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Lucy Hawthorne sat at her kitchen table with a letter in hand, staring at the contents with a faraway look in her eyes. She'd read it many times, but still it felt unreal, as if sufficient study would cause the contents to change. She let it drop to the table and rose to leave, hesitated, and picked up the letter once more. It was relocated to a kitchen drawer, which Lucy held shut as if expecting it to pop open and eject the letter back into public view. Slowly, carefully, she let go of the drawer. Nothing happened. She let her attention turn to the upstairs of the house, moving through the quiet, cool space of the interior to the familiar gloom of the bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, the bed was half made and discarded clothes littered the floor. She looked around as if seeing the mess for the first time and chose something to focus on - a picture on a bedside table. She lifted it up carefully, admiring the young couple it depicted on their wedding day; herself and her husband, Joe. She ran a finger around the edge of the frame, caressing it as if it were a small, frightened animal in need of soothing. Her finger carried away a few particles of dust. With great care the picture was placed onto the pillow of the tidy side of the bed. A few moments later the rest of the table was cleared of contents and she departed, only to return a few minutes later with an arm full of cleaning products. The bedside table was scrubbed and returned to its proper condition, followed soon after by a methodical cleansing of every other surface in the room. The bed was made, laundry put away, carpet vacuumed, en-suite dried off and cleansed; she worked quickly, with the intense focus of someone determined to do the job to the highest possible standard. She moved across the upper floor of the house, cleaning each room in turn with the same determined vigour whilst in the bedroom the wedding photo was left resting on the pillow as if forgotten. Lucy finished her work and gave a quiet sigh, part from exertion, part satisfaction of a job well done. A prickling sensation ran down her spine as she realised she was not done; there was one room she had not touched today, or for many, many days prior - the child's bedroom.

The door slid open into another world. The bed was made in a slap-dash manner, the cover simply thrown back to roughly the right spot and never straightened or smoothed out. The pillows were off centre and still slightly depressed from their last use. The toys were cleared away, but the laundry hamper in the corner still had unwashed clothing, now months old, lying in the bottom. This was Molly's room, left exactly as it was after that fateful invasion of the home. Lucy hovered by the hamper, cleaning products in hand, taking in the fine dust layer that was slowly forming on the window cill and atop every flat surface. Such neglect was unbecoming of a Penitatas parent's household, but in a way it seemed wrong to clean it - as if in doing so Lucy would somehow wash away what little trace of her wayward daughter remained. Her eye was drawn to the unwashed washing, to a pink vest with a bunny motif. She reached down carefully and lifted it free, running her thumbs across the surface of the soft fabric. "Poor child..." Lucy mumbled. Molly had not been a good person - that much was self evident - but she did not deserve to die. She most certainly did not deserve to die in her own home, her final moments filled with terror. She deserved a chance to repent and reform, and now that was something she could never have. Lucy lifted the cloth to her face and inhaled deeply. The vest still smelled of her. A vivid ghost of a face flickered across her imagination and was gone again in an instant. She let the vest fall back into the hamper and left the room as it had been when she entered.

A chirrup from the vid-phone caught her attention as she descended the stairs. Pressing the receiver key caused a olive-skinned man with a handlebar moustache to appear. "Mrs Hawthorne? I'm calling on behalf of the Association of Penitatas Parents. This is a courtesy call to inform you your request has been approved, and we'd like you to report to the courthouse tomorrow at 9:30am sharp." "Not much forewarning." Lucy replied. "I am sorry about that. We've had some delays on our end, that's all. I trust you'll have everything in order." "Everything's already in order." Lucy answered, temporarily blotting the neglected bedroom out of her mind. "Excellent. Have a nice day, Mrs Hawthorne, and good luck with your new daughter." The call ended. Lucy stood idly in the hall, head tilted back and staring up through the ceiling; now she really would have to tidy up that room.

* * *

Jakob sat in the holding cell shaking with fear. It was a small, barren room designed for short-term occupation, where prisoners were left prior to facing the court. At an ungodly hour in the morning her parents had roused her from her bed, dressed her in an overly formal skirt (which had been met with considerable protest) and ushered her into the car. She had known something was very, very wrong long before they arrived at the courthouse. She sat on the mat placed on the cell floor, pressed into the corner of the room with her knees tucked up beneath her chin and arms wrapped firmly around her legs. She'd been in there an hour, but it felt like an eternity. Her mind wouldn't settle; it constantly dragged up images of the fate that awaited her, and with each reiteration that fate was made more terrible. They had discovered something - someone had talked, perhaps under torture at the hands of the Arbiters, and now damning evidence against her had been handed over. The current nightmares screaming inside her skull were that the Icaran government would deport her back to Ryyksaad to face punishment there.

