Robert Sawyer - Illegal Alien

“No.”

“Cement expands in the heat and contracts in the cold, Mr. Perez; that’s why sidewalks sometimes buckle on hot days. Even if the mark at the crime scene is a footprint—which I doubt—the fact that it’s smaller than the marks you measured in the cement outside Mann’s Chinese Theatre doesn’t prove anything, does it?”

Ziegler’s second chair, Trina Diamond, decided that she, too, should get into the act: “Objection! Argumentative!”

“Withdrawn,” said Dale, with a courtly bow at Ms. Diamond. “Now, to the question of what happened to Hask’s shed skin. You testified he told you he threw it out.”

“That’s right.”

“In a garbage bag, put out with the campus trash.”

“That’s what he claimed.”

“Did you determine which dump the University of Southern California’s trash is taken to?”

“I did.”

“Did you visit that dump and try to find the bag containing the skin?”

“Yes.”

“But you say you did not find it.”

“I did not find it.”

“Let’s reflect on that a moment, Lieutenant. If you found the shed skin, and it was clean and free of bloodstains, your case pretty much evaporates, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

“Indeed, the fact that Hask’s old skin is missing is the best thing that could have happened to you, isn’t it? You don’t have to see if the diamond-shaped objects found at the crime scene match any possible holes left by any missing scales in that old skin. And you don’t have to explain why it might be clean and free of bloodstains.”

“Objection,” said Ziegler. “Counsel is arguing his case.”

“Overruled,” said Pringle, “but tread softly, Mr. Rice.”

“On what day did you go to the dump, Detective?”

“I’d have to consult my notes.”

“During pretrial deposition, you said it was December twenty-fourth.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Do you remember what the weather was like that day?”

“Not offhand.”

“Your Honor, I would like to now enter into evidence this report from the LAX meteorological office, showing that last December twenty-fourth was exceptionally hot—seventy-five in the shade.”

“Ms. Ziegler?” asked Pringle.

“No objection.”

“So entered.”

“Seventy-five in the shade,” repeated Dale. “One can well imagine that you didn’t really feel like poking through garbage in that heat.”

“I do my job.”

“And the smell—let’s not forget about the smell. Even on a normal winter day, a garbage dump reeks, Detective. On that exceptionally hot day, the smell must have been overpowering.”

“Not as I recall.”

“Surely no one could blame you for not spending too much time rooting around, opening green garbage bag after green garbage bag, while the sun beat down upon you—especially since it was, after all, Christmas eve. No doubt you were in a hurry to get home to your family.”

“I did a thorough search.”

“You pretty much have to say that, don’t you?”

“Object—”

“Of course I have to say it. I’m under oath, and it’s the truth.”

Dale smiled. “Smooth, detective. Very smooth. No further questions.”

“The People call the Tosok named Stant.”

Stant rose from one of the six Tosok chairs in the seating gallery and strode through the gate into the well in front of Judge Pringle’s bench.

“You do solemnly swear or affirm,” said the clerk, “that the testimony you may give in the cause now pending before this Court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“State your name, please.”

“Stant. Phonetically: S-T-A-N-T.”

“Be seated.” While Stant was being sworn in, a bailiff had removed the standard chair from the witness stand and replaced it with another Tosok one. Stant made himself comfortable, the high sides of the chair nestling in the hollows beneath where his legs joined his torso.

Linda Ziegler rose. “Stant, before we begin, I think it’s necessary to talk a bit about that oath you just swore. Do you know the difference between lying and telling the truth?”

“Of course.”

“You said ‘I do’ when the clerk said, ‘So help you God?’ ”

“Yes.”

“Do Tosoks in general believe in a higher being?”

“Yes.”

“This being—he or she is held to be the creator?”

“She is the creator of the universe, yes. And of certain lifeforms.”

“And do you personally subscribe to a belief in this being?”

“Yes.”

“So when you invoke God’s aid in helping you tell the truth, you are in fact calling on a power in which you personally believe?”

“I am.”

“You understand the weight we place on telling the truth during a trial, don’t you?”

“It has been explained to me at length. I will tell the truth.”

“Thank you—and forgive me for asking those questions. Now, please, Stant, tell us what your relationship is to the defendant, Hask?”

“I am his half brother.”

Ziegler was visibly flustered. “I— I beg your pardon?”

“I believe I have used the term correctly. We have the same mother, but different fathers.”

Ziegler glanced over at Dale. Dale was as shocked by this revelation as Ziegler was, but he kept a poker face. She then looked behind Dale to where Nobilio was sitting; he, too, had an expression of complete surprise on his face: eyebrows high, open mouth rounded into a circle. It had been a simple, pro forma opening question, and she’d doubtless anticipated the answer to be, “I’m his shipmate” or “he’s my coworker” or something equally obvious. She visibly tried to regain her own composure. “Your half brother,” she repeated.

Stant’s tuft waved front to back; the Tosok equivalent of a nod. “Yes.”

“Your Honor,” said Ziegler, “permission to treat the witness as hostile.”

“I am not hostile,” said Stant.

Judge Pringle looked at Stant. “By hostile, she means vehemently opposed to the prosecution’s case. Now please don’t speak again until I’ve ruled in this matter.”

“Your Honor,” said Dale, rising to his feet and spreading his giant arms, “the defense objects. Stant has exhibited no hostility.”

“Your Honor,” said Ziegler, “some latitude would be appropriate.”

Pringle frowned. “Being someone’s brother doesn’t necessarily confer Hostile status. Besides, we don’t know anything about Tosok family relationships. I’m going to reserve judgment until we do.”

“Very well,” said Ziegler. She turned to Stant. “Let’s find out a bit about them, then. Stant, how is that you come to be Hask’s half brother?”

“I have male genitalia. Otherwise, I would be his half sister.”

The jury laughed. Ziegler looked annoyed. Dale sympathized with her. She had no idea what was going to come out here, and that was a position no lawyer liked to be in. “Are you the product of a broken home?”

“Our domicile was intact.”

“No, no. What I mean is, did your parents divorce? Why is it that the same female had children by two males?”

“My mother had children by four males, of course,” said Stant.

“Four males,” said Ziegler, blinking.

“That is correct.”

Ziegler paused, apparently trying to formulate a proper question. Finally, she looked again at Dale, as if entreating him not to object simply for the sake of objecting, and said to Stant, “Perhaps you could explain Tosok reproduction to us… if that’s not a private matter, that is.”

“It is not private, although our custom is not to speak of the inner workings of the body, except when consulting with a priest-physician. The outer self is one’s own responsibility, but the inner self is the province of God.”