“More positive how, Dr. Nilsson?”
“Why, in every imaginable way - if that constitutes a legal answer. If the whispers passed between my chaperones are of any citable merit, the very action for which I am condemned is part and parcel of the innumerable successes of this project during the period of my detention.”
The presiding authority glowered his displeasure with the men entrusted with Bo’s supervision, stood now on either side of the doctor even on the stand. To be informed in broad daylight that his discretion protocols were so grossly neglected was a poor start to the proceedings.
“And which successes are those?”
“To be fair, only the two discussed at most length by these fellows are known to me in any detail. Of the rest, I could only venture to assume a… general preponderance of human progress by the degree of inarticulate jubilation to be heard from the far side of my cell door. Fortunately for myself, and for transparency in law no matter the jurisdiction, those successes seem to be of incontrovertible value.”
“Get to the point Dr. Nilsson.”
“Very well. Success one: the preservation of the project to which we all can attribute our livelihoods, in one form or another. Were it not for my quick thinking in a moment that demanded nothing less, I could not have been expected to reach a definitive conclusion regarding the patient’s condition. Critically, Alvin Bonman would have been given no reason to suspect pregnancy, context sensitive investigation of the patient’s blood would not have taken place with sufficient urgency, the patient would have perished in two days time under the best of circumstances, and the egg she nurtured will only have been discovered half rotten on a single-use, aluminum foil autopsy table.”
“You are some thespian, Bo.”
The presiding juror shuffled through a stack of documents prepared for him pre-hearing. A gavel there kept the papers in place, that icon of judicial power designated only secondarily for use as a prop should he choose to embark upon his own displays of legal theater.
“What you’ve failed to mention in your statement - or in any statement since the twelfth day of your detainment, a point which we can presume to coincide with your learning of the patient’s death and the survival of her offspring - is the original sentiment you expressed to this panel. Do you recall that sentiment?”
“The law is not sentimental, your honor.”
“Being cute will get you nowhere, Dr. Nilsson.”
“Might I ask whether you are speaking from experience, sir?”
Red cheeked, the judge waited until those in the room with protective vests of seniority stopped giggling.
“Answer the question or nobody will be speaking in your defense.”
“Very well, your honor. My original intention was to persuade the authority that Ma’am-”
“Please identify Ma’am for the record.”
“- was to persuade the authority that Ma’am, my proto-mammalian patient of several months, had exposed herself as a threat to our species by actively withholding from us her capacity to asexually reproduce. That said, please consider the following with all possible attention. Though I have and do willingly retract, as a matter of court record and in light of developments since my incarceration, my very temporary belief in the efficacy of any preemptive mitigation of those threats, the legal distinction between intent and action deserves to be made and with unrepentant emphasis.
“Whereas my intent, as you’ve described it, was to acquire critical information regarding the patient and so provide the authority with an informed recommendation, my actions were no more criminal than a stark poke to the sternum of a passing stranger. Perhaps that stranger might take some offense to my action, unconvinced I’d behaved prudently in pursuit of her attention. But if I were to point out the telltale hue of jaundice in her eyes, recommend an emergency room and a dialysis clinic, and her life were spared by the coincidence of our intersecting - why, I can only assert that any damages incurred in the course of poking would be laughed out of court, and the complainant, pursuant to the absolute minimum standard of rational discourse, ridiculed for photographing the bruise.”
“Dully noted. We’ve all had quite enough of your antics, Dr. Nilsson. Please proceed with all possible brevity to your second ‘success’.”
“Your honor - my pleasure.”
Bo used his hand as a blinder so only the audience would know he winked.
“As a direct result of my actions, the patient’s egg survived surgical extraction, hatching, and infancy. To reiterate - none of the above could have come to pass were it not for the exposure to risk I assumed; my health and freedom placed in jeopardy so that the authority’s ignorance of Ma’am’s pregnancy might be dispelled.
“Today, meanwhile, the adolescent shows no signs of the sensory inhibition experienced by its mother in the months before her death. Consequently, the adolescent’s unimpeded access to so-called quantum nuance provided the authority, via multiple consultants retained after Ma’am’s death, with the exact date of an minor eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera. Forewarning permitted the evacuation of human populations and livestock within an area encompassing portions of Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. Minor though the eruption was, no loss of life constitutes a success, say I, if ever there was one.”
The judge was seething, and Bo’s pair of gossip-prone armed guards had no seats to slouch in. The defendant between them coughed politely, a smile threatening the corner of his lips.
“Your honor?”
“What?”
“Have I the right to call a witness to the stand?”
“You do, although whether that call is answered depends entirely on the whims of the witness.”
Bo canvassed the modest crowd, a single grey hair come at last to divide his face in two.
“What say you, professor Bonman? I’ve scratched your back, haven’t I?”
“Are you going to have me take an oath or anything?”
“Only if you plan on lying, Mr. Bonman.”
“I’m good. Ready when he is, your honor.”
