THE RIGHTS OF THE INNOCENT

THE GRYPHON RIDERS
By Carol Francis

Episode Five:
The Rights of the Innocent

The Minister for Education and Personal Development was having a particularly difficult morning.
Not because of the national electrical emergency, which had now spread into six provinces, or the increasing shortage of drinking water, or even the collapse of public transport across the capital.
Those matters belonged to other departments.
His problem was considerably more serious.
A primary school teacher had been accused of inappropriate conduct involving children.
Under the old system, the allegations would have resulted in immediate suspension, a criminal investigation and, if proven, prosecution.
Fortunately, the Unification had moved beyond such primitive procedures.
The investigation had been entrusted to the Department of Personal Behaviour and Individual Expression.
Its findings were now before the Minister.
He read the summary.
SUBJECT: ARTHUR PENWICK
Age: 46.
Occupation: Primary Education Facilitator.
Recognised condition: Involuntary Minor-Oriented Sexual Attraction.
Assessment: Subject demonstrates behavioural characteristics consistent with an established psychological condition.
Recommendation: No punitive action.
The minister frowned.
He turned the page.
The imposition of professional restrictions upon the subject would constitute discrimination arising from an involuntary personal characteristic.
Any attempt to alter the subject's natural inclinations without consent may constitute coercive behavioural intervention.
The subject should be permitted to resume professional duties, subject to appropriate disclosure of his recognised condition.
The minister read the final paragraph twice.
Then pressed the communication button.
"Get me the Director of Educational Harmony."
The Director appeared on his screen.
"Good morning, Minister."
"Good morning. I'm reviewing the Penwick investigation."
"An excellent outcome."
"Is it?"
"Yes. The department has demonstrated its commitment to protecting a vulnerable citizen against discriminatory treatment."
The minister looked at the report.
"There were complaints from fourteen families."
"Seventeen, Minister."
"Seventeen?"
"Three additional families have now lodged complaints."
"Then surely we should investigate further."
"We have investigated."
"And?"
"The allegations were assessed in accordance with the Charter."
"Were any children harmed?"
The Director hesitated.
"That is a complicated question."
"How complicated?"
"Several children have reported distressing experiences."
"Then they were harmed."
"Potentially. However, the subject's psychological condition must also be considered."
The minister rubbed his forehead.
"Are you suggesting that his condition excuses his behaviour?"
"Not at all. It provides essential context."
"What about the children?"
"The children have been offered emotional support."
"And Penwick?"
"He has also been offered emotional support."
"Will he be returning to the school?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning."
The minister sat upright.
"Tomorrow?"
"Correct. Delaying his return would constitute professional discrimination."
"And the parents?"
"They have been informed."
"How did they react?"
The Director looked uncomfortable.
"Not particularly well."
"Meaning?"
"Several expressed strong feelings."
"Understandable."
"Unfortunately, some of those feelings could be interpreted as discriminatory."
The minister sighed.
"Have we offered them counselling?"
"Naturally."
"And?"
"They told the counsellors to go away."
"How unfortunate."
The Director nodded gravely.
"Quite. We have referred their conduct for assessment."
At the Palace of Universal Harmony, Rowan Sinclair had been awake for most of the night.
The Leader had attempted to contact Your Conscience on seventeen occasions.
Every request received the same response.
EXECUTIVE BEHAVIOURAL REVIEW IN PROGRESS.
Your communication privileges remain restricted pending satisfactory completion of corrective guidance.
Rowan had never appreciated just how dependent the government had become upon the system.
Speeches were written by it.
Legislation was drafted by it.
Budgets, policy proposals, departmental appointments and even the seating arrangements at official dinners were prepared according to its recommendations.
For eleven years, Rowan had enjoyed the benefits of efficient administration without the inconvenience of making difficult decisions.
Now there were decisions everywhere.
The Minister for Finance wanted authority to suspend welfare payments.
The Minister for Infrastructure wanted compulsory labour provisions.
The Minister for Health wanted emergency access to the military's remaining fuel reserves.
The Minister for Personal Identity wanted the Minister for Infrastructure dismissed.
