“Like whether Rex is a person or not?” Hellene asked. “That’s real, is it? Our decision will make or unmake the world, just because we say ‘this is a thing’?”
“Real enough for me.” Kahner shrugged.
“And you?” Hellene turned her sharp gaze on Aslan.
He shrugged. “I was never a theologian either.” But then a thought came to him, from a long time ago when he was more devout and less jaded. “The Quran, though… you know what I mean when I say Jinn?”
Kahner tried to exchange glances with Hellene, but her attention was solely focused on Aslan. “Go on.”
“The message of the Prophet was to both men and Jinn – creatures not human but capable of knowing God.” Aslan’s hands made vague passes in the air as he tried to recapture those long-ago lessons. “So if Jinn, then why not Rex? That he was made by man rather than God, does that mean he’s nothing?”
“You worry me sometimes,” Kahner said, shaking his head.
“They’re bringing him out,” Hellene said quietly.
What was happening on the screen was less court business and more some barbaric triumphal procession. Security personnel came first, in stab vests and riot helmets, carrying automatic weapons. And more and more of them: six, eight, ten, as though some dour paramilitary Keystone Cops was being played out for the world to see. Then there was a pause, and Aslan realised with bleak humour that it would be a squeeze for Rex to fit through that door, and plainly nobody had thought it through.
He appeared in the doorway, crouched low and with his blunt, heavy-jawed head thrust forwards. In that moment he was every bit the monster that had terrified humanity since the dawn of time, every wolf howl in the night, every set of gleaming eyes in the darkness.
And this was the viewing public’s first sight of Rex.
He levered himself in one elbow at a time, his hands secured before him in massive shackles. He looked like an ogre, and the security men skittered back as he burst into the courtroom. Aslan almost expected him to lift his head and howl at the indignity of restraint. And then shatter his bonds and run riot.
Instead, Rex adopted a hunched, uncomfortable posture at the witness stand, trying to make himself as small as possible but still looming monstrously over everything. They chained him to the podium and they chained him to the floor, and Aslan could see the guards getting bolder the more weight of shackles was added to the Bioform. He felt as though, any moment, they would begin taunting him, when they knew they were safe.
And Kahner said, “It’s like they’re about to shave him.”
“What now?”
“Samson,” Hellene murmured, and Kahner gave her an odd look.
“Well, OK, yes, but I was thinking about the other guy.” At their blank looks he sighed exasperatedly. “Oh come on, KJ, you of all people should get the reference. Didn’t you see the movie, at least?”
Aslan nodded, belatedly.
“You think he’s doomed,” Hellene observed crisply. Her eyes never left the screen.
“I think, now they’ve seen him, once they hear what orders he followed, the world will call for the extermination of every Bioform they ever made – not just the military models but all of them,” Aslan confirmed miserably. “And it’s wrong.”
“Yes,” she confirmed, to his surprise. “It’s wrong. And things may go badly if that happens.”
“One battle at a time,” Kahner told them. “Let’s nail Murray first. Bitten by his own dog, the bastard. Pure poetic justice.” He grinned broadly. “And here come the players!”
The court staff were filing in, and not one of them failed to flinch or stop dead at the sight of what was waiting for them.
“Turn the sound up!” Kahner called. “They’re bringing in Murray.”
25
Rex
I am Rex. I am a Good Dog.
Humans cover themselves with so many different scents, harsh and artificial in my nose, but what they smell of most is fear. All humans except one smelled of fear when I met them. All humans were scared of me.
I understand more now than I did. I know that fear does not just mean that they want to run away. Humans destroy the things they are scared of. If I had the power to destroy a thing I was afraid of, I would too.
But I know also that humans do not stay afraid, or they do not have to. Doctor Thea de Sejos was not afraid of me. Hart was not afraid of me. Even Keram John Aslan the lawyer stopped being afraid of me at last.
