by Neil Clarke
She stood. “You need to be in court at noon. Clean up. Dress well and say nothing.”
“You’re going to send me to the Ziyit, aren’t you?” the girl asked.
For the first time, she seemed scared.
Kerrie knew better than to soothe her. Anything could happen in court, no matter how much an attorney planned. And when the deck was stacked against her, the way it was in InterSpecies Court, only a fool made promises.
“I won’t send you to them,” Kerrie said. “The judge will.”
And then she left.
She had cleared her schedule of court appearances but not of cases. She was still buried, just not as momentarily busy. Still, there was always more to do.
Before she took the tram back, she saw two more of her clients stuck in jail. Normally, she wouldn’t have had a chance to see them before they arrived in holding. This time, however, she was able to take their measure—not just of their appearances, but their willingness to plead. Of course, they both thought she could get them off and when she told them she couldn’t, they asked if she could find a Disappearance service for them.
Technically, she said piously, because she always had to say this piously, Disappearance services for people in your situation break the law. I can’t break the law or I would lose my law license.
As she rode back, she wondered if losing her license would be a bad thing. What was she doing, after all? Just processing people for various governments, sending them away. Getting them through the system so that they could receive punishment for crimes many of them didn’t even understand.
She forced herself to review Donnatella’s files instead of think. She searched and as she searched, she found what she was looking for. Her stomach knotted.
In nearly two years, she had never tried anything like this. But it was, as Maise said, her one chance at an acquittal.
She had to try.
Courtroom 495 was Kerrie’s least favorite courtroom in the entire Inter-Species Court system. Despite its number, it was one of the older courtrooms, small and cramped, with a low ceiling, dark faux wood walls, and benches that hadn’t been upgraded since the courtroom was built. A small dock separated the prosecution and defense table from the benches and from the jury box.
But there hadn’t been a jury seated in this courtroom in decades. Jury trials were so rare here they had become a spectator sport and as such had moved to the larger courtrooms in the center of the so-called courthouse.
No one sat in those seats, however, making the courtroom oddly packed in all areas except one. The chairs even looked new there, which Kerrie always thought somewhat sad. She found it a commentary on the system eating everyone alive.
She arrived ten minutes early. Ten minutes early and she had even managed lunch. Lunch on the tram—cold sandwiches made of mystery food—but still more than she got on many afternoons.
As the court clerk called her case, Kerrie moved to the defense table. The bailiff went to holding to get Donnatella Waltarie. The Peyti, Uzvik, had a seat in the front row. He must have been there since Kerrie made him leave the jail.
The bailiff brought Donnatella into the courtroom. She looked well scrubbed, but tired. Her face was pale, with deep shadows under her eyes. Kerrie wondered if she had been crying.
She stopped at the defense table, but didn’t sit down, hands clasped protectively over her belly. She had been to court before. She knew this wouldn’t take long enough to make it worth her time to struggle into a chair, and then struggle out of it again.
Judge Langer glowered from the bench. She was fifty something, with hopes of moving up to real Multicultural Tribunal cases, not these quick gavel-pounders. Kerrie had stood before her twice before and learned that Langer tolerated no delays, no nonsense. But she did treat the lawyers equally, which was something most judges didn’t do. Most judges favored the prosecution, because the law did.
The prosecutor, Peir Hroth, had graduated from law school at the same time as Kerrie. He too had loans to pay off. He too was doing his time here. He had opted for prosecution because he hoped to become a judge one day—and defense attorneys rarely (never) made it into important judgeships.
He had lost weight since he got here, and he looked even more tired than he had on the shuttle from Helena Base.
He glanced at Kerrie and nodded, one of the few prosecutors she had known before coming to InterSpecies Court who still remained cordial to her.
The court clerk called out the case number, and read the charges. Then the judge asked Kerrie, “Do you dispute?”
“We do, Your Honor,” Kerrie said, stepping forward. “We ask that the charges get dropped.”
A dispute never caught anyone’s attention. Attorneys disputed the nature of the charges all the time, trying to lower the punishment. But when Kerrie asked that the charges get dropped, the murmur of conversation behind her—something she was so used to that she hadn’t noticed it—ceased.
Everyone was staring at her, from Peir to the bailiff to her client.
And the judge, of course.
“Did I hear you correctly, Counselor?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge leaned forward, her eyes glazed like people’s often were when they reviewed something through their links. Kerrie knew the judge was scanning the file.
“I see nothing to dispute here, Counselor. The prosecution has a video of the crime.”
Peir stepped forward, probably to argue that they had overwhelming evidence against Donnatella. But Kerrie didn’t want him to get a word in.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Kerrie said. “We do not dispute that the crime happened.”
She heard a squeak of protest to her left. Donnatella didn’t like that argument. But Kerrie didn’t consult with her. Kerrie didn’t have to, not on this.
“We dispute that the charges apply,” Kerrie said.
“It’s a theft, Your Honor,” Peir said. “Of course they apply.”
The judge waved her hand at him, silencing him. She looked intrigued, which relieved Kerrie—until she heard the judge’s next words. “I hope you have a good reason to use the court’s time on this, Counselor.”
