“I was no good at oral exams,” Tedla said faintly.
“Don’t worry, they’re not looking for eloquence,” Dag Sorno said. “What they want is good common sense. Now tell me all you know about Gammadian law. Is it based on divination, or oracles, or ordeal?”
“It’s based on statutes,” Tedla said a little indignantly.
“Too bad. That makes it tricky. Oracles are much more universal. They translate easily. I was at a Xic trial last week where the crucial testimony was given by the sacred lizards of the Psim Principle. When they ate the crickets, the defendant broke down and confessed on the spot. It was very convincing.”
“They allowed that in court?” Max said.
“K-Court is universal law,” the lawyer shrugged. “If you’re going to be tolerant, you’ve got to be tolerant.”
Max said, “So K-Court might, for example, accept a legal system that defined Tedla as not human?”
“Sure, if it didn’t violate one of the ups—the Universal Principles.” She embarked then on a long and technical discussion of the ups. Val could see Tedla’s eyes glazing over. She tried several times to catch its attention, and finally succeeded, raising her eyebrows in query.
“This is useless,” Tedla said as the lawyer drew breath. “I appreciate your help, but I just can’t do it.”
Dag Sorno studied Tedla’s face seriously. “If you don’t care enough about the outcome to argue your case, the judges will take it for de facto acquiescence.”
“You’ve got to do it, Tedla,” Val said softly. “Otherwise, everything you’ve been through will go to waste.”
Tedla sat for a moment with its eyes closed, as if trying to draw on some impossibly remote reservoir of courage. At last its jaw tensed, and its eyes came open. “All right,” it said. “I don’t want to let you down.”
***
The courtroom was laid out in a circle—symbolic, Val supposed, though of what she didn’t know. When she and Tedla entered, she found herself looking down on the court arena from the outer edge of a small auditorium. At the center and lowest point of the room was an open circle surrounded by a round counter or desk, divided into three sections. The judges’ chairs were ranged behind one section, with the petitioner’s and defendant’s seats behind the other two, facing the judges on the left and right. Val and Tedla descended the aisle through five tiers of empty seats. A group of Choristers was clearing up from the preceding hearing, which apparently had involved some sort of ritual staged in the open circle before the judges’ desk. Two Choristers dressed in feathers were shoveling the remains of a bonfire into some metal pails.
Dag Sorno was waiting, her hair in a ponytail twined with beads so that she rattled softly when she moved. She nodded at the petitioner’s desk, where Nasatir already sat waiting, along with his legal advisor and the other Gammadian delegate, a handsome, middle-aged woman. Dag said in a low voice, “WAC isn’t one of the petitioners. There must have been a break between them and the Gammadians. They’re interceding for the right to give Tedla medical treatment before any other action is taken.”
“Medical treatment?” As the words left Val’s mouth, a door across the auditorium opened, and her eyes met and clashed with Magister Surin’s. “Oh, I understand,” she said.
“What’s your position on their request?” Dag asked.
“Our position is No,” Val said, then caught herself and turned to Tedla. “I’m sorry, I should let you answer that.”
“You’re right,” Tedla said, staring at Magister Surin, looking pale but resolute.
“Epco’s also intervening, but it’s not clear why,” Dag said. “Do you know?”
The door had opened again, and a group headed by Shankar had come through. As Val watched, the Epco representative greeted Surin, shaking hands.
“I thought they were on Tedla’s side,” Val said.
“Please. They’re on their own side.”
The two interceders, WAC and Epco, approached down the steps, conversing pleasantly.
Val said, “Epco must want the Gammadian contract pretty badly. Maybe they’re here to snatch it up if WAC makes a slip.”
“That sounds more likely.”
As Tedla took a seat at the defendant’s table, Dag Sorno drew Val a few paces down the aisle and whispered, “How’s Tedla holding up?”
“All right so far,” Val said.
“Two out of three judges are likely to be sympathetic,” Dag said. “We’ve got a good chance, as long as Tedla doesn’t lose its nerve.”