That thought sent a shudder down Jakob's spine. She had spent six months in a labour camp on Ryyksaad, and it had been the most frightening six months of his former life. Memories floated to the surface of days spent in back-breaking labour, always hungry, thirsty and tired. The night brought little reprieve; crammed into communal cells in groups of forty, every night was spent lying in the dark with a shiv clutched protectively to his chest. Left in the dark, the Kyyreni prisoners often turned on one another; beatings were frequent, and prison rape was not unheard of. More terrible than any of that, however, were the nights of cannibalism. Daysiders, alone or in groups, would on occasion turn upon their cellmates when hunger, boredom and a lust for violence overwhelmed them. Three times Jakob had lain in his cot, frozen in terror as the screams of the devoured shook the cell block. The cell door opened. Jakob uncurled slowly and pushed against the wall to slide herself upright as the security officer entered. The middle aged man took her gently by the hand and escorted her toward the court room, which she entered via a side door that allowed immediate access to the box of the accused. She took her place with head held low, not daring to look around the room in any great detail. From the corner of her eye she could make out her parents sat on the front row of the witness stalls. They sat with grim, compassionless expressions on their faces. A stern voice rolled through the hushed, heavy air of the courtroom. "Please state your identity for the court." Jakob cast her gaze up toward the judge. He was a Jalaxian, covered head to toe in near-black fur that, when the light hit it the right way, could be seen to be very dark blue. Age had sagged his face so that he wore a permanent expression of melancholic disapproval. Her hands closed and unclosed against the faux-wood of the stand. "J-Jakob Romanov, born on Earth, age ninety one years adjusted." There was a brief pause as the judge confirmed the information via a hand console before proceeding. "Miss Romanov, it has been brought to the attention of this court that, during a time of war, you did knowingly and deliberately provide arms and information to the enemies of Icara and her protectorate colonies. Our own investigations confirm this, and have also brought several other offences to our attention, including..." The voice blurred out into obscurity. Jakob felt the butterflies in his stomach become increasingly frantic as the dark reality of his situation set in. The butterflies caught fire as the accusations washed over him, flying up inside her and burning her heart and lungs. She had to cry out to release the pressure; it was that or be cremated from the inside out. "You have something to say, Miss Romanov?" the judge asked, his monologue halting at the girl's strangled yelp. "I-it's not true! I n-never did anything wrong!" The Jalaxian leaned forward, fixing his rheumy eyes on the trembling child before him. "Are you really proclaiming your innocence, Miss Romanov? The evidence was presented to a jury of your peers, and they declared you unanimously guilty even before the character testimonials were offered. An impartial panel of judges reviewed your case and found you guilty beyond all reasonable doubt. We even have sworn affidavits from your former business partners. Tell me, Miss Romanov, what is to be gained from protesting your innocence?" Jakob couldn't answer. By that point she had been reduced to tears and could only keep herself upright by leaning on the handrail and she let out long, agonised sobs. For the third time in a year her world was coming crashing down around her, and it was too much for the girl to take. The judge sat in silence and watched as Jakob fell apart, his expression softening to an almost sympathetic expression as the girl confessed her guilt in the most damning of ways. "Miss Romanov, I think it is fair to say that you have pleaded guilty to these charges, by actions if not by words." The Jalaxian spoke with a gentle, soothing tone, yet it carried across the courtroom easily. "You have lived in contempt of the law, of every law, and you have shown no consideration for those whose lives have been ruined by your selfishness. That you evaded justice so long is an embarrassment that our justice system will not soon forget. However, we will learn from our mistakes, just as you will learn from yours." Jakob snapped her head up toward the judge, eyes wide and filled with mortal terror. "It wasn't my fault!" she cried, gripping the faux-wood rail so hard her fingers turned white. "I never meant to hurt anyone! I didn't w-want to hurt anyone! I didn't have a choice! Please, you have to believe me! I didn't- I just had to- I just..." The girl slumped, broken and defeated by the horrors of her past. "Please... I'm sorry..." The Jalaxian judge let out a gentle, tired sigh. "I wish I could believe you, Miss Romanov. In truth, I think the only thing you are sorry about is being caught." Jakob dared not meet his eye again as the judge drew himself up to his full height. "Jakob Romanov, for the acquisition and distribution of contraband weaponry; for the acquisition and distribution of illegal narcotics; for money laundering and loan-sharking; for smuggling, and for aiding others in the act of smuggling; for possession and use of falsified government documents, and for high crimes against Icara, the Federation, Humanity and its allies, you are to be sentenced to eighty years as a Penitatas, which will be served as 20x6-10. In light of your current circumstances, your initial cycle will be served 7-11. Whilst you are serving as a female Penitatas - and I wish to add that I see no reason to revert you back to your original gender - you will be given a new, more appropriate name. You will be recognised as, and answer to, Jackie Romanov from this day onward." The words reduced Jackie-née-Jakob to tears once again. She didn't fight when she was led away to the Rejuvenation wing, nor offer any resistance as the markings on her hands were painlessly wiped away and replaced by the silver P of a Penitatas. Just as a real child would in a time of such stress and trauma, all she wanted was her mother to hold her. Even that was denied her. She saw her parents stood to one side in the waiting room, but there was nothing welcoming about their posture. A third figure approached Jackie, interposing herself between child and former carers. "Come on, Jackie. Time to go home." It was Lucy.

