In fact, he was fairly certain that given the proper set of circumstances he could grow to actually hate it. The relentless pressure of consecutive assignments was beginning to wear him down—particularly the depositions. He had grown tired of the monotonous histories he was forced to listen to; the desperate and wheedling defenses he had to endure. He had grown intolerant of all the weak testimonies that feigned innocence and impatient with the arrogant ones that insisted foul play.
But most of all he loathed the constant travel. They sent him so far away, so often, that at this stage in the game he’d become convinced that he’d never be able to enjoy a life of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been home. Or even talked to an old friend.
Such was his obligation. His duty.
He sighed as he walked down the wide corridor toward the deposition room. Rindell allowed his mind to wander, taking in the majestic views as he passed each of the small windows that had been set into the outside wall. The blues and greens beyond the glass warmed him with a sweet melancholy. Memories of home.
And of hope.
He was one of many assessors currently assigned to this particular inquiry and despite the overwhelming number of top associates on this team, Rindell was constantly being reminded that he was still considered one of the best. He had to admit that while he was certainly the oldest, he still couldn’t help but wonder if it was also fair to assume that experience actually translated into excellence. This particular inquest was nearly over and, like all of the others before, when the final audits were performed he doubted that his personal brand of detail-oriented work would prove to be any more efficient than that of his younger colleagues. After all, his tactics were far more methodical and his conclusions based solidly on historical reasoning; while his youthful counter-parts relied more on formulae and rigid algorithms. Rindell’s ways were considered archaic—even hopelessly romantic—if not, at the very least, effective.
Once upon a time he had actually enjoyed the intense grind of the forensics; when success was measured by small yet significant discoveries: Those fantastic little revelations that, when stacked carefully together in just the right order, challenged old ideas and allowed exciting new theories to evolve. Rindell preferred the slow and steady path. He possessed a meticulous, persistent awareness that accounted for everything and disregarded nothing. He was never one to ignore the subtle nuances; always allowing for any possibility; regardless of probability. He had built a solid reputation for himself following those instincts.
But times have changed. The Program has changed. This younger generation of investigators was arrogant and aggressive—quick to judge. They were narrow of focus and impatient—even cynical. Perhaps even bored. Rindell lamented for an age when meaning actually mattered and hope remained a virtue.
Standing now outside of the deposition room, he felt ancient and redundant. With a weary sigh, he shifted the thin HoloMem tablet under his arm and activated the door. He entered and nodded absently to the usual horde of assessors seated about the circular chamber. There had been a time when he would’ve actually wrestled with these ambitious and callow associates for one of the more coveted seats closer to the observation window. Now that he was older he just didn’t care.
Instead, he chose an isolated chair along the back wall and fell exhaustedly into the plush seat. Ignoring the critical and judging eyes he knew to be on him, Rindell waved open his tablet and keyed up the docket. Thankfully, there was only one deposition scheduled for today: The final Proof in a long and frustrating line of inquiry. With a light brush of his fingertip through the display field, the single case file fanned open. Rindell quickly perused each of the document folders within, oblivious to the drone of the other assessors’ bantering.
The door to the room coughed open and the buzz of conversation dropped to a whisper, then died altogether as it sneezed shut. Without comment or greeting, the Prime Counsel strode impatiently into the silent room, scanning the assembled members with quick raptor eyes. He found Rindell almost immediately and gave him a perfunctory nod.
Rindell sighed as the Prime took the last remaining seat, situated directly in the front of the frosted observation window. The room became a respectful vacuum as the associates waited for the Counsel to address them.
The Prime calmly gathered his audience with a smooth and economic sweep of his dark avian eyes, lingering only for a moment on Rindell before continuing. That pause was nearly imperceptible; but Rindell noticed and tried to conceal his aversion by casually shielding his eyes with his hand as he studied his tablet’s display.
“Let’s begin, shall we.” The Prime Counsel’s voice was deep and oppressive.
On that simple command, the opaque observation window melted from frosted chrome to crystal clear translucence. Rindell had to squint against the milky brilliance of the deposition chamber as he gazed through the one-way glass. Beyond the transparent barrier, a man sat on a metal chair in a small utilitarian room.
“This is Alec LeDarq, aka Ali al Khyayraat. He is Proof Seven of the final seven,” the Prime Counsel stated. “And to my reckoning, the very last of the decanted Sequences. Our aim—as always—is to determine if, from both an intellectual and logistical standpoint, it is reasonable to continue our investigation here.”
The younger associates traded glances before one finally cleared his throat and spoke.
“Well, sir, in light of what we’ve already learned from Proofs One through Six, I suggest that this might be an exercise in futility. I fail to see what this one could possibly offer us that would change our consensus?” He glanced around at his colleagues as they nodded agreement. “I say it’s wasted effort and we move on. After all, this certainly wouldn’t be our first unanimous terminal sentencing.” The young auditor crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his chair back.
“That very well may be,” his superior responded coldly. “But, while I’m Prime Counsel, we will give witness to all of the evidence and exercise due diligence before reaching any decision. We will be thorough. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” came the defeated response. Rindell could barely conceal a smirk of disdain for the young assessor.
“Good.” The Prime shifted in his seat. “Then let’s listen.”