"Hey, boss," Bill bellows, "do you understand the binary language of moisture vaporators?" He seems to be very pleased with his own sense of humor.

"I told him nothing!" I raise my hands defensively.

"I bet you didn't," Mr. Warren mutters, trying to get closer to his office. Making an almost perfect C3PO impression on his way.

"What did you do?" Bill asks him. "Did you run to a different city, or what?"

"I lost track of the time while making laps." Mr. Warren shrugs, limping to his door.

"You should put a compress on it," Thelma tells him.

"You should prop it up and let it rest," Ollie suggests.

"You should go see a doctor, it can be something more serious," Liam thinks.

"You should buy a fucking smartwatch, like normal people do," Bill offers.

"You should stop abusing your knees like this, cause you'll be crippled in no time," Andy adds. He's an old colleague too, looking like a tango dancer, and dealing mostly with insurance cases, so his opinion sounds like a valid one.

"I should have stayed at home and die in peace," Mr. Warren chooses, closing his door behind his back.

I'm with him on this one.

But Bill is probably not. He follows him to his office, reminding him of the trial he should attend today, and motioning toward the rest of the team to come closer.

"Who's the judge?" he asks Mr. Warren.

"Peterson."

"It won't work then." Bill smirks.

"Why not? He's a good guy," Mr. Warren says.

"He is. But also too small to carry you on his back to the courtroom. If we got McEvans, he'd stand a chance. He's a fucking powerhouse, man. But Peterson?"

"Very funny," Mr. Warren says, looking anything but amused.

"Besides," Bill goes on, "I don't see how it'd help the image of the firm, having a protocol droid."

"Hey, watch your mouth," Andy cuts in. "That's pretty irreverent towards someone who's fluent in over six million forms of communication."

"Absolutely," I agree. "And what if the judge asks something in Hutt? He's our only hope!"

"A new hope!" Ollie nods.

"Enough!" Mr. Warren sighs. "I got it. Bill, you go in my stead. Can you do it?"

"Of course."

"But you have one at 10 as well," Mr. Warren goes on. "Ollie, can you cover it?"

"I can. But I won't make it to the one starting at 11 then. Thelma?"

"I'm full for today."

"Andy?"

"I also have another one at the same time. But it's not very complicated, anyone can take it."

"Hm," Mr. Warren muses. "Who's the judge?"

"I don't know." Andy shrugs. "It's a small claims procedure, so I haven't paid much attention. Sorry, boss, I go and check it."

"No need," Mr. Warren says. "It doesn't really matter."

Then he turns to me with a meaningful look.

"It's time."

"For what?" I ask.

"For you to go alone."

"Oh. Okay." I nod, trying not to sound confused. "But how is that even possible?"

"You can do it," he declares. "You're ready."

"But—"

"I'm sure you'll do fine," he insists. "Don't worry."

"Thanks. But that's not what I asked."

"Oh. Okay. What did you ask then?"

You would know it already if you'd let me finish my sentences, I think. I'm absolutely proud of myself for not saying out loud, however satisfactory it would be.

"How is that possible?" I repeat my previous question. "Technically, I mean. Will the court accept my proceedings at all?"

"Of course." Mr. Warren shrugs. "I wouldn't be sending you there otherwise. You just go under my name."

"Your name?"

"You should see your face now. I didn't mean to make you panic. It's not like you have to marry me, it's just how it's done. It means I'm accountable for your actions."

"Okay. You're braver than I thought."

Bill laughs out loud.

"It means nothing else than he pays the insurance. Among us, only Thelma and Andy are fully independent. I still go under his name too. After all these years."

"But why?" I ask, trying not to sound totally perplexed. "Everyone but me and Liam has a choice."

"I don't know, it's their decision." Mr. Warren shrugs. "Maybe not all the people in the world would be rather dead than depending on me."

"That's right," Bill laughs, "and I'm also fucking lazy to make all the registrations. Not a big difference anyway. Not here."

"It's not just the insurance, I can decline clients too," Thelma points out.

"You can." Bill smirks. "But you never do."

"I declined once," Thelma protests. "That case of my nephew whom I'm not on speaking terms with. Mark took that."

"I did," Mr. Warren admits. "And I fully understand why you're not on speaking terms with him."

"It's not exactly what being independent should mean," Andy muses, "your boss keeping your batshit crazy relatives away from you. In normal places it means something. Unlike here."

"Hey, pal." Bill pats his shoulder. "Is it already that time of the month? Never mind, we all missed your usual rant about founding your own business and kicking our ass."

"One day I will," Andy sighs.

"Right." Mr. Warren nods. "When you find that normal place of yours, I might go with you. In a normal place, I might have an office without ten people in it. Ten people I never asked to come in."

