Toxic Treacle (18 page)

Courting Trouble

Two weeks, and several visits from his father later, Monkey took his first trip in a motorised vehicle. In other circumstances, he would have been excited. As the heavily armoured State coach drove into The Farm, he was reminded of the old football vids he'd watched with Trevor and the way the players had been transported around the country in the old days. This was a beast of a vehicle, by far the largest Monkey had ever seen and, with its security grilles at every window, it made him think of a gigantic metal fly's head.

As the only pre-breeder involved in the rebel trial, Monkey was walked in chains to the adult wing before being cuffed to a female officer. The trial was scheduled for 10:00 but it was not yet daylight and the last remnants of a late-spring frost nipped at his nose. Unlike the electric stealths that rumbled their way round town, the enormous coach ran on bio fuel and the throbbing engine made the vehicle seem even more intimidating. He shivered.

The guard hauled him up the steps of the coach and chained him to the seat in front. He stared out of the window onto the grey landscape just as the first detail of ‘farmers' was heading out to the fields. If he had any glimmer of hope that his trial would be successful, he might have felt relief at leaving The Farm complex, but Eric had been non-committal when asked about the possible outcome.

Monkey watched as other males from the breeders' and providers' wings were marched from their blocks and herded onto the coach, each one accompanied by a guard. He gave a shudder, partly from the cold but also the enormity of what awaited him. Darren Bates was in the seat behind him and made sure Monkey received an ‘accidental' clock around the ear with his chains as he sat down. Monkey rested his head against the window and wondered if Angel would be in court. Then, with a sinking heart, realised that she'd probably bought into the whole
let's-blame-it-all-on-Mickey
like everyone else! He closed his eyes and took the opportunity to snatch an extra couple of hours' sleep on the journey to blank out the fears that were beginning to germinate in his head.

When he woke, the first thing he noticed, as they drove through the suburbs of the capital, was how different everything was - how much busier. The roads thronged with bikes and carts; stealths cruised the streets and the people all looked as though they were late. Even young nurturers with bubs were rushing. No one took any notice of the armoured coach as it rumbled its way towards the Courts of The Assembly, suggesting to Monkey that it was not an uncommon sight.

Monkey tried to take it all in. He'd been hearing about the capital since he was a bub but had never been there before and didn't know when, if ever, he'd get the chance to see it again. Everything about the place was big: the buildings, the roads, even the river was twice as wide as the one at home. Monkey fingered the scar on his palm and thought wistfully of the night he and Trevor had swum the river to escape the hood. If, that night, someone had told him that, in five-weeks' time, he'd be standing trial for treason, attempted murder and kidnap, he would have laughed in their face. At least he wasn't being tried for Fuse's murder as he'd feared.

He felt the bus reduce speed. As they progressed slowly, Monkey noticed more and more Security officers lining the streets. They were wearing helmets with visors down and many had riot shields in one hand and either a baton or gun in the other. His attention was drawn to the metal crush-barriers behind them, keeping the crowds at bay. It took him several minutes to realise that what he was seeing was not normal crowd control, even for the capital: something else was going on. The people behind the barriers carried placards and banners with the slogans: ‘KIDS NEED DADS', ‘P.A.R.E.N.T.' and ‘VOTE UNITY: END THE SEGREGATION LAWS'. Through the thick glass windows of the coach, a muffled chant reached his ears, ‘What do we want? Parenting together! When do we want it? NOW!'

‘Look forwards!' ordered the female guard who was sitting next to Monkey.

He averted his gaze from the window and turned to face the front, slipping her a baleful glance. ‘What's going on?'

Ignoring him, she called to the coach driver, ‘Lower the shutters!'

Metal shutters descended on all the windows of the coach, plunging the interior into gloom. But, despite their best efforts, the guards could not keep their prisoners ignorant of the number of rebel supporters assembled in the capital. The front windscreen was unobscured and Monkey craned his neck to take in the scale of the protest. Thousands of demonstrators were lining the route as the coach crawled towards its destination. Placards were being thrust forward and a cheer, muted through the triple-glazed and shuttered windows, followed their progress like a Mexican wave.

