“Saaret met with the new Empress this week, George. I guess she’s going to attempt justice reform and weapons acquisition reform. I asked him what are we going to do, and he basically said, ‘She’s the Empress. We do whatever she wants.’ He seems awfully unconcerned about her changes. Especially in weapons acquisition. I mean she is a lawyer, so the justice reform thing is at least in her area of expertise, but what does she know about weapons?”
“What are you supposed to do, Larry? It sounds like you have no choice.”
“But I do have choices, George. The first and easiest is to ignore her.”
“How likely is that to work out on the long haul?”
“Depends. How hard is she willing to push?”
“And if she is willing to push?”
“One step at a time. I don’t like to invent problems.”
“Not a lot of fun.” Stanier took a swig of his beer. “On another topic, Larry, I’ve been trying to get hold of some military surplus stuff for the Imperial Police. Some of the places we operate are sort of on the edge, and I think we need more capability. I’d like to get hold of some of that stuff and start testing it here at headquarters, see if it would be useful for us in the field.”
“I don’t see a problem with that, George. We have a lot of unused equipment. Some of it is coming due for replacement.”
“Well, I’ve been asking Newsom about it for a while, and he strings me along with ‘I’ll look into it’ sort of things.”
“Let me talk to him, George. See what we can come up with.”
“Thanks, Larry. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem.”
Disaffected
Andrew Forsythe came into their apartment and threw his briefcase on the sofa on the way to the bar in the corner.
“Oh, that doesn’t look good,” said Darrel Hawker, his roommate.
“It’s not,” Forsythe said and took a big swallow of bourbon.
“The Sidley case?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna skate.”
“How the hell is he going to skate?” Hawker asked. “I thought you guys had him nailed.”
“So did I. What it looks like to me is somebody paid off the judge.”
“Really.”
“Really,” Forsythe said. “Every objection goes against us, a lot of the evidence has been disallowed on bullshit grounds – or at least what seem like bullshit grounds to me – including the forensic evidence – lots of stuff. How the hell are you supposed to convict anybody without forensic evidence? That’s the whole case. But it gets worse.”
“How can it get worse?”
“I think the prosecutor is on the take as well.”
“Oh, come on, Andy,” Hawker said.
“Really. We aren’t making anywhere near the objections we should be. We didn’t even object to the disallowance of the forensic evidence. And if you don’t object, you have no basis for appealing the judge’s actions.”
“So now what?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty disgusted with the whole thing. Hey, I have to head out for the alumni seminar tonight. It’s my turn to take the speaker out for dinner.”
“All right. Well, try to have fun.”
The Imperial Center School of Law Alumni Association had a monthly seminar, at which one of ICSL’s more distinguished alumni would speak, primarily for the benefit of younger alums. The younger alums ran the program, and one tradition was that one of them would take the speaker out for dinner in advance of the program.
W. Robert Finn, senior partner at the top-drawer law firm of FitchRoberts, was well aware of the dinner tradition, as he had been one of the organizers of the seminars when he was a young lawyer. Some people didn’t like to be the dinner host, so he had volunteered as often as he could, and it had served him well. As a result, he was interested to meet his host tonight. How much would his host remind him of his younger self?
Finn walked into the restaurant, the Glass Stallion in Imperial Park West, also traditional, and was met by a young man.
“Mr. Finn?”
“Yes. Mr. Forsythe?”
“Yes, sir. Please, come this way.”
Finn looked over Forsythe as they threaded their way through the restaurant to their table and were seated. Forsythe looked to be in his late twenties, more than thirty years Finn’s junior. Where Finn was a big man of medium height with a shock of black curly hair – shot through with gray now – Forsythe was tall and thin with short blond hair. Blue eyes, though, like Finn’s. Why did so many litigators have blue eyes?
And if eyes were the windows to the soul, Finn recognized in those blue eyes – their restlessness, their quick comprehension – some part of himself.
After they looked over the menus and ordered – a chicken vegetable stir fry for Forsythe and a prime rib and salad for Finn – they got down to business.
“If the tradition hasn’t changed in thirty years, we begin with you telling me something of yourself before you start asking me questions,” Finn said.
“No, sir, that hasn’t changed. I graduated ICSL three years ago, and took a position in the Department of Justice as an associate junior prosecutor.”
“Class rank at ICSL?”
“Eighth in the class, sir. Magna cum laude. And co-editor of the ICSL Journal of Administrative Law.”
“Impressive.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Bob.”
“Yes, sir– er, Bob. And I’m Andy.”
“All right, Andy. So what questions do you have for me?”
“I had a whole list of them, but I’ve thrown them out. I just have one question for you. Is the legal system in the Empire corrupt?”
“Bad day at the office?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. I’m in court on a case now. It’s like watching a badly acted play, where the lines were all written in advance by someone else, and all the players are just reciting the lines they were given. The judge, the attorneys, everybody. There’s no argument, no deliberation. No justice.”
Forsythe looked down at his hands on the table.
“I never wanted to do anything else than the law. It’s a magical thing to me. Such a marvelous construction. Centuries of tinkering and refinement, to produce such a wonderful thing, a means for justice to prevail. The very basis of civilization.”
