In the last chapter, Lucky had lost an important civil case, and was called upon by her friend Persistence, but had not been told why. Lucky makes her way to Persistence.

The walk to the Servant’s Administration office was a short one from the Gardens. Though Persistence had called me, I didn’t place much effort thinking about it. She called for me in this manner fairly randomly. Sometimes I would have a week of meetings, and other times a month would go by without a word. After a decayear of friendship I’d learnt to give up deciphering what she thought. If the old Servant wanted to tell you something, she would let you know.

She had been ancient when I had met her as a naive Justicar out of the academies a decayear ago, and she immediately impressed upon me the wealth of knowledge and connections locked up in that complex mind of hers. She had first been a teacher-figure to me, but as I found out more about her and our roles equalised, we had- before we realized it- become friends.

I thanked the Stars that I didn’t have to walk very far into the Servant’s Administration to get to Persistence office. Her room was situated at the end of the entrance hallway. But every time I made the trek, it felt like I walked through a thick sludge. The moment I had entered the hallway I had to stop myself from gagging several times, such was the constant overwhelming smell of rot.

The building- if one could call it that- had so many structural problems that it was through miracles and the tenacity of the Servants that kept it standing. The ceilings were beginning to bow. The grey paint on the walls were flaking. Sections of the carpet had been cut out- such was the filth that caked it. This entire tragedy of a structure created its own sad story; one of trying to ‘make do’, to preserve the place you worked and take pride in one’s occupation while facing the crushing indifference of those that mattered.

The shoddy state of the Servant’s building made me- and many other Justicars- feel shameful. Here we were; the lawyers and judges that cast judgement on the failures of society, and yet we never practiced what we preached in our own house. Since I had met Persistence, and learned of the terrible conditions the Servants worked in, I had spent my career attempting to change opinions. I had been successful in some regards, but despite the agitations, when it came to funding, the vote always swung towards the Traditionalists. The core that carried our administration was sick; dying from a curable disease. Yet instead of calling for a doctor we instead spend our time frivolously, drowning in petty concerns.

I didn’t bother knocking on Persistence door, instead pushing the plastic sheet inwards. The room which housed the de facto head of the Servants showed the same signs of ‘make do’, but had been renovated recently. The grey room I remembered had become a pleasant cream that interacted well with the exposed floorboards. A sloppy lick of paint had been applied recently- after all, the Servants had to do the task themselves. There had been a modicum of care to limit the spill on the floorboards though, which I appreciated in the sense that anything otherwise would detract from the prestige of my friend. The sides of the room had been lined with low recycled shelves that stacked volumes of paper records. Vases of recently trimmed flowers from the Gardens had been placed on them, providing a relief from the smell. On the far end of the room, sheets of paper were taped together to form a large spreadsheet that took up most of the wall, filled with red and green lines that tracked some metrics I couldn’t see nor possibly understand. A long plastic desk sat in the middle of the room under the light fixture, and a stool had been set out in front of the desk in anticipation of my arrival.

Persistence sat at the head of the desk, concentrating on attacking a dwindling stack of paper with her left hand; carefully examining and penning them with her lower-arms, and quickly passing and arranging them into neat stacks with her right hand. The entire process seemed mechanical, but brutally efficient; allowing Persistence to power through the trivial administrative minutia.

“Persistence!” I called out loudly in a friendly tone, quickly shutting the door behind me. The pheromone-sense of my old friend had been burned out long ago by the rot in the building, and she could only know of someone’s presence by sight and sound. Had she been much younger, she would likely have regained its use after a few weeks. It was cruel and unfair. I wished I could stop entropy from wreaking its cruelty on my poor old friend.

“A moment my dear friend,” Persistence replied and continued on with her work.

“Your abode looks lovely,” I said, trying to make conversation. “The flowers are a nice touch too, I appreciate not having to smell the rot.”

“I’ll pass your thanks to the Servants who decorated the place. They’ve a much better sense of smell than I,” Persistence said, not taking her gaze off the papers.