The Choristers finished clearing up and trooped out, hauling their equipment with them. A bailiff passed around the room, securing the doors. All hearings were private, to protect the copyright of the participants; but in this case, the petitioners had requested extra security. They hadn’t even agreed to allow Max in as an observer.
The last person to enter, just as the bailiff was locking the final door, was Magister Gossup. Val felt a pulse of hope when she saw him, and touched Dag’s hand.
“What’s he here for?” Dag whispered.
“I don’t know. He may be on our side.”
“That would be a big advantage.” The lawyer looked positively hopeful.
But Gossup didn’t look at Val or Tedla. Instead, he skirted the room and took a seat behind the judges’ chairs. “He must be advising the court,” Dag Sorno said.
“That’s good,” Val said uncertainly. “He’s sympathetic, I’m sure of it.”
Skeptically, Dag said, “He’s Vind; you can’t be sure of anything.”
The two women took seats on either side of Tedla. Val noticed that Surin and Shankar did not sit together; each of them chose a place in the auditorium with their own cluster of legal advisors—Surin slightly behind the Gammadians, Shankar square in the middle, facing the judges. There was a moment of silence; then the judges entered in single file. Dag Sorno leaned over to whisper to Tedla, “The judges are called the Judic, the Syndic, and the Logic. Each represents a different aspect of the Universal Principles. You address them by title. Here, they don’t have names.” Tedla nodded nervously.
K-Court was a chameleon entity; it took on the rituals of whichever culture it represented at the moment, but had few of its own. As a result, the atmosphere was more informal than Val was prepared for. When the judges had settled into their seats and arranged their papers, the Syndic said, “This is the first Gammadian case we have seen. Our briefing on your culture has been very informative. On behalf of the court, I would like to express my wishes for a long and fruitful association between our peoples. I only regret that your first visit here has brought you to our court. I hope we can resolve your differences equitably.”
Nasatir rose and answered for all Gammadians, “It is most gratifying to find here an institution founded with such respect for differing customs and laws.”
This speech appeared to please the judges. Dag Sorno said in an undertone, “He’s smooth.”
They passed quickly through some routine matters: identifying the participants, invoking oaths of truthfulness, explaining the rules of court. The first critical order of business was assignment of the copyright to the trial proceedings. The lawyers got paid from the proceeds for selling the verdict to all the legal databases.
The Judic said, “It is customary to assign joint copyright to the petitioner and defendant. Are there any objections?”
Val gave Tedla a little push; they had discussed this at length. Tedla rose and said in a soft, deferential voice, “Judic, I would prefer to assign my portion of the copyright to Magister Valerie Endrada.”
Nasatir leaped to his feet and said, “I object to that. The person named is hostile to our interests, and might make use of the copyright to injure us.” He didn’t look at Val, but his animosity radiated across the room.
The Judic turned to Tedla and said kindly, “It’s a rather unusual request. What is your reasoning?”
Tedla was trembling, but its voice didn’t shake. “If Delegate Nasatir is
successful, he will have control of both me and my copyright. He will control both halves.”
Nasatir shot back, “If I am successful, I will have the right to control both halves.”
“It’s not unusual to assign copyright to the winner of the case,” the Judic pointed out.
Instead of arguing, Tedla said, “If Delegate Nasatir objects to Magister Endrada, then perhaps he would agree to a neutral third party, such as Magister Gossup.”
Gossup looked unmoved, but Val was startled. They had not discussed this. There was a short pause as Nasatir collected his wits; then he said, “This bland is being influenced to surrender its own rights, so that others can profit.” This time, he did cast a venomous look at Val. “It’s arguing against its own best interests.”
The Judic turned around to consult Magister Gossup, who leaned forward. The other judges then exchanged some words, and the Judic turned back to the court. “We don’t see a compelling reason to depart from tradition. Copyright will be assigned jointly to petitioner and defendant.”
