The baby barely left the water before falling back in a gigantic belly flop. Sarbin twisted instinctively and transformed his fall into a headfirst dive that barely seemed to part the waters. Carrie, try as she might, was a creature of land or water, not airborne leaps, but managed a feet-first splashdown that was functional, if not graceful.
The first thing she did after entering the water was deactivate her lifesuit, and she gloried in the feel of Welkin's waters flowing over her skin. She broke the water's surface again and took in the sight of Varis's great bulk rolling onto one side, water sluicing down her underside as her newborn moved in to suckle.
It was worth it, Carrie thought. Just for this one moment, it was all worth it.
Sarbin burst out of the water in front of her, arced over her head, and made graceful splashdown behind her. As he came up next to Carrie, he said, “Isn't it wonderful? You worked hard, but everything turned out all right."
Sometimes the innocents of the world get their way, Carrie thought. “You worked as hard as I did. Without you, the baby would never have been born. Race you to shore.” Carrie took a deep breath into her genetically engineered lungs and started swimming past mother and child and toward the land.
Sarbin easily passed Carrie up, but made it a game all the way in, darting around her and encouraging her to go faster. Matt met her at the shoreline, and stood holding out a terry cloth robe, but with his eyes looking to one side. I'm starting to feel as if I'm somehow odious to him, she thought. But she took the robe, put it on, and sat down on the sand. “I won't move for a month,” she said.
"You did a marvelous job—both of you,” Matt said.
"If you'll excuse me,” Sarbin said from the shallow water, “I'm going to take a long swim and a half-nap.” And with a fluke flip, he was gone.
"A half-nap?” Carrie asked Matt.
"The halves of Aquatile brains take turns sleeping. Just like dolphins."
"He's amazing. How did marine life here become sentient?"
"An excellent question,” Matt said, sitting next to her. “One we're trying to find the answer to. One question we have answered, though—why Varis got sick, and why she's getting better, however slowly, here at the motile island."
"It's that vegetation she's eating in the open ocean, isn't it?"
"She has a reaction to that alkaloid—gets sick, comes to one of these islands, eats the other stuff, gets well."
"Which is why the banishment seems to work.” Carrie ran her fingers through the sand to play for time, then told Matt, “Thanks for doing such a good job as capcom. I was afraid we weren't going to get along."
Now Matt looked at her. “I was afraid you were going to be condescending, showing off your abilities and your body all the time."
"I thought you'd expect me to conform to your religious beliefs."
"I gave up on that long ago. But I had my doubts. I knew your abilities, but not how much you'd lived. How much you understood about death. Until..."
Carrie said, “Until I mentioned my sister."
"Her name was Adriana?"
"Yes."
A silence stretched on for several seconds. Then Matt said, “My sister was Juliette. She died, too. Back on Earth, several years ago."
"I'm so sorry."
"So I knew you understood. How much I wanted to save Varis and her child. How concerned I was for Sarbin."
"I tried to bail on you when you suggested that business of going into the womb."
"I knew you wouldn't."
"How'd you know?” Carrie asked.
"Because I wouldn't have, either."
Copyright © 2010 Dave Creek
[Back to Table of Contents]
Novelette: THE WHOLE TRUTH WITNESS by Kenneth Schneyer
Are you sure you'd really want what witnesses are sworn to tell?
If the jury had had any pity, they'd have waited a decent interval before returning the verdict. But the order to return flashed on Manny's thumbnail even before lunch had arrived at the café across the street from the courthouse. Elsa saw it and gave him a tense little nod before reaching for her bag. She glanced over at the client but didn't say a word.
Manny knew his paralegal was right: he ought to warn the client of just how bad it was going to be, but he hadn't the heart. So Perez got the full impact of the mammoth damage award in the courtroom itself. He bent forward as if punched in the stomach, a hollow wheeze escaping his mouth. On the way out of the building he wouldn't look at them, and, Manny guessed, probably wouldn't pay his bill—probably couldn't pay it; the judgment was going to bankrupt him.
