Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  “According to the agreement between the three security firms, an unjustified killing is considered the greatest crime a person can commit. We may therefore dismiss possibilities three and four, since François did not kill Raquel or Iñaki. It is an unavoidable conclusion that Iñaki has gone—”

  There arose in the tent a disturbance, as some men muttered approval while others grumbled. Iñaki himself finally looked at the foreman for the first time, and he ground his teeth and scowled at him. The foreman raised his hands to quiet the crowd, and Alistair noticed Giselle was angrily fidgeting. Finally, a shout from Mordecai brought some order back to the proceedings and the foreman continued.

  “Iñaki has gone too far in his retribution. Apart from signing an agreement with AS&A in which he agreed not to take the law into his own hands, he has punished François beyond the point of François’ alleged crime. The only thing left to determine is whether François was entirely innocent—”

  Here the foreman was interrupted by a shout from the defendant, whose veins stood out in his neck and whose face turned a deep red as he cursed in his native Basque, which no one else understood. Iñaki’s legal counsel grasped him by the arm and whispered in his ear, and he finally calmed down enough to stop shouting and returned to staring daggers at the foreman.

  “…whether François was entirely innocent,” continued the foreman, “or whether he too was guilty and therefore Iñaki was guilty only in a portion of what he did.

  “We the jury find François was guilty of white slavery. He was not bound to take a concubine, and would not have suffered any danger to his person if he had chosen to eschew taking one. He stands guilty therefore—”

  More shouting erupted, but this time the factions switched, with the former grumblers now voicing approval while the other side bellowed their discontent. Again the foreman raised his hands, and again Mordecai restored order with a yell. When the foreman spoke again it was with a louder voice, and his agitation was apparent until he was back in the flow of his speech.

  “He is guilty of coercion into white slavery. As to the charge that he enslaved Iñaki, we find there is some substance to this. François was not in a position to free all the serfs of his tribe, and would have been cast out or even put to death for trying to free them. We do not require that a man risk his life for another. However, after extensive interviews we can find no record of François doing anything to oppose the practice of slavery, not even so much as a suggestion to Zeus that the practice should be stopped. He could have escaped from his tribe and lived on his own, as others did. Instead he stayed and climbed to the penultimate position in his tribe, a position he obtained by enforcing its codes with enthusiasm. We therefore find François guilty of slavery and white slavery. The only question—”

  For a third time a din broke out in the tent, and men and women took to their feet and shouted. Fingers pointed, spittle flew and even Mordecai could not calm them down. Giselle was on her feet shouting, and Alistair at first responded by covering his face with his hands. He spared a glance at Santiago and saw that the Argentinean, imperturbable as usual, was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. Perhaps his features were touched with disappointment, but other than that he was unreadable and a non-participant in the emerging fracas.

  Standing up, Alistair put what he hoped was a soothing pair of hands on Giselle’s shoulders. She seemed not to notice at first, so he bent his lips to her ear and whispered, “Please don’t get involved like this. Not like this. Not now.”

  Giselle spun about and faced him with a look of righteous indignation.

  “He gave that fucker what he deserved! He’s our client and we need to protect him!”

  Alistair gently squeezed her shoulders. “Please don’t get things riled up.”

  “I’m not riled up! You’ll see riled up unless we get a better verdict. I’m not going to sit here—”

  “Giselle, please!”

  At these first harsh words from him, the Arcabelian’s eyebrows shot up. With a savage twist she ripped her shoulders from his grasp but ceased her shouting. Instead, she stomped away from him, going to the fabric of the tent wall and, facing it, folding her arms and standing there. Having demonstrated her current opinion of him, she was content to stay put.

  While the shouts of the angry mingled with the shouts of those demanding silence, Alistair began the laborious process of addressing individuals and politely asking them to return to their seats and allow the proceedings to finish. By these discrete degrees the tumult diminished. Eventually a few others simply ran out of steam, and then those shouting for quiet realized they were responsible for most of what noise was still being made. A few sweating debaters were breathing rapidly, but quiet and order did finally reign again in the tent.

  “The question of compensation is a difficult one,” resumed the foreman. “François is dead, but he named his heirs in his contract with Bedrock, so the receivers of the compensation were determined before the crime was committed. What has yet to be determined is how much compensation is due. How much should a man be made to pay if he takes another’s life? What is the compensatory value of a murder? And what of rape? What is the compensatory value of a murder minus a rape? The question of the death penalty for murder has yet to be determined here, but the death penalty for anything besides murder is surely too much. We hold that Iñaki Etxeberria is responsible to the heirs of François da Silva Dos Santos to the extent that murder exceeds rape.

  “We therefore present our opinion of what justice must be in this case, and let future juries consult it as a non-binding precedent. A murderer should be made to spend the rest of his life paying compensation to the heirs of the slain, allowing one day per week as a day of rest and permitting him to keep only so much as he needs to stay alive. For François’ crimes, we would demand that three days of every seven be spent laboring to pay off the debt. By this reckoning, Sr. Etxeberria owes three days of labor, for the rest of his life, for the crime of excessive retribution, unless he and the heirs of Sr. da Silva Dos Santos come to a different agreement on their own.” The foreman looked now to the heads of the two representing firms. “Is there further business from Ashley or Bedrock?”

