by David Archer
“Very well,” said Magistrate Bogard. “Ms. Reynolds, you may step down. Ms. Spencer, you may call your next witness.”
Kate let out a heavy sigh. “Your Honors, the defense has no more witnesses. The defense rests.”
There was a brief uproar in the gallery, as Charlotte objected that things were happening too quickly, but it was rapidly settled. “No, no,” she cried. “This isn't fair, he didn't do this!”
Carson looked back at her with tears in his eyes. “Charlotte,” he called out to her, “just be strong, honey, just be strong. You have a wonderful life ahead of you, Charlotte, don't let this ruin anything for you.”
Charlotte began crying, sobbing loudly, but a couple of women in the gallery put their arms around her and pulled her down into a seat. They were whispering their encouragement, and Carson forced himself to turn and face the magistrates once again.
Court was recessed, and the three magistrates retired to their chambers to deliberate. Under the tribunal system, it was very rare that it took longer than a half hour or so for a verdict to be reached. Everyone stayed in the courtroom, including the lawyers and Carson.
“I'm pretty much dead, aren't I?” Carson asked Kate. “There's no hope, is there?”
“Well, you never know for sure what the tribunal will do,” she replied. “I'll just be honest with you, kid, I don't think you had a chance even before the trial began. There's something about this case that just smacks of tampering, to me. I believe you, I believe you really are innocent. Unfortunately, someone wanted you put away, and it looks to me like they're going to get what they wanted.”
“I'm just curious, but have you heard the stuff Nostrado has been saying the last few months, about how even the magistrates are involved in sending innocent people to Justice Net? Do you think there's any possibility there's truth in that?”
Kate shrugged. “It's possible,” she said. “There have been cases where I know damned well my client was innocent, and the evidence simply didn't stack up to a conviction, but they were convicted anyway. I've heard those rumors, and often wondered if that might be true, myself, but I've never seen any actual proof of it.”
Carson stared at the tabletop. “This is just unbelievable,” he said. “I've been teaching my students for years now that we have the most honest and forthright justice system in all of history, and that things like this couldn't happen—but obviously, they still do. Whoever did this to me could do it to anyone, right?”
Kate nodded. “I'm afraid so. I've seen cases like this before, cases where I just couldn't believe my client was guilty, and the only evidence was things that could be easily created or tampered with. I wish the magistrates could see things from my point of view, they might begin to work on a way to straighten it all out.”
“All stand,” the bailiff called. A moment later, the three magistrates filed in again and took their seats behind the bench. They whispered amongst themselves for a moment, and then Magistrate Bogard faced the courtroom.
SEVENTEEN
“The crimes of which this defendant stands accused,” he began, “are heinous indeed. To force oneself upon another human being for the simple purpose of sexual gratification is to demonstrate a complete lack of respect and moral intelligence, and is a sign that the perpetrator is completely unfit to be a member of our society. Any man or woman convicted of such crimes is deserving of the full weight of justice.” He looked directly at Carson. “Carson Pace, we the magistrates have come to a unanimous decision, as required by law, and find you guilty of the charges against you.”
Charlotte let out a scream, and several people hurried to try to calm her down. She had to be restrained from running forward, but Carson didn't even turn his head around to look at her. He had asked her to be strong, so he was showing her how to do it.
“It is the opinion of this Court that your guilt has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. The confident, direct identification by all three of the victims is more than sufficient for us to rule as we have done, and the minor instances of circumstantial evidence that hover on the periphery of this case only serve to strengthen our belief and determination. It is therefore ordered by this Court, unanimously by all three of the magistrates herein, that you be remanded into the custody of Justice Net, there to serve a maximum sentence of seventy bouts. In the event that you should survive your sentence, you will be released without restriction and entitled to return to your former employment without any loss of pay or seniority.”
Magistrate Bogard looked at the other two magistrates, but neither of them indicated any desire to speak. “This Court is hereby adjourned,” Magistrate Bogard said, and his gavel banged once.
Carson turned to Kate. “Is that it? It's over, that fast?”
She shrugged. “I'm going to file the automatic appeals; I'll get that done this afternoon. If the Court of Appeals agrees to hear the case, I'll know about it by tomorrow morning. If they do, then we'll get to go to the Appeal Hearing sometime in the next three days. If not, then you'll probably be on your way to the arena before dinnertime tomorrow.” She looked into his eyes for a moment. “I truly am sorry, Carson,” she said. “I wish I could've done something more.”
She got up and walked away, and the guard came and took Carson out the back way. He didn't even look at Charlotte, who was calling his name as he walked away from her.
When he got back to the lockup, however, he asked about making a call and was escorted to the comm room. He called Charlotte, catching her in the Uber taxi that was taking her home to their apartment. She answered, and it was obvious that she was crying.
“Oh, Carson,” she said. “Carson, what am I supposed to do now?”
Carson forced himself to smile. “You go on, that's what you do. But I want to try to at least do something for you, before I die. When you get home, log into my personal account on the HD, and look for the icon that looks like a raccoon. That's—that's my secret bank account, the one I've been using to gamble on Justice Net fights. There's quite a lot of money in there, and I want you to transfer it all over to your account. I won't be allowed to have any money in the Net, so I won't need it, and I don't want anyone else to get it.”
