The verdict was followed by a strange, weightless silence. The large wooden doors of the courtroom swung open, and Reuben stepped out into a blizzard of camera flashes and shouted questions. The world witnessed a victor. His legal team, or what remained of it, patted him on the back with relieved, smiling faces. Reporters thrust microphones into his face, asking how it felt to be vindicated.
“Professor Stone! Does this mean the HON will continue its work unimpeded?”
“What is your response to the court’s censure on sovereignty?”
“Will you change your methods?”
The words hummed about him, a meaningless roar. He was numb. The legal battle of the last few months, the constant character assassination, the constant, grinding fear of an ambush along the path to and from the courthouse—it had
