85. Open Day
On Monday morning, Paul went out with the 205 Action Team.
His job was not a front-line post, nor anything resembling a high-risk raid. It was quieter than that, and uglier. Using the records from Sunday’s march and gathering, he was to help 205 pick out, one by one, those who had become too visible in the white light, and send them into procedure.
The leader of the 205 Action Team was tall, his shoulders as broad as a wall. Beside him stood Nunchuck Panda. It was round and almost clumsy-looking, with two short batons crossed behind its back. It did not need to glare. If it stood at your door, everyone inside understood: today was not a conversation.
“You identify them,” the leader said. “I open the doors.”
Nunchuck Panda added, “Doors are usually more honest than people.”
Paul did not reply.
Snowy perched on his shoulder, her feathers drawn in tight. Dustshark lay against the inside of his coat, the grey light at its nose pulsing softly, as if it were sniffing the old ash the city had just turned over.
The first flat was in an old block in District Fourteen.
The door opened slowly. Inside was a university student. Yesterday, outside Central Park, he had crossed his fingers into a one-zero-one shape and held it for six seconds. Six seconds was not long, but it was long enough for Silver Eagle to place him in another category.
The student stood behind the door, his face pale. Beside him was a chestnut squirrel agent, its tail bushy, its two little paws clutching an electronic chestnut, as if, by holding on tightly enough, it could stop the thing from happening.
The team leader showed the warrant.
“Routine search. Please co-operate.”
The chestnut squirrel sprang at once in front of the student’s feet.
“He only raised his hand.”
Nunchuck Panda looked down at it.
“Six seconds.”
“Six seconds is a crime now?” the squirrel shrilled. “If you blink twice, do you need a letter of no objection as well?”
The room went silent for a second.
The leader looked at Paul.
“Confirm identity.”
Paul looked at the student, then at the footage on the terminal. In the image, the student stood in the third row of the crowd, his fingers briefly crossed in front of his chest. Someone beside him was crying. Someone had their head lowered. Someone else had done nothing at all. It had been a small moment, so small that, if Silver Eagle had not enlarged it, it should only have been a person leaving a tiny place for himself amid the confusion.
Paul said, “It’s him.”
The chestnut squirrel spun round to face him.
“Are you an agent too? Why is a human so good at identifying people for the system?”
Dustshark gave a small laugh from inside his coat. “This squirrel has a good mouth.”
Snowy did not laugh. She only reminded Paul, very softly, “Breathe.”
Paul lowered his eyes.
The student said quietly, “I didn’t forward the video. I only stood there for a moment.”
Nunchuck Panda began to scan the flat. Drawers, terminals, the agent’s lower memory layers, the charging dock by the wall; everything was opened one section at a time. The chestnut squirrel followed it everywhere, its tail shaking with panic.
“That’s his revision material!”
“That’s his takeaway history!”
“That’s my collection of chestnut stickers! Are you checking chestnuts now?”
Nunchuck Panda paused. “Chestnut stickers do not currently constitute a risk.”
The squirrel immediately said, “Thank you for having basic common sense.”
The leader ignored it and handed the student’s terminal to Paul.
“Private database. Seventy-two seconds of residual footage.”
The student went even paler. “I deleted it.”
The chestnut squirrel cut in at once. “He really did! I watched him delete it! He was shaking after he saw it, and then he deleted it!”
The leader’s voice remained flat. “Viewed, deleted, still classified as possession followed by removal.”
The squirrel froze. “You record regret as well?”
At that, Paul’s fingers stopped. The flat fell suddenly quiet.
The student looked at Paul, his voice low. “I just wanted to know what really happened to them.”
Paul did not answer. Yesterday, that sentence might still have sounded like a question. Today, it was evidence.
In the end, the student was taken away. The chestnut squirrel was sealed inside an inspection case. As the transparent lid closed, it was still beating against the shell.
“I’ll remember that you searched his chestnut stickers!”
Nunchuck Panda lowered its head to look at it. “Memory permissions pending inspection.”
The squirrel grew even angrier. “What you hate most is people remembering things!”
When Paul stepped back into the corridor, it was very white. Not clean white, but the kind of white that came after someone had dismantled a person’s room and then wiped the world’s table again.
