“Has anyone died from this substance—Smokeless Green?” Judge Willington asked.
Mr. Meier’s face burned with shame. He felt as though he had fallen face-first into a cauldron of boiling water.
To his dismay, he saw deputy prosecutor Hollenwood in the audience. He was ambitious, had been at the prosecutor’s office for five years, and was sure to give a detailed report of what happened today. So much for being able to give his own version of a passionate fight for the Republic that he had barely lost. It was time to put on a show. Saving face was all he could do.
“It has caused robberies, vandalism, and of the most bizarre kind. Men running around covered with their own excrement!”
“Does the Republic have witnesses prepared to give sworn testimony to that, or is counselor seeking to insert hearsay?”
“Everyone saw it. It was in the papers!!” Counselor Meier shouted desperately.
Slam, slam, slam! Judge Willington’s gavel crashed into the sounding block repeatedly as though it were striking an invisible nail.
“Need I remind you, counselor, that this is a court of law and not a cocktail dinner party?! I repeat the question: Does the Republic have witnesses prepared to give sworn testimony as to these allegations?”
Mr. Meier realized he was done. He had attempted to put on a show but instead had become one. He was disgraced. He was unprepared, his case was lost, and he would be lucky to even keep his job at this point, given that a motion to dismiss based upon constitutional grounds should have been brought to the immediate attention of his supervising attorney. He might even need luck to avoid sanctions from the bar for having appeared in court completely unprepared to defend his client, the Republic of Selegania.
“Your Honor, it is the position of the Republic that that this substance is poisonous, and thus, it does not violate Article 8.”
“Well, counselor, I won’t humiliate you any more than you’ve already done yourself. It’s clear you weren’t prepared to mount anything remotely approaching a legal defense of this statute, and the brief filed by Counselor Megders—which has been provided to you and which has been filed with this court—is extremely thorough and persuasive in its argument that Smokeless Green, while perhaps highly addictive, cannot rationally be concluded to fall within the category of a poison.
“Furthermore, since the Republic has alleged that Mr. Stephenson sold Smokeless Green to Harry Felder—shown in the record to be a thirty-one-year-old man and thus clearly an adult—I believe that the unique wording of Article 8 in fact shifts the burden of proof to the Republic to show the substance is poisonous, given that Article 8 explicitly states that ‘The senate shall not prohibit the voluntary adult consumption of any non-poisonous substance.’ It is the opinion of this court that the proscriptive language imposed upon the senate when seeking to prohibit a substance means that in any Article 8 challenge to such a prohibition statute it is the Republic that bears the burden of proof in showing that the substance is poisonous, rather than the defendant bearing the burden of showing that the prohibited substance is non-poisonous.
“However, let the record reflect also that in the opinion of this Court the defendant has thoroughly shown, by counsel, that this substance—while perhaps harmful, and while perhaps even dangerous—falls below the threshold of a ‘poison’ as intended by the drafters of our Constitution. The case of Selegania v. Stephenson is hereby dismissed due to the charging statute being a facial and as-applied violation of Article 8. This obviates the need for the bail hearing requested by Counselor Megders. Does Counselor Megders have any objection?”
“No, Your Honor,” Megders replied, mustering every ounce of strength in his body to refrain from breaking out into joyful song.
“The Court now releases the defendant from the custody of the Republic. This case is closed.”
Mr. Stephenson embraced Megders wildly.
“You did it! You—”
“Let’s talk in the hallway,” Megders said, not wanting to spoil this joyous moment by being reprimanded by the judge for hullaballoo.
Once they were in the hallway, Megders no longer sought to restrain Mr. Stephenson’s joy as he heaped praise after praise upon his performance.
Megders smiled warmly but then said, “I know this isn’t the best time to think of such things, but we have to be cognizant of the possibility of an appeal.”
This was somewhat disingenuous. In fact, an appeal was so certain it could vie with the law of gravity for classification as an absolute. This first thrust had landed to Senator Hutherton’s unsuspecting side, but it wasn’t a fatal blow; and Megders knew he would soon be facing one of the wildest, most dangerous adversaries he had ever confronted. He knew not to what depths Hutherton might go in this battle, but for the first time the thought occurred to him that this battle might be waged in more than courtrooms, although he quickly brushed it aside.
“Will you . . . ?” Mr. Stephenson paused awkwardly as if afraid that upon completing the question he would hear a negative answer.
“Of course, I’ll represent you. The government has thirty days to file an appeal. If they don’t, that will be the end of the matter. If they do, I can assure you that the fight I waged in there today will pale in comparison to the offensive I will launch if the government seeks to pursue this matter further.”
Then, with a smile so warm and sincere it removed any possible condescension from the imperative tense, he said: “Mr. Stephenson, go home. Your wife and children will be glad to see you.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Stephenson said, tears streaming down his face. He shook Megder’s hands firmly and then turned around and walked towards the door so briskly he blurred the line between walking and running.
