08-06-2013, 02:28 PM
Twelve hours later, Jon closed his eyes and listened to the dull whine of the jet engines and turbulent vibration as his flight cut across the Atlantic Ocean. Hardly a soothing atmosphere conductive to getting work done, but it would do.
It would be an interesting trip for Jon. He hadn't been to Moscow, or any of the CCD lands before. There wasn't any real reason to be unnerved by it, as he was coming as a guest of the University. Perhaps the calls he'd made on behalf of the Minutemen were the reason. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown in a gulag under some accusation of being a collaborator with a declared terrorist organization – which he wasn't, of course. Only an attorney seeking legal remedies.
The trip would only last four hours, so he would have to be careful. He wasn't sure what would happen if he was still in the Spirit World when the plane landed. Would he be woken up and return to his body?
Additionally, he had to be extra careful when taking the pathway to the Spirit World. The power of the Great Spirit loomed there, and if he accidentally touched that it could cause an accident, and possibly doom everyone on board. Though Jon was reasonably certain he had gained some control, there had still been that freak lightning strike that morning at the refugee camp. Thankfully no one had been hurt, but Jon was pretty sure he had done that while attempting to warm his tent.
Jon closed his eyes, and woke up. This time not on the plane. It occurred to him that in the Spirit World he could move from place to place with a thought, so it was not necessary for him to enter at the place where his body had been. He was back at the University.
If Jon was going to do any good at this debate, and especially if he was going to be able to help the Minutemen (though he wasn't yet convinced he should), he needed to learn the intricacies of the CCD legal system, and fast. He sat down at a desk in the university library and concentrated. What did he need to know? Books flew off shelves and came to him.
Okay. The shape of the system came to him in his mind rather quickly. The court system was primarily involved with arbitrating civil disputes, criminal trials, what have you. They had no real power over the Privileges, they could not at the end of the day compel an action or force an injunction on the executive power. That meant that affecting any change in policy toward the Minutemen would rest in changing the mind of whoever declared the group a terrorist organization – in this case the Ascendancy.
It also meant that any treaty law signed by the CCD was also subject to the whims of the executive powers. This was chilling, but useful information.
However...looking over various court actions and the ways the executive powers responded to them showed that the court system was an excellent public forum, and the Ascendancy was quite concerned with public image. That could be a way to make use of the system.
As he read on, the feeling of being watched pressed on him. It was ever present, here. He wondered if there were spirits lurking in the shadows. People occasionally appeared and vanished. Two desks over, a young man popped out of nowhere and screamed at a half-torn notebook, then vanished. A student having a nightmare over his homework?
For one not used to it, this place was enough to give someone nightmares all its own. As practiced as Jon was, it still creeped him out a bit, enough for him to abandon his research and look around. What were those eyes on him doing? Unconsciously his garb shifted again to what he had been wearing on his last venture, bleached leather shirt and dark breeches with dark knee-length boots, his nose and mouth covered with a white cloth, hood draped over his head, revealing only his eyes. Traditional Apache scout garb again, useful for hiding or walking silently.
A noise alerted him. Where? Down that hall. He moved down the corridor, which led to another, quickly losing any sense of direction. Where was he? A peek in a classroom revealed an art studio. Canvas and oil paints moved on their own from shelf to floor. At the studio's center stood a young woman with fair skin and wavy, waist-length brown hair, in a white blouse and dress clasped at the waist with a wide leather belt studded with large black stones. She was painting, large eyes seemingly staring into nothing as she worked.
Obviously a student dreaming herself here, Jon thought. But she didn't vanish, just moved about the room, searching for paints and brushes whenever they vanished and moved, returning to her painting as if in a trance.
Well, this was something new.
It would be an interesting trip for Jon. He hadn't been to Moscow, or any of the CCD lands before. There wasn't any real reason to be unnerved by it, as he was coming as a guest of the University. Perhaps the calls he'd made on behalf of the Minutemen were the reason. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown in a gulag under some accusation of being a collaborator with a declared terrorist organization – which he wasn't, of course. Only an attorney seeking legal remedies.
The trip would only last four hours, so he would have to be careful. He wasn't sure what would happen if he was still in the Spirit World when the plane landed. Would he be woken up and return to his body?
Additionally, he had to be extra careful when taking the pathway to the Spirit World. The power of the Great Spirit loomed there, and if he accidentally touched that it could cause an accident, and possibly doom everyone on board. Though Jon was reasonably certain he had gained some control, there had still been that freak lightning strike that morning at the refugee camp. Thankfully no one had been hurt, but Jon was pretty sure he had done that while attempting to warm his tent.
Jon closed his eyes, and woke up. This time not on the plane. It occurred to him that in the Spirit World he could move from place to place with a thought, so it was not necessary for him to enter at the place where his body had been. He was back at the University.
If Jon was going to do any good at this debate, and especially if he was going to be able to help the Minutemen (though he wasn't yet convinced he should), he needed to learn the intricacies of the CCD legal system, and fast. He sat down at a desk in the university library and concentrated. What did he need to know? Books flew off shelves and came to him.
Okay. The shape of the system came to him in his mind rather quickly. The court system was primarily involved with arbitrating civil disputes, criminal trials, what have you. They had no real power over the Privileges, they could not at the end of the day compel an action or force an injunction on the executive power. That meant that affecting any change in policy toward the Minutemen would rest in changing the mind of whoever declared the group a terrorist organization – in this case the Ascendancy.
It also meant that any treaty law signed by the CCD was also subject to the whims of the executive powers. This was chilling, but useful information.
However...looking over various court actions and the ways the executive powers responded to them showed that the court system was an excellent public forum, and the Ascendancy was quite concerned with public image. That could be a way to make use of the system.
As he read on, the feeling of being watched pressed on him. It was ever present, here. He wondered if there were spirits lurking in the shadows. People occasionally appeared and vanished. Two desks over, a young man popped out of nowhere and screamed at a half-torn notebook, then vanished. A student having a nightmare over his homework?
For one not used to it, this place was enough to give someone nightmares all its own. As practiced as Jon was, it still creeped him out a bit, enough for him to abandon his research and look around. What were those eyes on him doing? Unconsciously his garb shifted again to what he had been wearing on his last venture, bleached leather shirt and dark breeches with dark knee-length boots, his nose and mouth covered with a white cloth, hood draped over his head, revealing only his eyes. Traditional Apache scout garb again, useful for hiding or walking silently.
A noise alerted him. Where? Down that hall. He moved down the corridor, which led to another, quickly losing any sense of direction. Where was he? A peek in a classroom revealed an art studio. Canvas and oil paints moved on their own from shelf to floor. At the studio's center stood a young woman with fair skin and wavy, waist-length brown hair, in a white blouse and dress clasped at the waist with a wide leather belt studded with large black stones. She was painting, large eyes seemingly staring into nothing as she worked.
Obviously a student dreaming herself here, Jon thought. But she didn't vanish, just moved about the room, searching for paints and brushes whenever they vanished and moved, returning to her painting as if in a trance.
Well, this was something new.