  Santiago rose from his seat to address the jury. “We accept the decision. Mr. Etxeberria has violated his contract with our firm and we decline to provide services for him in the future.”

  With this simple pronouncement given, Santiago sat back down. Next, Wei Bai rose from his chair and spoke.

  “Bedrock is satisfied with the verdict. Pursuant to our contract with the deceased, we will assume all debt obligations to the heirs of Mr. da Silva Dos Santos in the event of Mr. Etxeberria’s escape or untimely death and therefore shall undertake to be vigilant against such.”

  There was some rumbling in the tent as the jury gathered themselves and prepared to leave. The lawyers from both sides met to finish business, and Santiago leaned in to whisper in Alistair’s ear.

  “That is something we should be offering our clients,” he almost hissed. “We need to offer more options like that. Our current contract options are becoming less competitive every day.”

  “We’ll go over the contract sometime this week.”

  “We should have gone over it a long time ago.”

  “I’ve been busy, as you may have noticed.”

  “You’ve been busy with Darion and the Singulatarians, but not busy enough with your firm.”

  Santiago sat back and fixed a disapproving gaze on Alistair that carried all the weight and gravitas of an older man. Blushing, Alistair now leaned in towards Santiago.

  “We can do some preliminary work tonight, if you like. Do we have any other business?”

  “One item. Miklos has filed a complaint against Ryan Wellesley for splashing him with the cup of water he owes him. Ryan is countersuing for noise pollution.”

  “Noise pollution?”

  “Miklos’ snoring.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. Are you joking
with me?”

  In Santiago’s impassive face Alistair found his answer.

  “We’ll dispose of that in five seconds. Then we’ll work on the contract. OK?”

  Santiago nodded, and Alistair imagined his stoic expression meant he was mollified. He had no more time to think on the topic, though, because he was called to come discuss with Mordecai, Wei Bai and Duke the issue of releasing the verdict to the public.

  Chapter 78

  Alistair’s house on the lake shore did not stand for long before his business partner Darion Chesterton built a far larger, four story cylindrical tower two hundred yards away, on the crest of the next hill, and had it painted in such a striking way as to ensure any passing eyes would be drawn to it. When it was complete, Darion invited a small group of guests to participate in a ribbon cutting ceremony which, Alistair was heartened to discover, only lasted about fifteen minutes. Afterwards, Alistair, Giselle, Gregory, Layla, Santiago and one of Darion’s business associates, a West African named Emmanuel, followed Darion to the second story of his tower.

  The second story was open to the warm air and measured a hundred feet in diameter, with a ceiling fifteen feet above the floor. It was a great dining room, dancing hall and smoking room all in one. Four stout pillars at its edges kept the third story from becoming the second story, and an enclosed staircase on one side traversed it from floor to ceiling. Crouching underneath the diagonal wooden stairwell, which twisted once upon itself as it went up, was the kitchen, and this was separated from the dining area by a few thin partitions. Darion’s maid and butler were hard at work there when the guests arrived, and the smells wafting from the partitions gave a favorable report of their progress.

  The dining table was dwarfed by the room it was in, but was easily large enough for the party of seven. Giselle and Alistair sat there while Emmanuel, who knew a great deal about the details of the house, and Darion were showing off the woodwork of the various end tables, stands and other bits of furniture to Gregory, Santiago and Layla. At one point as they strolled from piece to piece, Emmanuel’s hand entwined itself with Darion’s, and Alistair, noticing this, reacted as if splashed with cold water. A moment later a look of realization crossed his face, and Giselle, who could look at him and read his thoughts as if by cue cards, laughed. He was startled by her mirth and could not repress a sheepish grin.

  “I didn’t know.”

  This only made Giselle laugh harder, with her chin resting on the palm of her right hand from which position she had been observing him.

  “You knew?”

  She nodded, no longer audibly laughing but still with an amused twinkle in her eye. He was quite cognizant of how much it pleased him to be the cause of that twinkle.

  “He never told me.”

  “He never told me either,” she replied and giggled again, her smile peering over her palm.

  As the sun retreated from the sky, a warm, soothing breeze swept unimpeded through the second story, causing a flickering of the flames of the torches Darion’s butler was lighting. A couple of Giselle’s stray hairs fluttered in the stream of air, and Alistair reached out a thick hand and tucked them behind her ears. The wind carried the other five to the dining table to join them, their footsteps making almost no noise on the smooth wood of the floor, which absorbed sound and created a hushed environment. The gentle tap of Darion’s cane as it descended from an ostentatious arc announced they were returning.

  “I hear a brewery is being built,” he announced as he pulled out a chair across from Alistair for Emmanuel to sit in. Gregory did likewise for Layla. “For our next dinner together we may have a greater choice of beverages. Naturally it will be twenty years before any good wines can be had.”

  “A good ale will be nice,” said Gregory as he took a seat next to his partner.