Manny and Elsa walked back to the office in the rain. Even in her high heels, Elsa was about three-quarters Manny's height and forty percent his weight, and had to splash along beside him to keep up, making her even more visibly impatient than usual.
"That's the sixth case in a row,” she said, swishing her umbrella back and forth irritably.
"Don't start,” said Manny.
"No, listen. You've got to stop taking cases where the other side has a Whole Truth witness. It's destroying your practice and your reputation."
He ground his teeth. “It's not my fault. You ought to have to notify someone before they speak to a Whole Truth witness."
"But you've tried that argument, no?"
"Yes."
"And you lost."
"Yes."
"And even the Supreme Court—"
Manny made a helpless gesture with the arm holding the litigation bag, wondering whether she nagged her husband this way. “What do you suggest? That we avoid any case where Ed Ferimond is the opposing counsel, or where the other side is any decent-sized corporation? Not to mention most criminal cases?” He sidestepped a large puddle, only to land in another one. “Exactly what cases should I take?"
"You could do more divorces,” said Elsa. Manny didn't answer; the words hung in the soggy air like a promise of eternal mud.
Dripping on the worn carpet of the office and mopping her face with a paper towel, Elsa checked the incoming messages with the purse-lipped efficiency that made her worth far more than he could afford to pay her. Most of the messages were confirmations of hearing dates or responses to discovery requests, but one was an inquiry from a new potential client: Tina Beltran, who had just been served with a summons and complaint from WorldWide Holdings, LLC. A copy of the complaint was attached to the message.
"Well, what do you know,” said Manny, skimming the document and realizing that he'd missed lunch. “A civil suit under PIPRA, maybe even a case of first impression. Well, well. Do you want to order out for sandwiches?"
"No, you should have a salad,” said Elsa, heating water for a cup of tea and holding her hands over the first wisps of steam. He could see her hair starting to recover some of its frizz as it dried. “Case of first impression; is that good?"
"It could be. If it's a high-profile case, it might give us a reputation as experts and bring in more business later."
"If we win, you mean.” Elsa started calling up menus from her favorite salad shacks.
"Yes. You know, I'd really rather have the pulled pork at Tomas's."
"I know that's what you'd really rather,” she said, not deviating from the salad menus. “I don't suppose WorldWide Holdings has a Whole Truth witness?"
Manny skimmed down to the bottom of the pleading, seeing the name Edward Ferimond, Attorney for Plaintiff. He sighed. “I'm afraid it probably does."
* * * *
Although the medical malpractice case against Jerry Zucker did not involve a Whole Truth witness, it was just as hopeless in its own way. The plaintiff was spitting angry, even after seven months of discovery, and wanted to take Jerry for every cent he had. Manny supposed that disappointing plastic surgery would make anyone testy, but Helen Ishikawa was like a child holding her breath.
"Nelson says that Ishikawa isn't interested in a monetary settlement,” Manny told Jerry over the phone.
"So you called to tell me that
we have to go to trial?"
"Not necessarily. Nelson says that she wants you to fix the problem."
"Fix what problem?"
"Do the work the way she wanted it in the first place."
Jerry choked on whatever he was drinking. “What, she trusts me to do more surgery after I supposedly ruined her body the last time?"
"It surprises me too. I can't say I'd trust you, myself."
Jerry didn't laugh. “And anyway, what she wanted wasn't really possible. I mean, some parts of the body just don't do certain things, you know? It's a matter of tissue structure and physics; I told her so at the time."
Manny skimmed his fingers back and forth across the desktop. “I wish you had used a good release and consent form."
"I'm doing it now, aren't I?"
"Yes, yes. Well, if there's no way of pleasing her, then we may have to go to trial after all. She won't consent to mediation."
There was a long pause. Manny could hear background sounds of fluid being poured into a glass. Then Jerry started to speak, stopped, started again: “Well . . . hm . . .” Manny waited, looking at his empty coffee cup.
