3.3 Those Above the Law

I had been standing for twenty minutes, staring at the board and playing a tune in my head. “Sir, no one can legally bind superhumans who can grind cities to dust. I don’t think anyone can tell them to play nice. We’re just lucky that they do.”

Deen inhaled sharply at my audacious answer. Silence followed.

Professor Gallagher stared at me. I stared back with a grin.

His laughter boomed out, startling everyone. “Now, now, Ms. Hartwell. You can’t answer that on your bar exams. You can’t tell your bosses either, assuming you’ll work in the government or international organizations.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” I said, working hard to keep smugness off my face.

Even if I had turned into a monster and had killed three people, social manipulation stuff still felt exciting. This meant I had to retain my normal life no matter what. Watch out for the lapses, like drawing attention to the crystal on my hand.

Professor Gallagher raised his hand. “Has anyone here met a Corebring face to face? Be it a full-fledged Corebring or an Initiate?”

No one had.

“Some of you will eventually graduate,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘some’, “and a smaller number will land a career in the field of Interdimensional Defense. Only one or two of you, if any at all, will meet a Corebring. Keep what Ms. Hartwell said in mind, whoever you’ll be—do not tell a Corebring that they have the legal or moral obligation to follow a government or the U.N. or anything idiotic like that.”

The rest of the class nervously laughed.

“Yes, sir,” I said, joining them too. Mission accomplished. The gamble paid off.

With this, I pushed up my rank in the class hierarchy. The timid girl who could be a badass, engaging the scary professor, and making him laugh. But no one would feel threatened because of the nerdy, subdued persona cultivated during the first semester, coupled with my general friendliness. Bonus points, Professor Gallagher has a good impression of me now.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Professor Gallagher raised a finger. “Ms. Hartwell, what about Mr. Garland’s point about the Washington Protocol? A Corebring High Overseer signed the agreement, as well as our president. Aren’t they binding themselves? Corebrings can destroy cities, yes, but they chose to follow the Washington Protocol.”

I decided not to bring up the Labor Day Purge even though everyone was probably thinking about it. “Sir, the Corebings play nice because there is no need to do otherwise at present. If there’s an Adumbrae in our country that they deem must be exterminated, they won’t follow the Washington Protocol. Our country can throw around its weight, but only up to a point. We still have to keep in mind that we’re interacting with other countries in this globalized world. There will be consequences. For Corebrings, there are none.”

Professor Gallagher nodded; his expression was unreadable. “We’ll further elaborate on that. Sit down, Ms. Hartwell.”

Deen tapped my arm as I lowered myself into my chair. “Good job,” she mouthed.

I gave her a thumbs up. Besties, amirite?

“Now, why did I discuss the true nature of International Law?” said Professor Gallagher. “Why did I reveal what’s under the prestigious hood that covers it? This is because of the Adumbrae attack yesterday. We’re not supposed to talk about Corebrings yet—it’s going to be for next month—but we can have a brief overview to keep abreast of current events. I know that you, young people, barely keep up with the news. Let’s hop on to current affairs, shall we? Mr. Staten!”

Ramello got to his feet. “Sir.”

“Since Mr. Garland already brought it up, remind the class what the Washington Protocol is.”

“Yes, sir. It’s an agreement between our government and the Corebring Central Hive outlining the procedures of requesting assistance from the Corebrings in times of emergencies.”

“How to call for help, essentially. But the government will never use it—our president adamantly repeats it non-stop, turning the Washington Protocol into an entry ban. Why not just an outright entry ban, Mr. Staten? Why bother negotiating with the Hive, typing this long document, all the flair and pomp? Just ban them outright and be done with it.”

I raised a brow. Oh, yeah. Why did they do it in that roundabout way?

One of the cornerstones of President Goodwin’s campaign was that we don’t need Corebrings, and we shouldn’t allow superpowered beings outside the government’s control to roam the country. Despite the popularity of Corebrings, they have saved a lot of people—there was always a chunk of the country that didn’t trust them. It wasn’t easy to forget the Labor Day Purge, even if that was like fifty years ago or something.

“Perhaps to keep the door open when we’ll really need help?” Ramon answered.

