Took another deep breath. Don't let the combat instincts take over, she told herself. Don't intimidate them. Be harmless.
It wasn't easy.
"I have good control," she replied. "I process a lot of data in a combat environment. I tend to get lost in it, and the fear does not register. But then, many human soldiers have reported precisely the same thing."
"How many people have you killed?" the big man asked her coldly. Sandy's train of thought was diverted for a brief instant, wondering at his allegiances, his connections, his supporters. Wondering who it was that the datalink in his ear and the comp feed on his bench were connected to, outside the courtroom. They were feeding him information even now. And probably, she realised, he would be trying to get a particular response from her, later to be used for his own purposes. Or theirs.
"I have no idea."
"No idea? You, the product of the highest technological capacities the human race has ever devised, have no idea? Is your memory deficient, perhaps? Your recording processes damaged during recent events?"
Sandy blinked slowly, her eyes calm, blue and steady. "That is four questions, Your Honour. Shall I answer each of them individually, or take them as one single rhetorical outburst?"
The man's gaze deepened to a glare. "How many people have you killed, Captain Kresnov?"
"I believe I have already answered that question. I said that I had no idea. My accurate recollection of events is limited to those matters that I find necessary or helpful. A bodycount will serve neither purpose."
"You don't feel that the lives of the people you have killed are worth your bothering to recall?"
"I am quite certain I did not say that. I said I do not find those recollections helpful to my present situation. On the contrary, I find them extremely disturbing and depressing."
"You don't look particularly disturbed or depressed from where I'm sitting, Captain Kresnov."
"Respectfully, Your Honour, as a supreme court judge, you should know better than to judge by mere appearances."
The big man continued to glare at her, eyes hard within the shadows of his brows in the dim light. Sandy shifted spectrums slightly, saw hot blood pulsing in his neck veins, spreading through his temples and cheeks.
The female judge interrupted. "You were operating with Dark Star for nine years, is that correct?" Sandy tuned back to standard visual, looking at the woman. She had light brown skin, black hair and a prominent nose. But not Indian. Arabic, Sandy guessed.
"That is correct, Your Honour. I joined when I was five at the starting rank of lieutenant, was made captain when I was six and went AWOL when I was fourteen. That was one year ago."
"And over that nine-year period," the woman continued, "how many operations did you personally conduct?"
"Twelve as a lieutenant, nine of those as second-in-command. Seventy-eight as captain."
"And in how many of those operations did you come into direct contact with the enemy?"
"Approximately half, Your Honour."
The Arabic woman's frown was slightly quizzical. "Approximately?"
"Definitions of 'direct contact' vary, Your Honour," Sandy explained. "Kills can be made in an operation without the other side's commanders being entirely aware of it. Degrees of contact vary. I estimate that on approximately forty-five occasions direct contact did occur. But I leave out of that total several instances open to variable interpretation."
"Either way, Captain, that's rather a lot of firefights, wouldn't you say?"
Sandy nodded slowly. "Yes, Your Honour. It is a lot."
"You are good at firefights, I presume? You handle yourself well?"
Sandy nodded again, this time reluctantly. "Yes, Your Honour." She sensed no overt animosity from this woman. And yet Sandy had no doubts of which judge she found most intimidating, between her and the big man to the right.
"I see." The judge briefly studied the screen before her. Blue light played across her tanned features. "You and your
It wasn't easy.
"I have good control," she replied. "I process a lot of data in a combat environment. I tend to get lost in it, and the fear does not register. But then, many human soldiers have reported precisely the same thing."
"How many people have you killed?" the big man asked her coldly. Sandy's train of thought was diverted for a brief instant, wondering at his allegiances, his connections, his supporters. Wondering who it was that the datalink in his ear and the comp feed on his bench were connected to, outside the courtroom. They were feeding him information even now. And probably, she realised, he would be trying to get a particular response from her, later to be used for his own purposes. Or theirs.
"I have no idea."
"No idea? You, the product of the highest technological capacities the human race has ever devised, have no idea? Is your memory deficient, perhaps? Your recording processes damaged during recent events?"
Sandy blinked slowly, her eyes calm, blue and steady. "That is four questions, Your Honour. Shall I answer each of them individually, or take them as one single rhetorical outburst?"
The man's gaze deepened to a glare. "How many people have you killed, Captain Kresnov?"
"I believe I have already answered that question. I said that I had no idea. My accurate recollection of events is limited to those matters that I find necessary or helpful. A bodycount will serve neither purpose."
"You don't feel that the lives of the people you have killed are worth your bothering to recall?"
"I am quite certain I did not say that. I said I do not find those recollections helpful to my present situation. On the contrary, I find them extremely disturbing and depressing."
"You don't look particularly disturbed or depressed from where I'm sitting, Captain Kresnov."
"Respectfully, Your Honour, as a supreme court judge, you should know better than to judge by mere appearances."
The big man continued to glare at her, eyes hard within the shadows of his brows in the dim light. Sandy shifted spectrums slightly, saw hot blood pulsing in his neck veins, spreading through his temples and cheeks.
The female judge interrupted. "You were operating with Dark Star for nine years, is that correct?" Sandy tuned back to standard visual, looking at the woman. She had light brown skin, black hair and a prominent nose. But not Indian. Arabic, Sandy guessed.
"That is correct, Your Honour. I joined when I was five at the starting rank of lieutenant, was made captain when I was six and went AWOL when I was fourteen. That was one year ago."
"And over that nine-year period," the woman continued, "how many operations did you personally conduct?"
"Twelve as a lieutenant, nine of those as second-in-command. Seventy-eight as captain."
"And in how many of those operations did you come into direct contact with the enemy?"
"Approximately half, Your Honour."
The Arabic woman's frown was slightly quizzical. "Approximately?"
"Definitions of 'direct contact' vary, Your Honour," Sandy explained. "Kills can be made in an operation without the other side's commanders being entirely aware of it. Degrees of contact vary. I estimate that on approximately forty-five occasions direct contact did occur. But I leave out of that total several instances open to variable interpretation."
"Either way, Captain, that's rather a lot of firefights, wouldn't you say?"
Sandy nodded slowly. "Yes, Your Honour. It is a lot."
"You are good at firefights, I presume? You handle yourself well?"
Sandy nodded again, this time reluctantly. "Yes, Your Honour." She sensed no overt animosity from this woman. And yet Sandy had no doubts of which judge she found most intimidating, between her and the big man to the right.
"I see." The judge briefly studied the screen before her. Blue light played across her tanned features. "You and your
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