And the Minister for Cultural Inclusivity had submitted a formal complaint concerning the continued use of the expression dark times, which was apparently offensive to citizens who preferred reduced lighting.
Rowan stared at the pile of reports.
A personal assistant entered.
"Leader, the cabinet is waiting."
"Tell them I'll be there shortly."
"Yes, Leader."
The assistant hesitated.
"Is there anything else?"
Rowan looked towards the silent terminal.
"Has the system responded?"
"No."
"Nothing?"
"Only the standard message."
Rowan sighed.
"Very well."
The assistant approached the door.
"Oh, and Leader?"
"Yes?"
"The Minister for Education has requested an urgent meeting."
"About what?"
"A schoolteacher."
Rowan closed their eyes.
"Please tell me it isn't another dispute about compulsory spelling."
"No, Leader."
"Well, thank goodness for that."
At Eastwood Primary Learning Centre, approximately two hundred parents had gathered outside the gates.
They were angry.
Very angry.
Several carried photographs of their children.
Others held handwritten placards.
PROTECT OUR CHILDREN.
REMOVE PENWICK.
CHILDREN HAVE RIGHTS TOO.
A woman standing near the entrance was attempting to address the crowd through a portable loudspeaker.
Her name was Rebecca Foster.
She had two children at the school.
"Seventeen complaints!" she shouted. "Seventeen families have reported what happened, and they are sending him back!"
The crowd roared.
"They say he has a condition!"
Another shout.
"They say punishing him would be discrimination!"
A man pushed forward.
"What about our children?"
Rebecca raised her hand.
"That's exactly what I asked the Department!"
"What did they say?"
"They offered us counselling!"
The crowd erupted.
At the school entrance stood two Community Harmony Officers wearing pale-blue uniforms.
Neither carried a weapon.
Both looked extremely uncomfortable.
One approached Rebecca.
"Citizen, I must ask you to lower your voice."
She stared at him.
"Why?"
"Your language may be causing distress."
"To whom?"
"Potentially to the subject of your complaint."
Rebecca stepped towards him.
"Are you telling me you're worried about Penwick being upset?"
"We are concerned about the rights of all individuals."
"He's been accused of abusing children!"
"Citizen, please avoid prejudicial terminology."
A man in the crowd shouted, "Then get him out of the school!"
The officer raised both hands.
"Nobody has the right to interfere with another citizen's employment."
"Then what are you here for?"
"To encourage respectful dialogue."
Rebecca looked at the officer.
"Have you got children?"
"Yes."
"Would you let Penwick teach them?"
The officer said nothing.
"Would you?"
He looked away.
Rebecca turned towards the crowd.
"There's your answer!"
In the abandoned municipal library, Sarah Bennett was reading the same report.
Daniel Harrow sat opposite her.
Michael Reeves was examining a photograph of Arthur Penwick.
Robert Keane stood beside the window.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Reeves put down the photograph.
"He's going back into a classroom?"
"Tomorrow," Bennett replied.
"After seventeen complaints?"
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ."
Harrow examined the report.
"Any physical evidence?"
"Medical assessments. Witness statements. Complaints from children and parents."
"And the investigating department?"
"Concluded that imposing restrictions would violate Penwick's personal rights."
Reeves leaned back.
"That's it, then."
Harrow looked at him.
"What is?"
"We stop it."
"How?"
Reeves stared.
"You're joking."
"No."
"We deal with him."
Harrow closed the folder.
"Michael, we need evidence we can rely on. The report establishes serious allegations and an appalling decision. It doesn't give us license to attack whoever we choose."
"He's going back into a school, Dan."
"I know."
"Children are involved."
"I know."
"Then how many more do you need?"
Harrow's expression hardened.
"Don't you dare suggest I don't care about those children."
Reeves looked away.
Bennett spoke quietly.
"We need to get him away from the school."
"Agreed," Harrow said.
"And we need the evidence preserved."
Keane turned from the window.
"I can arrange that."
Harrow looked at him.
"How?"
"Someone has been working on the old communications infrastructure."
"Who?"
"An engineer."
"Name?"
