The Code of Us

Drew Vs. The State

"Can the plaintiff please present evidence item fourteen-c to the court."

A rustle of curiosity ripples throughout the courtroom at the judge's request. The antique mahogany benches groan under the shifting weight as hundreds of people turn to face the door at the side of the room. The air is so thick with tension and humidity that I could swear I'm swimming, but the water stinks of perfume and sweat and anticipation. Protesters, supporters, and reporters alike wait for their first in-person sighting of the man at the center of all of this.

And that man?

Well, he is my husband.

The door opens and my heart lurches into my throat as I see him again. It is the first time I've laid eyes on him since the National Security Bureau banged on our door and dragged him from our home. Or, as the official report states, since they 'confiscated' him. He looks a little worse for wear. I pulled the crisp black suit he wore to our wedding out of storage and sent it through to the evidence lock-up, but it is all crumpled and hangs on his frame wrong because of the weight he has lost since he wore it last. His chiseled jawline is clean-shaven, his thick brown eyebrows furrowed over bewildered blue eyes.

He hates being the centre of attention.

It is hard to watch him here, looking like a fish plucked out of a river and thrown straight into a frying pan. Still, a warm smile tugs at my lips as the flashes of the reporters' cameras reflect off his bionic leg. The leg of his pants mustn't sit over it properly, as he has the hem rolled up to just above his knee to show off the slick chrome and glowing blue water-cooling channels. His prosthesis is the most modern thing in this relic of a chamber.

When he looks up, he squints his ocean eyes to see past the bursts of light. He scans the courtroom until he locks his gaze onto mine. My hands ball into fists on the table, nails scraping against the polished surface. Our lawyer, Alice McGoward, puts her hand over mine. The small motion is enough of a reminder to take a slow, deep breath, and I let my shoulders fall.

"I love you." I mime the words and, for a moment, it is only my husband and I in that room.

His nod is firm. Resolute. It reinforces his confidence as we face an impossible situation. "I love you too."

His reply is a relief. After spending almost three and a half months apart, I can't help but wonder if he hates me. If he resents me for getting him into this situation. I'm sure I am far from forgiven, but his reply is a start.

"Synthetic freak!"

The hate-filled curse bursts forth from the crowd at my back to a riotous clash of cheers and boos follow. My husband winces and stumbles over his own feet as he makes his way towards the witness stand. That accidental, clumsy slip silences the chamber. It is such a simple, human mistake to make. A mistake that most people in the room believe he is incapable of.

"I am sorry, but you cannot take the stand. The stand is for witnesses. Technically, you are evidence." Justice Lorenzi's voice is tinged with genuine apology. The wizened man watches for my husband's reaction from beneath bushy grey furrowed brows.

Head bowed, cheeks flaring with a blush, my husband nods. The bailiff gestures towards the table and they make their way over there instead.

My back stiffens with indignation. "They can't make him do that! It... it... it's inhumane!"

"Mia, we've talked about this," she whispers back, her voice an island of calm in the roiling sea of tension. "I know it sucks, but this is how it has to be."

The palms of my hands sing with pain as I dig my nails into them. I jam my fists into the pocket of my skirt and sit properly again. I am forced to watch as my husband tries to figure out how to get onto the evidence table with some modicum of dignity. Beside me, Alice's chair screeches as she gets to her feet.

A hush falls upon the court. It is like the room sucked in a breath and held it, waiting to see how Alice will make her case. The only sound in the room is the clacking of her expensive shoes on the polished timber floors. She walks around the plaintiff table, and over to the evidence table until she is so close to my husband that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. She doesn't, of course, but if that was me, I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. The two share a short look, the weight of the law suspended between them, before she turns her green eyes to the judge.

"Your Honour, as the legal representative for Doctor Mia Drew in Drew versus The State, I would like to present evidence item fourteen-c to the court. Or, as he is better known, Mr. Arden James Drew."

Arden bites his lip, looking back at the judge, then at the crowd, and giving an unsure shrug of his shoulders and tight-lipped smile in greeting.

Alice graces him with a reassuring smile before she returns her attention to the judge. "Your Honour, I know it is customary for the legal officers to summarise the purpose of the evidence, but in this case, I believe the evidence will speak for himself."

A ripple of surprise goes through the courtroom at Alice's wording. No one knows how to react to it. But... Arden does. A small, awkward chuckle bubbles from his lips and some of the tension he holds in his shoulders melts away.

"Thank you, Ms. McGoward. After so long being locked up with broken holo-drives and forensically cleaned drug canisters, I could do with a chance to speak to an audience that will understand me," Arden says, giving in to his natural inclination to make jokes in stressful situations.

Like the rest of the court, I find myself leaning in towards him. His voice is magnetic. I'd forgotten how much I love the sound of it. His tone is as deep and warm as always, but a waver of sheer social anxiety plucks at the vowels.

"You are more than welcome, Mr. Drew. As I said to the judge, this is your chance to speak. So please, be my guest." With a sweep of her arm towards the waiting crowd, Alice steps to the side. Now there is no barrier between Arden and the courtroom.

I can hear my own heart beating in the silence, like the low thunder that rumbles in dark blankets of clouds before a storm.

Arden scratches the back of his neck as he looks at the ground. He draws in a long, shaking breath. When he looks back up, his eyes lock onto mine, and he speaks. "When my wife first started working for SynThesis Labs, I didn't know I would become her first practical experiment."