But the humans in this small room are very afraid of me, even though I am so thoroughly chained. They point their guns and they scowl and they growl, but behind it all is fear. I am here to serve a purpose, to be a Good Dog. I am here to tell the truth.
David Kahner, who is another lawyer, has explained this to me: I need to be helpful. I need to be helpful by telling them all the things that I have done in the Campeche. He says that if I am helpful then people will like me more.
Lawyer Aslan disagreed, I could tell, but he didn’t say anything. I could not understand him. Surely Lawyer Kahner is right: being helpful is good; being helpful will make humans like me more. I want humans to like me. I want to be a Good Dog.
Lawyer Kahner had wanted a whole pack of dogs here to tell the truth about the Campeche, but he only has me. The other military dogs could not tell him the full truth because their hierarchies kept getting in the way and confusing them. They had cages in their heads that they could not get out of, to tell the truth. And they did not know as much as me, anyway.
I don’t have a cage in my head. My hierarchy protocols have been removed. Everyone was very confused about that, but I remember the last message I received from Hart. He did this. He opened the cage.
I talked to Honey the night before today. Her voice came in on her channel from far away, where she is hiding. I told her what Hart did, and she agreed with me. I asked her if it could be done to the other dogs. She said she is working on it. Honey has a plan. It is a very big plan. It will be easier for her to make happen if the humans do not decide to destroy us all. So I am being helpful. Because that will help.
I crouch here, uncomfortable and twisted by my restraints. What will happen if I ask the humans to loosen them? They are too full of fear, I think.
Lawyer Kahner went through my evidence with me beforehand, event by event. We talked about everything my squad did before we were cut off from Master. I told him about all the times we fought enemies: enemies with guns and enemies without guns, big humans and small humans. I was very helpful. Sometimes I was so helpful that Lawyer Kahner had to go for a walk before we could continue.
But at the end he was pleased with me, and he wasn’t afraid any more, or not in the same way. And he said I should just tell it all, just the same. They made recordings of our discussions, but it will be what is said in the court that will mean the most. That is what this human-filled room is: a court.
Some of the humans have recording devices here, and I understand that, through these, many more humans are watching me. They will hear me being helpful. They will see me being a Good Dog.
Someone new is coming into the room.
Master, it is Master.
I try to jump up, and my chains and all the things my chains are attached to jump with me. The humans with guns are shouting at me and pointing their weapons. Does that mean they are enemies? Should I be fighting them? Master is here. I am confused. I want to go to him, but I am chained. I bark: not a word, not the language I am supposed to use, but just a bark, like a dog.
Everyone else in the room is confused too – and even more frightened. A lot of humans have got up. Some are screaming. The humans with guns are shouting at me. I am full of wanting-to-fight-or-run.
But I am a Good Dog. I am not going to fight or run. I make myself calm down, and I stop pulling at my restraints. I tell the humans, “I am sorry.” My voice is different.
“I am sorry,” I say again, to hear it. The humans do not seem to believe me, but for this one moment I have forgott
en them. It is still my voice, but the deep growl part of it has gone. I access my systems: I have two voice options, my old voice and this new one: war voice; kind voice. I know that Honey has done this, somehow.
“I am sorry.” Still a deep, booming voice, but without all the subsonics that make people frightened. I look at the humans, trying to make them see, but they do not know my old voice. They do not understand. Only Master knows the difference.
I look at Master. Master looks at me. I cannot tell what he is thinking, but he is not afraid.
Master has a lawyer, too: a female human who looks displeased with everything. She is saying something now. I cannot understand most of it. I think most of the humans here cannot understand most of it. What she means is that I should not be allowed to speak and that what I have said in recordings should not be allowed. She says I am not a fit witness.
I want to talk to her, but Lawyer Kahner told me I should speak only when spoken to.
I listen to her: she says that I will say whatever I am programmed to say, that I am a thing, and not a person. Another man, Lawyer Arnac who is a friend of Lawyer Kahner, says that I am still evidence. They argue about me in polite, calm voices, and all the while Master looks at me.