Several noisy swigs or swallows later, the plastic surgeon said slowly, “I said that Ishikawa can't get what she wants by conventional techniques."
"You did say that, yes."
"But, well, there's an experimental technique—"
"Experimental?"
"Yes—involving nanobots."
Manny puffed air out through his nose, as if he were forestalling a sneeze. These days he detested the mention of nanobots. Nanobots were the basis of the Whole Truth process and the consequent implosion of his trial practice. He took a deep, slow breath, also through his nose. “How do nanobots help?"
"Well, in my early tests, they're able to sculpt tissue almost like clay, changing size, shape, texture, color. So if Ishikawa really wants her—"
Manny interrupted. “Have you ever tried this on an actual human being?"
"Only in highly controlled experiments with minor variations, part of the preliminary FDA approval process. Nothing as major as what she wants."
"So she'd be taking it on faith. Faith in you."
Jerry groaned. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea."
"Well, no, not necessarily. Would this technique work on Ishikawa, if you tried it? How certain are you?"
"Actually, given the sort of weird cosmetic changes she wants and where she wants them, I'm very certain."
"You don't want to buy yourself another malpractice lawsuit, after all."
"No, I'm certain."
Manny tapped out a salsa rhythm on the desk with his fingertips. “Let me call Nelson. Maybe we can set something up."
* * * *
Tina Beltran turned out to be a nervous, fortyish woman with red hair who reminded Manny of a squirrel harassed by too many cats. “So I guess my case is hopeless,” she said.
Manny steepled his fingers, giving Elsa a sidelong glance. She was taking notes, pretending not to have opinions, but he could tell, from the way her eyebrow twitched, that she agreed with the client.
"Not necessarily,” he said. Elsa's eyebrow twitched again. “You never actually created a defragmenter, did you? You never wrote any code, assembled any modules, or anything like that?"
"Well, no, not to speak of. But Althoren—"
Manny's stomach rumbled at the same moment he interrupted her. “Yes, thank you, I was getting to him. The only one who saw or heard you make any remarks about a defragmenter was Dieter Althoren?"
"Yes."
"There are no documents, electronic records, cold memory or other conversations about it?” An unbidden image of a sardine sandwich with mayonnaise popped into his head.
"No, but I intended—"
Manny held up his finger in a reliably commanding gesture; the finger reminded him of a sardine. “Actually, I don't think I need to know what you intended, Ms. Beltran. Our concern should be with the evidence. Mister Althoren was the only person there? And there were no other conversations?"
Beltran froze, as if she'd caught the sudden scent of a predator. Finally she said, “Yes, but he's enough, isn't he?"
The twitch in Elsa's eyebrow seemed to be attempting to send Morse code. Manny asked, “Do you mean, because of Whole Truth?"
"Well, obviously."
Now Elsa dropped her pretence of objectivity and stared at him the way she probably stared at her children when she caught them in a lie.
Manny folded his hands over his increasingly empty belly and spoke slowly to Beltran, avoiding Elsa's gaze. “I agree that the Whole Truth process gives us a disadvantage in the courtroom."
"Disadvantage?” Beltran chittered. “They'll believe every word he says!"
Inwardly Manny sighed. Too many client consultations reached this same impasse. His head inclined one way, then the other. “I'll admit it's a risk. But tell me, how strongly do you feel about this case?"
"How strongly do I feel?” Manny imagined the thrashing of Beltran's angry tail. “One: all I did was talk. Two: all I talked about was creating a defragmenter to reassemble media files with expired copyrights. Expired copyrights, Mr. Suarez! Three: this stupid lawsuit is by some holding company I never even heard of, for my life savings! How do I feel?"
"Well,” said Manny, “I think a lot of people will feel the way you do about it—people on the jury, for example. Not a lot of people have even heard of the PIPRA statute. Once they understand what it is, well, it seems pretty compelling, doesn't it? Giant holding company bankrupts honest designer for talking about creating software to do something perfectly legal?"
Beltran chewed her lip rapidly. “So you don't think we should settle, Mr. Suarez?"
