Free The Trials (The Red Trilogy Book 2) by Linda Nagata

“Government, are you ready to call your first witness?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Major Fong replies. “The United States calls Blaise Matthew Parker.”
    For a second, I’m thinking, Who? Then I figure it out. Blue Parker, the pretty blond terrorist who blew up America. Thelma Sheridan’s fall guy.
    There’s an angry murmur from the spectators as Parker is led in through a side door, a US marshal on either side of him. He’s wearing an off-white collared shirt, slacks, and dress shoes. He could be on his way to the office, except for the leg shackles and wrist cuffs.
    It’s the first time I’ve seen him in person. At Black Cross, I only glimpsed him briefly through a video feed when Jaynie and Tuttle pulled him out of his spider hole. He looksdifferent now. His head is shaved to a stubble so pale it looks white. His face is thin, bony. He stares at the floor, his lips parted like he’s concentrating hard on every shuffling step as he makes his way to the witness stand. To me it looks like he’s on his way to God, and I wonder if he’s had a stroke. He pleaded guilty to the long list of charges compiled against him and is presently awaiting sentencing in federal court.
    One of the marshals assists him to sit down. His blue eyes are not as bright as I remember. He glances at the judge, and then at the defendants’ table, as the bailiff chants the oath. “Do you swear that the evidence you shall give in the case now in hearing shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
    Blue Parker turns to the bailiff and nods. “I do, sir. So help me God and Jesus.”
    He sounds sincere.
    Of course, he immolated an estimated ninety-three thousand people, wounded many times that number, and left the entire country in shambles. I imagine he spends a lot of time talking to God about all that.
    Major Fong moves in. “For the record, you’re Blaise Matthew Parker of Dallas, Texas?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And you are currently in federal custody awaiting sentencing?”
    “Yes. Yes, ma’am, I am.”
    “And what sentence do you expect to receive?”
    “I expect to receive the death penalty, ma’am.”
    “Have you been offered a lesser sentence for your cooperation in testifying in this court-martial?”
    “No, ma’am. I have not.”
    “Where were you at approximately zero four fifteen—that’s four fifteen a.m. on the civilian clock—on November twelfth of this past year?”
    He stares down at his hands. “I was at Black Cross, ma’am.” He realizes his voice is too soft, and leans back, raising his head, speaking louder. “In the control room.”
    Major Fong walks back to her table, where she picks up a printed photograph. “Your Honor, the United States would move to enter prosecution exhibit thirty-seven for identification into evidence.”
    “May I see it, please?”
    Fong crosses the floor and hands it to Monteiro, who looks at it briefly and hands it back. Fong then shows it to Blue Parker. “Have you seen this man before?”
    Blue flinches back. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispers. Then he repeats it louder. “Yes, I’ve seen him before.”
    “And where did you see him?”
    “At Black Cross. That’s Colonel Kendrick. He was in command.”
    “You mean Colonel Steven Kendrick, who was in command of the US Army soldiers who took initial custody of you at Black Cross?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Mr. Parker, did you ever see, speak with, or otherwise communicate with Colonel Kendrick at any time other than the morning of November twelfth?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “And on that morning, did Colonel Kendrick question you regarding your co-conspirators in the act of nuclear terrorism to which you have already pleaded guilty?”
    “Yes, ma’am. He wanted to know if Vanda-Sheridan was one of us.”
    “Are you referring to the corporation Vanda-Sheridan?”
    “He wanted to know if Thelma Sheridan and Carl Vanda were part of it.”
    “Part of your