[i][sub][right]Starring: Martina Ward[/right][/sub][/i]

ECU trials are strange.

The person being tried- Martina Ward- already thinks a lot of things about her country are strange, of course. But this place takes the cake and swallows it whole. The room is lined, wall-to-ceiling and front-to-back, with golden statues three men high. They're all frowning, and all share a resemblance to figures of authority from Old Earth. One is a Julius Caesar, another other a Stalin, there's a Habsburg- a few British kings or Japanese emperors round out the edges- and an American president stands watch by the door, as if waiting to grab up anyone who tried running away.

Aside from being made of gold and massive in height, they all have one other thing in common: they're staring directly at the accused. Ms. Ward, 31 and charged with Anti-Earth Activities on Grand Scale, is made to sit in a metal folding chair right in the center of the room, where all of Earth's tyrants and strongmen can stare down at her disapprovingly.

Along with the judge in front of her, of course, who is seated much more securely behind a high desk of the kind seen in courtroom films from Earth. The Old Earthers must have figured that was a good place to judge people from. The prosecutor alone has no seat; he prefers pacing around the room energetically. He's been talking for two hours, hammering out Ward's many crimes, accusing her of hating Earth and the ECU and all her people, telling all the citizens of New Hollywood that this is their enemy.

"Has not Ms. Ward been arrested for Anti-Earth activities over a half-dozen times?" he demands. "Has she not been spoken to, patiently, again and again, by our nation's protectors? How long do we allow her to keep going? How long will we let her be a nuisance- no, scratch that, a [i]threat[/i] to our way of life?" His voice is magnified around the room, echoing off the sculptures, as if they were joining on in his accusations.

But he's not talking to Martina. Or even to the judge, for that matter. The outcome of this case like this would have been set long before it began. No, he's preaching instead to all of New Hollywood: they're watching through cameras in the statue's eyes. 500 million New Hollywoodites witnessing this trial. On their screens at home, or ones mounted on building sides. It's a public viewing. A show.

The other 700 million will be sure to watch a recording later.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this woman is an enemy of the state. She's organized a dozen rallies and protests against the protectors. And fine, fine, our leaders aren't unreasonable; the protectors have been pulled back, just like her and her radicals demanded. I think it was a mistake, personally- but it happened. And was it good enough?" He made eye contact with Martina. "Was it good enough for you, Ms. Ward?" She gets about three milliseconds to respond, before he answers on her behalf: "[i]Of course not.[/i] You turned against the Noocracy next. And the holo-suites! Well, you aren't in a holo-suite now, Ms. Ward. And this is the day it ends. The day New Hollywood finally tells you 'No.'"

It goes on for another thirty minutes, the prosecutor's anxious steps sounding so hollow in this empty room. It's funny; you would think New Hollywood, of all places, would want a court packed with audiences. But there's nobody in here- nobody at all but Ward, Judge Mayer, and the nameless prosecutor. Maybe the cameras make live audiences redundant. Martina wonders what happens to people when the cameras shut off.

Her daydreams are interrupted. The judge is informing her, the accused, that she has three minutes for rebuttal. "This is the allotted time according to Lawyer's Second Principle, established year 235."

"I wasn't told I'd have time to speak at all," says Ward.

"2 minutes, 52 seconds before trial conclusion," says the judge.

So she'll have to improvise. Suddenly, Martina can feel the weight of the statue's eyes on her- every Hollywoodite watching this trial. She's become a kind of famous figure recently, and mostly by accident. Not that it matters to the noocracy; they just want to make her look bad. Chase people away from her message.

[i]Truth, if you're listening,[/i] Martina prays, as she has before, to the closest thing Mixtsists have to a formal god, [i]I need back-up.[/i]

With a sigh, she starts off: "I'm not against Earth. Or New Hollywood." [i]That's still a stupid name[/i], she thinks, but doesn't press that particular point. "It's a fun place, but that's the problem. All we do is have fun. Our cities never turn off, our music never stops playing, the holo-suites never close..."

She remembers the first time she met a real Mixtist, in the ruins of some nameless alien city, squatting over a campfire. She told Ward about how bizarre and dangerous they thought holograms were; like solid lies. 