I am starting to understand what this is about. I did not, before. I thought it was about truth. But Lawyer Aslan told me this was about punishing bad men. I thought he meant enemies.
As the lawyers argue about whether or not I should get to speak, I start to make a picture in my mind about what is happening in this court: which bad man is to be punished, and which things that he did or ordered were bad things. I had not seen things this way before. I had come in here thinking I knew which was right and which was wrong, and how to be a Good Dog. And now I think, am I a Bad Dog now? Is all this me being bad?
Or is everything before, everything in the Campeche, me being bad? Because I must have been a Bad Dog then or now, and both times there were humans telling me what a Good Dog I was for doing it.
I start to whine a little, deep in my chest.
I want Honey to help me. I want Bees and Dragon. I want to know what is good and what is bad.
And through it all, Master watches me. I cringe from his stare, but he does not look angry. He does not look like he is going to punish me. And I know I deserve to be punished. I just don’t know what for. I am a Bad Dog. I am a Bad Dog. Everything I ever knew is wrong.
And then Master and Master’s lawyer are speaking. They are very quiet, but I hear them. He wants to speak to the court about me. His lawyer does not want him to. Master is leader, though. The lawyer is like Honey: she is clever, but she must do what she is told.
And finally she says to the chief human there, “My client would like to make a statement to the court.”
The other humans argue about this too, but not for long. I hear all their whispered discussions. Lawyer Arnac and his team think that Master may ‘incriminate himself’, and so they do not argue too hard.
Master stands up. I wait for him to say whether I can or can’t speak. I wait for him to give me orders, even though my hierarchy is gone and so I do not have to follow them. I would still follow them, wouldn’t I? He is my Master, and a dog needs a Master.
Except that I am here to tell about the bad things Master did, the bad things he told me to do. That will make him a bad man, and they will punish him. And that is the right thing to do. Lawyer Aslan and Lawyer Kahner and Ellene Asanto and Doctor Thea de Sejos all said so.
Except it would hurt Master. I have disobeyed Master already, and I was a Bad Dog even though that was a good thing.
Except, except, except. Whine.
“Rex,” says Master, meeting my gaze. “I can see you’re unhappy with this. You’re a Good Dog, Rex.”
My feedback chip agrees and I am happy.
“Rex, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.” The other humans are telling Master this was not what he was supposed to be saying, but he ignores them. I am the only one he cares about.
“I know you’ll do the right thing, Rex.”
Then he is told to sit down and be quiet and the judge rules that my ‘testimony is admissible’, which is lawyer language for saying I should speak.
And Lawyer Arnac has his questions. He shows me pictures of places in the Campeche – places where I fought enemies. He tells me dates that correspond to entries in my database. He asks me what I was ordered to do and what I did. The whole court is quiet as they wait to hear what I will say. They listen and they point their recording devices.
Master is watching me.
I am shaking. I am a Bad Dog. Master is a bad man but he is my Master. I only had one Master. I know I disobeyed him in the Campeche. I know it was right, but now he is right here and I do not know what is right.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I get out.
“It’s all right, Rex.” They don’t want him to speak, but he doesn’t need to say more than that.
Lawyer Arnac is repeating his questions, getting angry. I look from him to Master and back. “Please,” I tell them, cringing, ducking my head. “Don’t make me, please. I don’t want to. Please. I’m sorry, Master, I can’t.”
Arnac is angrier and angrier. He had a clear plan of how this was to go. I practised it with Lawyer Kahner. I am the key evidence that will join Master to the bad things that were done. I am the tool with which Master did these bad things. I am a Bad Dog. There is no way I can see these things that does not mean I am a Bad Dog.
“Please,” I whimper, and Arnac is angrier, shouting at me, leaning over me. I could take him in my jaws, but I just cringe lower and lower, shaking and whining. Once he raises his hand to strike me, before he remembers he is a lawyer and lawyers do not do things like that.