“It’s not often I get to watch you working,” I said, edging a little closer. “It really is quite amazing how quickly you’re powering through those papers. I’m envious of your system.”

“You will have one too in time. I thought you were going to ‘take a lap around the gardens’. You told my friend that, did you not?” Persistence said mockingly.

“I thought it best not to wait. I hope being early isn’t a problem for you.”

“Only when I have work to finish and friends to sit,” she grumbled. “I’ve not much work left, mind you, and I’ve build a momentum. I shouldn’t be a moment longer,” she said. To her credit, I saw the pile of papers had almost disappeared. When she had finished, she wrapped her finished pile in string, lifting it and placing into her desk. “So Lucky! My dear friend, I’m sorry for the wait,” she said, lifting herself from her perch slowly and deliberately; the act of standing had become painful to her now in her advanced age. She hobbled around the table and towards me, and shifted her robes to proffer her lower arms to me.

I grasped them firmly with my own, and we shook hands before embracing in a hug. As we detached, she hesitated, as though she were about to say something, but instead turned and lead me to the chair in front of the desk.

As I approached the my seat, I caught sight of Persistence Prize standing behind the table. I bit off an unpleasant sound, and the Prize seemed to notice and do something to their face.

The Prize had been the last insult to Persistence before being forced to resign their office. I personally never referred to it as a ‘Prize’; reverting instead to the name of their species: a Human. Nothing about the human didn’t offended even the most basic of aesthetics. Half of their jaw had been destroyed; and what was left was scarred fleshy white tissue. Wrinkles made up the rest of their face- for the age of the Human seemed to be ancient; possibly even more than Persistence. Thin scarring ran unevenly across their scalp and through uneven short white hair that was cropped too close to their head. Thankfully, the rest of their body was covered in a loose robe. I frankly couldn’t- and wouldn’t- imagine what kinds of horrors lay beneath.

It always angered me to see the human- not because our two races were locked in a mortal struggle in a distant interstellar war- but because it reminded me that the Government had wronged my dear friend and reduced her to this pitiful state.

“So Lucky, how are you? I’ve heard you lost your case at last,” Persistence said as she slowly lowered herself back into her seat, blocking the human from view.

“Yes. Thankfully it’s over now, and I can return to my regular business. I tell you, watching the Defense build a pyre out of my case for so long is incredibly frustrating,” I said as I placed my lower arms on the desk and sighed loudly. I had been conditioned not to talk about the ‘feelings’ of a case with other Justicars, or anyone else for that matter. Only the facts mattered. Anything else would be considered bad form. Yet, I didn’t feel this restriction applied to Persistence, which is why I came to her as a place to vent my frustrations and my triumphs.

“I don’t know much about the peculiars of the case, but I have heard murmurs from other Justicars. I wonder if this meddling in your affair is just the start of worse things to come.”

“I hope not. I can deal with it happening once, but any more times and I don’t think many of the Justicars will stand for it. Though, given the climate, I should wonder when, not if, the Justicars lose their independence.”

“Oh what I would do to be 4 decayears younger!” Persistence exclaimed, folding all her arms on the table. “I could share your frustration and make sure the government feel the brunt of it.”

“I know you want to help, and I know that you can’t compromise your neutral position as a Servant. Your understanding is support enough for me,” I said, reaching over to put a hand over her arm.

“I know. But I feel so powerless here. Do you know I’m getting to that age now where I should think about retiring? I’ve gotten several feelers about it so far,” Persistence said. I gawked and withdrew the hand, and we were silent for a moment before she barked out a laugh. “Ha! I’ve been telling that to people all week. No I’m not going anywhere just yet, and I’m not so completely useless. I’ve the power of a few social connections. Some high, but most low. So while you watched the Defense build a pyre for your case, I’ve been using my network to build a reputation of your conduct.”

“Ah, so that’s how you recommended my last case, no? The land Owners thought me a good pick based on a reputation I didn’t realise I had.” In fact, there had been a several cases before my last that were referred to me on reputation alone. I had been confused, until Persistence had told me about it.