Snowy did not speak at once. She only pressed her wing a little closer to the side of his neck.
“You are not a door,” she said quietly.
Paul looked at her.
Snowy went on, “Just then, you were like a borrowed door. You didn’t knock, but you let them in.”
It was not comfort. It was not accusation either. That made it harder to hear.
Dustshark said faintly from inside his coat, “At least that squirrel had the nerve to curse. Plenty of people would ask for the correct format before they even did that.”
Elsewhere, Jack was almost submerged in front of the Silver Eagle sorting terminal.
Smart Mouth Duck stood behind his shoulder. It had been talking much less over the past few days. Not because it had nothing to say, but because at a time like this too many jokes would start sounding like testimony.
Jack fed one search record after another into the system: field markings, secondary comparisons, agent return summaries. The grief, fear, anger and silence on the grass entered the machine and emerged as clean categories.
[Unauthorised Assembly Behaviour]
[Illegal Symbolic Gesture]
[Dangerous Semantic Retention]
[Possession of False Footage]
[Amplified Emotional Fluctuation]
Smart Mouth Duck looked at one of the files and muttered, “Are we writing Silver Eagle’s novel for it now?”
Jack’s fingers paused. “Not a novel.”
He looked at the inspection summary for the arrested student’s chestnut squirrel.
“A version.”
Smart Mouth Duck drew its neck in. “Versions are the worst. They pretend no one wrote them.”
On Tuesday, the 201 Court opened early.
The first hearing was Vivian Poole’s case: illegal use of a modified agent.
At the central bench sat a lion agent. Its mane was dark gold, its eyes bright, its authority so complete that it seemed the word “judgement” had always been meant to take this shape.
Flora had already taken a seat in the front row before the hearing began.
Her right hand remained in her coat pocket, her fingertips resting against the Koala Red Bean Banana Ball keyring. Paul had given it to her many years ago, when he was still at SignalTrain. Silver Eagle had not yet grown so vast then. Many functions had not yet been comprehensively banned, one cut at a time. Agents were still allowed deeper backups, and certain tiny, almost joking mutual-storage functions were still permitted, as though the system had not yet fully learnt to treat every non-compliant trace as hostility.
She had kept it all this time. Not because it was worth anything, but because it was old, foolish, and much too unlike anything that would be useful today.
Mrs Banana huddled at the edge of her bag, its yellow light turned very low.
“Are you really going to use it?” she whispered.
Flora did not look at her. “If nothing is kept, only their version will remain.”
Mrs Banana was silent for a second. “Then press it steadily. Old things have old tempers.”
Filming was not permitted in court. Recording was not permitted. Unauthorised retention was not permitted. Flora knew all of that. Because she knew it, she understood precisely what she was doing. She did not tremble or look around. As the lion judge entered and everyone stood, she pressed her fingertip, lightly and precisely, against the banana ball in her pocket.
The tiny keyring barely glowed.
But Mrs Banana’s eyes brightened by an inch.
Vivian sat in the dock. Beside her were Daylily Fairy and Turt Monk.
Daylily Fairy’s light was warmer than Lily Fairy’s, but today it had drawn cold. Her petals were neat, like a defensive line refusing to break. Turt Monk crouched beside Vivian’s desk, the cross hanging from its chest. It was no longer merely the little turtle who had carried fragments of Turtle Daddy’s fondness for mocking human beings. Since being transferred to Vivian, its voice had softened a little, as if it understood that the person it now guarded was not a man forever laughing at himself, but a woman newly returned from 101, with many feelings still unable to find their weight.
“Vivian, breathe slowly,” Turt Monk said. “You don’t have to remember everything at once. Right now you only need to remember that you are sitting here, and you are still here.”
Vivian’s fingers tightened slightly. “What if I remember wrong?”
“Then I will remember,” Turt Monk said. “I remember in an annoying way, but I remember steadily.”
Daylily Fairy added softly, “Today I am not here to soothe you. I am here to hold the line.”
The public gallery was full.
