“Unlike Pete, I hold a law degree and have been an attorney for 40 years. I had Mr. Shaw’s job at one time. I interpret self-defense differently than Mr. Shaw and believe the third condition of self-defense refers to no sure means of escape for the defendant or for others whose survival and safety are threatened. If you trust my judgment, please listen carefully to what I’m about to say: I know every relevant fact of this case and I believe Pete Armstrong acted in self-defense.”
The Truth Machine remained solid green and the eyes of every person in the room were watching that light after David’s last declaration. Right or wrong, David West believed with all his heart that his friend was innocent of capital murder.
Lezar adjourned the trial and instructed the jury to begin their deliberation. It was normal for deliberations by trained professionals to require only a few minutes, but nobody expected such dispatch this time. Pete, Maya, and the Wests could do little but wait.
CHAPTER 48
VERDICT
Austin, Texas
July 5, 2050—As the world awaits the verdict in the Randall Petersen Armstrong murder trial, polls suggest the tide of public opinion has strongly turned in favor of Mr. Armstrong. Nearly 70 percent of those polled now believe Armstrong’s life should be spared and over 26 percent believe Armstrong should receive no punishment whatsoever. But an overwhelming majority, roughly 96 percent, agree that, regardless of the sentence, some mechanism will have to be formulated to prevent Armstrong from overriding any new Truth Machines.
The forewoman stood and read the verdict:
“We the jury find the defendant, Randall Petersen Armstrong, guilty of murder. We find the claim of self-defense to be without merit.”
Maya slumped into Diana’s arms, close to losing consciousness. David looked stunned, but Pete had been prepared for it. No longer nervous, he stood absolutely erect, resigned to his fate.
The forewoman continued. “We recommend, however, that amnesty be considered by the World Tribunal, on the basis of extenuating circumstances.”
Big deal, David thought. The World Tribunal always considers amnesty, but hardly ever grants it.
That morning at 11:45, word had reached Pete and David that the jury had rendered a verdict. In fact, unknown to either of them, it had been more like a negotiation—among the five jurors, Judge Lezar, and eventually Carlton Shaw. Messages had flown back and forth between the judge’s chambers and the jury deliberation room for three days.
The forewoman advised Judge Lezar via PDC, “We are not convinced that the murder was committed in self-defense, but we refuse to convict unless you assure us he will not be sentenced to mandatory execution.”
Lezar sent this response: “Armstrong should probably not receive the death penalty, but I can’t think of a way to avoid it without letting him off entirely. Can you?”
In Lezar’s mind, the matter of amnesty could be decided only by the World Tribunal. The jurors, knowing how rarely the Tribunal had granted amnesty in the past, insisted on a less risky solution.
A compromise had finally been reached and had necessarily involved Shaw. Lezar would sentence Armstrong to death, but give him the option of receiving treatment for IDD in lieu of execution.
IDD treatment seemed a humane solution. Computer-enhanced diagnosis of Pete’s symptoms had suggested the treatment would be helpful to alleviate the chronic emotional discomfort he’d suffered throughout most of his life. Indeed, his self-imposed stress level was so high that at the present rate, according to the diagnosis, it was unlikely he would make it to his 90th birthday without cryonics.
The jurors were even more concerned that Pete might someday override other Truth Machines. All parties agreed that must never occur. It was in this respect that IDD treatment would be ideal. The treatment involved drug therapy that would reduce Pete’s memory almost to the level of an average human. He would still be very smart, perhaps in the top five percent of the population, but would no longer maintain total recall. He would thus be incapable of overriding any Truth Machine in the future, but could live out his life in an otherwise normal fashion. It wasn’t perfect, but it was acceptable to both judge and jury.
Of course the sentence couldn’t be expected to hold up on appeal.
But if Shaw would agree not to appeal the sentence, the matter would never reach the World Tribunal unless the defense appealed.
Inconveniently, Shaw believed strongly in his case and in the law. He didn’t think Armstrong should escape execution.
“If you don’t agree to this,” Lezar explained to Shaw, “the jury won’t convict. It’s as simple as that.”
“Then what?”
“If they find him not guilty, it’s over. You lose the case.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Then I might dismiss the case with prejudice.”
“I don’t think you will, Judge. You’ll set a new trial.”
“Will I? There’s one way to find out, Mr. Shaw. But this sentence serves justice and protects the integrity of the Truth Machine. It would be better for everyone if you agreed not to appeal it; IDD treatment or execution within 60 days. His choice.”
“Okay, er, except—I already guaranteed to David West that Armstrong’s execution would be delayed one full year from the sentence.”
“Fine. IDD treatment within 60 days, or execution within a year.”
Shaw took the deal.
Judge Lezar asked, “Does the defendant wish to make a statement before I pronounce sentence?”
“Yes, sir. I only wish to say that I don’t blame the jury for their verdict and I’m grateful for their recommendation to the World Tribunal. I apologize to my friends and family and the rest of the world for 25 years of deceit.”
