The words smoothed out and a picture flickered into view on the pixelated hologram: a woman dressed in filthy rags, kneeling on whitewashed stone. There were gasps among the Jimboomba crowd and Romy could gather that this woman looked nothing like the person they remembered.

“Silence,” Atlas barked.

Everyone stilled, and Romy’s eyes widened. She shared a sideways look with Deimos. Shouldn’t that be Tina’s role?

It seemed no one else dared to make a sound when the picture zoomed out to show a line of hard-faced men and women filing up onto raised seating. There were seven of them. And each wore stark white to match their pristine surroundings.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“The current Mandate,” Atlas replied.

These were the people responsible? Each member of the Mandate lowered themselves with poise onto their own white throne-like seat, spaced evenly across the length of the trial area. It was hard to tell from the picture, but Romy got the impression the trial was outdoors; she could see the bedraggled woman’s hair waving slightly in a breeze. She looked filthy against the white and slouched at the foot of the seven thrones. Romy ground her teeth; the contrast was purposeful, no doubt. Deimos was breathing hard, and Romy stretched out to grip his hand, hushing him under her breath. She was unable to tear her eyes from the screen as the cowering woman’s trial began.

It was a sham.

Each of the seven took a turn condemning the Earth human, and then, when she was finally given permission to speak, her voice was so weak it barely carried through the speakers, her legs shaking as she neared collapse.

And the Jimboomba crowd watched in silence. Most in the settlement were nodding, booing the person who used to be their neighbour and friend. Was the Mandate’s hold so tight? Could they have brainwashed the world so absolutely? To Romy, the trial was a clear setup, designed to consolidate the Mandate’s lies. But then, she knew about the biggest lie of all, forewarned of the leader’s capacity for manipulation and deceit, and she probably looked at the streaming image before her with different eyes.

The warmth grew at her back. “I don’t know why they’re doing this now,” Atlas breathed.

Deimos froze. “Our presence?”

“It could be coincidence,” Romy added.

There was a hum behind her. “I don’t like coincidences. You all need to lay low.”

“I don’t see how we can lay lower than we already are,” Deimos snapped.

Romy watched the projector with unseeing eyes as the convicted woman was dragged away. A picture of an island took up the screen; it was a stronghold. Could this be the prison she’d heard of? Image after image flashed on the screen: kind prison guards, evil and hulking prisoners, even a prisoner beating a young woman.