‘Eyes down!' commanded the guard and, grudgingly, he obeyed.

Monkey was confused. He knew that Daz had said the organisation was huge, but they were supposed to be living in secret communes around the country, not all together in the capital and out in the open, on show for every camera in the city to register their faces. A seed of dread began to germinate. He'd put his trust in Eric, hoping against hope that he'd be able to get him and Angel - and preferably, all of the rebels - off the charges. He was now beginning to realise the enormity of the movement and what he'd got involved with. He hoped this demonstration wasn't going to give the authorities an excuse to make an example of them and send them down for even longer.

Eventually, the brakes of the coach hissed as they came to a standstill and were unlocked from their seats.

‘Stand!' barked an officer. They all complied. ‘Keep your eyes on the ground!'

As the doors sighed open, a deafening din hit his ears. One by one, shackles clanking as they walked, the prisoners filed down the steps and along a narrow corridor of National Guard. Hordes of people were pushing forwards, thrusting their placards over the shoulders of the soldiers. Occasionally, Monkey could make out a phrase or word from the cacophony; ‘We want Unity!' or ‘End segregation now!'

‘Keep moving!' The prison guards were pushing them forwards.

Monkey dared to raise his head slightly. They were heading towards an imposing building with a gothic façade. Scales of justice dominated the front of the building and Monkey wondered with a sense of irony, how much justice he - or any of them - was going to see. A whack to the back of his head sent him stumbling into the provider in front of him. On seeing the incident, nurturers, providers and even pres in the crowd, all surged forwards. With a roar of protest, the wall of National Guard was breached. Hands grabbed at Monkey's clothing and hair, then batons were brought down sharply on his shoulders and head. He was jostled and barged as guards, soldiers and Security officers quickly formed a cordon around the prisoners. Shields raised to protect themselves and their charges, the officers shuffled the group along an alley at the side of the courthouse and down into the holding cells.

The cell, into which he and a dozen others were crammed, was in the bowels of the building and obviously dated back to the last century. It was small, windowless and possessed only one toilet in the corner. He slumped down onto the long bench, with a sense of bewilderment.

‘You see!' Daz said, with a sense of triumph, the minute the door slammed shut.

‘See what?' Monkey felt dazed.

‘That this thing isn't about
you
! It's massive.'

It was true, Daz had told him that the movement was huge and had infiltrated the entire country, but Monkey had never imagined anything like this. All those people out there - with one uniform aim: to end the Segregation Laws and allow parents to work together to give their offspring a balanced and supportive upbringing.

‘What do you want me to say, Daz? I told you I was sorry I messed up. I misjudged the situation - OK?' Monkey was getting tired of Darren's blame.

‘It's a bit feggin' late for apologies.'

Monkey stood up thrusting his chest forward and the two confronted each other like rutting stags. ‘I'm sick of you trying to dump this on me, Daz. You talk about Unity but where was
your
unity, eh? I was actually doing something positive. I had a plan to unite the hoods but, the minute Angel got arrested, you just bottled it!'

‘Bottled it?' Darren repeated, threateningly.

‘You never gave me a chance.'

‘A chance to what? Mess up again?'

‘You...'

‘Leave it!' Trevor, pushed the two apart. ‘We're supposed to be united.'

‘Tell
him
that,' Monkey snarled at Daz.

‘You OK?' Trevor asked.

Monkey nodded. There was an awkward silence between them and Monkey was aware that the tension of the day was getting to everyone. ‘Sorry, mate. I'm just sick of being his whipping boy.'

Trevor started speaking again, gabbling to try and ease his nerves. ‘Mum and Dad are going to be on trial today, too. I don't know when they're arriving.' Monkey didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. Did they blame him for their arrests too? ‘And Angel, of course,' Trevor added.

A flurry of excitement shot across Monkey's chest and he felt his face flush at the thought of seeing her.

When the cell door opened again, silence descended. The pulsating drone from outside was still audible. A male guard read out a list of their names in alphabetical order, before they were led along the corridor, up the stairs and into an enormous chamber.