Muscle memory was always a problem, and it found ever more inventive ways of showing itself. The most obvious example within the Johansson household of late was the off-key twanging of strings. It wasn't quite as bad as nails down a chalk board, but it wasn't far off either. "Matt! Will you please give it a rest now? You are giving me a headache!" Matt Johansson had the decency to look embarrassed and put the instrument down. "I'm sorry. I used to be really good with the guitar." Chloe rolled her eyes theatrically. "It's been, what, forty years since you last played? Fifty? And that was in your previous lifetime! You can't expect to magically know how to play again without ever re-learning how! Besides, it's not even your instrument!" The guitar in question was an acoustic model loaned to Jas by the school music department. Most Schools on Icara and her colonies were quite happy to loan out equipment to most pupils, particularly those from Penitatas households - a Penny would not dare misuse the loaned item for fear of terrible punishment! Whilst the argument was taking place, Vaahn and Jas were both sat in the living room smirking to one another and enjoying the sounds of their father being scolded like a child. When the holophone rang they both jumped in surprise, quickly trying to hide the fact they'd been taking pleasure from their father's discomfort as their mother emerged and answered the call. "That was Lucy," Chloe announced. "We've arranged a little play-date with her new daughter." "Who's that?" Jas asked. "Wait and see."

Jas and Vaahn had last seen Jakob two days before. To find her now living with Lucy Hawthorne, wearing a dress and answering to a new name was somewhat confusing, though Lucy seemed happy to explain the events that had led to this change of circumstance. With the arrival of the guests, Jackie was told to go upstairs to play with them, with an emphasis on being quiet and well behaved. As the trio headed upstairs and past the first bedroom Vaahn paused, cocking his head and pointing a thumb toward the closed door. "Isn't this your room?" Jackie shook her head and pointed to the guest bedroom. "Lu- momma says this is my room now." Clearly not satisfied with the answer, Vaahn accepted it for now and followed Jackie. There wasn't much playing taking place. Jackie shifted uncomfortably, clearly having been spanked not long before the boys arrived. They glanced around the lavender walls and did their best to avoid the elephant in the room. Unable to stand the silence any longer Jackie blurted out, "Aren't either of you going to say something?" Vaahn simply shrugged. Jas gave her an awkward look and answered, "This is a little difficult, you know? To find out what you did and to know you'd gotten away with it so long... I don't really know what to think about you now." Jackie turned to Vaahn for support. "I was on your side, Vaahn! Why are you giving me the cold shoulder?" "The cold what?" Vaahn replied. He shook off the confusion and pressed on with, "Look Jakob. Jackie. Whatever. The point is you are a traitor. If you can cast aside one loyalty, you can cast aside any loyalty. You were never 'on my side'; you were just playing both sides for your own gain." "You really think that?" Vaahn sneered at her. "I'm considering whether it'd be worth the hiding I'd get just to give you some good hard knocks to the head." Jackie sniffled a few times and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I- I don't w-want you to hate me. I really need someone to b-back me up right now. I need friends..." Vaahn gave another shrug. "One thing you'll learn pretty quickly is that if your parents want you to be around someone, you will be around them whether you like it or not. If you're smart, you'll grin and bear it." Uncertain of just what Vaahn was saying, Jackie wiped her eyes with the other sleeve and looked at him. "So, are we still friends?" Vaahn and Jas exchanged a glance. Jas looked back to Jackie and said, "Yes." "Thanks guys." Jackie said softly.