by J Battle
I’m just about to protest that he’s got my name wrong, and that I’m really not a girl, and… but, no; I ‘ve got more important things to fret about, because he means me and he’s calling my name. He wants me up there now, and my stomach flips and my legs suddenly decide that they like where they are and they don’t have the strength to lift me.
‘Now, Mister Philippa Humphrey Chandler. The court is impatient.’
‘Yes…your judicial… thingy.’ What did she call him?
There’s a little platform in front of judge-guy and across from Millie, and that’s where I’m standing. They don’t even give you a chair. I’m trying not to look at Millie, but this close it’s hard to keep your eyes off those flotation sacs.
‘Do you intend to speak the truth to the court?’
It seems a stupid question to me. I’m hardly likely to say no, I’m going to lie my little heart out to the court, so there!
I play it safe.
‘No, your highness, I mean, yes, your highness. Sorry I got that wrong.’
It’s hard to tell from an alien’s expression what he thinks of you, but he doesn’t look impressed.
‘Mr. Philippa Humphrey Chandler, will you look at the accused and confirm that you recognize her.’
I’m giving him a look now, because I think he’s got it wrong. Hasn’t he read his notes, or whatever the prosecution have given him?
He’s obviously not up on human expressions, because he ignores it completely.
‘The court requires a confirmed identification of the accused.’
‘But,’ I begin, and then I try a long pause, because how am I going to say this? ‘I don’t recognize her, as she is now, because she didn’t look like that when I knew her.’
There, I‘ve said, and I think it came out right, didn’t it? What do you think?
Oh, you’re no help.
‘The court requires a confirmed identification before your testimony can be accepted.’
Now I’m getting annoyed. Didn’t he hear what I said? Perhaps my squawks came out wrong.
‘I don’t recognize her, as she is now, because she didn’t look like that when I knew her.’ I speak very slowly, so that he can get every squawk.
He calls an official over to him, and he whispers something to him, and the official gives me the sort of look I normally only get from my mother, and that’s not good.
‘Please explain to the court.’
‘When I knew her, she was an eight-year old human girl, with long blonde hair and a party dress.’
There was more discussion, and more disparaging glances my way.
‘Is the court to understand,‘ he begins slowly, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, ‘that it is your intention to testify against a human child, an eight-year old female human child, and not against the convicted?’
Now, how do I answer a question like that?
I have to give it a go, though, because I’ve come a long way, and I’ve still got that ulterior motive I mentioned earlier.
‘The accused has the ability to appear in other guises, your Highness, sir. And when I knew her, that guise was as a human female child.’
Now, he’s got to get that, hasn’t he? I can’t be any clearer, can I?
‘Mister Philippa Humphrey Chandler, the court understands the accused’s shape-shifting capabilities. Of course we do, it’s not at all unusual for a 9th level citizen. I myself spend my weekends and other leisure times in the form of a centaur; it is just so invigorating. But, to get back to the issue at hand, what the court doesn’t understand is how you think you can accuse this citizen of the Galactic Confederation of the heinous crimes listed in the indictment, when you can’t even be sure that she was the perpetrator of these crimes. Surely direct identification must be the minimum requirement in any such circumstance.
I want to explain to him just how wrong he is, but you know, when he says it clear and simple like that, it’s hard to disagree with the guy.
I’ve probably been moving my lips as I worked through this in my head, so I’ll just not say anything and, when people stop looking at me, I‘ll just sneak back to my chair and that’ll be alright, won’t it?
No laughing, there in the corner.
Chapter 22 Now, the Teddy
There’s another of the Stolys lumbering across the courtroom, but this one’s not as pretty as Millie.
Honestly, I’d thought that the aliens I found under the mesa on Greenhaven were ugly, but they’d have to step back and bow in admiration at the level of ugliness these guys have achieved.
It can’t be natural; it must be a deliberate choice. I can’t see how any mother giving birth to one of these wouldn’t give up and join a convent, if they have such a thing.
I’m sitting here, on a seat designed for the bottom of a creature not at all like me, and I’ve been sitting here for hours, with no-one to talk to. They’ve disabled Neville, temporarily I hope, and the Dumb Waiter, and even my upload facility to my NF isn’t working. Apparently this is standard practice for all witnesses.
In a very real sense, I’m alone in way I haven’t been for years.
They have let me bring in a recording device which records everything I hear, and I can sub-vocalise with comments of my own. Tonight, I’ll be able to upload the data collected, and my NF can do his stuff.
I should say that he’s working under protest, and there’s a surprise. He’s complaining that he‘s only getting audio, and not the full sensory upload he usually gets, so he says he’s just going to write everything down verbatim, and not embellish it in his usual way.
If you can tell the difference, it’s not my fault, it’s his. I’m only saying.
The new Stoly is squatting on the platform I used earlier, with a little less elan, I might say.
The judge-guy has just asked the stupid are-you-going-to-lie question, and he’s promised to be honest, which is hardly a surprise.
Hey, this is good. He’s giving us a bit of a show. He’s got a sort of 3D display going on. I can see a planet, and there’s Millie, and there’s me.
