Mary Rosenblum: One Good Juror

“Yes, he does, Your Honor, he just uses different terminology. He says that alternative, safer interfaces are, quote, ‘readily available,’ and refers to several competing products manufactured in China and India that use these safer interfaces and are marketed at competitive prices.”

This had to be the way, she knew in her gut; the judge’s hesitation told her that much. A judicial intelligence had to be careful to avoid any decision that might depend even slightly on fine distinctions or idiosyncrasies in human spoken or body language. After all, the appeals court justices were human.

Clark was on his feet again. “Your Honor, if I may… Dr. Singh’s views are on the lunatic fringe of brain implant technology.”

“His views may be in the minority,” Erin said, “but even the defense expert has conceded that the issue remains unresolved to a scientific certainty, and that Dr. Singh’s views represent one possible valid approach.”

“That is correct,” the judge said. “The court finds that Dr. Singh’s opinions are based on valid science and are thus admissible evidence.”

Erin had shut-down her scans and now focused everything on her argument. “And the question of which of two competing but equally valid scientific approaches is more persuasive has to be resolved by a human juror, on the basis of the relative credibility of the expert witnesses’ testimony and demeanor.”

For a long moment, the courtroom was silent again. Erin knew the judge was reviewing all reported decisions and authorities related to the issue. In this instance, she hoped, the AI would act like a human trial judge and adopt the safest course. Finally, the judge ruled.

“The defendant’s motion for summary judgment dismissing the plaintiff’s claims is denied. The alternative motion for determination of law of the case is granted. This matter is hereby scheduled for trial commencing next Monday at 8:30 A.M. The juror shall be instructed that he or she may find that defendant’s product is defective only if the evidence shows that it could have been designed or manufactured to prevent this injury without a significant increase in the cost of the product.”

How in the world are we supposed to prove that? Erin wondered. “Counsel shall adhere to a three-day trial schedule. The case shall be given to the juror no later than 3:30 P.M. on Wednesday. Any delays or violations of the evidence rules shall be met with time or monetary sanctions.”

“What does this mean?” Polk whispered.

“It means you’ve won your right to a trial,” she told him. “But we’re in big trouble.”

Ephraim wondered if he had made a mistake in hiring Erin Mendel. Her office shocked him, and he let her see it.

“Come in.” She admitted him stiffly, squeezing up against the holo-window so that he could get around the end of her desk to the empty chair that was obviously meant for him.

There was no reason to spend money for the ostentation of expensive space if your reputation was made in the courtroom, Ephraim supposed. But after Derocher’s spacious office with its real window and woolen carpeting, this… closet seemed more symbolic perhaps than it should have.

“Mr. Polk.” She offered him a long-fingered hand. “I’m sorry that I had to literally rush in at the eleventh hour. But you didn’t leave me much time when you asked me to represent you.” She tilted her head, her eyes steady on his face. They were green, he noticed—the kind of green that could look cold as arctic seawater. “Suppose we talk about your case. Now that we have actually been awarded a trial.”

“Why did you say we were in trouble?” He tried to moderate his tone Ms. Mendel was the only lawyer who had been willing to take the case after Derocher dumped him, after all.

“You’re getting a trial because the AI deferred to the human ability to assess credibility and interpret nuances of human language.” She was still studying him. “That doesn’t mean you have much hope of winning. This kind of product liability case has been unsuccessful in nearly every instance in the last decade.”

“The judge said something about deciding if the cost of using a safer interface was significant. My God!” He unclenched his fists with an effort. “How can any amount of money be significant compared to what… what’s happening to me?”

“ That is exactly what we need to convey to the juror,” she said crisply. “So talk to me, please.”

“What about? You got all the stuff from Derocher, didn’t you? He said he’d upload it.” Ephraim fixed his eyes on her holographic window. It was a cheap job—a flat and unreal vista of the Rocky Mountains. The last batch of images he had downloaded pressed against the wall in his brain like a flood rising behind a dam. Which was imagination, he knew. The storage area that had been created to hold the raw data from the Net was isolated by a barrier of individually destroyed neurons rather than any kind of physical structure.

It still felt like a dam about to burst. He could open the floodgates. If he chose. And if he did—he might end up with no memory of any moment before this one. Who would he be, with no past? “I’m sorry.” Ephraim turned his attention back to the lawyer. “I didn’t mean to…” He broke off abruptly.

She wasn’t listening to him. She was staring into space, her gaze unfocused, her posture alert and engaged. Her eyes moved so rapidly that her irises seemed to shiver, and her pupils had contracted to pinpoints. Like a sleeper in REM sleep, he thought. Like someone suffering a mild seizure. Sudden comprehension evoked the familiar ache in the muscles around his eyes. When you opened those floodgates—used your interface to its full capacity—the outside world ceased to exist. The brain sorted and filed the raw data you had downloaded directly from the Net, labeling it with sensory tags rather than words—so that you drowned in flashes of color and image, the sound of a tuba, a car starting, the scent of pancakes burning, or a whiff of garbage. He had videotaped himself in that state once.

It had frightened him. “ You wear one,” he rasped. “ Damn it!”

She blinked, startled, regaining focus quickly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wearing an implant. NeuroTek?” He bolted to his feet, rage coursing through him. “What are you trying to pull here?”

“I’m trying to win a judgment for you,” she said coldly. “Yes, I wear a NeuroTek implant. A lot of people do.”

He felt… betrayed. There was no other word for it. “It’s a conflict of interest.” He glared at her. “How can you prosecute NeuroTek if you’re happy with their product?”

Her laugh caught him by surprise. “Mr. Polk, Ephraim, believe me, it was quite a shock to discover the nature of your suit. It was… disturbing.” She closed her eyes briefly, and let out a breath that was almost but not quite a sigh. “You can fire me, if you seriously believe that my prosecution of your case will be influenced by my use of a similar implant.” She shrugged. “At this point, it may be hard for you to find another good lawyer willing to handle this case.” She stressed the “good” slightly, without the least hint of false modesty.

She was right about that, Ephraim thought moodily. Which didn’t make him any happier. Her implant worked. He looked away, the words to end their relationship poised on the end of his tongue.

There was no time to find another lawyer.

She nodded briskly. “I need to take a look at what you do. I’ve never had much time to follow the art world, but you are quite the name.”

“For the moment,” he said between clenched teeth.

“If I am to convince a juror that you have lost something of value, I need to know what it is that’s valuable. So tell me.” She crossed her arms and perched on the corner of her desk. She seemed as much a stranger in this small space as he, Ephraim thought. This was not where she really worked.