He looked up at Finn.
“And now that I’m inside, I find it’s polluted. It’s play-acting, for money. A way for the strong to beat up the weak without even getting their hands dirty. It’s disgusting.”
Finn watched with sympathy. He well remembered how he felt when he found out how the system really worked. Then, though, there was nothing to do about it except try to make it work as equitably as you could. Now, though....
“There’s another ICSL alum you should probably talk to, Andy. I’ll see if I can set it up. I already have your contact information. I’ll let you know.”
Forsythe nodded.
“All right. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, do you have any questions about tonight’s topic? Abrams et. al. v. Empress Ilithyia et. al, the M132 Osmium Drivers case?”
“Yes, actually. In that case, how did the Department of Defense and the big weapons contractors not prevail? I would think they could bring tremendous pressure to bear, including buying off anyone within a mile of the courthouse. How did that not happen in that case?”
“Ah, but one mustn’t misbehave when the Empress is watching, and Her Majesty had her own personal lawyers be of counsel on the case. We still have a system of high justice in the Empire, and if one misbehaves when the Empress is watching, heads may roll. Literally. So everybody behaved.”
“That was well played.”
“Yes. Her Majesty, may she rest in peace, was a brilliant gamesman.”
“So how did the seminar go?” Darrell Hawker asked Forsythe when he got home that evening.
“Good. Bob Finn is a tremendous litigator. He got
the government and weapons industry lawyers so tied in knots they didn’t know which way was up. In the end, the Empress herself settled the case.”
“Wow. That’s some lawyering, right there. And how was dinner beforehand?”
“OK, I guess. I asked him if the justice system of the Empire was corrupt, and he didn’t answer. Not directly. He just said there was someone else – another alum – I should talk to.”
“Huh. So he didn’t get all spluttery and say ‘What do you mean? How can you even imply the justice system is corrupt?’ Well, there’s your answer.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
“I wonder who he has in mind to put you in contact with?”
“No way of knowing. Maybe it was just a way of putting off the question. He said he’d try to set it up, so I may not hear from him at all.”
“Be seated, Mr. Pullman.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You asked for this meeting, Mr. Pullman. What is our topic?”
“You no doubt remember Bob Finn, Ma’am.”
“The attorney from FitchRoberts on the M132 case. Of course, Mr. Pullman.”
“Well, Ma’am, he called me yesterday. I understand that he gave a seminar to the Alumni Association at the Imperial Center School of Law. On the M132 case, as it happens. Anyway, if you remember the seminars, one of the organizers takes the speaker out for dinner before the seminar. It’s a tremendous opportunity for young attorneys to meet senior people in a casual encounter and chat with them one on one.”
“I recall, Mr. Pullman.”
“He said his host buttonholed him at dinner with a single question: ‘Is the justice system of the Empire corrupt.’ He went on to describe the system as a way for the strong to beat up the weak without even getting their hands dirty, and it was disgusting. Apparently, he has been in love with the law all his life, and he is appalled at what he finds now that he is in it.”
“And you think he’s our man, Mr. Pullman?”
“Perhaps, Ma’am. I’ve done some research on him. He’s young. He graduated a few years after you. Eighth in his class.”
“I was twelfth in my class, I think.”
“Yes, Ma’am. So he could be our man. Certainly he is someone who sounds like he should be involved, whether he’s the Shadow Councilor for Justice or not.”
“And Mr. Finn brought him to your attention, Mr. Pullman?”
“Yes, Ma’am. He knows reform was the Empress Ilithyia I’s agenda, and is likely yours as well, from your reign name alone. He also knows the Imperial Palace has been hiring junior people from across the government, presumably to steer these reforms. He put two and two together and got four.”
“Very well, Mr. Pullman. Bring him in and talk to him. If he passes muster with you, I will want to meet with him.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Andrew Forsythe,” Forsythe answered the VR call.
“Yes, Mr. Forsythe. This is George Pullman. Bob Finn gave me a call and suggested a meeting.”
“Yes, Mr. Pullman. Bob said he would try to set it up, but he wasn’t sure if it would come to anything.”
“Well, it has. I wonder if you could stop by my office tomorrow. What’s your schedule like?”
“As it happens, I’m open tomorrow, sir.”
“Very good. Let’s go for start of business. 9:00 AM. Just call at the Imperial Park West entrance of the Imperial Palace at 8:30 and ask for me.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“See you then.”
Forsythe searched the databases on George Pullman. ICSL graduate. Same graduating class as W. Robert Finn. Was Empress Ilithyia I’s representative on the M132 case. That’s interesting. So he’s why there was no misbehaving, as Finn had put it, on that case. On the Empress’s personal staff. And that’s where the trail ended. People’s roles on the Empress’s personal staff were not open to further inquiry.
The Empress’s personal staff numbered ten thousand or more people, so George Pullman could be anybody. As the people mover at the West Imperial Park entrance of the Imperial Palace connected all the buildings in Imperial Park, he could work in any of them, in any sort of role.
Who was George Pullman? And why did Bob Finn set up this meeting?