Charlotte shook her head slowly. “Carson, I don't want your money,” she said. “If I can't have you, then I don't want your money. I'll give it to your mother; I'm sure she could use it.”
Carson grinned. “She probably can, and I understand. Charlotte, I don't want you to be sad, and I don't want you to be lonely. We both know I'm not going to be coming back, so I want you to do whatever you have to do to be happy. Forget me, if you can, but just be sure not to let what happened to me ruin things in your life. I hope you'll always remember that I love you, and that no matter what happens, I'll be thinking of you every minute, for as long as I live.”
Carson ended the call, then, before she could say anything. He went peacefully back to his cell, and sat on his bunk and watched some of his favorite old Cloudcast programs for the rest of the day. When evening came, he forced himself to tune in Justice Net, and watched the current fights.
Jerry Waller was fighting again, his last bout. He had surprised everyone by surviving so long, using his sling each time to bring down his opponent for a final, killing blow. Carson watched carefully as he did it again, focusing on the sling itself. He still doubted whether he could take a life or not, but Professor Curran's advice was still rolling around the back of his mind. If he could shed his morality, then learning to use a sling might give him a chance of survival.
Ever since Waller won his first bout, other combatants had begun using slings, though most of them seemed to have no idea how to make it work, or hit their targets. Carson figured that Waller, who had grown up in the wild, had probably been using one since he was a child. To most people, however, it was an archaic weapon, one they had never actually seen before. Trying to learn to use one in a hurry was probably not feasible, but Carson was determined to give it his best shot.
He wok
e the next morning, hoping against hope that the appeal would be granted, but he received a message from Kate just before lunchtime that it had been denied. When his lunch was brought to him, he was also informed that he would be leaving lockup by mid-afternoon. He was offered the chance to make any calls he felt were necessary, but he declined.
They came for him at two-thirty, and he was taken to another room in the station. There, Inspector Hansen told him that it was time to leave, then handed him a small plastic rectangle with a long beaded chain attached. “Put that around your neck,” Hansen said. “That's your ID tag, don't let anything happen to it.”
Carson obeyed, and then he was led between four guards to the transport vehicle. The little hovercraft zipped through the arcology, emerging onto its roof, and coming to a halt at the heliport on the northeast corner, outside the domes. Carson climbed out when he was told to, and was led through the airlock in the clear plastic dome to stand on the artificial turf surrounding two-dozen helipads.
The wind up there was incredible, and Carson wondered how the helicraft, the machines that looked like rotorless helicopters using hover technology, could safely maneuver themselves in for a landing, but even as he questioned it, one landed right in front of him. It bore the red, blue and yellow markings of Justice Net, and a hatch in the side opened.
To Carson, it looked like the mouth of the great beast that was about to swallow him up. Realistically, that was a fairly accurate analogy, he thought. Into the belly of the beast he would go, never to be seen or heard of again.
Moments later, he was strapped into his seat and the craft was airborne once again. It took it almost twenty minutes to reach its flight level, but then the big jet engines kicked in and it was moving at almost Mach One only a minute later. Carson didn't know how long the flight lasted, but it seemed far too short a time when they finally touched down again.
The guards got him up out of his seat, and escorted him to the hatch. It opened, and the first thing he noticed was the incredible heat that almost knocked him down. He walked down the steps onto the dusty desert floor and looked around.
They seemed to be in a valley or canyon, and there were high walls surrounding the whole area. At a guess, he would say the valley was at least two or three miles across, and just as long. The arena, where he would soon be forced to fight to the death, was in front of him, and there were a number of buildings scattered around the valley floor. Most of them looked like they were very old, and probably made of adobe.
A small group of people was approaching them, and he saw that most of them were wearing Justice Net colors. Those were the guards who kept the combatants under control in between their fights, he knew, and a moment later the guards who had escorted him from the Kankakee Arcology handed him over.
One of the new group was wearing tattered coveralls, however—a large black man who stuck out a hand for Carson to shake. “Roscoe Pearson,” the big man said. “I know who you are, I got the word this morning that you was coming in. You got somebody back in the arc that likes you, and a whole bunch more what hates you. Word I got, you're an innocent man who got hacked up, ‘cause somebody got pissed at you.”
Carson shook with him, and looked him in the eye. “Sounds like you know even more about the whole thing than I do,” he said. He looked Roscoe up and down, and whistled. “Please tell me I'm not going to have to fight you, please?”
Roscoe burst out laughing. “No, no chance of that. We only fight in our weight class, unless we volunteer to go out of it. Me, I'm down to the last twenty bouts on my seventy sentence. Message I got this morning said I needed to volunteer myself as your teacher. Somebody back there thinks you should be learning how to fight and win, and learning it fast. That's why they got hold of me. I'm fifty fights down, and ain't nobody got away from me yet. Whoever your friend is wants me to show you some tricks about how you can do the killing, instead of getting killed!”
Carson's eyes were wide. “Who would've sent a message to you like that? And besides, I'm no killer, I don't think I can kill anyone.”