"Please call me Manny. Well, so far they haven't offered us any settlement. If they do, naturally we should consider it."
"We could offer a settlement ourselves."
Manny gave her his widest, hungriest smile. “Would you like to?"
Her beady eyes flashed. “No."
"Good,” he said. “Because I think we can beat them."
After Tina Beltran left the office, Elsa stood in the doorway to the conference room, all sixty inches of her, fierce and birdlike, staring at Manny as if he were a shoplifter or graffiti artist.
"What?” asked Manny. Elsa didn't answer, but her eyes narrowed. He continued, “I'm starving. Do you want a sandwich?"
"You are a shameless, unprincipled opportunist,” she said, sounding more like a crow than a songbird.
"You object to the sandwich?"
"I'm not talking about the goddamn sandwich." Then, as if changing her mind, she glowered at his belly. “Anyway, you eat too much."
"Do you nag Felix this way?"
"Felix doesn't lie to people and build false hopes."
"Neither do I."
"Really?” she asked, speaking through her sharp little beak as she did at her most sarcastic. “After the last six cases, you expect to overcome the testimony of a Whole Truth witness?"
"It's possible,” he said, not very convincingly.
Elsa stepped up to him so that her nose was about six inches from the bottom of his breastbone, and started poking her index finger into his chest with each word, as if pecking for worms. “You—” Peck. “—got—” Peck. “—her—” Peck. “—hopes—” Peck. “—up.” Peck, peck, peck.
"Ow, stop it, get away. Look—” He rubbed his chest with his palm. “This is a test case for PIPRA. If we win it—"
"With what? Good intentions? Political sympathies of the jury? I can see it now: Members of the jury, you should give a damn about little Tina Beltran and some complicated IP statute you never heard of. Manuel Suarez waves his magic wand and everybody ignores the evidence."
"That's possible too.” She glared at him. “There's a good chance that PIPRA is unconstitutional."
"And how many levels of appeal would it take to decide that point in her favor? Don't tell me that WorldWide isn't going to keep going unti
l they run out of courts."
He tried to find a way around her through the doorway, but she blocked him. “Possibly all the way to the Supreme Court,” he conceded.
"Sa—. And we know how much that costs, don't we? Do you imagine that that woman has anything like those resources?” If she'd really been a bird, she would have flown into his face.
"I'll think of something,” Manny said. “I always think of something."
Elsa shook her head and marched out of the room.
* * * *
"It doesn't look like it's going to work,” Manny told Jerry Zucker. “She doesn't want the procedure when it's totally untested."
He could hear Jerry's sigh over the phone. “So we're back where we started from, aren't we?"
"Yes. We were pretty close, too. Nelson says that if you had even a few patients with major alterations or enhancements from your nano-machine process, Ishikawa might give it a go—he says she'd even drop the suit and sign a release."
There was a sound of something soft banging on something hard—possibly Jerry's fist on his desk, or maybe his forehead. “Hell."
"I don't suppose there's any way you could produce a confidential human subject, is there?” asked Manny.
"What?"
"Well, from what Nelson told me, I gather that Ishikawa would accept any successful subject, even one that wasn't, well, fully disclosed to the FDA."
"You're kidding. We're supposed to trust her with something like that? It's like giving a blackmailer the key to your diary."
"She seems to want this alteration very badly. We might be able to get her to sign a confidentiality agreement."
"Well, I'm sorry, but there is no such patient. I've been a good boy, and I haven't engaged in human experimentation without a go-ahead from the powers-that-be."
"Not even with a consent form?"
"Manny."
"Ah, well. It was worth a try. Looks like the courtroom for us."
"Not a lot of plastic surgeons on juries."
"No, I'm afraid not."
As he hung up, Manny wondered idly whether Jerry would be happy living in some other country and engaging in some other profession. Probably not.
Then he looked up and saw Elsa, standing in the doorway of his office like a torch of righteousness. “Have you found some way not to cheat Tina Beltran?” she asked.
Analog SFF, October 2010 Page 12