It took us around half an hour to run to the local military police station, and breathlessly I enquired at the front desk about my daughter.

“Yes, I booked her in about an hour ago, sir,” said the desk sergeant. “There’s no need to worry, she is perfectly fine. She was interviewed and then sent to her own cell to have dinner.”

“So can we go and see her?” my wife asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” he replied sympathetically, looking down at his papers. “Justice is swift these days. You can see her when she goes before the magistrate tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

There was nothing to do but trudge home and come back in the morning.

The court was attached to the police station, and by a quarter to eleven we were seated in the public gallery overlooking the courtroom, which was currently on recess.

At eleven o’clock sharp a functionary called out ‘all rise’ and the judge made his way to the bench at the front of the courtroom as we stood with respect.

The functionary called out again: “Call Jane Everett and Eliza Fairchild.”

A dread filled me as my daughter walked out into the courtroom wearing royal blue tracksuit bottoms with a matching crew neck T-shirt emblazoned with a white vinyl prisoner number on its chest and sleeves.

Her hands were cuffed in front of her, but she held her head high and didn’t look scared as she was shown to the stand, which gave me some relief.

Eliza made her way to the witness box looking rather nervous. She had been cleaned up and made up, so you would never have guessed that she’d been punctured by so many darts just yesterday. You could see swelling around her left eye though and I wondered if she was now blind in that eye.

My attention went back to the judge.

“This is a preliminary hearing to determine if there is a case to answer,” he informed the court. “The defendant is accused of being a rebel sympathiser. How do you plead at this stage?” he continued, turning to address my daughter.

I was floored at her reply:

“Guilty… ish.”

“Uh huh,” replied the judge, turning to the prosecutor. “Details please.”

“We have a witness,” said the prosecutor, gesturing at Eliza, “who yesterday named three of her co-conspirators, who are all unknown to the police, and also alleged that Miss Everett frequently expressed support for rebel actions.”

“Miss Fairchild, please can you confirm this?” said the judge.

“Certainly,” said Eliza, “On five occasions at school I have overheard her defend our actions to her friends. In fact I considered bringing her into my confidence to see if she would join us in our fight.”

“How do you respond to this accusation, Miss Everett?”

“Eliza is telling the truth, sir,” my daughter replied in a clear, even voice. “I did defend the ELA’s actions in the early days, when they were peacefully protesting. I was disappointed with our government’s approach to discipline in school.”

“But when they started blowing things up and killing people, I couldn’t support that. I just don’t like seeing people hurt, even those who have done wrong.”

“It didn’t worry you last night,” Eliza muttered.

“I have recently wavered, it’s true,” continued my daughter, turning to Eliza. “But that’s because you’re a bully, not because you are a rebel.”

“Eh, what happened last night?” asked the judge.

Eliza shifted uncomfortably. “She threw deadly darts at me.”

“Ah, I see,” said the judge, sighing and looking carefully at his notes. “I see you have been condemned by a higher court for murder. All this is an ill-thought-out attempt to reduce your sentence and throw in some petty revenge. Am I right?”

Eliza had bowed her head and didn’t reply.

The judge looked at my daughter. “Compassion is no crime, Miss Everett, but you do need to learn that what our government does in regard to punishment, though sometimes severe, is necessary for a stable society to function. Therefore I sentence you to one hour of public humiliation.”

Glancing once again at his notes, he continued, “Justice will be swift, as usual, which is to your benefit as you will be able to return home immediately to your parents. You will take an open spot at the local funfair tonight.”

At this he tidied his notes and got up to leave. Everyone got to their feet and I looked over at my wife, who was wiping away a few tears.

I put my arm around her shoulder. “She was very brave, love. Honesty is the best policy, always. I’m proud of her. And one hour of public humiliation shouldn’t be too onerous.” I hoped I wasn’t being too optimistic.

As we watched everyone leave the courtroom, I noticed the judge stop my daughter at the door and have a short discussion.