Alvin looked very much uncomfortable on the witness stand, all things considered. Compounded no doubt by his earlier appearance before this same ramshackle courtroom, twice seeing his net-worth halved by real judges stateside hadn’t left a taste in his mouth he considered deserving of third course. Bo, strangely, had the appearance of being sympathetic to his plight.
“Don’t be nervous, Alvin. We’re all friends here.”
“I’m not nervous, Dr. Nilsson. Can’t say whether I’ve decided we’re friends, either.”
“I am very sorry to have assumed. Might I ask, though, whether you consider my advising you on my suspicions of Ma’am’s pregnancy as a friendly thing to do? I am referring, of course, to our brief meeting on the day of my alleged misconduct,”
“I guess you could say that. It certainly wasn’t unfriendly. Depends on whether you classify friendliness as existing on a spectrum.”
“Do you?”
“Sure.”
“And would you be willing to ascribe the same basic format to a metric such as - trust, let’s say? Would it be sensible to imagine such a spectrum where one implies indisputable untrustworthiness, and where ten can be taken to mean absolute trustworthiness?”
“That seems reasonable. Are you going to ask me where I think you fit on that spectrum, Bo?”
“I was not planning on it, Alvin. I’d sooner ask where, in your view, Ma’am herself might best be placed. And it seems only right to mention in advance of your answer that adherence to the adage of speak not ill of the dead is no legal requirement. I’ve looked.”
The audience of four dozen faculty and six panel members reservedly laughed, and Alvin felt more at ease, if only just.
“She was not particularly trustworthy, in my experience. Willing to do whatever she needed to do to get whatever it was she needed to get. There were some redeeming qualities, I guess. Enough to give her a three and feel like I’m not rounding up.”
“Three? That doesn’t sound very trustworthy to me, professor Bonman. Why so low?”
Alvin tried to isolate the best of a whole litany of answers, all readily available and clearly defined in his mind and still somehow impossible to count.
“She pretended to struggle with geology to get into a room with me, although I won’t say I hold that one against her. She funneled my thoughts into a mental spreadsheet as they popped into my head and lied about how she knew what I’d say before I said it. Worst, probably, was when-”
Alvin retraced his steps toward an empty seat near the back of the room. Brady occupied the next chair over and was, by all appearances, no more cheerful about the exchange than his friend who was a party to it. It was a game of double dutch; Alvin and Bo each holding their end of that line of questioning, Brady first in line to skip.
“The worst, I think, was when she convinced me that the authority would kill me if the project were to end unexpectedly. It wasn’t five minutes later that she implied, strongly, that Brady’s children had a fatal mitochondrial disease that he wouldn’t be privy to without lending his assistance.”
Murmuring, chatter; in all, two parts sympathy, one part shock, two parts exasperation.
“So you would say you were coerced? Is that accurate, Alvin?”
“About as accurate as it gets.”
“And - would it be absurd to imagine that coercion was a means Ma’am was liable to carry on practicing for whichsoever end she fancied?”
“That’s enough, Dr. Nilsson. Find a direction that doesn’t blatantly conflict with your earlier retraction, or find your seat.”
“Fair enough, your honor.”
Bo’s fingers were woven behind his back, his eyes pleasant and predatory.
“Alvin - professor Bonman, though it’s true you give the impression of a man not altogether comfortable in the lurid spotlight of this courtroom, I wouldn’t go so far as to describe you as a person afraid for his life. Have I taken too many liberties in saying that?”
“Not at all. I’m not in love with this room, or this seat, but I don’t look over my shoulder when I’m walking down the hallway.”
“And why not?”
“Why not?”
“Why not fear for your life? You’ve only just said that Ma’am levied some lofty accusations against the authority, a threat to your existence chief among them. What changed, professor Bonman?”
An authority among the authority, the judge’s fingers twitched for the gavel. His restraint was well founded and better received by the other six members of the panel, each doubtless aware of the mental strife Bo’s tactics would elicit. Forbidding the defendant from continuing to pursue this sensitive, albeit incontestably relevant, issue would seem tantamount to an admission of the authority’s guilt. Allowing it was slightly more tolerable - at worst, Bo Nilsson’s case would be proven, his good name restored, and his sentence commuted. Later, when the attention had waned and his paranoia rationalized, Bo’s predetermined fate could be secured less publicly.
“Well, everything. Everything has changed.”
“Would you mind boiling that response down for the court, Alvin?”
“I can certainly try.”
Alvin did try, certainly, and in a few moments had formulated a response respectful to the oath he hadn’t been asked to give.
“Our efforts in the days before Ma’am’s death-”
“Briefly, whose efforts? For the record.”
“Sorry, I am referring to Brady Thomas and myself.”
“Very well, carry on.”