I’m standing up now, and I’m waving at the judge-guy. It’s probably not court etiquette, but I don’t care.
‘That’s her!’ I yell, and I point at the display. ‘That’s what she looks like when she’s a little girl. You can see the blonde hair, and the party dress, and that’s me.’ It’s not a great representation of me, I think. I look too thin, and a bit panicky, though I am standing my ground in front of a vicious little girl, so that’s something. I’m not entirely sure what the Teddy bear is doing.
The court official has a bit of a chat with the judge-guy, and they both keep looking at me, and then at the display, which the witness has frozen with me standing on one leg, scratching my head, and looking a bit stupid, if you ask me.
The official scurries back to his desk, and the judge-guy thanks the witness.
‘Mister Philippa Chandler, as we now have direct identification of the convicted, and a reliable link between her human guise and her real form, the court will now accept your testimony.’
Right, I’m up. I stride manfully across the court, and it strikes me that I am in fact the only one in the court who could manfully stride across the court. Apart from Millie, of course. I reckon she could easily out-man me with her cross-court walking.
(Now, you’re not going to hear Phil’s testimony, because you already know what he’s going to say and, frankly, I can’t bear to go through the whole thing again. You’ll get the verdict (or I should say the sentence) of course, at the appropriate time. This has been a message from your Narrative Facilitator. Thank you for your time. N.F.)
**********
I’m in a bar, and feeling nice and relaxed. The proceedings in court went well, I think, and I came across as an honest and reliable, not to say charming, witness.
They don’t have prosecutors or a defense here; the judge-guy just sort of asks you questions, and you don’t have to answer yes or no;
you just sort of tell your story. It’s almost as if they are trying to find out what actually happened.
Now that bit is over, I decided to join a couple of the court officials in their local bar, just to celebrate like. I won’t have to worry about the next part of the proceedings, the real reason I’m here, to be honest, for a couple of days at least.
The court officials are undulants (I know that’s not a proper word, but it sounds right to me), sort of big blue caterpillars if you like, and they are called Bob and Bobs, which is going to get confusing later, I’m sure.
I was really excited about trying their beer as, on Earth, you only have to travel as far as Italy or Spain to try fancy exotic lager, so how much better would it be when I’d travelled zillions of miles?
‘Zillion is not a number.’
‘Well it ought to be.’ As you see, now that I’m not in court, Neville is back, and my little nanos are reactivated, which is good. It’s great to think that I can arm-wrestle anyone in this room (anyone who has an arm to wrestle with of course) or just pick up a table with one hand, or squirt to anywhere I want to be.
‘You do realise that all the squirt co-ordinates you have are for Earth and its empire. You have no local co-ordinates programmed into Dumb Waiter.’
‘Well, that’s a bit of a failure on behalf of my super-smart companion, I think. Maybe I’ll just call you smart in future.’
‘I can of course squirt you anywhere we need you to be by doing the calculations on the run, so to speak.’
‘So, you want me to keep calling you super-smart?’
‘Only in the interests of accuracy.’
Bob has just brought over a tray of beers for us. I can’t say I’m impressed at first glance. They’ve come in vases, which is fine. And they are a bright, golden colour, which is excellent. But they don’t have lovely frothy heads, which is not so good. I know that some people say that premium foreign lagers don’t always have good heads, but I’m deducting points for the lack.
Bobs has taken a drink of hers, and she’s gurgled in a this-is-good sort of way. So I take a drink and, you know, it’s not so bad. It’s cold, and there’s a sharpness to it that I like and…my, is it strong? One sip and I think my legs have gone.
This is going to surprise you now, and I think it’s only one example of my developing maturity. The way things are going, I’ll be a proper adult in a couple of years and not just a tall kid. I’ve instructed my nanos to do whatever it is they do to process the alcohol out of my system. So I’m not going to get drunk, no matter how much I drink. These nanos, they’re the future, man; I’ll tell you that for nothing.
Now we've had a few, and my caterpillars are looking sort of mellow, and Bobs keeps bumping Bob with her head, or maybe it's the other way around.
'What do you reckon the verdict will be? Do you think she'll be found guilty?' I ask, as I allow myself 30 seconds of slight intoxication before my nanos kick in.
They both freeze at my question, and then Bobs sort of shivers.
'You may have misunderstood what you witnessed today, Philippa,' said Bob, slowly. I'm kind of getting used to the name.
'It was a trial, wasn't it?' It looked like a trial to me, anyway.
'Yes, but the purpose of a trial is not to ascertain guilt; that is a given, or why would a court be gathered together in the first place?'
'So, what is it for?' I asked, skipping past all considerations of natural human justice.
'The court will measure the degree of guilt and use that judgment to decide on the appropriate sentence.'
Given that she was as guilty as hell, and that I needed her to be found guilty, I should have been happier that the doubt had been taken away, but I don't know, this assumption of guilt by people who weren't actually there seems a bit off, don't you think?
'So what sort of sentence can she expect?'
