"It's nice to see you too, Elsa. I'm not cheating her."
Elsa began counting on her fingers. “No way to avoid the Whole Truth evidence. No way to cause jury nullification. No way to get a ruling on the law without bankrupting the client. Shall I go on?"
"I'll think of something, chica."
"Don't call me chica. You'll think of something, right. You have the gall to take that woman's money, and you have nothing. She deserves more than to put her hopes in one of your hallucinations!"
Manny froze, not breathing. He looked at Elsa as if he'd never seen her before. “Say that again."
"I said, she deserves more than to put her hopes into one of your—"
He interrupted her, grinning indecently. “Elsa, I love you."
"I'll tell Felix,” she warned.
"Go ahead. I'll pay him a fair price for you. How much do you suppose he wants?"
"Do you want another finger in the chest?"
But Manny was chortling. “Listen, Elsa, listen. If I had, really had, a way of beating WorldWide, would you help me?"
"Of course I'd do that."
"No matter what it entailed?"
She folded her arms and raised an angular eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?"
* * * *
Dieter Althoren watched through his window as the creepy little car drove away through the canyons of January snow, chewing his lip until he was sure it wasn't coming back.
His parents had warned him about this. “Don't go along with it,” Vatti had said. “You don't know what will happen to you. What will you do if they screw you up?” But he'd needed the money so badly; this job had been his last hope. And the doctors had been so sure, so confident; they'd said that the failure rate was so low . . . He tried to swallow in a dry throat, felt faint, and let himself drop onto the couch.
What to do? If he told Ed Ferimond what had happened, he'd lose his job, and he didn't believe for a damn minute that the lawyer or anybody else would help him. But you signed a release, they'd say. We told you the risks, and you agreed to accept them. “Hold harmless,” see? It says so right here. Bastards.
Well, fine. He wasn't going to tell Ferimond or anybody else what had happened. When was he next seeing the son of a bitch? Not until April, to prepare for the stupid deposition. He'd tell the “whole truth and nothing but the truth,” sure—hell, with those damn bugs in his head he couldn't do anything else—but he didn't have to tell anyone what they didn't ask.
* * * *
At jury selection, Manny behaved exactly the way Edward Ferimond expected him to behave. He asked each juror what she knew about the Protection of Intellectual Property Revision Act, how it was drafted, who sponsored it, who the lobbyists were. He mentioned WorldWide's name as often as he could. Ferimond, who had the grace, beauty, and haughtiness of an Abyssinian cat, made frequent objections, lazily accusing him of biasing the jury and turning a simple civil suit into a political trial. Judge Rackham seemed bored by both Manny's questions and Ferimond's objections; some objections she sustained, but most she overruled, since the jurors’ opinions about PIPRA were potentially sources of bias.
But Ferimond did not seem to find anything objectionable in Manny's tedious repetition of the same question to each and every juror: “Can I count on you to rely on your own assessment of the evidence, rather than allowing someone else to tell you which witnesses are truthful, lying, or just crazy?” Of course they'd all said yes.
In pretrial conference, Ferimond had looked genuinely put out when Manny declined to stipulate to the reliability of testimony from a Whole Truth witness, although he never had and never would.
So here Ferimond was, his body language conveying how many better things he had to do, questioning Eleanor Moncrief, Ph.D., a plump woman in a flattering blue suit and matching eyes, qualifying her as an expert, and taking her through the familiar territory of the Whole Truth enhancement procedure.
"The nanomachines alter pathways in the parts of the brain associated with memory and volition,” said Dr. Moncrief in a surprising contralto. “The machines are injected in a saline solution, effect their changes in the appropriate neural tissue, and then decompose into trace minerals that pass out of the system. From injection to elimination, the procedure takes about 48 hours."
"And what,” yawned Ferimond, “is the result of this procedure on the behavior of the subject?"
"There are two primary results. First, the subject has total recall of all events occurring after the procedure. Second, he becomes incapable of telling a knowing falsehood."