“Our efforts in the days before Ma’am’s death allowed for various conclusions to be drawn regarding the irreversible decline of her own health and, conversely, the immediate viability of her egg. In that vein, our involvement led directly to the discovery of an overlooked protogenesis gene and the existence of chromosomal modification sequences encoded into it. Even Ma’am didn’t give us any reason to think she was aware of their existence. Point being - the egg survived extraction, and any notions of discontinuing the project were tabled in light of the gradual realization that those sequences, with the exception of modernizing her Circadian rhythm, were designed to modify traits believed to differentiate between individuals of the species, rather than to synthesize some ten foot venom spewing monster. Not to put ourselves on a pedestal, but what we did saved this project, saved Ma’am’s comparably pleasant offspring, and saved a few thousand North Western farmers and their herds. So far.
“As for why I don’t spend every day of my life bedridden by existential worry… The authority, and I say this with all possible respect and then some, would be insane to bite the hand that fed them.”
Smugness born in Bo’s eyes were channelled through a network of wrinkles until no part of his face was unexplored.
“That is a conviction we share. It seems we share quite a lot, you and I, professor Bonman, not least of all a history of concerted effort toward maintaining the efficacy of this project. Truth be told, if looked upon through a lense impeccable of bias, one could have reason to believe that your answer now, and my testimony before, present much the same argument. Your actions, and Mr. Thomas’s actions, were catalyzed by my own - and so it can be said that any retribution owed to you on the part of the authority as established by the series of events that ensued would, and should, and are not, equally or doubly due to the man who set them in motion, can it not? Where we overlap most apparently, professor Bonman, is in an endeavor of righteousness. Where we diverge most principally, or so says the evidence, is in equity of reward.”
The response transcended chatter, and the judge took his paperweight by the handle and thrice struck the desk.
“Enough!”
His jowls swayed from the impact and the passion.
“This courtroom will not be governed by emotion. Nor will your theatrics be allowed to poison this project for another moment, Dr. Nilsson. It is clear to everyone in attendance that your questions are leading by design and their aim to elicit a springboard for your rhetoric. Repeat that behavior and you will be returned to your cell so I might spare the people in this room the intellectual decay to be expected by your proximity. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Good. You have five minutes, and they began two minutes ago.”
“Then I will get to it. Professor Bonman, have you any other credible assurances of your wellbeing? Anything ongoing, or forthcoming, perhaps, which guarantees your continuing utility to the authority beyond a debt of gratitude they’d just as soon be inclined to forget?”
“What could that possibly have to do with you, Bo? Say we have a lot in common all you want, that doesn’t make me a signatory.”
“Suffice it to say, mine are not the only intentions on trial this morning. Quo Bono goes the phrase, I think. Please answer the question now, Alvin, lest I allow you to develop a springboard complex.”
“Alright, yes. I’m conferring with Ma’am’s offspring. I was requested by name the day she was fitted with a modulator. Refused to speak with anyone else until I was added to the list.”
That affirmation was all Bo considered necessary toward illuminating the authority’s hypocrisy in punishment as symptomatic of their dystopian placement of utility over equity. Any remaining time was his to spend on stimulating his mind and sating a desire for social interaction so long and so comprehensively deprived to him.
“Conferring? Not consulting? Has the nomenclature changed?”
“There isn’t a thing I can teach her about geology that she doesn’t already know.”
“If not geology, then to what do these conferences pertain?”
“The short version?”
No one in attendance was naive enough to believe that Alvin’s question was Bo’s to answer. The judge glanced at his watch and growled, “two minutes.”
“Some sort of ‘symbiosis’ between our species. She’s more idealistic than Ma’am, no question ab
out that. Less Jedi mind trick, more Kumbaya.”
“That’s lovely. You also discuss potential hazards to mankind, isn’t that true? Given that we already know of one tragedy she’s helped us to forego.”
“Kind of. She’s very careful about how she goes about answering those types of questions. It’s caused some frustration, to put it lightly.”
“I can only imagine. Has she explained the reason for her reluctance to you, Alvin? It seems counter to her character, at least as you’ve presented it, to hesitate while people’s lives teeter in the balance. People she describes as worthy of a place in her symbiosis, no less.”
“She did.”
“And?”
“And it’s complicated.”
“Ninety-seconds, Dr. Nilsson.”
“Noted, your honor. Ninety-seconds, Alvin. Please try your best to whittle her explanation to its most concise.”
“She, fuck… She has to avoid directly precalling - observing in advance - any human activity when at all possible. If she precalls a sentient action, as she put it, and then attempts to dissuade, redirect, or otherwise influence the person who took it, the curtains fall and the whole thing goes to shit.
“Let’s say - let’s say that instead of measuring the amount of pressure beneath the Yellowstone Caldera, she’d just precalled a farmer in Idaho getting buried alive in soot. The moment she tried to send him a cryptic warning in the mail, that would be it. Her wires would fray at the edges and she’d go blind to quantum nuance. Maybe the farmer and his kids and his cows escape, great, but she never saw the tornado brewing above the next town over. Anything she hadn’t already observed would be inaccessible; lost behind a boundary. When we asked whether the effects were permanent, she said she’d formed a hypothesis - her words - that the longevity of that boundary corresponds directly to the number of people influenced after precollection. That struck everyone as odd.”
“Why is that?”
“Nobody was really sure when she found the time. She wasn’t even two months hatched.”
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