“Imperial Palace?” Darrell Hawker asked Forsythe.
“Imperial Palace.”
“Best court suit, then. Spiff it up.”
“I don’t know the meeting will be in the palace itself. It could be anywhere in Imperial Park. I have no clue who George Pullman is, even.”
“Best court suit. You don’t know that it isn’t in the Imperial Palace, and you yourself said you don’t know where this is going. Step it up, rather than get caught flat-footed.”
“You’re probably right. And my best suit is just back from the cleaners. All right. I’ll dress for meeting the Empress herself.”
“There you go.”
The page who guided Forsythe from the West Imperial Park entrance and onto the people-mover said nothing, and Forsythe didn’t ask any questions. He noted they got off the people mover at the Imperial Palace stop, and took the elevator up to a floor eight or ten floors down from the top. The page led him out of the elevator and addressed the elevator lobby receptionist.
“Mr. Andrew Forsythe for Mr. Pullman, ma’am.”
“Thank you. This way, Mr. Forsythe,” the receptionist said.
Forsythe followed her through glass doors and down the hall to an office. She knocked once and opened the door.
“Mr. Forsythe is here, April.”
“Thank you, Sue. Come in, Mr. Forsythe. Please, have a seat while I let Mr. Pullman know you’re here.”
Forsythe sat down and the secretary disappeared into the inner office. She returned within a few seconds and held the door for him.
“Mr. Pullman will see you now, Mr. Forsythe.”
Pullman watched Forsythe enter the room. It looked like he wore one of his best go-to-court suits. Pullman hadn’t warned him on dressing for the palace, because he wanted to see what the young man would do. He had made the safety play of dressing up rather than down. Good.
Forsythe looked at Pullman, standing by his desk, as he entered. Sixtyish, graying, medium height and build. Pretty nondescript, except for those eyes. They were the eyes of a cat – green and frankly staring, weighing the prey.
“Mr. Forsythe. Good to meet you.”
“Good to meet you, Mr. Pullman.”
“Call me George.”
“And I’m Andy.”
“Very good. Have a seat, Andy.”
Pullman waved him to a seating arrangement off to one side of his desk, and Forsythe and Pullman sat in facing chairs over a low coffee table.
“So, Andy. Bob Finn tells me you are somewhat disaffected, shall we say, with the justice system.”
“I put it rather more strongly than that, George. I said I was disgusted by it.”
“Indeed. Please tell me why.”
“When I was put into the new school curriculum, at age thirteen or so, I found that the system contained lots of court cases. I spent my free-reading time reading those cases. Not just the opinions, but the complaints, the briefs, the motions and responses, the transcripts of the trials. I was fascinated by the law, by the interplay of the litigants and the rules, seeking to find equity, or, at the least, justice. At its best, it is a monumental human achievement, and at its worst, it’s still better than any other system anyone has come up with.”
“And then you hit the reality of the law in today’s Empire.”
“Yes. In which the strongest – and in this environment, that means the richest – litigant simply uses the system to beat the weaker into submission, or to escape the just desserts of their criminal acts. It is a perversion of something I felt in my gut to be almost holy, a literal sacrament of justice. It’s obscene.”
“And you don’t know what to do about it.”
“What can be done, George? By me? By you? By anyone? And so
I find myself lost. That thing I grew up admiring from afar turns out on closer approach to be a mirage, or better, the ghost of something that is now dead.”
“Well, one person can do something, Andy, and you’re going to meet her in about –“ Pullman checked the time in VR “– fifteen minutes.”
“Meet her? Meet who?”
“Ah. Andy, you may be suffering under something of a misunderstanding. Bob Finn said he would try to set up a meeting for you with another ICSL alum. He didn’t mean with me. The meeting he set up is with the Empress. In about fifteen minutes.”
“The Empress? Me?”
“Yes. She, in fact, can do something about the current state of the law, and she intends to just that.”
“But what do I do? What do I say?”
“Be as honest and forthright with her as you’ve just been with me. She is very quick, and no attempt to deceive or manipulate her is likely to work. As for protocol, it’s much like court. Address her as ‘Your Majesty’ the first time you say anything, and ‘Ma’am’ after that. She will call you ‘Mr. Forsythe.’ If she stands, you stand. When she sits, you remain standing until she tells you to be seated. That’s about it, really. Just answer her questions. If she asks something too personal, just say you don’t want to answer it. You’re not under subpoena or in deposition, so you are not compelled to answer. Any questions?”
“Why me?”
“Because you love the law, and you hate what it has become. Come on, let’s go. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Mr. Forsythe is here, Your Majesty.”
“Show him in, Mr. Perrin.”
Forsythe walked through the connecting door from Perrin’s office into the Empress’s office. The Empress Ilithyia II sat behind a large expensive desk, and was dressed in a business suit not unlike those that female attorneys wore to court every day. Her blond hair was up, and she regarded him with vividly blue eyes. She was very beautiful. Two Imperial Guardsmen stood at ease in the corners behind the side chairs, facing the desk.
“Be seated, Mr. Forsythe,” Dee said with a wave of her hand to the chairs before her desk.
Usurper Page 5