Lezar spoke. “Mr. Armstrong, the jury has found you guilty of capital murder, but all five members still find reason to admire you and your accomplishments. So do I. In spite of what the law prescribes, none of us believes you deserve to die for your crimes. But if I don’t sentence you to death, my sentence will not hold up on appeal.”
Lezar paused to give the press time to transmit their minute-by-minute stories.
“I’m going to use judicial discretion, however, and offer you another option. Attorney General Shaw has agreed to this. He won’t appeal unless your attorney does. That means if you don’t challenge the verdict or my sentence, you won’t face execution.”
David and Maya could barely believe their ears. Apparently Pete was not going to die!
“Mr. Armstrong, there is concern that at some future time, you might decide it’s in your interest or in the interest of humankind to override the Truth Machine again. Under no circumstances can we afford to take that risk. Therefore, I sentence you to undergo treatment for Intermittent Delusionary Disorder within 60 days. This treatment will impair your memory somewhat, rendering you incapable of writing the software required to commit such a crime. But I’m told it is also likely to improve your overall mental and physical health. My experts predict that you’ll retain nearly all of your superior intelligence and that your memory will remain slightly above the average. Should you fail to submit yourself for such treatment, you’ll face execution one year from today. Do you understand the sentence?”
“Yes, Judge. Perfectly.”
“You have 10 days to decide whether or not to file an appeal and 30 days to actually file it. In the meantime, you are hereby released on your own recognizance.”
Pete answered without hesitation. “I’ve already decided. I thank you and Mr. Shaw for your offer. But I will appeal your sentence.”
Shocked, Lezar was about to explain the sentence again, but David interrupted, “Judge, before you enter Pete’s last statement, may I confer with my client?”
“Of course.”
Alone with Pete in the conference room next to the courtroom where his life had just been spared, David could barely contain himself. He wanted to grab Pete by the shoulders and shake him.
“Have you lost
your mind? This sentence was a gift from God. If you appeal it, you could be put to death.”
“David, I know you’re a great lawyer, so I’ll take my chances. If I get treated for IDD, I’ll never be able to finish the computer models. Those models could advance aging research by 50 years. They’re more important than my life.”
“Is that what you’re going to tell Maya?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to tell Maya. I hope she’ll understand. One of the reasons I’m doing this is for our sons. This work will be my legacy for Leonard and Michael. If I’m not with my boys, at least some day they’ll know I was willing to risk my life so that they, and many others, might live forever. I think they’ll understand and maybe it’ll make them proud I was their father. To me that’s a comforting thought.”
David wasn’t ready to give up. “If we explain the timing to the judge. . . .”
“There’s no chance of that,” Pete interrupted. “He’s already way out on a limb. He doesn’t have the authority to hand down the sentence he did; he won’t give me an extension without figuring out how long it would take me to override the other Truth Machines, and that’ll take them a lot longer than 60 days. Besides, if he did, Shaw would never go for it. The verdict’s already on record. If Lezar ever gave me any more than the 60 days they all agreed to, Shaw would just appeal the sentence—in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But they’re offering you freedom—and your life. Won’t you at least take a couple days to decide?”
“I’ve already decided.”
“Will you discuss it with Maya first?”
“No. She’d just try to talk me out of it. I’ll risk the appeal. Are you going to represent me or not?”
David knew it was no use to argue. He embraced his friend. “Of course I am.”
David and Pete returned to the courtroom.
“Judge, we have a change in plans,” David announced. “We’ve decided to appeal both the verdict and the sentence.”
THOMAS L. MOSELY
Dallas, Texas—July 18, 2050
At last, we arrive at the present. Because you purchased our book, The Truth Machine, you’re entitled to a series of updates. With timeliness no longer such an issue, I will now take over the writing myself. Lucky you.
It took my 22g CP about seven minutes to write The Truth Machine. I spent two and a half days editing it, although I made very few changes. I can still do things the machine cannot, but I’ll never be able to write with the clarity of a 22g. Most revisions I considered would have sacrificed precision in favor of only marginally “prettier” prose, a poor trade in a narrative such as this.
Before I begin my part of the journal, I want to thank the Intel Corporation for inventing the 22g CP that has helped make me, for the first time in my life, a wealthy man. At least for a reporter. I’m told The Truth Machine is now the number one best-selling work on the subject, with nearly 400 million copies disseminated. Obviously I never could have gotten it publication-ready so quickly without the 22g.
What surprised me most was the number of hard-copy (paper) versions sold: over 175,000 in the first two days, a record for a new release over the past decade. Typical of time-sensitive chronicles, sales have since slowed to a trickle. Still, with ecoscientists predicting that trees will begin to overwhelm the planet within 50 years if growth continues at the present rate, I find it gratifying that our book has single-handedly delayed this process by several seconds. I like hard-copy books but have never met a person under age 30 who understands why anyone would buy one.
I’m also grateful to Pete Armstrong and David West for allowing such access. They withheld almost nothing in either of their archives and encouraged us to be as objective as possible. I hope we were.