Roscoe's smile got even wider. “Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say—until they see a big mother like me coming straight at ’em, ready to tear their heads off and spit down their necks! Trust me, kid, when it's either you or them, you're going to be more than willing to kill!” He slapped Carson on the back, almost knocking him down. “And it be my job to teach you exactly how to do it!”
“I don't know how you plan to do that,” Carson said. “I'll be honest with you, Mr. Pearson, I've never been in a fight in my life.”
Roscoe nodded. “Yeah, that's what I was told. Don't fret about it none, I done got a sparring partner lined up for you. We got just a little over a week before your first bout, and by the time it starts, you're going to know a few different ways to kill a man. We'll teach you, and we'll show you how to take a punch without letting it knock away your breath or your senses.”
“Okay, Roscoe, time to go,” said one of the guards. “We have to get your newbie checked in, then you can have him back.”
Roscoe turned and started walking back the way they had come, and Carson hurried to keep pace with him. “Is that where we stay? In those mud huts over there?”
“Yep,” Roscoe replied. “We call it the J-Net Hilton. Not too many of the comforts you're used to, but they feed us pretty good and the beds aren't too uncomfortable. Just hope you can sleep when it's a hundred and ten degrees. That thick adobe tends to keep it cooler during the day, but all the heat it soaks up when the sun is shining finally manages to get through the walls at about two AM. That's when it gets really hot in there. Be sure to sleep in late in the mornings, whenever you can. One of the main things you need to know about staying alive in J-Net is that you need to get all the rest you can, whenever you can.”
“I don't think I've felt this kind of heat since I was a kid, and we lived outside the arcology. I grew up on a farm near one of the old towns, and we had a regular house. The air-conditioning kept it cool inside, but I can remember going out in the summer time and feeling like I was going to melt.”
“Where was that, back in Chicago District?”
“Yeah, not too far from the arcology. It was okay, I guess, but there's no doubt in my mind I was meant to be a city boy.”
“Well, you're a long way from the city, now. One thing you got to figure out real quick is that old life of yours is over. Ain't no professors here, we all just here to fight and stay alive.”
Carson looked around at the guards who were escorting them, then looked back up at Roscoe. “How come these guys are willing to let you come out and meet me?”
“Because they don't wanna piss me off,” Roscoe said. “Here's how it works in here. When you come in new, like you, the dicks want to screw with you, try to keep you scared. They just like everyone else, they put bets on the fights, but they got the advantage of knowing us. They push the new guys pretty hard, try to see do you got what it takes or not. If you too soft, they know they can make fast money betting against you, but if you strong, if you hard, then sometimes they help you out. They talk to the Cage and get you a fight you can win.”
“The Cage?” Carson asked.
Roscoe nodded his head. “Yep. They call it the Shadow Cage, but it's really just a group of people who like to rig the fights so they know who to bet on. I don't know who’s in it, but I know it goes all the way to the top in J-Net. Ain't no other way they could have the pull they got. Time I get done with you, they be giving you some easy ones.”
They had made it to the adobe structure, and Carson saw that there was only one door leading inside. Roscoe opened it and motioned for him to enter, and all but one of the guards stayed outside.
They passed through a long hallway, and Carson noticed that the air was considerably cooler. It was also darker in the hall, which was lit with only a few light strips, but then they emerged into sunlight again.
Carson stopped and looked around. He was surrounded on all four sides by t
he adobe structure that towered three stories above. There in the center, he could see hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, both men and women, many of them running or working out. He saw many pairs who seemed to be sparring, practicing their fighting skills. The open area looked to be as much as a mile or more across; the buildings on the other side looking tiny in comparison to the ones nearby.
The guard who had entered with them hit Carson on the shoulder. “You come with me for right now,” he said.
“Go on,” Roscoe said. “I'll come get you after they get you booked in.”
EIGHTEEN
Carson followed the guard to a small building that sat in the open area. This one wasn’t made of adobe; it seemed to be constructed of steel and glass. The guard opened the door and Carson stepped inside, instantly chilled by the powerful air-conditioning.
He was led into a room where a dozen people sat around at desks, holoterminals visible in the air above them. The guard pointed to a chair beside a desk, and Carson sat down.
A young woman at the desk smiled at him. “Hi,” she said. “I'm doing your intake, getting you logged into the system so that we can assign your room. Can I have your tag?”
Carson lifted the chain off his neck and passed the tag to her. She laid it on a glowing spot on her desk, and her holodisplay suddenly showed a picture of him. All of the information about his case and sentence was displayed, as well, and the girl’s smile disappeared as she read the charge of which he had been convicted.
She made no comment, but poked at the display for a few seconds. When she was finished, she handed the tag back to him. “Put that back on,” she said. “I've assigned you to Forty-Seven D, room sixteen. The guard will show you where it's at.”
She turned away from him, and the same guard who had escorted him in tapped him on the shoulder. “Let's go.”
Carson stood and followed the guard out of the room, and into another. A man in a white lab coat was waiting for them, and he stepped up to Carson and pressed something against the side of his throat. Carson felt a sting, and then the man moved away.