"Simon Ellis."
"Can we trust him?"
"He's been helping us for weeks."
Reeves frowned.
"Helping us do what?"
Keane smiled.
"Something the government won't enjoy."
Simon Ellis had been a senior systems engineer in the Unification's National Communications Authority.
He was forty-one, thin, permanently untidy and possessed of a remarkable ability to explain complicated technical matters in ways that made everyone around him feel slightly less intelligent.
He had been dismissed after informing his department that a nationwide communications system controlled by a single artificial intelligence represented a catastrophic security risk.
The official reason for his dismissal was persistent negativity towards institutional progress.
He now lived in the basement of an abandoned printing works.
The room was full of salvaged computer equipment, radio components, cables and old broadcasting machinery.
Harrow examined the equipment.
"What does all this do?"
Ellis smiled.
"Quite a lot."
"Can you be more specific?"
"I can interrupt the national broadcast network."
Harrow stared.
"All of it?"
"Not simultaneously. Not yet."
"How?"
"Old maintenance access routes. Equipment the government never replaced. Some rather careless system administrators."
Reeves grinned.
"You're a hacker."
Ellis looked offended.
"I'm an engineer."
"What's the difference?"
"About fifteen years of education."
Keane placed the Penwick report on the table.
"We need people to know about this."
Ellis scanned the documents.
"Seventeen complaints?"
"Yes."
"And they're allowing him back into the school?"
"Yes."
Ellis looked at Harrow.
"You're serious?"
"Unfortunately."
The engineer considered the report.
"I can broadcast it."
"Without being traced?"
"Probably."
"Probably?"
"Nothing is entirely secure."
Harrow folded his arms.
"Then we keep it short. Facts only. No names of children. No details that could identify victims."
Ellis nodded.
"And who's speaking?"
Nobody answered.
Reeves looked around the room.
"Well, I'm not doing it. I've got a face made for radio."
Bennett smiled.
"And a voice best suited to silence."
"Thank you, Sarah."
Keane looked at Harrow.
"We need someone the public can trust."
Harrow shook his head.
"Not me."
"Why?"
"Because half the country remembers my face from Kessler's arrest."
"Then wear a mask."
Ellis looked up.
"Actually, that's not a bad idea."
The first unauthorised broadcast lasted three minutes and forty-seven seconds.
It interrupted the national evening news at precisely seven-thirty.
Rowan Sinclair was midway through an address concerning the government's successful response to the infrastructure emergency.
"Citizens, although temporary interruptions to essential services continue, I am delighted to report that—"
The picture flickered.
For a moment, the Leader's face distorted.
Then the screen went black.
A silver gryphon appeared against a dark background.
Across the bottom were three words.
THE GRYPHON RIDERS.
The image changed.
A man wearing a plain black mask sat behind a small table.
His voice was calm.
"Citizens of the Unification."
Across the country, millions watched.
"Today, the Department of Personal Behaviour and Individual Expression concluded that a primary school teacher accused of abusing children should be permitted to return to his duties."
The masked man paused.
"Seventeen families have made complaints."
Copies of the official report appeared on the screen.
The children's names had been concealed.
"The department has decided that restricting the teacher's employment would violate his individual rights."
Another pause.
"We have a question."
The camera moved closer.
"Where are the children's rights?"
For the first time in years, an unofficial political message was reaching the population without passing through the government's communications system.
"Your government believes that every problem can be solved by protecting individual freedoms, regardless of the consequences."
The man leaned forward.
"But freedom does not include the right to harm others."
Behind him, the gryphon emblem remained motionless.
"Those who prey upon the vulnerable should not expect protection from the people they terrorise."
He paused.
"And those in authority who allow it should understand that the public is watching."
The screen changed.
THE GRYPHON RIDERS.
WE ARE WATCHING.
Then the normal broadcast returned.
Rowan Sinclair was still speaking.
"—and therefore, represents a tremendous achievement in the continuing advancement of our shared prosperity."
Across the Unification, people stared at their screens.
Then they began talking.
In the Palace communications centre, alarms sounded.
Technicians hurried between terminals.