Professor Gallagher clicked his tongue so loudly it was like a gunshot. “Mr. Staten, I’ve already told Ms. Rossi to be confident when answering. We’re lawyers. Even if we don’t know the correct answer, we’re not going to show it.”

Some subdued chuckles.

He continued, “That’s the first reason: to be able to ask the Corebrings for help someday. Keep the door open. There may come a time when a Kreggan Adumbrae is roaming around Detroit—I just know it’ll come from there—and our forces can’t do anything against its reality-bending powers. Then, we’ll need to call the actual exterminators. What’s the second reason? I’ll tell you: it is to show the Corebrings that we’re playing nice.

“The Corebrings know this is mostly politics. Whatever stance one party takes, the other will oppose. It just so happens that President Goodwin’s opponent is a Corebring supporter. And so, he takes the other side. Right now, the Washington Protocol is used as an entry ban. It can also be the complete opposite. How, Mr. Staten?”

“By declaring Adumbrae attacks always an emergency,” Ramello readily replied. He flashed me a brief smile.

Did he expect me to be impressed? Was he hitting on me? We barely knew each other. Weirdo.

“Correct, Mr. Staten.” Professor Gallagher motioned for Ramello to sit before continuing, “The message to the Hive is to wait for a friendlier administration. Sometimes we don’t want them here. Sometimes we want them here. If there’s a Kreggan, we’ll very much want them here. Let’s connect this to what we’ve established about International Law—it’s all about playing nice. This doesn’t strictly apply to Corebrings, even though states fund them. Why is that so, Ms. Leska?”

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Deen shot me an angry look before standing to answer. She probably thought that she got called again because the professor thought the three of us were chatting during class. I knew that Deen hated it if others thought she was less than perfect.

All the spotlights were directed at Deen. “States fund the Hive because it is beneficial to them. The Corebrings can work better to exterminate Adumbrae.”

“What about the countries that can’t afford to do so? Countries with fewer financial means, putting it mildly, are those likelier to suffer more seeding occurrences. They do not contribute anything to the Hive, but the Corebrings do not leave them alone. Are you saying, Ms. Leska, that the Corebrings are heroes-for-hire?”

“No, sir! I meant that helping the Hive is helping everyone.”

“That is your view, despite what I said about states playing nice only when it suits them?”

Deen balked. “I didn’t mean to disagree with you, sir.”

“Well, you should.” Professor Gallagher pointed at Deen. “Think of yourself as a lawyer! Do not waver! If a seeding in one country leads to a Purple Bloom forming, then it’s no longer the problem of that country, is it? This is what’s currently happening in Madagascar. And so, I’ll add to your statement, Ms. Leska. Helping the Hive is helping everyone, and it’s also helping one’s own country. Sit down. Ms. Hartwell, let’s pick your brain again, shall we?”

This is unfair, I thought as I complied. He should call someone else since I had just answered his questions.

“What’s the third reason for the Washington Protocol?”

“Um…”

“Don’t say ‘um’, Ms. Hartwell. It’s unprofessional. Projects uncertainty. If you’re formulating an answer, talk slowly to buy time. You can also repeat the question.”

“Apologies, sir.” Dammit, I got scolded. Oh, well. It took down my image a notch so my more competitive classmates wouldn’t think of me as a threat. “The third reason is… it’ll be embarrassing if the government bans Corebrings and they still enter our country.”

“That is… correct, Ms. Hartwell. With the Washington Protocol, our government has certain measures for protesting violations without looking powerless. A hypothetical scenario. No one’s asking for it to happen, but let us say another Adumbrae attack occurs in the city. It’s much worse—a Completed Manifestation, Tier Three, folding police cars like origami. BID agents will take an hour to arrive from their hub. But for some reason, there’s a Corebring sunbathing on Las Palmas Beach. He comes over to help, violating the Washington Protocol. What can our government do about it? What will our government do, Ms. Hartwell?”

“Beyond issuing statements? Nothing.” I hadn’t read the Washington Protocol because it wasn’t assigned, but Professor Gallagher had told us not to show that we didn’t know the answer.

“The Corebring violated the Washington Protocol. Is there truly nothing else our government can do?”