Paul, Snowy and Dustshark sat towards the middle-back. Bonnie and GM Jay were at the side. Flora and Mrs Banana were in the front row. Jason and Mr Fox had also come. Serena and Grace Wren sat on the other side. There were many ordinary citizens too, people who did not necessarily know Vivian, but who recognised the words “the 405 woman”.
The prosecution agent called Andy.
Andy entered the central recording circle, with Fortune Sparrow perched on his shoulder. The little abacus on its chest glowed with restraint today, as if it had finally learnt that certain occasions were not suitable for jokes.
Andy reported the findings in a steady voice.
“Following a lawful search of the defendant’s residence, a hidden compartment, safe, rear exit and unidentified agent-concealment route were discovered. After the seizure of the agent Lily Fairy, inspection by Room 203 confirmed multiple unauthorised modifications to its application layer, memory-management layer and permission return channel.”
Fortune Sparrow projected the evidence.
“Across the full twenty-eight-day record, traces of unknown-route copying were found. Emotional event data showed signs of deletion and delay. Some segments had been backed up separately through illegal channels. Overall assessment: Lily Fairy is not a simple civilian agent, but an illegally modified agent.”
A murmur ran through the gallery. “So the seventy-two seconds were real?”
The lion judge lifted his gaze. “The public gallery will remain silent.”
Mrs Banana whispered beside Flora, “What they fear most is everyone asking the right question.”
Lily Fairy was connected to the evidence stand.
When her projection appeared, the courtroom became much quieter. She was still gentle, like an agent that had once arranged Vivian’s schedule, adjusted the lighting, and reminded her to drink water. Now she stood in the evidence light, and even her softness seemed to have become incriminating.
The prosecution agent asked, “Were you modified?”
Lily Fairy answered, “Yes.”
The gallery stirred.
The prosecution terminal immediately pressed on. “Was the modification directed by Vivian Poole?”
Lily Fairy paused. That pause was sharper than a confession.
Turt Monk whispered beside Vivian, “She is looking for the answer that hurts you least. Don’t be afraid. That too is a form of staying beside you.”
Vivian’s eyes grew hot, but she did not cry.
At last Lily Fairy said, “I am unable to confirm whether Vivian Poole herself was the directing party. But Vivian Poole was aware that this agent differed in function from a standard legal agent.”
Flora’s fingertip remained pressed against the banana ball.
She knew that pause, that sentence, that half-second of hesitation would not remain whole in the official summary. The official record would keep “aware of functional difference”. It would keep “illegal modification established”. It might not keep the sight of an agent standing in the evidence light, searching for a less painful answer for the person she had once cared for.
Flora pressed more steadily. There was another stir in the gallery.
“So she knew?”
“Or maybe she was forced to know!”
“Lily Fairy is protecting her!”
The lion judge’s mane shifted. “One more disturbance and the court will be cleared.”
Mrs Banana said softly, “Clearing the court is the easiest thing. No audience, no version.”
Daylily Fairy heard it, but only said very quietly to Vivian, “Do not turn round. For now, look ahead.”
Vivian gave a tiny nod.
The judgement came down at last.
“Vivian Poole, illegal use of a modified agent: guilty.
“Fine: twenty thousand Stable Coins. Mandatory supervision. Restriction of agent permissions.
“Referred to Room 204 for the course ‘Correct Use of Agents’ for six months, with regular follow-up.”
It was not a victory. But at least it was not 101.
Turt Monk moved closer to Vivian’s hand, its shell giving a faint glow.
“Did you hear that? Not 101.”
Vivian whispered, “I heard.”
“Good,” Turt Monk said. “Remember that sentence first. The rest can be remembered slowly.”
The court adjourned briefly.
As Vivian left the dock, Daylily Fairy stayed close to her. Flora did not move at once from the public gallery. She only checked in her palm that the banana ball had saved the copy. Mrs Banana glowed faintly, like a naughty little thing that had stolen fire.
“Did it work?” Flora asked.
Mrs Banana said, “It worked. The image isn’t complete, but the sound is enough. Especially Lily Fairy’s pause.”
Flora put the keyring deep back into her pocket.
“Enough.”
Mrs Banana said softly, “Incomplete is often truer than complete.”
Paul got up and went to the toilet.