At one end, there was an impressive, elevated desk. In front and below it, sat two teams of lawyers, each occupying an entire side of the room and making sure to keep well away from the opposition. The whole of one side of the courtroom was sectioned off to form a makeshift dock with metal bars and it was into this enormous cage that the rebels were herded. A door at the other end opened and a dozen females emerged into the cage - amongst them Jane and Angel. Monkey felt a surge of emotion rush through him. He was standing at the front of the batch of male prisoners but, by leaning back, he could see her clearly. She looked pale and drawn but as beautiful as ever. Her eyes flashed a sideways glance but she looked away again quickly.

A torrent of elation shot through Monkey's whole being. His spirits soared, restoring his resolve and fortifying his determination. Any fears he might have allowed to creep into his mind were banished the instant he saw her. He knew then, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her; he wanted to live with her, to make love to her and raise children with her. He wanted it more than he wanted his own life and he knew that the only way to achieve it was to bring an end to the Segregation Laws. He turned his gaze to where Eric's team of lawyers had huddled together, Sally Ellison amongst them. As though sensing his son's eyes on him, Eric looked up, the merest hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Monkey felt his mouth dry as nerves constricted his throat. He nodded acknowledgement of the gesture.

Suddenly, the sound of a gavel on wood echoed round the court.

‘All stand!' ordered the usher, raising her voice over the noise of the demonstration outside.

Two females and a male entered from a door at the front of the courtroom and took their places behind the elevated bench. All were wearing black robes with white cravats at their necks. Their attention was immediately drawn to the back of the court, from where the noise of the protest could be heard. A sombre, irritated look passed between them and a chill of premonition ran the length of Monkey's spine.

The judges flipped plasma-screens up from the desk and immediately began making notes. Without looking up, the sinister-looking female in the centre instructed the usher to read out the charges. The officer stood and opened her mouth to read from her own screen but, before she could speak, Eric rose.

‘With all due respect, Madam...' The three judges stopped and looked at him with disdain. ‘Far be it for me to remind your honours of the Laws of The Assembly, but the jury has not, as yet, been selected or sworn in.'

The judges resumed their writing.

‘Nor will it be, Provider Randall,' said the central judge. ‘And you are quite correct - it is
not
for you to remind us of the law. Continue.'

The official stood again. ‘Karl Appleton - on the charge of conspiracy to commit treason how do you...'

‘Your Honours!' As Eric stood up, the official sat down again. ‘As citizens of this country, my clients have the right to a fair trial.'

The sinister judge looked over the top of her spectacles. ‘Which they will get. But, as I hope you are aware, Provider Randall, under the Treason Bill that was passed amending the Criminal Justice Act - as traitors...' She looked at the Security officers at the back of the court. ‘Can't anything be done about that racket?' The guard nodded and left the room. She went on, ‘As
traitors...
' she emphasised the word. ‘...your clients have
no
right to trial by jury - and
habeas corpus
has also been suspended.' She held Eric with a steely glare and Monkey felt a swell of pride that Eric didn't flinch or break eye contact. ‘You will be allowed to present their cases to the three of us and we will decide their guilt - or otherwise. Please continue!'

The official stood up and, as though on a seesaw, sat down immediately as Eric would not be silenced. ‘Madam, if I may draw your attention to Section B, paragraph eighty two, item three of the Constitution of The Assembly...'

‘Provider Randall...' The judge placed her spectacles on top of her head and said, in a weary tone, ‘...I am well aware of the Constitution of The Assembly - section, paragraph, chapter and verse! As, I hope are you.'

‘Indeed, Madam.'

‘Then you will be aware that, “
where there is a danger that jurors could
be undercover members of an insidious, illegal or treache
rous organisation, trial shall be by three members
of the Higher Assembly and
not
by jury
”
.'
She replaced her glasses. ‘So, if you were hoping for a show trial, I'm afraid you are going to be disappointed. Now, let us have no further discussion on this matter.' She waved a hand towards the official who, once again, took to her feet. ‘Continue.'