Tedla sank back into its chair. Val felt deflated by the abrupt, unexplained decision, but she squeezed Tedla’s hand and said, “That was great.”
“I lost,” Tedla said.
“That doesn’t matter. The important thing is, you fought.”
All the same, she and Dag Sorno exchanged a puzzled, apprehensive look.
The next order of business was to determine which legal system applied to the case. This was the crucial argument, as Dag Sorno had drilled them. If Nasatir succeeded in getting Gammadian law accepted, the rest of the case was a foregone conclusion.
The delegate rose and gave a long and eloquent appeal, speaking of the inviolable right of a people to have jurisdiction over their own citizens. When he was done, the Judic said, “Delegate, how would you reply to the objection that this court cannot adjudicate Gammadian law because of our near-total ignorance of your statutes?”
“I would say, Judic, that no deep knowledge is required in this case. A few simple principles apply, which no one with even a glancing knowledge of Gammadian law would dispute.” He gave Val a scorching look.
“And those principles would be...?”
“The bland you see before you is a minor who was brought here illegally and against our will over a decade ago. I am now its legal guardian, and therefore entitled to decide what is in its best interest. In Gammadian law, this is equivalent to a custody case.”
The Judic turned to Tedla. “Is this true?”
Tedla rose. “Yes, sir. On Gammadis, it would be true. I also would not be permitted to speak for myself, which violates the Universal Principle of free testimony. Gammadian law is at odds with all other known planets on that.”
Dag Sorno had wanted that point made.
“That is not strictly true,” Nasatir replied smoothly, as if prepared. “In fact, a bland’s interests are protected in our courts by its guardian, who speaks on its behalf, much as lawyers do in your native courts. The reason for our law is to protect neuters from betraying their own interests. They are so impressionable and easily influenced that they simply mimic the last person to have coached them. They are quite incapable of reasoning out their own desires. It may appear to you that this bland is testifying. That is not the case. It has been skillfully trained by parties with agendas of their own, and it is those persons’ arguments you are hearing. You are not permitting this bland to testify any more than we would.”
The Logic, who had been silent up to now, leaned forward, looking from Tedla to Nasatir. “If the defendant cannot express its own true desires, then how are we to determine them?”
“Only someone with a deep historical knowledge of blands, and lifelong experience with them, can know what they truly want.”
The Logic turned to Tedla. “What do you say, defendant? Do you know what you truly want?”
It was the moment for a positive affirmation. Instead, Val saw a complicated, introspective look on Tedla’s face.
Slowly, it said, “If I’m not entirely sure of my own desires, Logic, it’s not because I am a bland, but because I am human. I may not know what my heart truly holds, but who does? I think we’re all mysteries, even to ourselves.”
Val saw the dismay on Dag Sorno’s face, and tried to hide her own.
In a kind, paternal tone, Nasatir said, “It puts a bland at a cruel disadvantage to ask it to articulate a point.”
“What is the position of the two interceders on this issue?” the Syndic said.
Shankar rose from her seat in the audience. “Epco favors the use of Gammadian law, Syndic. We believe this dispute to be a purely internal Gammadian matter which is only complicated by the interference of outsiders. In the interest of harmony and cultural relativism, we urge you to turn this matter over to the appropriate Gammadian authority.”
Epco was knifing Tedla to get a foot in the door, Val thought.
As Shankar sat down, Surin stood. “Syndic, WAC opposes the use of Gammadian law, because we believe it is not in the defendant’s best interest. We have offered Tedla the option of receiving medical treatment for a condition acquired on Capella Two. Tedla has consented to the treatment; we have a recording, if you would like to see it. Delegate Nasatir opposes the treatment, a decision we believe will prove harmful to Tedla. Under Capellan law, Tedla’s right to consent would not be abridged.”
What strange bedfellows, Val thought.
The Syndic turned to Tedla. “Do you want this medical treatment?”