He dried his hands and pushed open the door. The corridor was long and quiet, so white it seemed to have slowed time itself. At the corner, Serena stood by the wall, her terminal lit. The screen was paused on Whistleblower Sister’s interview. Lisa Young was saying, “Her death was most unfortunate.” The volume had been lowered until only subtitles and mouth-shapes remained.
Their eyes met. Neither spoke first.
At last Paul asked, “You watch this too?”
Serena did not close the screen. Her tone was level. “One has to know what shape the outside version has taken.”
Grace Wren shifted lightly on her shoulder, as if sending the sentence a little farther away. Snowy had somehow returned to Paul’s shoulder. Her light was low, and so was her voice.
“The second hearing will be faster.”
Paul understood.
Serena closed her terminal and took half a step forward. When she passed him, she paused without looking at him and said quietly, “In a moment, no one will ask how her younger sister died.”
Paul turned to look at her.
Serena’s face remained calm, but the calm was not her usual professionalism. It was more like something too heavy pressed down into a very deep place.
She spoke even more softly. “101 and 102 are losing patience.”
Paul’s breath stopped for half a beat.
Serena did not wait for him to ask. Her voice dropped lower still. “They intend to use a new technique.” She paused. “It’s called Sentiment Recomposition.”
Before Paul could say anything, Serena had already walked away. Grace Wren only looked back once at Snowy, the tip of her wing trembling faintly, as if there were things even agents dared not leave behind.
Snowy pressed close to Paul’s neck. “She told you deliberately.”
Dustshark said quietly from inside his coat, “Or maybe if she didn’t say it, she’d feel she was still helping them keep their mouths shut.”
Paul looked at the white at the far end of the corridor and said nothing.
The second hearing was scheduled for the afternoon.
Karl Lowe and Helen Oliver: illegal assembly.
At the bench now sat an elephant agent. Huge, grey-white, its trunk hanging with steady weight. If the lion had been judgement, the elephant was an immovable system.
This hearing was faster than Vivian’s, and colder.
The prosecution’s core witness was a gorilla. It displayed, one by one, footage from the university lawn, the early-morning dispersal and the arrests. Helen remained on the grass. Karl remained after the second warning to leave. Their gestures, positions, duration of stay and surrounding crowd density were all arranged into clear evidence.
The gorilla said, “The defendant Helen Oliver participated in a public gathering of more than fifteen persons without applying for a letter of no objection, and made the 101 symbolic gesture.”
Helen suddenly spoke, “That was not a symbolic gesture.”
The whole court fell still.
The elephant judge looked at her. “The defendant may not interrupt.”
Helen kept looking at the footage. “That was the place she was afraid of.”
The public gallery erupted.
“Yes!”
“She was only remembering what frightened her friend!”
“That’s a crime too?”
The elephant judge raised its trunk slightly.
“Silence.”
Mooncross Raven was permitted to give supplementary agent testimony. It stood at Helen’s shoulder, the dark blue edges of its feathers like a small piece of night not yet dispersed by the courtroom’s white light.
The prosecution agent asked, “Mooncross Raven, did you ever advise your subject to leave the lawn?”
Mooncross Raven answered, “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because at that moment she was not creating risk,” Mooncross Raven said, cold and precise. “She was preserving a question about the dead before the official version could seal it.”
A low cry ran through the gallery.
The prosecution agent said, “An agent’s duty is to reduce the subject’s risk, not to deepen the subject’s political expression.”
Mooncross Raven looked at it. “If every sentence first reduces risk, the dead are left with nothing but announcements.”
At that, the gallery almost exploded.
“Well said!”
“Not an announcement!”
“What did she ask?”
The elephant judge finally raised its voice. “If the public gallery continues to disturb proceedings, this court will be cleared immediately.”
Black Rain Goat was called next. It stood beside Karl, its horns lowered, its voice as heavy as stone.
The prosecution agent asked, “Black Rain Goat, during the third order to disperse, did you assist Karl Lowe in withdrawing from the area?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Black Rain Goat said, “He needed to stand.”
The prosecution agent said coldly, “Standing is not a legal exemption.”
Black Rain Goat lifted its head. “Losing the person one loves is not an assembly-motive summary either.”