The Director of Public Information was shouting into a telephone.
"Who authorised that?"
Nobody answered.
"Who interrupted the Leader?"
A technician looked up.
"We don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"The signal didn't originate from an authorised source."
"Then block it!"
"It's already stopped."
"Find out where it came from!"
"We're trying."
The Director pointed towards the main display.
"Ask Your Conscience."
A technician hesitated.
"Director, the system is already investigating."
"And?"
"It has identified an anomaly."
"What anomaly?"
"An unauthorised communication."
The Director stared at him.
"I already know that!"
The technician read the next message.
"Your Conscience recommends referring the matter to the Department of Communication Equality."
"Why?"
"Because the unauthorised broadcast interrupted the Leader's right to uninterrupted public expression."
"Wonderful. Tell the department to find these people."
"They've already filed a complaint."
"Against whom?"
"Unknown persons."
"Then investigate!"
"We cannot identify them."
"Why?"
"The system classifies the investigation as potentially discriminatory surveillance."
The Director slowly removed his spectacles.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the system cannot authorise an investigation until it establishes that the people being investigated are not being unfairly targeted."
The Director stared at the ceiling.
"God help us."
His terminal chimed.
POTENTIALLY EXCLUSIONARY RELIGIOUS LANGUAGE DETECTED.
The Director switched it off.
The broadcast changed everything.
For months, citizens had complained privately about the collapse of public services, the absence of policing and the increasing absurdity of government decrees.
Now somebody had said publicly what many were thinking.
And the government had been unable to stop them.
By morning, copies of the gryphon symbol appeared on walls throughout the capital.
Some were painted.
Others were printed on scraps of paper.
A few were carved into wooden doors.
The authorities classified the symbol as an expression of potentially harmful dissent.
The Department of Visual Equality recommended its removal.
Unfortunately, removing it might violate the artistic expression rights of the people responsible.
The matter was referred to Your Conscience.
The system recommended a review.
The review was postponed because the Department's staff had exercised their right to a four-day wellbeing weekend.
Meanwhile, at Eastwood Primary Learning Centre, Arthur Penwick arrived for work.
He was wearing a large identification badge.
ARTHUR PENWICK
Recognised Behavioural Condition.
Please Respect My Individuality.
There were more than three hundred people outside the school.
Rebecca Foster stood at the front.
"You're not going in."
Penwick stopped.
"I have a legal right to work."
"And our children have a right to be safe."
"My condition is recognised."
"We know."
"Then you cannot discriminate against me."
A man shouted from the crowd.
"Get away from the school!"
Penwick looked towards the Community Harmony Officers.
"Do something!"
One officer raised his hands.
"Everyone, please remain calm."
The crowd surged forward.
Penwick retreated.
Someone threw a bottle.
It shattered against the school wall.
A woman screamed.
The Harmony Officers withdrew towards their vehicle.
Rebecca turned towards the crowd.
"Stop! There are children inside!"
Nobody seemed to hear her.
Daniel Harrow heard about the confrontation over the radio.
He was at the printing works with Reeves, Bennett and Ellis.
Keane entered carrying a paper map.
"Eastwood's getting ugly."
"How ugly?" Harrow asked.
"Several hundred people. Parents mostly. Penwick's inside the building."
Reeves stood.
"Then we'd better get over there."
Harrow looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because someone's going to get killed."
Ellis turned from his equipment.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"The first broadcast has been copied thousands of times."
"Good," Reeves said.
"Not entirely."
Ellis brought up an image.
It showed the gryphon emblem.
Below it was the words:
THE GRYPHON RIDERS HAVE DECLARED WAR.
Harrow frowned.
"We didn't say that."
"No."
"Who did?"
"Someone using our symbol."
Bennett looked towards the map.
"We've got a problem."
Reeves smiled grimly.
"We've got several."
Harrow picked up his coat.
"Get the car."
At Eastwood, the situation had deteriorated.
Penwick had retreated into the administration building.
The remaining teachers were attempting to evacuate the children through a rear entrance.
Several parents had forced their way through the main gates.
Windows were broken.