“I do, Your Honor,” Kerrie said. “Donnatella Waltarie is not a member of the Earth Alliance. Our treaties with the Ziyit do not apply to her. We cannot send her into their justice system because we have no right to do so.”
“She’s a member of the Black Fleet,” Peir said, giving Kerrie a sideways glance filled with disbelief. “Just because she’s part of the Black Fleet doesn’t mean she’s not a member of the Earth Alliance. She could have joined them at any point in her life. Besides, Your Honor, her undisputed affiliation with the Black Fleet proves that she is a criminal and that she is willing to lie to achieve her own ends. Defense counsel is a nice person; she has probably decided this is the best way to help a pregnant client avoid a criminal prosecution.”
Kerrie’s eyebrows went up. Did he just call her a nice person? In front of the judge? The argument diminished Kerrie’s standing as an attorney by questioning her judgment. Her cheeks flushed. The comment made her angry, as it was probably designed to do.
Instead of lashing back at Peir, she said, “I am honored that the prosecutor believes I am a nice person. I hope the court clerk will keep that in the record—”
Chuckles rose behind her. Others had caught the slight.
“—because it is court records that we are relying upon here,” she said. “My client has been accused of many crimes. She has faced a judge or a jury on twelve separate occasions, and in each case, she has been acquitted.”
“That’s lovely for her, Your Honor,” Peir said, “but those cases have no relevance—”
“If you would let me finish, Counselor,” Kerrie said. She paused so the judge could weigh in. Peir’s behavior was unorthodox in open court, but so was hers. The judge had probably forgotten what it was like to have an argument placed before her, with its rules and structures. All
of her other cases on this day, in this week—hell, in this year—would be pro forma gavel-down cases: Two speeches, one by each attorney, a ruling, followed by a curt next. Nothing this elaborate had happened in this court in a long time.
The judge did not speak up. She was watching Kerrie closely, clearly waiting.
“In all twelve of those cases, Your Honor,” Kerrie said, “my client stated that she was not a member of the Earth Alliance, that she had been born on a ship of the Black Fleet outside Earth Alliance territory. All twelve cases have been adjudicated in Earth Alliance courts. All twelve have court records, and judgments were made based upon the facts presented in those cases. In short, Your Honor, we have twelve different courts, scattered throughout the sector and the Earth Alliance itself, that have ruled that my client is not a subject of the Earth Alliance.”
The courtroom was quiet now. Everyone stared at Kerrie, including Peir. He had a look of panic in his eyes. He had no idea how to argue this, or what to even say.
“Those twelve cases were human-on-human crime cases, Your Honor, which fall under Earth Alliance jurisdiction no matter whether the accused is part of the Alliance or not,” Kerrie said. “This is the first case in which my client has been accused of theft against a nonhuman member of the Earth Alliance. Different laws apply. These laws are based on treaties between the Earth Alliance and the Ziyit. My client is not subject to those treaties since she belongs to neither culture. I can cite case law, Your Honor, if you would like. Jurisdictional issues were argued in the first years of the Multicultural Tribunals and they found—”
“I’m familiar with the law, Counselor.” The judge looked bemused. “I have looked at the court cases, and you are right. Your client is not a member of the Earth Alliance. We have no choice but to drop the charges against Donnatella Waltarie. You are—”
“Your Honor!” Peir took an extra step forward, his voice filled with panic. “We ask that Ms. Waltarie be detained, so that we can ship her to the Ziyit so that they may prosecute her for these crimes.”
“Have the Ziyit made an extradition request?” the judge asked.
“Um, no, Your Honor. But once they hear of this, they will—”
“I cannot rule on what someone will do, Counselor. I can only rule upon the cases in front of me. That’s covered in the first week of law school. Are you in need of a refresher course?”
“No, Your Honor.” Peir stepped back. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. But—”
“If you can figure out a reason to hold her, do so, Counselor,” the judge said. “But I won’t rule on it. This case is dismissed.”
She brought her gavel down and the courtroom erupted. People began talking, laughing, shouting. Even the bailiff looked bemused.
Kerrie turned to Donnatella. “We have to get you out of here before they have a chance to contact someone on Ziyit.”
Donnatella blinked at her, looking confused. “I’m free?”
“You are, unless they can get an extradition order. So let’s go.”
“How do I get out off the base?” Donnatella asked. “They brought me by shuttle.”
“The shuttles are free and run every hour.” Kerrie took Donnatella’s arm and shepherded her toward the aisle. People were grabbing at them, asking questions and trying to talk. No one had had an acquittal this year—and technically, this wasn’t one either. It was a dismissal. But the result was the same.
Donnatella wouldn’t be punished for her crime.
“The shuttle will take me where?” Donnatella asked.
“Helena base,” Kerrie said. “It’s the nearest stop and large enough for you to get lost in. Come on.”
She looked for the Peyti, but didn’t see him. He would probably meet them at the shuttle station. She hurried Donnatella out of the courtroom and to the lawyers’ elevator. As she got in, Kerrie ordered the doors closed so no one could follow them.
