Robert Sawyer - Illegal Alien

“Excuse me?”

“There are only two people in this world who are more powerful than that jury. One is the governor of California, and the other is the president of the United States.”

Frank nodded. “An executive pardon.”

“Exactly. There’s no way the governor is going to go against Monty Ajax when he knows that Ajax is going to be running in the next gubernatorial race—so that leaves the president.”

“Christ, I don’t know. He hates stuff like this, especially in an election year.”

“We have a client who did indeed kill a human being,” said Dale. “This may be Hask’s only hope, and—”

Dale’s intercom buzzed. He pounded the button. “Yes, Karen?”

“The courthouse just called. The jury has a verdict.”

Frank jumped to his feet, and even old Dale Rice managed to move his vast bulk quickly.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” asked Judge Pringle.

Frank was seated behind Dale and Michiko. Hask had also returned; his tuft was moving in agitation. His front eyes were locked on the jury box; his back eyes were locked on Seltar, who was sitting alone in the bank of six Tosok chairs at the side of the courtroom. There was a hush over the room; every spectator and every reporter was leaning forward.

The foreperson, a thin black man in his early thirties, rose. “We have, Your Honor.”

“Please hand it to the clerk.” The paper was passed to the clerk, who carried the sheet to the judge’s bench. Drucilla Pringle unfolded the page and read the verdict. Judges were supposed to be stone-faced—they knew every eye in the court was on them at such moments. But Pringle was unable to prevent one of her eyebrows from climbing her forehead. She refolded the verdict and handed it back to the clerk.

“You may read the verdict, Mr. Ortiz.”

The clerk cleared his throat, then: “We, the jury in the above entitled case, find the defendant, Hask, not guilty of the crime of first-degree murder of Cletus Robert Calhoun, in violation of Penal Code section 187, as charged in count one of the information.

“And we further find that the defendant did not use a deadly weapon, to wit an alien cutting device, in the commission of this crime.

“And we further find that in the commission and attempted commission of the above offense the defendant, Hask, did not personally inflict great bodily injury upon Cletus Robert Calhoun, and was not an accomplice to the above offense, within the meaning of Penal Code section 12022.7.”

Frank let out a great cheer and reached over the wooden fence to thump Dale on the back. Michiko Katayama had thrown her arms as far around her boss as they would go and was hugging him. Seltar rushed over to embrace Hask across the wooden barrier between the audience section and the defense table.

For her part, Linda Ziegler was absolutely stunned, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open a bit. Next to her, her second chair, Trina Diamond, just kept blinking.

“This is your verdict, so say you one, so say you all?” asked Judge Pringle, facing the jury.

The jurors nodded. “Yes,” they replied in unison.

“Counsel, do you wish the jurors polled?”

“No, ma’am,” said Dale, grinning from ear to ear.

“The People?” said the judge.

“Ah, no,” said Ziegler, after a moment. “No, Your Honor.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, do you wish to address the lawyers?”

The jurors looked at each other. They certainly were under no obligation to do so, but California law permitted them this opportunity. The foreperson turned to Pringle. “Nothing we say now can weaken the power of our verdict?” he asked.

“That’s correct,” said Pringle. “What’s done is done.”

The foreperson nodded. “Then, yes, we would like to say something to the lawyers.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Foreperson.”

The man took a deep breath, then looked at Ziegler. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ziegler. You should have won. You had him dead to rights. I mean, we all agreed that he did do it. He did kill Mr. Calhoun.”

Ziegler’s eyes went even wider. “Jury nullification,” she said.

The foreperson looked at Pringle. “Your Honor, you instructed us in the law. But, well, we couldn’t bring ourselves to apply it.” He looked to Ziegler again. “Hask didn’t mean to kill Calhoun, so it wasn’t premeditated. Still, we could have found him guilty of a lesser charge, like involuntary manslaughter. But if we’d found him guilty, there might have been an appeal—the defense can appeal guilty verdicts, but the prosecution can’t appeal innocent ones, isn’t that right, judge?”

Pringle nodded. “In most cases, that’s essentially correct.”

“So we let him go. We let him go so he wouldn’t be jailed; after all, we all agreed he presented no threat to anyone else.” The foreperson looked at the other jury members, then turned back to the judge. He shrugged a little. “Yes, the rest of the crew are now in prison—but Kelkad did send a message to his home world, and other Tosoks will be coming to Earth at some point. Who knows what changes there have been in Tosok society in two hundred years? We thought that if these new Tosoks saw that we are a reasonable, compassionate, and forgiving people, then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t wipe our planet clean of life.”

“I don’t understand,” said Frank. He stopped the grinning Dale before the lawyer stepped out of the courtroom into the crowd of waiting reporters. “What is—what did Ziegler call it?—‘jury nullification’? What’s that?”

“The jury is the conscience of the community,” said Dale. “They can do whatever they damn well please.”

“But the judge said they had to follow the law, whether they agreed with it or not.”

Dale shrugged. “Judges always say that—but, in fact, there’s no legislation to that effect, and plenty of precedent to the contrary. The jury never has to explain or justify its decision to anyone, and there’s no mechanism for punishing jurors for making a verdict that goes against the evidence. If they want to let someone go free, they’re entitled to do that.”

“Thank God for juries,” said Frank.

“For once,” said Dale, still grinning from ear to ear, “I agree with you.”

No one expected to see another Tosok ship anytime soon. After all, the message Kelkad had sent from Earth to Alpha Centauri had to take 4.3 years to get to its destination, and the fastest any reply—whether a ship, or simply another message—could arrive was another 4.3 years later.

Or so people had thought.

But in the intervening two hundred years, the Tosoks had apparently discovered a way to outwit Einstein. The new vessel appeared without warning in orbit near the Tosok mothership just four and a half years after Kelkad had sent his message. Some astronomers declared they had detected a flash of Cerenkov radiation just as the ship appeared, and others were muttering things about hyperspace and tardyon/tachyon translations.

The new arrival was eighty meters long, and there were no right angles anywhere in its construction. Its hull was smooth—no vents, no projections, no apparent windows—and a mural had been painted on it. It was abstract, and no one was quite sure at first what it depicted. Only when it was imaged with cameras that saw well into the ultraviolet did the image become apparent.

The starboard side of the ship depicted a landscape of crystal mountains, what might have been treelike things with trunks made of chains of spheres, and a lake with either a giant floating city or boat in it, or an island every centimeter of which was covered by majestic spires and towers.

The port side showed what was obviously the Milky Way galaxy, as well as Andromeda, and the two Magellanic Clouds.