. Later, if this Court ruled in her favor, she would have to do the same things again, in another court, but for now Bunny thought it should be enough.
First her medical team instructed the Court in her signal system. The shoulder jerks, the knee movements, the hand clasps. They demonstrated the lapcomp she would use, and everyone present got to try it out. Thus her testimony couldn’t be programmed into the machine—not overtly, anyway. The synthesized voice had been shaped to sound like hers, from old tapes, but her attorneys recommended that she use both the body movements and the lapcomp, to provide additional evidence of her understanding and competency.
The session began with the same sorts of questions Dr. Czerda had asked months before on the yacht. Did she know her name? Was it Lady Cecelia—this time the magistrate asked using the entire formal string. Did she know the date, the place, the circumstances? She answered yes; she was able, with the lapcomp’s help, to give the date in both local and Universal calendars. Did she know the date of her injury, and had she been conscious continually since?
That was trickier. Brun had finally told her the date when she was supposed to have collapsed with the stroke: she could give that. But she had lost weeks in the first drug-induced coma. They had anticipated this question, and had decided that her struggle to answer it honestly, within the limits of her equipment, would stand her in good stead.
Her family’s attorney, evidently poorly briefed, seemed most determined to prove she was not Lady Cecelia, and then that she had been unduly influenced by Heris Serrano. Her medical team dealt with the first (at least to the satisfaction of that court) by providing the biochemical profile proving her identity. Since such profiles were the standard way of proving identity, the attorney was reduced to arguing that it might have been faked. His argument about Heris was harder to counter. Bunny’s attorneys led her through the questions.
No, Heris Serrano had not known about the bequest. No, she did not think leaving a yacht to a yacht captain was peculiar. The yacht represented only a small percentage of her total estate, and no interest in the businesses which provided the bulk of her—and her family’s—wealth. No, she did not think Heris Serrano had had anything to do with her accident. Her attorney spoke.
“Since we have established this lady’s identity and her mental alertness, despite a terrible ordeal, we ask a summary judgment in her favor, reversing the Order of Guardianship.” Cecelia heard the faint rustle as Bunny’s lawyer sat back down, the louder stir of others, the creak and rasp of the opposing lawyer standing, most likely to object.
“Just a moment,” the presiding magistrate said. Cecelia heard the hollow thock of the gavel. She wished she could see his face. He sounded reasonable, but she was used to judging people by a combination of their expressions and their actions. “All this court need consider is Lady Cecelia’s mental status. And on that point, I wish to state that I am now convinced that the individual seated there—” Cecelia assumed he pointed at her. “—and introduced in this court as Lady Cecelia is in fact Lady Cecelia. Clearly, Lady Cecelia is not comatose; she is oriented in time and place, and knows her own identity. But whether that constitutes adequate mental capacity to require that the guardianship be withdrawn, and her affairs returned to her sole control, remains in doubt—”
“Exactly what we said!” interrupted her family’s lawyer.
“It is not,” Bunny’s lawyer interrupted as quickly. “You claimed this wasn’t even Lady Cecelia.”
“It seemed reasonable to doubt the identity of someone appearing at so great a distance from Lady Cecelia’s last known location, when the management of great assets were at stake,” said her family’s lawyer frostily. “After Lady Cecelia’s disappearance, with all the publicity, anyone could have decided to claim to be her. Any lapses of memory could be attributed to the stroke or subsequent medication . . . it would be very hard to prove in the absence of definitive biochemical identification—”
“Which, Ser, was presented. Now, if you don’t mind—” Was that a crumb of humor in the magistrate’s voice? Cecelia hoped for it.
“Not at all.”
“Very well, then. I am going to address some questions to Lady Cecelia, and I wish you legal gentlemen to keep quiet, and not interfere. If I need interpretation of her signal system, I will ask her medical and rehabilitative staff to assist. But I want her answers, indicative of her understanding, unaffected by your comments. If you do interfere, I will consider that adversely in rendering my judgment. Do I make myself clear?” He had, of course, made himself very clear. Cecelia braced herself. Now it would come.
“Lady Cecelia . . .” The timbre of his voice changed; Cecelia groaned inwardly. A sort of spurious sweetness oozed from it, the tone of an adult who is trying to communicate with a child believed to be slightly dimwitted. “Let me explain the situation.” She already knew the situation; her lawyers had explained it in detail. “If you had come before the first competency hearing as you are now, I am certain that no Order of Guardianship would have been issued. However, you did not represent yourself, and no one challenged the presumption that your condition was completely disabling and permanent. Indeed, I cannot find a precedent for this situation in this jurisdiction’s records, and the only similar cases in the entire Familias Regnant are not, in fact, that similar.”
He paused. Cecelia realized he was planning to drag everyone through the entire legal history of competency hearings, Orders of Guardianship, and so on. How she wished she could say “Get on with it, dammit!”
“Reversing an Order of Guardianship requires some proof that you are capable of managing your affairs—at least choosing and designating an appropriate representative. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” Cecelia used the synthetic voice for that one, and she could tell by the indrawn breaths that it surprised more than one in the court.
“I want you to explain, as well as you are able, what you consider your main business interests,” the magistrate said. “Can you tell me something about your affairs, enough that I know you understand the extent of your holdings?”