"How long do these behavioral changes last?"
"They are permanent, until the procedure is reversed or some organic event takes place, such as degradation of tissue with age or illness."
"In the case of Dieter Althoren,” said Ferimond, seeming to regain some interest in what he was doing, “when was the procedure performed?"
"June 23rd of last year,” said Dr. Moncrief.
"Did you perform the procedure yourself?"
"Well, I have an R.N. who does the actual injections. But apart from that, yes, I did."
"So far as you are aware, has the procedure been reversed?"
"Not so far as I know."
"So, doctor, would it be fair to say that anything said by Mr. Althoren relating to any event occurring after June 23rd of last year would be truthful and accurate?"
"Objection, Your Honor.” Although addressing the judge, Manny looked right at the jury. He rose with exaggerated difficulty. “Counsel is asking the witness to opine on a matter of credibility. The jury determines whether a witness is truthful.” He nodded approvingly to the jurors, then sat down slowly.
"Sustained."
Ferimond gave a long-suffering sigh. “Let me rephrase, doctor. Have there been tests during the last twenty years of subjects’ accuracy and credibility following the Whole Truth procedure?"
"There have been dozens of studies."
"What is the percentage of subjects who display, within normal tolerances, perfect truthfulness and accuracy?"
"According to the literature reviews I've seen, that figure is 97.5 percent, plus or minus two percent."
Ferimond did not quite smirk, but he looked at Manny as if to say, Why waste your time? “No more questions."
Manny rose as Ferimond sat. He addressed the witness with his friendliest face. “Doctor Moncrief, where does that two-and-a-half percent failure rate come from?"
She smiled back. “A tiny fraction of pathways do not respond as predicted. For most subjects, the incidence of such pathways is so small that the results are the same. But for just a few, the cumulative effect of unaltered pathways results in unaltered behaviors."
"These subjects have either inaccurate memories, or are still able to lie?” asked Manny.
"Yes, but I must emphasize that you are talking about one subject out of forty."
He nodded. “I see. Now, when you speak of the memories being accurate, you're speaking of memories as perceived by the subject, yes? I mean to say, if the subject's eyes or ears were not working properly, the subject would recall sights and sounds as garbled by his senses, wouldn't he?"
She nodded too. “Yes, he would."
Manny adopted the tone of a curious student. “And also our memories are affected by our own attitudes, aren't they? If a person associates dogs with violence, he might remember a dog he saw as being violent when that dog wasn't actually violent. Isn't that so?"
"Yes,” Moncrief responded slowly. “Within limits."
"What limits?"
"Well, if he had time to see what the dog was really doing, I don't believe he would manufacture things that weren't there. For example, he wouldn't say that there was blood dripping from the fangs when there wasn't."
"But if the dog actually made a friendly move, the subject might interpret it and report it differently, yes?"
"Yes, I think that's right."
Manny nodded. “One more question. If a person is already
subject to garbled perceptions, for reasons of mental illness, drug use, brain damage, or other causes, the Whole Truth process doesn't actually cure those things, does it?"
She frowned for a second, then answered. “No, but there are other procedures that we can employ to effect changes like that."
He nodded again, looking eager to please. “Surely, surely, but you'd have to know of such conditions, wouldn't you, before you could cure them?"
"We would."
Manny smiled gratefully and sat down again, beaming at the whole room as if he were planning on treating them all to drinks and dinner.
Dieter Althoren, blond, 28, thin as a rope, earnest of expression, was sworn as the plaintiff's next and last witness. Silkily Ferimond led Althoren through his visit to Tina Beltran's office a mere two weeks after undergoing the Whole Truth procedure—what the room looked like, what she was wearing, the color of her nail polish. Then they padded together through the conversation itself, stopping at every breath and turn of phrase in Beltran's manner, how he asked her about defragmenters, how she said she was planning on writing one, how he offered to pay her for a copy and she agreed.