'The range of possible sentences ranges from a serious admonishment from the judge…'
'You mean he'll just tell her off!'
'He has a very sharp tongue. As I was saying, from serious admonishment to de-corporation.'
'De-corporation? Is that like… you're going to kill her?'
'Her body will be removed and disposed of, but she will not actually die. Eventually, after a time specified by the court, she will have a new body grown for her, and she can carry on with her life, as long as she agrees to modify her behavior.'
'But…where is she when she's not in her body?'
'9th level races have access to other planes where she will be conscious, but unable to interact with others, unless they have also been de-corporated.'
Right, now I've softened them up, here comes the big question.
'Will I be allowed to speak to the court before sentence is passed?'
Bob looked at Bobs, and she looked right back.
'But, why would you wish to do that?'
'Oh, just humour me. Could I do it? Would I be allowed?'
'Oh, I think I understand. You wish to argue for de-corporation. Yes, given your experience with the accused, I fully understand. Yes, I can ask his highness for you to be given a moment to speak to the court, if that is what you want?'
What I want? It's the whole reason I'm here.
Chapter 23 Now, is this right? Because I like it.
One of the benefits of having my upload facility disabled whilst I’m in court, and having to tell you what happens, is that, well…I don’t have to tell you everything. Everything I’ve told you is the truth of course, but I’ve left something out.
Now I’m going to tell you about it and I don’t want you to judge me too harshly. It was never my intention to get into this sort of situation; not here, so far from home. And not when Emily is still expecting my call.
But I’m only human.
And that’s the problem, because she isn’t.
Her name is Aely-lel – there is more, but I could never get it right in my head. She’s humanoid; tall and willowy, and she has long green hair that can move of its own accord; as if she’s in a perpetual shampoo advert. She has the right number of arms and legs, and eyes, which is something I always look for in my women. Call me a traditionalist if you like. Her skin (what I’ve seen so far) is covered in the finest of golden downs, and her eyes are so big I feel that I could bathe in them.
She works at the court in some capacity which it is beyond my little brain to understand, and on my first day here, she took me to one side for a conversation.
I hadn’t switched on my in-ear translator, but her voice was so soft and enchanting that I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what she was saying; all that mattered was that she was saying those words to me.
When I did switch the translator on, I heard her say, ‘and so, that is how things will be done, and I hope you fully understand your role in the proceedings. If you have any problems, or any questions, you can contact me on the number I gave you earlier. Is everything clear?’
‘Er…’ I said, without my usual suave style, I have to admit. ’I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that number. Can you give it to me again?’ Then I switched on my best smile.
She gave me her number again, and she tilted her head to the side, which turned out to be the way her species smiles, and then she moved to leave.
‘Excuse me…Miss,’ I said, quickly as I realized that time was running out. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She glanced over to the water dispenser in the corner, with what I took to be a puzzled expression on her glorious face.
‘I was thinking of something a little stronger,‘ I said, with a man of the world swagger.
‘But…why?’
‘Er…well, it’s the way we say, sort of, thank you, on Earth, where I come from.’ It’s almost true.
‘Oh, I see. In that case, I would be pleased to accept a ‘stronger drink’ from you.’ She tilted her head again, and I thought, ‘you’re in here, son!’
Then she went and spoiled it all for me.
‘Please se
nd it to my home address at…’
I admit I stopped listening then, in a little fit of pique. Then I stiffened my shoulders and looked her in her wonderful eyes. I wasn’t going to be put off that easily.
‘I rather thought that we could share a drink?’ I said, with a heavy dose of sincerity, and a hint of melancholy; I’m very good with my hints.
‘Oh,‘ she said. ‘I see,’ she said. Then she tilted her head a little, and I smiled, and she said, ‘so, you want us to have sexual contact together?’
It was all I could do not to say, ‘Yes, please.’ Instead, I said. ’Well, it is a little early in our relationship…’
‘So, you don’t want to have sexual contact with me?’ She was tilting her head again, so I guessed that she was just teasing me.
‘Only if you insist,’ I came right back at her, with just the right note of playfulness.
She stared at me for a long moment then, with no expression on her face, and no tilting of her head.
Have I gone too far? I thought. Damn! I always go too far.
‘Then, I insist,‘ she said, and she tilted her head, and I tilted mine, and I felt a warm glow washing over me.
We’ve had lunch twice now, and she’s invited me over to her place tonight, and there was something about the way she held her head that said ‘bring a toothbrush.’
That’s tonight, and now I’m stressed.
Is it right, what we’re about to do? Is it wrong to be intimate with another species? I don’t mean your poodle, or your donkey, because that would be gross. I mean, with an intelligent, consenting (I think she’ll be consenting; that’s the message I’m receiving loud and clear, but you know me; I could be wrong) adult member of an alien species.
What do you think? One knock if your answer to my first question (that’s, is it right? In case you’re not paying attention) is yes, it’ll be fine, go for it. Two knocks if it’s no, that’s disgusting and wrong, and you’ve been sick in your mouth at the very idea.