She didn’t stop at the usual courthouse shuttle station stop. Instead, she went down to the public defender level, crossed the hall, and took another elevator. Donnatella had to struggle to keep up.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere they won’t look for you.” Kerrie took one flight of stairs down and walked through two doors. The second door opened to a small shuttle station. The red numbers above the door said the next shuttle was due to arrive in five minutes.
Donnatella stopped beside her, red-faced and breathing hard, her hand protectively over that stomach. She didn’t say anything, though, about troubles, so Kerrie didn’t ask.
She needed to get Donnatella on that shuttle.
“You will talk to no one once you board,” Kerrie said. “If someone asks your name, you pretend not to hear the question. Move away. Do not identify yourself. There are no conductors or bots to take tickets. Don’t let anyone trick you. If you don’t identify yourself, they can’t serve you with an extradition order. You don’t need to identify yourself at the other end either. When you get there, just mingle with the crowd. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Donnatella’s expression had lightened. She was almost smiling.
“Do you have money?” Kerrie asked, silently cursing herself for even thinking of the question.
“I can get it,” Donnatella said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The last thing Kerrie needed was for Don-natella to steal money on Helena base and get caught. Then she’d be served that extradition order. Kerrie needed Donnatella to get as far away from here, as quickly and easily as possible. “Do you have access to your own money?”
Donnatella smiled. “I don’t have any money of my own.”
Kerrie extended a hand. Donnatella looked down.
“Take my hand,” Kerrie said.
Donnatella did. Kerrie pressed the unlinked money chip in her thumb. The unlinked account had no personal information on Kerrie at all. Just funds. It transferred its entire reserve into Donnatella’s account. The entire reserve sounded like a lot, but Kerrie only used that account for incidentals. It had maybe one hundred credits.
“Now you have your own money,” Kerrie said, letting go of Donnatel-la’s hand.
“That was yours?” Donnatella asked.
“Yes,” Kerrie said. The red numbers on the wall were counting down. The shuttle was only one station away. “Now it’s yours.”
“But you didn’t have to do that.” Donnatella’s smile had faded. She looked shocked.
“Yes, I did,” Kerrie said. The shuttle pulled up, doors slid open. The nearest car only had two passengers, both of whom looked exhausted. Family members of people on trial, probably.
“But—”
“Stop arguing and board,” Kerrie said. “Remember what I told you.”
“I owe you,” Donnatella said as she climbed through the doors, using one hand to brace herself.
“No, you don’t,” Kerrie said.
“I do,” Donnatella said with great emphasis. “And my people always repay our debts.”
The doors swished closed. Donnatella stood by the window. She waved as the shuttle pulled out.
Kerrie watched it disappear. It had one more stop before it detached from the base and flew the short hop to Helena base. One hundred credits wouldn’t get Donnatella far on Helena. It had two segments—the rich resort side and the cheap side that connected to the InterSpecies Court starbase. Donnatella couldn’t afford an upscale hotel room there, but she could get herself a meal and maybe a low-rent place to stay. There were also good medical facilities on Helena that wouldn’t turn away a woman about to give birth.
Kerrie let out a small sigh, then put a hand to her forehead.
She hadn’t ever sent a client back on a shuttle. Just sobbing family members and disappointed friends.
She staggered back up the stairs, feeling lightheaded. She had won the morning, but she still had the afternoon and the evening to suffer the usual defeats.
As she walked to the public defenders office, she sorted the afternoon and
evening cases, surprised at how light her workload was. She had forgotten that she had traded most of it for Donnatella’s case.
Kerrie actually had time to get some real coffee before her next client meeting.
Maise stopped her before she reached her desk. Maise was smiling. “Come with me. You know the rules, right?”
Of course Kerrie knew the rules. Her job was about the rules. But she couldn’t think about what applied at the moment.
Maise led her into the main conference room. It was stacked with empty coffee cups and discarded clothes that needed cleaning. The room smelled faintly of sweat and old food.
Maise closed the door.
“When you win a case,” Maise said, “your debt is forgiven. You’re free to go if you want, Kerrie.”
Kerrie frowned. She had forgotten that rule, or maybe she never really believed it. Or she thought it wouldn’t apply, because no one ever won.
“But I would stay at least another week if I were you,” Maise said. “You’re about to be recruited like no one gets recruited. Not even the number one graduate of Alliance Law gets pursued like you’re about to. Someone is first in their class every year, but almost no one wins on the defense side in InterSpecies Court unless they’re already a lifer. You’ve hit the jackpot, Kerrie.”
Kerrie sat down. She had just sent a pregnant girl with no prospects to a resort she couldn’t pay for, and that was a win? Kerrie made herself breathe.
“I’m going to be the first to recruit you,” Maise said. “We need people like you to stay here, to fight the good fight. Most of the good attorneys go on to private practice, but the people who need us cycle through every day. And if you win a case—”
“You said I would win,” Kerrie said. “That’s why you gave me that case.”
“I hoped,” Maise said. “We get cases like that every now and then. But not everyone pulls out the win. You did.”
Kerrie looked at her. A lifer? Here? Always behind, always scrambling, watching people who really didn’t deserve their punishments shuffle away, never to be seen again.
“Thanks for the offer,” Kerrie said. “I’ll consider it.”