"That's what they called them," Ward says, relaying this story to the judge and prosecutor. "'Solid lies.' And that's what they are. We spend all day in fantasies, but none of it's real, it just looks like it is. When the game is over, life is still exactly what it was before. Or life is worse off, because you weren't in it. We spend every day dreaming of Earth, but what is Earth? I don't know. I've never been there. Neither have any of you. We waste our time instead of pushing forward and making our real situation something worthwhile."

"What about terraforming?" the prosecution interrupts. "We're making the world better right now."

"They didn't invent terraforming in a holo-suite," Ward interrupts back, and realizes her voice is shaking like it's about to catch fire. "It's based on Old Earth tech anyway, we just filled in the gaps. What have we invented that's new? What does [i]New Hollywood[/i] have to be proud of? Our music is 300 years old. Back on Earth, they wrote new songs every day, about anything they wanted. Why can't we?"

She wonders what a new song would sound like. It's a really sad thought. "I don't hate this planet. If I did, I would have run off and joined the Zetans, like a doctor we all know about." Rumors from Bodi's colleagues occasionally leaked into the ravenous, scandal-hungry Hollywoodite media. Slowly, the public- and Martina- was starting to second-guess the ECU story about his 'kidnapping.' "Last week, there was a march on the U.N. Memorial in New Beijing. Two hundred thousand people attended. Do you think they came for no reason? This is a lot bigger than I am. Everything we do is a lie, this government is made of lies, this whole trial is a fucking lie, and people are starting to-"

At this point, the prosecutor slaps her.

"Sorry, your honor," he says, while Ward rubs her cheek in shock. "I just couldn't bear to listen to that anti-Earth nonsense any more."

"Sustained," affirms the Judge, even though that doesn't strictly make sense in this scenario. "Accused, you have twenty seconds remaining. Is there anything else you'd like to add before sentencing?"

"He [i]slapped[/i] me," says Martina, all the words apparently knocked right out of her.

"Overruled," says the judge.

And at that, the accused's one, brief moment of having a voice is passed, and her sentence comes down on her.

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[i][sub][right]Addressing: [@Crusader Lord][/right][/sub][/i]

[i]
Envoy Christensen,

I'll start off by thanking you for your actions against that anti-Earth terrorist, Davids. I'm certain you'll be glad to hear that Tanaka has fully recovered from his injuries. Speaking of, I've watched over the footage of the incident, and

You know what, forget it. I'm just going to be honest with you. I haven't watched over the footage of that incident. The reason I'm contacting you is because some other people have, really high-up and educated ECU people, and they're getting pretty worked up about it. They said that you moved too fast for a "baseline" human, and that you seemed too strong for a man of your age. I won't lie, the word "inhumans" has been thrown around a lot lately.

They think that you're genetically modified, is what I'm getting at. Now, I'm not judging you for that, if you are, but it's a question my government wants answered, and they're sending me to answer it. If we could maybe have a talk about that- I'll buy the drinks- and maybe afterwards our two peoples will be able to pursue better relations.

Call me,
Andrei Fedorov, Earth Cultural Union, Oligarch.
[/i]

[center][b]~~~~~~~~[/b][/center]
[i][sub][right]Starring: Savant Heralds and Kayla[/right][/sub][/i]
[i][sub][right]Addressing: [@Sigma][/right][/sub][/i]

"These Columbians sound... interesting," says Kayla, an aggravating but politically weak Oligarch, who has somehow managed to get herself involved in every situation since the blockade ended.

"They're a lurking threat," corrects Savant Heralds, the one true leader of New Hollywood- whatever those discontents crowding the streets might say.

"That's why we need to talk to them, Heralds. Didn't they have some mercenaries who helped us? Maybe they're sympathetic."

Heralds grimaces. He doesn't like thinking about the war. Already, it's proving a black mark on his rule that future Savants would 'learn from' in the worst way. But appearances must be kept. "Perhaps, my young friend," he says. And then he smiles in a way that is meant to be fatherly. "Why don't you go and see them? Talk to some of their diplomats, see their cities, take as much time as you need, and give me a nice full report on them when you get back."

Kayla smiles. "You just want to get me off New Hollywood, don't you?" 

Heralds has to sigh. "Yes," he confesses, deadpan. "Now... just go, please. The Columbians can put up with you."

The girl laughs. And in only a short time, she's approaching the United Republic of Columbia's home system, sending out requests from the ECU for a formal discussion. Time to see what really makes these people tick.