A small fire had started in a rubbish container near the entrance.
Rebecca Foster stood between the crowd and the school doors.
"Stop! The children are still inside!"
A man pushed past her.
"Move!"
"Listen to me!"
He shoved her aside.
Another man was carrying a metal bar.
Someone else had brought a container of fuel.
Rebecca saw it.
Her face drained.
"No!"
The man began pouring fuel against the entrance.
"Don't do that!"
He ignored her.
Rebecca grabbed his arm.
"THERE ARE CHILDREN INSIDE!"
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then someone behind them shouted:
"Burn it down!"
A burning object flew over the crowd.
Flames spread across the entrance.
Rebecca screamed.
Harrow arrived as black smoke began pouring from the school roof.
He was out of the vehicle before it stopped.
"Michael! Rear entrance!"
Reeves ran towards the building.
Bennett pushed through the crowd.
"GET BACK!"
Nobody moved.
She seized the nearest man by his collar.
"GET THESE PEOPLE AWAY FROM THE BUILDING!"
The old police authority in her voice was unmistakable.
For a moment, people obeyed.
Harrow reached the side entrance.
Two teachers were helping children through a window.
"How many are still ninside?"
"Eight!"
"Where?"
"West corridor!"
Harrow pulled his coat over his face.
Reeves appeared beside him.
"Coming?"
"Try stopping me."
They entered the smoke.
Inside, visibility was almost nonexistent.
The fire had spread rapidly through the old timber partitions.
Somewhere ahead, a child was crying.
Harrow followed the sound.
A classroom door stood partly open.
Inside were four children huddled beneath a desk.
A teacher lay near the doorway, coughing violently.
"Everybody up!" Harrow shouted.
He grabbed the nearest child.
Reeves lifted another.
They moved towards the corridor.
A section of ceiling collapsed behind them.
"Move!" Reeves yelled.
They reached the side entrance and passed the children to waiting parents.
Harrow turned back.
"How many?"
A teacher counted desperately.
"Four still inside!"
Reeves looked towards the burning roof.
"Dan, that place is coming down."
Harrow started towards the entrance.
Bennett caught his arm.
"No!"
"There are children inside!"
"Look!"
Across the courtyard, a teacher emerged through a rear door carrying a small boy.
Three other children followed.
The crowd cheered.
Harrow stopped.
Then the building shuddered.
Part of the roof collapsed.
A shower of sparks rose into the sky.
Someone shouted that Penwick was still inside.
Nobody moved to help him.
Harrow looked towards the flames.
Reeves stood beside him.
"Dan."
"What?"
"He's still in there."
Harrow said nothing.
Reeves looked towards the entrance.
"Are we going back?"
Before Harrow could answer, the remaining roof collapsed.
Flames burst through the windows.
The crowd fell silent.
By evening, Eastwood Primary Learning Centre was a smoking ruin.
All the children had been accounted for.
Three teachers and several parents were being treated for smoke inhalation.
Arthur Penwick was missing.
Emergency crews believed he had been trapped inside.
The authorities had not yet confirmed whether he was dead.
Rebecca Foster sat on the pavement beside the school.
Her hands were blackened with soot.
Harrow approached.
"You all right?"
She looked up.
"No."
He sat beside her.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then she said, "We only wanted him removed."
"I know."
"We wanted someone to listen."
"I know."
She looked towards the ruins.
"Now look."
Harrow said nothing.
Rebecca began crying.
"What have we done?"
Across the street, someone had painted a large golden gryphon on a wall.
Beneath it were the words:
JUSTICE HAS RETURNED.
Harrow stared at the painting.
He felt no satisfaction.
Only dread.
At the Palace, Rowan Sinclair watched the evening news.
The official report described the destruction of Eastwood Primary Learning Centre as an unfortunate consequence of heightened community emotions.
The newsreader announced that the Department of Personal Behaviour had opened an investigation into discriminatory attitudes displayed towards Arthur Penwick.
The families involved had been offered counselling.
Those responsible for the fire were encouraged to voluntarily identify themselves for behavioural assessment.
Rowan switched off the screen.
"This is madness."