Chapter 10
Senator Hutherton rolled out of bed at about ten in the morning, feeling slightly more optimistic than he had yesterday. The images of those dastardly headlines announcing the ubiquitous mockery of SISA throughout the republic were still seared into his mind, but after his rather refreshing meeting with Mr. Randalls he felt there was no reason to live in the past.
Today was a new day, and it promised good things. Of this, he was quite certain as he felt the warmth of the sun spilling through his bedroom window and onto his face, slowly energizing his body. He picked up the bell from his lampstand and gave it three rings, which meant he would be accepting breakfast, coffee, and the morning paper.
Moments later, Robert—his oldest servant, a gray-haired man of sixty-two—entered.
“As you requested, my lord.” Robert then bowed and quit the room.
Hutherton bit a wolf-size chunk from a piece of toast with a boiled egg sitting cozily on top of it, and then lifted his coffee mug to his lips with his right hand while pulling the paper towards him with his left.
“Tell me something happy,” he said aloud, as he lowered the mug, hoping perhaps to hear of a massive seizure of Smokeless Green or perhaps news of a successful dragnet operation that had hauled in several dozen large fish from the underworld.
UNCONSTITUTIONAL! SISA GETS THE BOOT!
Coffee spewed from Hutherton’s lips like lava from a volcano, showering the paper, his food, and the table.
“NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, and he stood abruptly to wad the paper up and throw it into the fireplace, but as he did so he lost his fragile grip on his coffee mug and sent its contents pouring down the inside of his shirt, scalding his chest and stomach.
“DAMNATION!!!!”
Robert rushed into the room to see if his master was unwell, or perhaps suffering some grave assault, but with one look at the fury on his face and the absence of any assailant, he promptly bowed and exited the room discreetly. He had been a servant in the Hutherton family long enough to know a dangerous tantrum when he saw one and to disappear quickly in such circumstances. He promptly warned the other servants not to approach Lord Hutherton unless specifically called for, due to him being quite indisposed at the moment.
&nb
sp; Hutherton put his head between his hands and wept like a child. It was over. His one significant accomplishment as a senator was now the laughingstock of the republic. If his father had not been killed in that freakish storm five years ago, perhaps he would have been able to advise him throughout this process and prevent this great humiliation, but that bolt of lightning had claimed its target and removed his only trusted advisor and his best connection in the nefarious world of politics. He felt he had been stripped of his guide at the beginning of a perilous journey. Only his surname and the prestige it possessed had carried him forward thus far, but the name Hutherton would soon be a byword for failure.
His mother had abandoned him as a young child, snatched away by smallpox. He had no siblings. Only some cousins, but he trusted them as much as coiled snakes. All he had left was the house bequeathed to him by his father, as well as his fortune, which he realized had been diminishing considerably over the last year. It seemed SISA had been a bitter pill through-and-through. It had caused its price to skyrocket even in the very few legal venues both able and willing to sell it, such as the Gentlemen of Selegania Club, and yet its diluted street form had kept it within the reach of the paws of the working class, who could still obtain a considerable amount of its effects.
He had no wife, no fiancée, no girlfriend, not even a mistress. He had told himself after his father’s death that he would first focus on raising his prestige so as to attract the most suitable mate. He had dared to think that with the passage of SISA perhaps he would be nearing the ephemeral level where he could consider himself ready to begin searching for a spouse, but that now seemed as laughable as his false intuition this morning that a good day awaited him.
As his sobs slowed, he lifted his head back up towards the newspaper. I better ready myself before reading on, he told himself. He picked up a small container of Smokeless Green, laid out a nice thick line on a dry portion of his breakfast plate, and sucked it up through his nose like a tornado.
WHAM!!
He had been cutting back a little lately due to his concern about his savings’ troubling tendency to go down, rather than up, as of late, and he could feel the benefit he was getting from his noble sacrifice. Raw energy pulsated through his mind and body. He felt his defeatism being wringed out of his body like water from a dish towel.
He picked up the paper, feeling this time he was ready for anything.
“Local Attorney Moonlights as a Senator.”
Hutherton felt a chill creep up his spine, unsure whether to read on.
“Senator Edward Megders first expressed his opposition to SISA in the senate. Though he turned more than a few heads with his fiery speech against the bill and with his proposal for a bill with no exemption for gentlemen, SISA sponsor Senator Hutherton—son of the late senior senator, his namesake—ultimately prevailed in what was a rather contentious process. Yet, when Senator Megders failed while wearing his senatorial cap, he did not give up the fight but rather donned his attorney cap and sought victory in the courts, something which was granted to him yesterday by Judge Willington of the district court in our republic’s capital.”