Throughout the direct examination, Manny quietly arranged and rearranged a few coins on top of the counsel's table, as if not noticing even that Althoren was speaking. When Ferimond said, “Your witness,” Manny stood with even more difficulty than before, shuffling his papers in a doddering, confused manner. He glanced up apologetically at the witness and took a full twenty seconds to find the page he was looking for. The foolish fat man, that was Manny.
"Good morning, Mr. Althoren,” he said, smiling.
"Good morning, sir."
"Let's see. You and I haven't met before today, have we?"
Althoren gave Manny a knowing grin, as if spotting a trap. “You took my deposition, Mr. Suarez."
Manny touched his forehead like a man who's left his keys in the car. “That's right, that's right, thank you for reminding me. The deposition. That was in March of this year, wasn't it?"
"April, Mr. Suarez.” Althoren's grin broadened.
"Of course. Dear me.” Manny shook his head ruefully. “But at any rate, we can say with confidence that you and I hadn't met before the deposition, can't we?"
Althoren's expression changed. He seemed reluctant to speak, but, as if unable to stop himself, said, “I'm afraid we can't say that."
Manny's eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head. “We can't?"
Althoren's voice dropped noticeably. “No, sir. We met in January, at my house."
Manny frowned and put down his paper. Then he opened, consulted, and closed a leather-bound calendar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a confused look ripple across Ferimond's face. Manny frowned even more deeply, making impressive bulges in his face. “We did? In January?"
"Yes, sir."
"I came to your house?"
"You did."
"Was I alone?"
"No, sir. Your paralegal, Ms. Morales, was there too.” Althoren gestured at Elsa.
"Ah.” Manny chewed his lip, glancing at Elsa in apparent confusion. Then he spoke as if humoring someone who was making an elaborate joke. “Well, I imagine if it was winter, I must have looked pretty awful, eh? Not my best time of year."
Althoren looked even more unhappy. “You could say that. You had that awful green skin."
Manny looked taken aback, then relaxed. “Green—ah, you mean that I looked peaky, right? Green, like I wanted to throw up?"
Althoren shook his head. “No, I mean emerald green. Green, like my neighbor's lawn."
Manny's mouth gaped, then he said, “My skin?"
"Yes."
"Emerald green?"
"That's right.” Manny turned to the jury. All of them were examining his copper complexion; several wore puzzled expressions.
"My hair wasn't green too, was it?"
Ferimond, who seemed just to have realized what was going on, interrupted as smoothly as he could. “Objection. What is the relevance of these questions?"
Judge Rackham, though, was scrutinizing Althoren and did not even look up. “Overruled. You may answer, Mr. Althoren."
"No, sir, you had no hair, and you had antennae growing out of your head.” One of the spectators snorted; Rackham gave the man a warning look.
Manny swallowed, took a drink of water, and swallowed again. Then he said weakly, “What color were the antennae? Green?"
"No, they were bright red, and they wiggled."
There were more guffaws in the courtroom. Rackham and Ferimond both glared, though for different reasons. Manny silently mouthed the word wiggled, raised his hands in apparent helplessness, then said, as if it were an offhand remark, “Well, Ms. Morales didn't have green skin, did she?"
"No, she didn't."
"That's good. Do you remember what she was wearing?"
"How could I forget? She had no shirt on."
"No shirt on? In January?"
"No shirt on under her coat."
"Oh. Do you mean she sat in your house in her brassiere?"
"No, she never sat, and she was bare-chested.” Ferimond looked wildly at Elsa, who seemed merely puzzled.
Manny's face took on a pained expression, as if pleading with Althoren to talk sensibly. “Mr. Althoren, have you any idea why Ms. Morales should come into a stranger's house half-dressed?"
Althoren was sweating. “She said it was so that her wings wouldn't hurt."
Manny's mouth stayed open for five seconds. Ferimond's stayed open longer; emerald green might not have been a bad description of his own face just then. Manny said, “Her—her wings?"
"Yes,” said Althoren, closing his eyes.
"Did you, er, see those wings?"
