by J Battle
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 send 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.
So, nothing? Nothing at all back from you, again. Well, no knock is closer to one knock than it is to two knocks, isn’t it. So, I’m taking that as a yes.
Now, for the bigger problem. You’re going to think that I’m crass and petty for worrying about this, and I would agree with you, if you’d ever give your opinion. But admit it, if you were in my position and about to make love to a beautiful alien creature, you’d ask yourself the very same question.
You see, she wears a very smart sort of uniform, and very nice she looks in it. I can see that she has nice long, slim legs, with arms to match, and, of course, from the neck upwards she is stunning.
Her uniform doesn’t cling and mostly disguises her figure, but I’m pretty sure she has breasts. I have a knack for spotting these things.
But, at the risk of being indelicate, I don’t know how the rest of her is set up, if you know what I mean. I don’t know for a fact that everything will match, when we get down to it. And that’s a worry for me.
I can hardly ask her, can I? I can’t say, ‘Do you want another drink and while I’m at the bar, here’s a pencil and some paper, and could you just draw your lady-parts for me, and I’ll be right back. Do you want some nuts?’
I worried that, just when I’m about to show her my best moves, something disgusting will chomp down on me, and the next time you see me, my voice will be higher and my skin much smoother.
Anyway, that’s enough about me, Millie’s just come into court, and she’s lumbering across to the platform for the convicted.
The judge-guy is back, and yes, this is the sentencing, I think. They didn’t have a verdict, because it was a foregone conclusion anyway.
The judge-guy is saying something to Millie. He’s telling her that she can make a statement in mitigation before sentence is passed. From the way he’s talking, and my in
-depth knowledge of the way aliens work (hey – do you know anyone who’s had as much experience of dealing with aliens as me? No? Then keep your thoughts to yourself) I think it’s just a formality and nothing she says will affect the sentence.
She looks straight across the court at the other Stoly who had given evidence previously. It has to be the same alien; they couldn’t have two that ugly.
‘He made me give away puppies,’ she says, with a forlorn tone, I think. It could have been peeved, or resigned, or just irritated. ‘He made me give away puppies.’
That was all she said.
‘It behooves this court…’
I’m standing up, because this is my moment. This is why I’ve come trillions of miles; why I’ve let them disable Neville, this is what I came to do.
‘Er…excuse me, Sir. Mister Judge-guy. Can I address the court?’
He gives me a dirty look, or it could equally be an encouraging look. No, it feels like a dirty look. I’ve been the recipient of enough of them in my life, so I should know.
‘Speak, Human,’ he says.
‘Well… it’s like this,’ I begin.
(Can I just record my concerns about the way I'm being expected to produce this material? Just now, I learned about Phil's putative exotic paramour at the same time as you did, and how can that be right? What else am I not being told about? He's hardly the most reliable witness at the best of times, and now he has complete control of what he tells me about his daytime experiences. Just don't expect any sort of quality, that's all I'm saying.
I'm just starting my second Pixie book, not that you're interested. Did I mention that the first one only sold seven copies? At least, with the second book, I already know that no-one is going to read it, so I don't have to make it accessible or funny, or even have to think about paragraphs and chapters. I can just let it flow out of me and on to the page, and it can be as long as I Iike. I can create dozens of wonderful, life enhancing characters, and then I can kill them off, one by one, in the most gruesome of ways.