The defense’s strategy of openness with the press was shrewd, even though it failed to win a not-guilty verdict. Sincerity leads to powerful emotional identification and compassion. I’ve often speculated that if a filmmaker could present Saddam Hussein’s life story from the murderous tyrant’s honest point of view (say, in a three hour VR presentation or even a celluloid “movie”), by story’s end half the audience would find themselves commiserating with the guy, or at least occasionally forgetting to root against him. Not that one should mention Armstrong and Hussein in the same breath. If anything, they are antithetical. The point is, however, that candor elicits strong human empathy.
That might be why the average person cares more about other people now than in pre-Truth Machine times.
I spoke with David West immediately after the trial and naturally he was supportive of the project. He encouraged me to have my 22g programmed to my own style of writing, an artful way of suggesting that I’d have to be out of my mind to write it myself. Unfortunately I cut my journalistic teeth back when reporters did their own writing; most younger writers today work far better with computers than I do. I realized time was of the essence, but must admit I balked.
“Sir, it’ll take a little longer, but I’d really rather write this book unassisted by the computer.”
“Maybe we’ll just write our own book then,” he said with a wicked grin. “You know, Tom, we have an 88g and could just as easily input William Faulkner’s style as that of some broken-down street reporter.”
While he had me laughing, he deftly softened the blow with gracious flattery. “By the way, my friends call me David. It seems to me we’ve known each other for about 40 years.”
I just muttered, “Yes, Mr. Pres—er, I mean, David.”
He was correct to advise delegating the writing to the 22g, though. This manuscript would have been outdated were it published next month instead of three days ago. And I would still be moonlighting as a VR critic.
Now you’re up-to-date on the history of the Truth Machine and the life of its inventor, Randall Petersen Armstrong. Together, we’ll wait and see what happens.
EPILOGUE
THE APPEAL—July 21, 2050—Thomas L. Mosely
Diana and David West sit side by side in their office at home, amidst the clutter of word processors, computers, and research machines. Their screens having been set at 57-percent brightness grade (91.8-percent summer sunlight equivalent), the incandescence surrounds them. Intended to foster alertness, it is now just a merciless reminder of their hunger for that elusive rarity in their recent lives: sleep. Normally they love working together, but lately they’re exhausted.
The two world-famous attorneys have written a moving, concise, and logical 6,400-word document. The reading of it would convince any reasonable person that Pete Armstrong does not deserve to die and that such punishment would not serve the best interest of the human race. Still, they expect to lose. Even with all the resources at their disposal, they have been unable to come up with a decent legal argument upon which to base the appeal.
So far they’ve concentrated most of their efforts on the definition of self-defense. This course of action is problematic, however, because the jury has already decided the issue. It seems unlikely that the Tribunal would overrule them.
Their other apparent avenue would be the Amnesty Bill, but that approach has difficulties as well. The language of the bill clearly states that to be sentenced under guidelines in effect during 2031, one must have confessed prior to the end of that year. Obviously Pete did no such thing.
Nevertheless Diana, who can barely keep her eyes open, decides to review the Amnesty Bill a final time. The idea strikes her like a thunderbolt.
“David. I think we’ve got a chance!”
Her sudden enthusiasm startles him. “Whadja find?”
“I didn’t exactly find anything, but I have a theory.” Diana, now fully spirited, explains, “When the laws were enacted, the ACIP had been in use for six and a half years. It was called the Amnesty Bill, but the name’s misleading. That might be why we never thought of this before.”
“Go on.”
“I think the Amnesty Bill was intended to apply only to those suscept
ible to scips.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Amnesty was just an afterthought. The focus of the bill was to equitably dispose of hundreds of millions of previous crimes discovered by the ACIP and to prevent violent crimes in the future by increasing the penalties. It wasn’t written to catch more criminals, since it was already impossible for lawbreakers not to be caught.”
“Okay. I’m with you so far.”
“They added a grandfather provision, including amnesty, to reduce the stigma associated with pre–Truth Machine crimes, since most pre-ACIP criminals were no longer considered dangerous.”
“I think I’m starting to see your point. Keep going.” David too now appears totally alert.
“The grandfather provision allowed that crimes committed before January 1st would be punished less severely if the perpetrator confessed by the end of 2031. Again, the word ‘confess’ is misleading. The drafters of the bill must have assumed that everyone who’d committed crimes would automatically be caught next time they were scipped and would thereby be forced to confess. Overlooked was the possibility that somebody might not be vulnerable to scipping. Therefore, we can argue that the deadline shouldn’t apply to Pete.”
“ ‘Light dawns on Marblehead,’ ” jokes David. “I get it now. Were there any violent criminals eligible who didn’t confess and receive amnesty?”
“None who were mentally competent. Eventually everybody has to apply for a job or public assistance or a license of some sort. Nobody could leave the country without passing through customs. By 2031, there was no way to avoid getting caught. As best I can tell, Pete was the only murderer who survived the year without confessing.”
David is jubilant. He kisses her forehead and embraces her. “You’re a genius.”
The Truth Machine Page 34