I frowned. I didn’t know shit about government policies. Though that probably wasn’t anywhere near the answer that Professor Gallagher was looking for. “Sir, our government can do a lot, like pulling the funding to the Hive, but it’s not in its best interest to do so. I think the Corebrings will still help our country regardless. The true damage will be the reputation among other countries that we don’t play nice.”

“There it is. Playing nice.” Professor Gallagher raised a finger. “If the Corebrings violate the Washington Protocol, our governments can’t retaliate in some way because they’ll be the bad guys. Why?”

Oh, that’s right. I immediately sided with the Corebring. I knew why. Everyone was probably thinking the same thing. It wasn’t because they were superhumans. Rather, they were superheroes.

“Sir, Corebrings are presumed to be the good guys. They are not required to prove to the government that a citizen they killed was, in fact, an Adumbrae. They can be killing innocents. The state cannot check. The state cannot enforce jurisdiction. The state, and everyone in it, accepts that the Corebrings killed a legitimate target. There’s no other view because the Hive is sui generis, an extraterritorial non-state actor with de facto immunity and no enforceable obligations under international law. Because… they can destroy cities.”

The professor laughed again. “And that’s what this entire section of the syllabus about Corebrings boils down to. Sit down, Ms. Hartwell. I suppose I’ve made my point. I do hope everyone has a deeper understanding of the insanity of International Law. We’ll discuss the assigned cases.”

I knew I would no longer get called, so I relaxed, pondering on Professor Gallagher’s point. Everyone automatically thought the Corebrings were the good guys. This was just like in movies, especially those with a heroic protagonist.

In Wars for the Stars, the main character destroyed the huge base of the big bad guy, killing thousands. Most of the people inside that base were probably innocent, cleaning personnel, maintenance, cooks, those jobs. But the hero’s act was celebrated, and everything else was brushed aside. That was how many people viewed the Corebrings—they were the good guys, no matter what.

On the other hand, Adumbrae were the bad guys no matter what. Granted, I was a criminal for killing people. But I was just forced to become a monster. This was going to be my sob story. I needed one.

As soon as Professor Gallagher left the lecture hall at the end of the class, Deen poked my cheek. “I'm still right that you shouldn’t answer that on the bar exams.”

I laughed. “I know, I know.”

“And what a trouble you stirred up.”

I stuck out my tongue at her. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that after yesterday’s, uh, incident, I feel like I should be a bit more assertive.”

“That’s good to hear. But if you’re feeling stressed or whatever, just know I’m here with an open ear.”

That rhymed. “What do you mean?”

“The graying strands of your hair. Signs of stress. Take it easy, okay? How about we drive to Sanders Mall for lunch? Adrian invited me there.”

“I’m not going to third-wheel your—”

“Excuse me, Erind?” It was Ramello. He nodded at Deen. “Sorry for interrupting your conversation. I just want to ask Erind something. Are you going to the memorial this Thursday?”

I tilted my head. “Memorial?”

“The memorial service for the victims of the Adumbrae, including the cops who sacrificed their lives to delay the monsters. My uncle’s a detective of the LEPD. He told me that attending a memorial service might bring some measure of closure and peace to a survivor. I was thinking that…”

“Why did your uncle tell you that? Did you ask him because of me?”

Ramello jolted. Caught him. He stammered, “N-no, not that way. I-I wasn’t telling him about you. It just came up that some of my classmates were present when the Adumbrae attacked. I thought you might want to come with me. Uh, I mean, you might want to go there. I’ll be there too.”

“Erind is going with me,” Deen said, stepping forward.

I raised a brow. “I will?”

“You will,” Deen said. “My family’s foundation is donating aid to the families of those who died. My older sister will be there at the memorial service. I wanted to invite you while we eat lunch later. But Ramello invited you first.”

Ramello shrugged. “Looks like I win?”

“Nope.” Deen grabbed my arm. “Besties over, um, mere seatmates. You’re going with me, right, Erind?”

“I guess so…” I hated events where there’d be lots of people. But I wanted to attend this one. Maybe I could find out whether the police knew about me or what. Also, this was such a criminal thing to do.

Since I couldn’t return to the scene where I had my first kill ever because it was still blocked off, this was the next best thing.