Hutherton wadded the paper into a ball and hurled it into the fire so violently that it landed and bounced out. Seeing that a small corner of it had caught fire, Hutherton dived through the air like a father jumping to snatch his child from an oncoming stagecoach. He grabbed it before it caught the rug on fire, and he then began squeezing out the fire with his own two hands, now oblivious to the pain—from fury, if not from the Smokeless Green.
Then, he began to weep again. He was doomed. Though his heart beat wildly in his chest and his thoughts moved about rapidly, he knew he was finished. If it had been anyone other than Old Squirrelly himself to stick this dagger into his side, he could have risen from the ashes of this humiliation, but this was beyond redemption.
Sobbing like an old woman, he sauntered over to the door, closed it, then closed the shade, and collapsed onto his bed, pulling the covers high above his face.
But though he would have welcomed sleep as much as a marooned sailor would a fully provisioned ship to escape his current misery, Smokeless Green still had some say in the matter. And while it had been unable to drag him out of his room today, it wasn’t going to let him rest.
His mind began to take the journey his body would not, and it turned increasingly towards one thing.
Revenge.
Chapter 11
Senator Hutherton spent a great many hours that day in bed, covers pulled over his face, his mind journeying and leaving his body far behind. He imagined himself killing Old Squirrelly, or seeing him killed, every way imaginable. Burned at the stake. Hanged. Drawn and quartered. But none of it gave him any pleasure. It was as useless as the musings of a socially awkward bookworm about winning over the prettiest girl in school. He wasn’t about to risk prison or the gallows to kill Old Squirrelly. If his current streak of bad luck was even a slightly accurate indicator of how such a venture would turn out, he would not only fail in the attempt to kill Squirrelly Eddie but would get caught to boot. It would ultimately be one more victory in Squirrelly’s favor and would deliver the death knell to whatever prestige was left in the Hutherton surname.
Realizing the impotence of his rage, he lay fuming silently, the only real question being whether he would ever again dare leave the protection of his house. Or his bedroom for that matter.
DING-DONG-DING-DONG. DING-DONG-DING-DONG.
Far away, he heard the faint sound of the doorbell.
Who in tarnation could that be?!
He hoped it was just some traveling salesman. His staff was well trained on how to deal with such nuisances. Thanks, but the master of the house only meets with salesmen personally recommended to him. And the door would be closed.
Kasani forbid it should be someone he actually had to talk to.
Then he heard the dreaded knock at his bedroom door. He had no doubt Robert had promptly made the staff thoroughly aware of their master’s current indisposition, so for anyone to dare knock under such circumstances meant it must be someone of great significance visiting. While this piqued his curiosity greatly, it also vexed him. He was now in a lose-lose situation. Offend an important guest by snubbing him, or meet with an important guest while at his lowest moment.
“Lord Hutherton?”
It was Robert’s voice. That reassured him it had to be someone important outside.
He cast aside the blanket, sat up in bed, and summoning what little acting skills he had, he asked confidently, “Yes, Robert?”
“Ambassador Rochten requests a meeting. Shall I tell him you are indisposed?”
Ambassador Rochten! Good heavens! He hadn’t seen the ambassador for months and had missed him sorely. It seemed he always had the solutions to his problems.
But do you want him to see you like this?
No matter. If he was going to have any inkling of an idea of how to turn this situation around, he knew in his gut that he was going to have to talk to the ambassador.
“Yes, of course, Robert,” Hutherton said loudly and authoritatively. “Ambassador Rochten is welcome at any time at this house. Serve him the drink of his choice, and tell him that I will be out shortly to greet him.”
“Yes, Lord Hutherton,” Robert responded, unable to completely camouflage the surprise in his voice.
Hutherton was glad he was still pulsating with energy from the line he had inhaled earlier, for he wished to have all his wits about him with such an important guest. But then he thought maybe just a little extra wouldn’t hurt. After all, with the way his day had been going, it was better to err on the side of caution.
He made short work of that chore and then began feverishly changing his clothes so as to make himself presentable. His eyes might still be puffy from the sobbing he had done earlier, and maybe from the new line he had just evaporated, but you can’t win them all, he reckoned. But the least he could do was not present himself with wrinkled clothes and a co
ffee stain the size of a small country on his shirt.
A few minutes later, a slightly less unconfident Senator Hutherton descended the steps, overwhelmingly glad he felt there was little he would need to fake with this guest. He was one of the few men he instinctively trusted, perhaps the only one. And he had no idea why.
“Ambassador Rochten. An unexpected pleasure,” Hutherton said sincerely.
“It was my unexpected pleasure to find you here, seeing that I had the temerity to arrive slightly before 5 p.m.”
This prompted Hutherton to steal a quick look at the clock, which informed him it was 4:32 p.m.
“Well, I am most grateful for your temerity. Ecstatic in fact.” He gave Robert a quick look, who then bowed and left the room, closing the doors to the living room behind him.
“Have you been served adequate refreshment, ambassador?” Hutherton inquired.
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 43