"I did."
"What did they look like?"
"They were white and feathery, and about three feet long."
"Um.” Manny stared at Elsa, who stared back and shrugged. Then, as if trying to take command of a crazy situation, Manny said, “Come now, couldn't these wings have been a costume?"
"No, sir. She flapped them."
"Flapped. She didn't fly, did she?"
"No, she said she hadn't learned how yet."
There was a roar of laughter from the spectators and several members of the jury. Judge Rackham pounded her gavel for order.
Manny tossed his papers onto the desk and said, “Your honor, I really cannot continue with this witness. I have no more questions.” He sat down.
Judge Rackham turned to Ferimond. “Re- direct?"
Ferimond banished the dazed expression from his face, forced himself to stand, and managed to say, “Judge, I'd like to request a brief recess before any re-direct examination."
Rackham's face said, I'll bet. Her voice said, “Very well, you can have twenty minutes. Mr. Althoren, you will remain under oath during the recess."
Ferimond gestured angrily for Althoren to follow him, and the two of them left the courtroom. The jury filed out into their lounge, some bewildered, some amused. Manny whistled tunelessly, looking through a reference book he'd brought for show. Elsa rolled her eyes. Tina Beltran, who was as confused by Althoren's testimony as anyone, leaned towards Manny and whispered, “What was that all about?"
"Hush,” said Manny, taking out his watch and laying it on the table. “We'll see."
Exactly twenty minutes later, Ferimond and Althoren reentered the courtroom. Ferimond looked aggrieved; he glared at Manny before sitting.
When the jury had re-entered, Rackham asked, “Re-direct examination, Mr. Ferimond?"
Ferimond stood. Through gritted teeth he said, “No, Judge. We rest."
"Very well. Mr. Suarez, you may present your first witness."
Manny stood more easily this time. “Actually, Your Honor, we'd like to waive the presentation of defendant's case and proceed immediately to our closing argument."
Rackham looked startled, the jury puzzled, Ferimond aghast. “Mr. Suarez,” said Rackham, “you're not going to present a
ny evidence at all?"
"No, judge. Since plaintiff has the burden of proof, his failure to present sufficient evidence is grounds for the jury to find in our favor. As I do not believe plaintiff has proved his case, I see no reason to bother refuting it."
"Are you moving for a directed verdict, then?"
"No, judge, but thank you for asking. I just want to talk to the jury."
Rackham tapped her fingernails on the bench. “I'm not going to indulge you if you change your mind later, Mr. Suarez."
"Understood, Your Honor."
"I expect that you'll want a continuance to prepare your closing argument?” She glanced over at her clerk, who was already checking the calendar.
Manny said, “No ma'am. We have half the day left, and I'm ready now."
Rackham consulted the file summary in front of her. “Um, I don't think we've settled the jury instructions yet, have we?"
"Actually, Your Honor, we've read Plaintiff's proposed jury instructions and we're content to let those stand. They're fine. But I'm ready for my closing."
The judge nodded. Manny thought she might be thinking about her docket.
Ferimond sputtered, “Your Honor, this is ridiculous! We're hardly ready for closing. We expected defendant to present a case!"
"That's up to him, counsel."
"But our own closing isn't ready."
"Then you can have a continuance after Mister Suarez has finished.” Ferimond's mouth worked, but nothing came out. Rackham sighed. “Please be seated, Mr. Ferimond. Mister Suarez, you may proceed."
"Permission to approach the jury?"
"Granted."
Manny wandered over to the jury box, shaking his head. “For a thousand years, juries have had the role of deciding the credibility of witnesses. Everyone knows there are excellent liars in the world, and that no one is a perfect judge of character. We have faith that twelve citizens, using their own wits and working together, can tell the liars from the truth-tellers.
"But now a few clever engineers invent a nanobot that, they say, takes that job away from you. They say that a witness who's had the Whole Truth process cannot forget, cannot lie, that anything he says must be true. They would have this machine tell you what to believe.
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