Whatever they decide, they can't undo that.
14
Mr. Ka'reen
Horgox
Krillychosetheopencollar this morning. Standing in front of the mirror in Room 247, borrowed formal jacket, OOPS insignia on her shoulder. She could have fastened the collar to her throat. Instead she left it low, the claiming mark visible above the fabric, and when she caught my expression in the reflection, she said: "Mother told me to let them see it. I'm letting them see it." The mark sits at the junction of her neck and shoulder, raised and permanent, visible to everyone in the room we are about to enter.
The hearing chamber smells like recycled air and institutional authority, and my body reads both as threat.
Half tribunal, half auditorium, with a three-person panel seated at an elevated bench. Intimidation through architecture, a tactic I recognise from arena staging: put the subject below, the judges above, let gravity do the work. The gallery holds OOPS personnel, STI investigators, and, projected via hologram in crisp corporate resolution, ApexCorp's legal counsel.
Krilly's heartbeat is steady in my chest. Faster than resting, but controlled. The particular rhythm of a woman who is scared and channelling fear into focus. Her hand finds mine under the table where we've been directed, and her thumb strokes my wrist, over the pulse point, the same gesture she's been using since the root cave. The familiarity of it anchors me more effectively than any tactical breathing exercise.
The panel:
Chief Investigator Voss. Human, neutral expression, the professional detachment of someone trained to assess without prejudice. She holds the real authority.
Diplomatic Liaison T'Renn. Rynn species, four arms folded in a complex pattern that signals caution. Political implications, precedent concerns. The kind of official who thinks in policies rather than people.
STI Adjudicator Sorren. Terathi, thin and precise, his silver-scaled face giving away nothing. Career bureaucrat. He'll follow the legal argument that costs him the least political capital, which makes him the swing vote and the most dangerous person in the room after the corporate counsel.
In the gallery: Mother Morrison, coffee mug in hand, expression set to the specific frequency of a woman preparing for war. Beside her, couriers in mixed OOPS attire. A tall woman in the dark uniform of an experienced field courier, ex-military bearing. A Velogian male in similar dark attire, irreverent grin. A small alien with empathic sensors flickering gold. And in the orange of a junior courier, someone I don't recognise, watching with wide eyes.
Krilly's people. Her family. Here for her, wearing the colours of a hierarchy she's fighting to keep her place in.
And projected from ApexCorp's legal offices: Corporate Counsel Vyrath. Corsairian. The species carries authority the way mine carries scars: regal, imposing, every detail immaculate. Vyrath's holographic projection is flawless, their posture radiating controlled superiority, technology worn as statement pieces along their collar and cuffs. When Vyrath speaks, their voice carries the cultivated precision of someone who has never lost a case and considers the possibility an insult.
"This hearing will determine the legal status of the individual currently designated HX-347 by ApexCorp BioSolutions," Voss opens, "and assess related matters concerning Courier Krilly Baxter and evidence of potential violations of the Sentient Rights Accords."
The designation lands like a blow. HX-347. A string of characters on someone's inventory system.
Then Voss looks directly at me.
"For the record, how would you prefer to be addressed?"
The question is simple. Procedural. The kind of courtesy that happens a thousand times a day in a thousand hearing rooms across the galaxy.
To me, it is the first time anyone with institutional authority has asked me what I want to be called.
My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "Horgox Ka'reen."
"Thank you, Mr. Ka'reen."
Color floods my markings before I can control it. The jade brightening, the opalescent shimmer intensifying at the edges, and every person in this room can see my emotional state written on my body.
Krilly's reaction hits me simultaneously: fierce, aching pride that makes her eyes bright. Her hand squeezes mine under the table hard enough that my reinforced bones register it.
Mr. Ka'reen.Not Subject. Not Asset. Not HX-347.
I give my history the way I give tactical assessments: measured, precise, stripped of everything except fact.
"I am Varkaani. Approximately a hundred and twenty years old. I was acquired by ApexCorp BioSolutions at approximately eighty years of age, after the collapse of my homeworld left me displaced and vulnerable." Each word deliberate. "I was not created by ApexCorp. I was captured. Modified against my will using neural compliance technology, circuit traceries, and combat augmentations designed to optimise my performance as an arena combatant."
The distinction matters.Createdmeans property from inception.Capturedmeans kidnapped. The legal distance between those words is the distance between asset reclamation and abduction.
"I spent forty years in ApexCorp custody. Eight of those years in active arena combat, during which I accumulated sixty-three consecutive victories." Flat. Clinical. "The arenas were entertainment. Sentient beings forced to fight and kill for profit."