Tedla paused a moment, caught between self-interest and the truth. Saying yes would make Nasatir look tyrannical and pull in WAC’s support. Tedla closed its eyes for a moment, then said, “No, sir.”
“Do you deny you consented?”
“No, sir. I’ve changed my mind.”
Surin shot up. “Excuse me, Syndic, but Tedla’s mind has been changed for it, by self-interested third parties. The bland will say anything to please the person it perceives as its guardian at the moment. I can give you a technical proof of that trait, if you like. It shows up clearly on the mentation graphs.”
“Not right now, thank you, Magister,” the Syndic said. He was studying Tedla with an air of perplexity. “I can’t remember a case in which so much doubt has been heaped on a participant’s ability to represent himself. Everyone claims to have your best interest at heart, Tedla. What do you think? You still have the right to speak.”
Visibly gathering its courage, Tedla said, “With respect, sir, I don’t think it’s possible for any human to know what’s best for a bland. No one knows what our lives or our thoughts are like, or when we’re well or sick. All my life, humans have told me what ought to make me happy, and they’re almost always wrong. I haven’t found the answer myself yet, but at least here I have the freedom to search for it.”
Tedla paused. Nasatir drew breath to say something, but Tedla said sharply, “I’m not done yet.” There was a firmness in its manner now, an urgency to be heard. It turned to the judges. “What people want, by and large, is what they are molded into wanting. When scientists expose laboratory animals to random shocks or loud noises, the animals quickly learn they can do nothing about it. If they are later offered a way to avoid the stress, like pressing a lever, the animals refuse, because they have resigned themselves to discomfort. Do they want it? Perhaps; at least it is familiar.
“People are no different. If we are drilled into accepting inferiority and dependence, we come to want its familiarity. I did, once. But I am different now. I have lived as a Capellan for a dozen years, and I have found what it’s like to have control over my own life and thoughts. It is hard, very hard. But at least I can be more than a thing, more than the creature of someone else’s will. I can construct value from my life, and find the authentic being within myself. Are you prepared to deny me that fundamental right?”
If Val had not been watching Nasatir closely, she would have missed what crossed his face as Tedla spoke. The careful facade of disdain wavered;
for the tiniest moment, she glimpsed uncertainty underneath.
There was a short silence when Tedla finished. By its end, Nasatir had recovered his control. He said with exaggerated politeness, “Are you done?”
“Yes, I’m done,” Tedla said.
The delegate turned to the judges. “These are Capellan notions it has been taught to mimic, like a parrot. No Gammadian bland has any notion of ‘fundamental rights.’” He paused contemptuously, quite unaware of the effect his manner would produce on a Capellan audience—the first slip Val had seen him make. Tedla had obviously rattled him. When he went on, his voice was scornful. “We have seen, actually, the effect of a bland having control over its own life and thoughts. For twelve years now, as it says, Tedla has had the perfect freedom to chart its own course. Look at the results. Given every opportunity to succeed, it instead sank into a depraved life of squalor and whoredom. At last its misery became so great it tried to kill itself in shame. Can you argue that it would not have been better off protected and cared for? Can you say that freedom was to its benefit?”
Tedla’s face was flushed and rigid. “I didn’t say that being human was easy, or that I got it right the first time.”
“Am I lying?” Nasatir demanded. “Can you tell them you didn’t sell your body for sexual perversions, or try to blow your brains out?”
Tedla said nothing. Its eyes were on the floor.
After an eloquent pause, Nasatir turned to the judges. “Capellans are very eager to tell us they are concerned for Tedla’s welfare. We have a different definition of kindness, I think.”
The judges actually looked uncomfortable. Val had a horrible feeling that the case had just been decided.
The Syndic looked at the other two judges, and said, “We will adjourn to discuss this issue. The court will reconvene in half an hour.”
Tedla collapsed into its chair. Its face was still flushed. “I’m sorry,” it said softly.
“Don’t worry,” Val said. “You did well. You almost had him doubting himself.”
Halfway Human Page 43