  The butler finished lighting the torches and candles spread around the vast circular hall, and the maid appeared with the first course, a platter of fruit baked in some crusty bread coated with a sweet glaze. A couple of clay pitchers of chilled juice were placed on the table next to the platter. Several pairs of hands reached for the food and drink, and soon plates and cups were filled.

  “Alistair,” said Emmanuel with the same musical accent Taribo had, “I am interested to hear your opinion of the verdict.” He, like Darion, was dressed in the finest clothing currently available. There was, so far as anyone knew, no silk on Srillium, or they surely would have worn it. Instead, they contented themselves with the next best thing, dyed and sewn in an intricate style at an expense a typical worker could in no way have afforded. The West African slid a corner of a pastry into his mouth and bit off the end. Some banana and strawberry oozed out the side. “You instructed them on the principles by which they were to make the decision. Was the result satisfactory to you?”

  “The verdict was an injustice,” said Giselle.

  Alistair pondered the question a moment, staring at the tabletop, before he answered. “I think their reasoning was sound. There are a couple details I might take issue with.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well… I don’t agree with sentencing Iñaki to labor for the rest of his life. It’s counterproductive and even if it weren’t I don’t think it approximates justice.”

  “Approximates justice?”

  “There are times when justice cannot be completely served, or perfectly known.”

  “Really?”

  “How do you compensate someone for the loss of their life? How much money should go to their heirs? How do you fix an amount of gold to something like that? In these cases we do our best to approximate justice, but we may never know what it is exactly.”

  “So justice is not a human invention,” said Emmanuel, genuinely intrigued. “It exists on its own and we need to find it.”

  “I think so.”

  Emmanuel nodded and cast his glance about the others. When his gaze came to rest on Santiago’s stoic expression, he asked, “And how do you feel about that?”

  Santiago shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Whether justice is real or not, our ‘approximation’ to it will always be our own invention. It will be subject to whims and passions and prejudices for as long as humans have them. A jury’s verdict is so much wind unless it is carried out, which depends on people willing to do it and the rest of us not interfering.”

  “So it does not matter whether we have a government or not… ultimately the success or failure of a society depends on the people in it?”

  “Our success depends on us,” said Alistair, “but the question of government matters quite a bit. When we act in a system of voluntary consent, we get different outcomes from those of a system based on power and domination. This point is crucial… but yes, we will rise or fall based on our own merits.”

  “And might the fall be a fall back into government, then? Maybe that will be the nature of our failure.”

  “No. Free people will not choose a government once they have tasted freedom and seen it work.”

  “Their passion for freedom might still be outweighed by a passion for vengeance,” said Santiago with a quiet tone. “And we should not discount the possibility they can be led back to government and not know it… that government may be upon them before they realize it.”

  “It will be our task to dispel naiveté,” said Alistair.

  There followed a moment of quiet, and then Emmanuel spoke again.

  “Please forgive my questioning… in Lagos I was put in prison for asking questions like these. It feels good to be able to ask them again. If I may pursue another course…? You said Iñaki’s sentence was counterproductive and does not approximate justice. Could you expound on that?”

  Clearing his throat, Alistair took a sip of juice and complied with the request.

  “It’s counterproductive because, what incentive does he have to produce wealth on those three days? Now, the jury was simply hired to render an opinion. The actual details of the sentence will be hammered out by Duke, Wei Bai and myself,
and I am sure we will agree to make his payments a percentage of what he earns, rather than make certain days debt days and certain days free days. But even that is not entirely satisfactory, and I am going to try to get Bedrock to agree to a different deal.”

  “Why is it not satisfactory?”

  “Because whatever François’ life was worth, it is a fixed amount. Even if we can’t honestly know what that amount is, we still try to guess. By giving François’ heirs a percentage of Iñaki’s wages over the course of his life, we are saying the amount to be paid, the value of François’ life in this case, is dependent upon what Iñaki earns. That’s nonsense. If I break a vase in your shop, I must pay you the amount of the vase, not a percentage of my wealth. I compensate you specifically for the value of the vase, to the extent it can be determined.”

  “I’m uncomfortable with that,” Gregory interjected. “If a man is wealthy enough, he can commit murder and simply pay a fee?”

  “Restitution for a murder can never be made,” said Giselle, her voicing rising and taking on an angrier tone. “If a man punches me, I am entitled to restitution… some sort of payment… but also retribution. That’s according to our own contract. I can punch him back or hire someone else to do it. But if that punch turns into a murder, retribution is taken out of the equation? You’re treating murder differently from other crimes.”

  “Murder is different from other crimes,” said Alistair.

  “Yeah, it’s worse!” said Giselle. “There ought to be more retribution, not less.”

  “We cannot build a healthy society which condones the taking of human life,” said Alistair.

  “That’s the best thing Alistair has done, is stop the killing,” said Greg.

  Giselle half rose out of her seat to deliver her next speech.

  “The man who killed my husband… it’s not your business what happens to him. It’s mine. You’re imposing your unprovable beliefs on me. Building a society which executes its murderers makes a lot more sense than one which lets you murder if you can pay the fine!”