“It is, and there are plenty more waiting. That reputation only continues to grow, even through the losses you’ve incurred,” she said, then brought her head close to mine. “I’ve been told- though don’t tell anyone you heard this- that there’s a fair few who now think you intend to bring the Government into account, that you’re building a bludgeon to whack them with,” Persistence whispered conspiratorially.

I shot backwards in surprise, almost falling off my seat had not Persistence still been holding onto my lower arms. “W-what,” I sputtered, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “What are you talking about! I’m doing no such thing-” I started before Persistence’ shot up, pain from her limb vanishing.

“They don’t know that! But think about it! Anyone brave enough to do it would be an instant celebrity!” She said excitedly, pacing around the desk as though she were decayears younger once more.

“I-I’m sure they would. But why bother? They would interfere in the case just like they did mine,” I said, drumming the desk nervously, a sinking feeling washing over me. Persistence only became like this if she needed to convince me of something. The worst of it all- she knew exactly how to do it. I could only sit here now waiting for the punchline.

“The Government will cave under enough pressure. And what better pressure can there be if one represents an entire capital, no, an entire race who clamour for justice?” she said, raising her arms.

“Assume that someone does manage to convince people to vouch for you. What then? What could anyone possibly attempt to charge them with?”

“Failing to meet guarantees that were set forth in the social contract,” she said matter-of-factly, slapping her lower hand on the desk as though to emphasise the point.

I sat there, stunned for a moment. “I am learned in many a thing, but I have no idea what you just said.”

“It is something I have learnt from studying the humans. The Social Contract is a philosophical concept which dictates that societies are formed by an agreement to an unspoken ‘contract’ that guarantees security and safety. It’s from this social contract that we willingly let the government rule over us in return for them to guarantee freedom and security,” she said, slapping the desk once again.

“So the intent is… to charge the government with a vague philosophical crime? If someone were to come to us with such a premise then we would… ” I began, attempting to vocalise my dismissal of the idea, then stopped as a thought occurred to me. ‘We would have to debate it. We would have to define it. It would take some time for a consensus, but how could anyone not immediately come to the conclusion that the Government has been failing this in this concept?’ My mind began to run through all sorts of calculations and alternatives.

“Are you alright Lucky? Your mind seems to have wandered far from your seat,” Persistence said as I felt her hand on my upper shoulder. I turned to face her. I hadn’t even seen her approach.

“Err, yes. As I was about to say; we would have to debate the idea. What’s to say that the government wouldn’t shut the debate down before we came to a conclusion?”

“If I were to attempt it, then the the first guarantee would be Justicar independence, and the second; the Servants,” she said, walking back behind her desk.

“I agree on the first, but, the Servants?” I said, my lower hands uncomfortably fidgeting with my robes.

“Yes, the Servants. You see, who does everyone ask when they want Court Records? Servants,” she said, pointing at herself. “It is the Servants who maintain the truth of the Justicars. And we can be prone to… error from time to time,” she said, leaving the meaning dangling in front of me.

‘She’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever accessed a digital record in my decayear working here. It’s all been the Servant’s job. If they wanted to present something entirely different to the Government they would be able to without any sort of scrutiny… What a terrifying power…’ I thought.

“So… say theoretically, that someone wanted to get started on this course of events. What would be the first thing they would need to do?” I said.

“Theoretically? Well, they would have to see a certain someone who doesn’t quite know they need representation. An activist, one constantly harassed by the Militia” she said, squatting down and reaching behind her desk for something. She pulled out one of her stringed up bundles of paper and slid it across the desk.

“I see.” I dragged the file into the sleeve of my robe. “That seems awfully disjointed. I hope you don’t try to convince others of your flights of fancy,” I said, rising. This was another one of the games we played with each other; that we were under some kind of surveillance and needed to cover each other’s actions.

“Sahaar, please see my friend to the door, my body aches from all the excitement,” she said, then seemed to sag into her seat. The human seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of me, and I was dragged more than lead out of the door and back into the rot. I patted the folder, and began the walk back to my office.