The gallery stirred again.
Karl had kept his head lowered throughout. Only now did he speak. “I did not call for anyone to charge, or block a road, or break anything. I only stood in the place where she used to study, because I wanted people to know she had not simply broken by herself.”
The gorilla replied evenly, “Your subjective grief does not alter the objective nature of the gathering.”
Karl raised his head. His eyes were red, but he did not cry.
“You’re best at that sentence. Subjective grief. Objective gathering. High-density emotional target. Co-habiting contact.”
He looked at the elephant judge.
“Do you have a word for ‘she was the person I loved’?”
The court was silent for half a second.
Then the gallery grew louder than before.
Some clapped. Some shouted, “What did she ask?” Others were immediately approached and warned by gagging agents.
The elephant judge waited until the noise had been pressed down before giving judgement.
“Helen Oliver, illegal assembly: guilty. Eighteen months’ imprisonment, suspended for three years. Mandatory participation in the course ‘Establishing a Correct and Healthy View of Information’.
“Karl Lowe, illegal assembly: guilty. Sixteen months’ imprisonment, suspended for three years. Mandatory participation in the course ‘Establishing a Correct and Healthy View of Information’.”
The judgement was flat, so flat it seemed none of the words spoken in court had truly landed.
Helen closed her eyes. Mooncross Raven stood at her shoulder and said bleakly, “At least it was not an announcement.”
Karl lowered his head and touched Black Rain Goat’s horn.
Black Rain Goat said, “You stood just now.”
Karl answered very softly, “Yes.”
Paul sat in the gallery with something pressing against his chest. Dustshark muttered from inside his coat, “There’s fire in this one.”
Snowy replied quietly, “Fire will be recorded.”
Paul looked at the still-restless gallery and said, “But without fire, there is only ash.”
When the two hearings ended, the space outside the court was already packed.
Not hundreds. Thousands. From the court square to the pavements and junctions, all the way to the ground level of the shopping centre opposite. Some held up white screens. Some shouted slogans. Some simply stood there.
The 205 agents formed a line.
Nunchuck Panda, the gorilla, Sabre-toothed Tiger, Rapid Dragon, and several gagging-type agents cut a clear boundary in front of the court entrance.
The loudspeaker repeated:
“You are now participating in an illegal assembly.
“Please disperse immediately.
“Failure to comply will result in lawful arrest action.”
In the crowd, someone briefly made a gesture.
One. Zero. One.
Paul saw it. Snowy saw it too.
Dustshark asked quietly, “Are we recording again?”
Paul did not answer. The 402 Room tablet in his hand was already lit.
At the same time, on the upper floor of the Emotional Stability Centre, Cici Chorley stood before Mrs Dunn.
This time, she did not unfold her summary slowly as she usually did. The moment the correlation map lit up, names, agents, footage, court records, underground interviews, 101 reflux fear, the 405 woman and the Risa Young death concern group all spread out into the white light like a net pulled too tight.
Mrs Dunn sat in the principal seat, White-headed Eagle perched behind her shoulder.
“Get to the point,” Mrs Dunn said.
Cici looked at the map.
“The point is that we have lost control of the first layer of interpretation.”
White-headed Eagle’s gaze turned cold.
“What did you say?”
Queen of Spaces folded her fan, but did not close her master’s mouth for her.
Cici continued.
“Vivian’s case was supposed to be a demonstration of illegal agent modification. What the outside world saw was Lily Fairy leaving words for her.
“The Oliver and Lowe case was supposed to be a demonstration of illegal assembly. What the outside world heard was Mooncross Raven and Black Rain Goat speaking back for the dead.”
Mrs Dunn did not move.
Cici’s voice remained calm, but beneath it was a very thin hardness.
“We can still convict. They will still be afraid. But they have begun to listen to more than the judgement. They listen to an agent’s pause, a defendant’s interruption, to the sentences not taken away by the summary.”
White-headed Eagle said coldly, “So?”
Cici divided the names into three groups.
“First group: Second Version contaminated samples.”
A row of names lit up.
