_Sweeper_ Part 5
They camped in the south bedroom suite . . . and Volo woke to the sound of rain.
The forecast was for clear and cool . . . He got up and padded over to the nearest window, then around and out the back door to confirm what he was seeing.
A spray of water in the over grown garden. Lots of hissing, and sprays, once he brought up a light ball. Mostly hitting plants and dripping.
“Automatic sprinkler system.” He grinned. “And a water well, hiding itself by keeping the garden growing. Very clever, Water Well! Well done!”
He went back to bed, grinning.
And first thing in the morning, turned the stiff valve at the back of the house. And ran around tightening his caps on the pipes sticking out of the walls.
Ordered the basic toilet and accessories.
***
“So, shall we continue to camp down here, or move upstairs where we can each have a bedroom and share a normal bathroom?”
Leonid kept eating, apparently having no opinion on the matter.
He sighed and finished his own breakfast, then headed upstairs. South side . . . well, more southeast, the way the house angled. “Let’s each take a corner bedroom, all right?” He eyed the boy, who looked in one room, then retreated and started sweeping the other one.
Bad memories? Or just me, hoping there’s still a teenage boy trapped in there, somewhere?
The toilet was delivered, and he installed it in the bathroom the boy didn’t avoid.
“Next, I shall have to consider a sink. Ah, the wonders of modern plumbing.”
***
Sunday night, back at the apartment, he introduced the boy to the concept of taking a shower. Enough of a hair trim to look semi-civilized.
He winced, and bought clothes that looked good enough for a court appearance. A new medipatch, long top hair combed to partially cover it.
Early Monday, breakfast, and an auto cab to the west entrance of the Palace of the Inquisition.
Chivving the boy through a scanner. Met by Executioner Rupert “Relax, I’m half-clerk and half-investigator” Hoffmann, who led them through the side door of the main courtroom.
He’d seen it dozens of times on TV. News, docudramas, pure fiction . . .
“Sit here, you’ll be called up first. Excuse me a moment.” Hoffmann walked over to a well known news reporter, setting up on one side, with a cameraman. Hoffmann spoke briefly to him, then walked back. “He’s here for the second trial, which is probably newsworthy. Just ignore him. I let him know there’d be a brief plea first.”
Volo nodded, and tried to relax. It’s a simple plea for a variance. No big deal.
But what did Senior Detective Vinogradov mean by “his wedge?”
“All rise for the Honorable Lord Mitya Rostenov!”
Who! Volo stood, and the boy copied him. The number two man in the Inquisition!
The judge looked younger than his silver hair, the left sleeve of his red robe covered with multicolored stripes.
He sat and waved the room down. “You may be seated.”
The bailiff stepped up. “First case, a request for a variance from Lord Volodya Isidor Ignorov on behalf of Servant Leonid Khariton Ignorov.” He gestured for Volo to step forward.
Volo stood and stepped out in front of the judge. “I’m the fifth cousin once removed and heir of the executed Lord Onufriy Dimitri Ignorov, who, a year before his arrest had his ward chipped, claiming he had been injured by the boy’s early sudden acquisition, and thus gaining ownership of the boy’s home and trust. The boy was chipped, and was immediately reported as a runaway. Never found, until last week when I got a call from the Hospital. Leonid had been severely beaten. He had a skull fracture with level two concussion, with damage and dislodgment of the chip. The chip was removed.
“I am requesting a variance on the requirement to re-chip. First, on the grounds that his former guardian’s subsequent arrest, conviction, and execution, shows that Leonid probably acted in self defense and should not have been chipped. Second, with an impairment of eight, he is no danger to the public, plus additional zivvy is highly likely to be fatal.”
Volo swallowed, and stepped off the cliff. “My longer term intentions in this is that, once the 300 is . . . rebuilt . . . to go to them and ask if they can, and will disable the zivvy in Leonid’s brain.”
The silver-haired judge eyed him. “I will examine the . . . young man.” He stood, stepped to the side and down to the floor.
Leonid shrunk back against Volo, then suddenly relaxed. Stood quietly as the judge put both hands on his head.
Volo tightened his shields as the judge’s aura brightened to painful levels . . .
“Your servant has a mental block of a memory. May I have your permission to remove this block?”
“You have my permission, sir.”
Leonid whimpered.
“A memory of walking in on one of Onufriy’s torture rape sessions. This, and Onufriy attacking him, is what triggered his sudden assumption of power.” A moment of silence. “The concussion is partially resolved. May I have your permission to apply additional healing Impressions on your servant?”
“You have my permission, sir.”
:: Watch. You may need to reapply these. ::
Volo watched. He knew them all . . . some rather unexpected.
:: The Trichinosis? God knows what he’s been eating the last year and a half. He’s still very malnourished, but, yes, recovering. ::
The judge’s aura shrunk, he released his grip on the boy and walked back to the bench. “The variance is granted.” A tap of his gavel. “Good luck.”
Hoffman ushered them both out, breaking into a grin once they were through the door. “Congratulations!”
Volo nodded. “What did Senior Detective Vinogradov mean by ‘wedge’ Friday?”
“This is the first case involving removal of a chip, where the judgement to not replace it was obviously and clearly correct. A wedge in the crack of . . . the slavery culture. And raising the possibility of the removal of the zivvy? Superb! Just the idea that it might be dissolved will be out there, now.”
Volo felt faint. “You told that newsie to record it, didn’t you?”
“I might have mentioned that it had the potential to be newsworthy.”
“We’ll be lucky to survive the week.”
Hoffmann grinned. “Let me grab a car. I’ll drive you home.”
The boy grabbed his broom and dove under his blankets.
Volo set out sandwiches and glasses of water, and headed for work . . . to find Hoffmann and his chauffeured car waiting.
“Showing up at Intel Tower like this sends a message of approval. Not very subtle, but it beats Mitya calling Director Jaeger and telling him you had a damned good reason to show up late.”
“Dead. I’m dead.”
Miron eyed him.
Volo shrugged. “Got the variance. So the worst won’t happen.”
But no one said anything . . . until they caught the news at noon.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Gerolf Faust, the Subdirector of Espionage loomed at him. “A brain damaged . . . chiphead, no matter what. And you actually got up in court and said you’d ask the 300 to deactivate the zivvy?”
“Yes. I did.” Volo eyed the man. “So, do you have any minor sons? Any worries about what would happen to them if you died? Appointed guardians, trustworthy? Glad to hear that. Unfortunately Leonid got handed to scumbag, along with close to a million dollar inheritance.’
Heads turned.
“Now the money’s gone, the house is stripped, and the boy’s a slave. It’s going to take more than a simple variance to stop that from happening to other orphans.”
Faust growled and stalked away.
Lars shook his head. “You think deactivating the zivvy could help?”
Volo sighed. “By then? I doubt it would help enough for him to pass a Presentation challenge. But maybe enough to have a decent life.”
“I don’t believe you actually said that, right in front of Mitya effing Rostenov!” A grinning Exec he’d never met.
Lots of scowls aimed his direction.
The other passengers on the Metro mostly ignored him, standard public transit behavior. But there were a few narrow stares of speculation.
Maybe I’ll grow a beard, so at least I won’t be attacked by complete strangers.
In the apartment, the boy was standing in the middle of the bare living area. Broom in hand, looking baffled. “Who are you?”