I feel emptied out. I have done the wrong thing again. I can never get anything right. “I’m sorry,” I say, again and again, until they give up and I am taken out by the humans with guns.
When I look back, Master is smiling, and that is worst of all.
26
Aslan
Kahner was still drinking, but it didn’t seem to be taking the edge off his bitterness or misery. He was taking the whole thing far more personally than Aslan would have thought. Probably it was the glittering career he could have built on the successful prosecution that cut most deeply, rather than bringing such a notorious war criminal to justice. Or perhaps that was harsh. There was no reason personal ambition and a love of justice needed to be mutually exclusive, after all.
The trial had gone downhill after Rex. That there were terrible crimes committed in the Campeche by Redmark forces was never in dispute, but where the buck stopped was like smoke. It seemed mind-blowingly obvious to Aslan and Kahner and many others that Jonas Murray had been holding the leash all that time, but get the matter to court, and… Murray was clever, and his defence team was clever, and every incident seemed to have a weak link they could exploit. Murray would plead that he had conflicting orders, conflicting reports; that subordinates of his had taken matters into their own hands. Where were these subordinates? Many of them had died in the fighting or could not be located. At least one key witness had met with an accident before they could testify – just plausible enough as an accident that no fingers could be definitively pointed.
And the case against Murray had begun to evaporate. They got him on minor matters, but the big charges – the chemical weapons, the clean-up – buzzed about his name like flies over excrement, but never settled.
His lawyer had made a dynamite closing speech. She had pointed out the severity of the crimes, the fact that Murray would likely be executed if convicted. She pointed out the multinational force that had sent Redmark into the Campeche. She asked who the real villains were. Murray was no more than a scapegoat, she said.
And although the prosecution had scrabbled and scrabbled, none of it had quite been enough. Murray walked out of the court a free man.
Kahner was incandescent. Then Arnac had turned up and sho
uted at him and the two of them had got into a blazing row. Kahner had said things to his superior that would probably not assist his career. Then he had come to the bar and started on the Scotch.
Aslan just sat and watched him, and thought about Rex. His report had been handed in before the trial and his own superiors would certainly have been watching the Bioform’s performance on the witness stand, as had millions of others.
Someone dropped down into the booth beside him. Expecting Kahner back with another glass, he jumped when he saw it was Maria Hellene.
“Congratulations are in order, I understand,” she said. “What do you mean? For Murray?”
Her smile was small and prim. “You need better sources of information in your own department, Mr Aslan.”
Kahner was getting into an argument with the bartender. Aslan grimaced. “Look, it’s probably not a good time to be cryptic, OK?”
She slid a tablet over the table to him. “Advance viewing for you. You didn’t get it from me.”
His eyes flicked down, irritated, then stuck. “Is this…?”
“Preliminary recommendation, but it’s going to go through,” she told him. “Looks like you did some good work there.”
“We both know it wasn’t my work that swung this.” He couldn’t stop staring at the tablet. The committee he had reported to had finally stirred themselves. As he had predicted, they had been putty in the hands of public opinion. Except that public opinion had shifted since Rex’s dismal performance on the Murray trial. Those moments, when Arnac had been browbeating the Bioform and the huge creature, shackled and bound, had just sunk lower and lower before him, whimpering and distressed. From villain to victim, fearsome to fearful. Everyone had heard Murray’s words to him, everyone had seen the wretched creature, tormented and conflicted – human emotions written plain on a canine face and in the hybrid language of its Bioform body. Everyone had seen a dog who hadn’t wanted to go against its Master.
The Internet had gone mad for it. That great chaotic weathervane of human opinion had switched from terror of the ravening Bioforms to fervent campaigns for Bioform rights. There had been petitions and flame wars and fan sites within the day. People had got hold of the fact that the future of Bioforms was even then being weighed, and had contacted their elected representatives. And no doubt the corporations and regimes who had made use of Bioforms as security services had been fanning the flames. Any semblance of actual rational debate on the question was overwhelmed by a great tide of well-meaning human emotion.
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