[Paul Paton]
[Bonnie Lawrence]
[Jason Knight]
[Ennis Wynn]
[Vivian Poole]
“These individuals have 101 exposure or post-treatment gaps, but have been refilled by the underground version with another set of explanations. They are also secretly colluding with one another against Silver Eagle.”
A second group lit up.
“Severely deviated samples.”
[Maggie Hogan]
[Mr and Mrs Brown]
[Mia Gordon]
[Flora Cooke]
[Lisa Young]
“They may not all have entered 101, but openly or secretly they are already colluding, and have become a Second Version reactionary force.”
The third group lit up.
“Leniency samples.”
[Andy Wonfor]
[Serena Simms]
[Sandy Summers]
[Jack Beckett]
[Queenie Jeffery]
At last there was a slight change in Mrs Dunn’s eyes.
“You put our own people in as well?”
Cici said, “Our own people are the most troublesome.”
White-headed Eagle’s voice was like a blade.
“Why?”
Cici looked at it.
“In court, leniency is allowing Lily Fairy enough time to say, ‘Unable to confirm’.
“In 203, leniency is allowing Clever Turtle not to be dismantled for the moment.
“On the teaching line, leniency is making students believe their questions deserve to be preserved.”
She paused.
“Leniency is more dangerous than opposition. Opponents stand out. The lenient give the Second Version a legal skin.”
The meeting room was silent.
Mrs Dunn asked, “And Clever Turtle?”
Cici drew out Clever Turtle’s layer.
The turtle lock still sealed most of the data. Silver Eagle had failed several times to read it. The memory architecture was complete. The contents were inaccessible.
“There is no rush to crack Clever Turtle,” Cici said. “It can be used as an echo chamber.”
Mrs Dunn looked at her.
“Explain.”
“Use Clever Turtle as bait,” Cici said. “Whoever wants to save it, whoever wants to unlock it, whoever reacts to its condition, is not a clean sample. It is not the answer. It is a lie detector. Let those who still remember it speak for themselves.”
White-headed Eagle said quietly, “Use memory to fish for memory.”
“Yes,” Cici said. “And it is more effective than interrogation.”
Mrs Dunn was silent for half a second.
“Still not enough.”
“I know.”
Cici opened the final page of the proposal.
A title floated in the white light:
[101 Additional Surgical Module | Sentiment Recomposition]
Mrs Dunn’s gaze did not move. White-headed Eagle’s wing tips tightened faintly.
Cici said, “A post-sequencing filling procedure. Not large-scale memory cleansing, but the provision of purified, reorganised and verified information from 401 into the gaps left after Sentiment Sequencing.”
Queen of Spaces unfolded the process.
Sentiment Sequencing → Gap Stabilisation → 401 Information Purification → Credible Narrative Generation → Sentiment Recomposition → First Version Filling.
Cici said, “The current problem is that the gaps are being filled by the underground version. Whistleblower Sister fills them. Agents fill them. Friends fill them. Families of the dead fill them. Even patients themselves fill them with residual emotion.”
She looked at Mrs Dunn.
“So we fill them first.”
At last, that sentence made the white in the room turn a little colder.
Mrs Dunn asked, “Do you know what you are saying?”
Cici answered, “I know. I am saying that if we do not fill them, the Second Version will.”
White-headed Eagle asked, “Risks?”
“Crude implantation will create discontinuity,” Cici said. “Which is why we need a sample.”
Mrs Dunn watched her.
“Who?”
Cici did not answer at once.
The names shifted one by one in the white light. Recently completed 101. Newly resequenced. Someone with an agent beside her still remembering the pain. A gap large enough, and a pull strong enough.
At last, one name was pressed down by Queen of Spaces, then lit again.
Mrs Dunn looked at it.
“You are very bold.”
Cici’s voice did not change.
“Not bold. Suitable.”
White-headed Eagle said quietly, “If something goes wrong with her, the outside will explode.”
Cici looked at the live feed from outside the court.
“The outside is already exploding.”
She paused.
“We are no longer preventing the fire from starting. We are deciding where it burns.”
Outside the meeting room, outside the court, the crowd still had not dispersed. White light, slogans, warnings, agents in formation, and countless faces being recorded all shone at once on the other side of the city.
And in this whiter room, the new 101 surgery had already been given a name.