"Are we too much?" Bill asks, not sounding concerned at all. "We just—"

"Yeah. You just. Now everyone, out!" Mr. Warren commands us. "Get to work, double time!"

"Not you!" He points at me when I try to make a quick exit with them. I freeze on the spot.

"You need a letter of commission," he adds. "You present it to the court the first time you appear before it."

I wait patiently for him to fill it. When he gives it to me, I sense something suspicious in the way he's holding the document. As if he didn't want me to read it.

I refuse to take the hint.

It's nothing special. A form stating that I appear before the court as his employee, and he takes full responsibility for my actions.

Except for the part where my qualifications should be. That part is filled with a carelessly drawn irregular line.

"Do you have something to ask?" He looks at me, in a way that makes it clear that he strongly advises against it.

"Nothing at all." I smile. "If I look at it from this angle, it's a bad case of sloppy handwriting. If I look at it from that angle, it's a forgery of an official document."

He sighs.

"No one will take a single look at it," he promises. "Not today, not ever. They never do. My name sounds good enough for that."

I sigh too.

"I don't care much about what you do with your good-sounding name. It's your responsibility, anyway. I want to know the reason. But I'm sure you guessed that already."

"The reason is my responsibility as well," he states firmly.

He seems intransigent. I looked it up in a dictionary, and now I know what it means. Him at the moment, that's what.

"Okay." I shrug. "But you can't possibly think that I won't find it out by myself."

He closes his eyes wearily.

"Can't you just trust me a little?" he asks, with his eyes still closed. "Just a tiny bit. Just in this single matter."

I don't answer. All I could say is no.

"All right," I mutter, avoiding the question. "I let it drop. But I need to know one thing. Is it against the rules?"

"Not directly," he answers, looking more relaxed. He probably misunderstood my silence.

"So it's a loophole thing. Okay. Do you have any instructions?"

"Do not talk about your legal studies if not asked directly."

"On the case." I furrow my brow.

"Oh. I see. Well, I don't think you need any instructions. Just go there and be yourself."

"It's my first time." I spread my hands. "What if I lose? You certainly never let others go in there with no instructions."

I can hardly believe it, but he just grins.

"That's right. But they are not you. You don't need anyone to tell you what to do, do you?"

"Come on! You just took full responsibility for my actions. You should be at least a bit worried."

He grins from ear to ear.

"I'm not."

I sigh and make my way to the door. I almost exit when he calls after me.

"Oh, it just came into my mind!"

"What?" I turn back, sounding a bit irritated.

"A fitting instruction for you."

"What is it?"

"Take no hostages."

I shut the door on him.

Later, after the trial, I have to admit that he was right. He had no reason to be worried. The judge didn't cast a single glance on my letter of commission. And I did fairly well by my standards.

I'm a bit high while returning to the office. Even if it was the pettiest case of the world, it was also the first trial I did by myself. Here, at least, in my new life. And I have no one to talk to about it. I try to call Ollie, but I get her voicemail.

When I arrive back, everyone's still out. There's only Liam and Mr. Warren, guarding house. Liam seems a bit sour when I announce that we won. Mr. Warren, on the other hand, seems to share my excitement. He grabs my hand and congratulates.

"Well done."

"Thank you!" I beam.

"Any surprises?" he asks.

"A few," I admit.

"Namely?"

"The judge asked mostly yes or no questions, so it was really for dummies. But there were some very strange questions amongst them too, which I didn't understand. Those archaic ones, you know."

"What did you do?"

"I asked the judge what the fuck he meant. Adding, of course, that if it pleases the court."

"Okay," he chuckles.

"And he explained them all. Except for one."

"What did he do then?"

"He admitted not having the slightest idea of what the fuck that question meant. He also informed me that people usually answered it with a yes, so he recommended me to do so, and he promised me to check it up for the next time."

Mr. Warren palms his face.

"When I told you to take no hostages, I meant the opponent, not the judge."

"I think he liked me." I shrug.

"I'm sure he did."

"You should have given me less ambiguous instructions."

"Like what?" he asks.

"Next time you can tell me to return victorious or dead. For example."

"I'm not sure I'd dare," he says. "What question was that? Do you remember?"

I do. And Mr. Warren admits exactly the same thing the judge admitted a few hours earlier. Then we look it up online.

"I still don't understand it," I tell him. "It must be my limited capacity with the language."

"No," he protests. "It must be that it means fucking nothing."

"But you still answered it with yes, a thousand times."

"I did." He nods. "And I will keep doing so. But it will never be the same. It will always remind me of you."

"A meaningless question," I muse. "How fitting."

"A meaningless question answered with yes," he says.