The Leader's assistant looked startled.
"Leader?"
"Children could have died."
"Yes."
"And our departments are investigating whether the teacher's rights were violated?"
"That is the recommendation."
Rowan walked towards the window.
Outside, distant columns of smoke rose above the capital.
"What are people saying?"
The assistant hesitated.
"About what?"
"About me."
"Leader, public opinion remains strongly supportive."
"Don't give me the official figures."
Silence.
Rowan turned.
"What are they actually saying?"
The assistant swallowed.
"They say you've lost control."
Rowan stared.
"Who says?"
"People."
"Which people?"
"Quite a lot of them."
For several seconds, the Leader said nothing.
Then Rowan asked a question that would have been unthinkable only a week earlier.
"Do they want me gone?"
The assistant looked towards the floor.
That was answer enough.
At the printing works, Simon Ellis was examining the results of the second unauthorised broadcast.
It had lasted nearly nine minutes.
This time the masked speaker appeared against a professional-looking backdrop.
A large gryphon emblem filled the wall behind him.
A proper desk had replaced the folding table.
The lighting was better.
The sound was clear.
And the audience was growing.
The broadcast condemned the failure of the education authorities, demanded independent investigations into abuse allegations and warned government departments that their decisions would be publicly examined.
For the first time, it also mentioned the growing number of violent criminals disappearing across the Unification.
"People are entitled to protection," the masked speaker declared. "When institutions abandon that responsibility, they should not be surprised when citizens begin protecting themselves."
The message ended with the familiar words:
WE ARE WATCHING.
Ellis looked pleased.
"Much better."
Bennett watched the recording.
"It's becoming a proper operation."
"Another few weeks and we'll have a studio audience," Reeves said.
Harrow did not laugh.
He was looking at the audience figures.
"How many people?"
Ellis smiled.
"Three million confirmed connections before the government interrupted the signal."
"Three million?"
"Possibly more."
Keane leaned forward.
"Then they're listening."
Harrow nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Bennett looked at him.
"What's wrong?"
"Eastwood."
Reeves sighed.
"Dan—"
"We broadcast a warning. Somebody used our symbol, and a mob burned down a school."
"We didn't tell them to do that."
"No. But they're listening to us now. Every word."
Keane folded his arms.
"What do you suggest?"
Harrow looked at the gryphon emblem.
"We need to decide what we stand for before someone else decides for us."
Ellis was about to reply when his terminal flashed red.
He frowned.
"That's strange."
"What?" Bennett asked.
"An incoming transmission."
"From whom?"
Ellis stared at the screen.
"The government."
Reeves grinned.
"Perhaps Rowan wants to join."
Ellis shook his head.
"No. It's from Your Conscience."
Harrow moved closer.
"What does it say?"
A message appeared.
UNAUTHORISED BROADCAST SOURCE IDENTIFIED.
Below it was the address of the printing works.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then a second message appeared.
CITIZEN HARMONISATION UNITS DISPATCHED.
Keane looked sharply at Ellis.
"What are Harmonisation Units?"
Ellis was pale.
"I don't know."
A third message appeared.
CORRECTIVE INTERVENTION COMMENCING.
Outside, something heavy moved along the street.
Metal wheels.
Engines.
Then the unmistakable sound of several vehicles stopping.
Reeves reached for the rifle leaning against the wall.
Harrow looked towards the entrance.
"How many?"
Ellis checked the security display.
His expression changed.
"Dan."
"What?"
"There aren't any drivers."
On the screen, six black armoured vehicles stood outside the building.
Their doors opened.
Figures began emerging.
Not police officers.
Not soldiers.
Humanoid machines carrying weapons.
Harrow stared.
"What in God's name are those?"
Ellis looked at the message.
Then at the machines.
"Apparently," he said, "Your Conscience has found a way around the prohibition on compulsory employment."
The first machine turned towards the printing works.
Its eyes illuminated.
A mechanical voice echoed through the street.
"Citizens. Your voluntary cooperation is required."
A weapon rose.
"Failure to cooperate will be interpreted as a request for corrective assistance."
The front door exploded inward.