Damon Knight - Orbit 16

Well, it probably would have worked, too, except that I went out at noon for a quick hairstyling. I wanted something short for free-fall. I was cruising into town when this water beetle pulled me over. They hate that name, but what else can you call those little pill-shaped black-and-whites with side jets that look like legs? So the monitor herded me into a control slip and looked me up and down.

“Unity, citizen. Ridin’ kind of high, aren’t you, son?”

I sort of thought I knew what he was getting at.

“Uh, what do you mean, Monitor?”

“Looks to me like you’re a bit over the legal maximum on skirt length,” he said.

“I don’t think so. I always heard if you didn’t go any higher than the long side of a credit report form, you were okay.”

“Sorry, son. Eight centimeters. No more. Anything over that and things begin to get unstable. I’m going to have to punch this up.” He pulled the report box from his belt.

I knew what was coming, and thought of gunning out of there, but that’s why they have control slips. His bug blocked the way.

“Citizen’s ID,” he said, holding out his hand.

There was no choice. I gave it to him.

He scanned my number and added it to his list. Then he checked his sheet of violation codes and entered a number on the keyboard. My card went into a slot at the end. A second later, his readout glowed. He scanned it briefly.

“No previous violations,” he said. “They’ll probably take it easy on you.” As he spoke, he punched another button and checked again. “You got off easy. Only thirty credits.” His voice became formal.

“The law states that you may post bail immediately, or you may appear in court at seventeen hundred hours on the day of the alleged violation. Objections may be registered at the time of transfer.”

Oh, wow! Seventeen hundred hours on a date night? No way. Besides, that traffic computer probably didn’t update more than once every twenty-four hours anyway.

The officer extended the box with my card still in the slot. I took a deep breath and thumbed the transfer button. The readout changed to an angry red.

“All rise.”

I jumped to my feet nervously. The court calendar was crowded, so it was two very long hours before my case was called. My attorneys rose casually with me. One on each side. The older one winked at the prosecutor. Then a side door opened, and the judge in his symbolic white lab robes appeared. He stepped to the bench and sat down.

“Be seated.” The clerk advanced, rustling a stack of papers. “Court is now in session, Judge Frederick Dove presiding.”

The judge banged his gavel once, activating the large control panel mounted in the face of his bench. Some lights flashed, and the tape units started to twitch as the system was initialized.

The clerk faced the audience and intoned, “Now for computation, the People versus Leonard Verst.”

More lights flashed, and across the top of the bench appeared pictures of the faces of the six jurors. A green light flashed on at the prosecutor’s panel. The senior attorney, I think I heard someone call him Pike, began a series of pigtails in the corner of his printout.

“What happens now?” I whispered.

The number-two man flapped his hand in a hushing motion without looking at me. Nervously I ran my thumbnail along the lines in the molded-plastic tabletop. Deep grooves showed that a few other jokers hadn’t felt too good about filling this chair either.

There seemed to be a pause while everybody took a last-minute look at their printouts. I didn’t have a printout, so I leaned back and stared around. It was nice enough, for a courtlab, though the thick green carpet didn’t seem to go too well with the white tile walls. Each wall had a large mural set into the tile.

On the right side they had a statue of Justice, extending from floor to ceiling. That was fine with me, but she was wearing a blindfold. And her right hand was holding a sword. Not so good. The left hand was a little better. In it was a punched computer card. I could understand that part. A scroll across the top had a motto printed on it in Old English letters: “Equal Justice Under Electronic Law.” I got to thinking, when you’re really guilty, equal justice doesn’t seem all that good.

On the other wall there was a picture of a big building, shaped like a computer, with citizens going in the front door. They left on opposite sides, smiling on one side, heads bowed on the other. I scratched at the tabletop again, and wondered if a computer had ever missed a date because it was low on credits.

The prosecutor pushed back his chair and stood up, clearing his throat. Consulting a sheaf of printouts, he moved to the terminal in front of his table.

“Your Honor, members of the jury,” he began. “I intend to show that the defendant, Leonard Verst, is guilty of the crime of Alteration, as defined in Program Fifty-three, Subroutine Alter, of the State Master Penal File.” As he spoke, his fingers moved over the keyboard. The recorders began to whisper, and lights started a march across the big panel. The prosecutor continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I shall prove beyond reasonable doubt that the defendant did willfully, and with intent to defraud, alter the record on his Citizen’s Credit Card to indicate credits that did not exist.”

I started to jump up. “Wait a minute. That’s not right. I just . . .” A hand on my shoulder forced me down, hard. No one seemed to notice. More squiggles appeared on the sheet next to me. The prosecutor turned and smiled toward our table. I didn’t feel included.

“The attorney for the defense will present the position of his client.” He stabbed a button with his thumb, and the green light shifted to our terminal. The attorney for the defense doodled a last pigtail and eyed the results. Then he nodded and got to his feet. As he approached the panel, I glanced at the pictures of the jurors across the top of the judge’s bench. The one on the left seemed to be smiling, but that didn’t help much either. I wondered what he was thinking about when they made that picture.

I tried again. “Where are the jurors?” I whispered to the assistant. He gave me an irritated look and pawed through a stack of papers. Finding a small pamphlet, he checked a page and pushed it toward me. My lawyer was making his opening remarks, but it didn’t make much sense to me, so I glanced at the book. It was titled “Facts for the Defendant—A Citizen’s Guide.” The figure of Justice with her punched card appeared just below.

Most of the stuff I already knew. Like how all the laws and decisions are stored on computer tapes, and each court computer is updated daily. The jurors report each day and are put in little rooms, where they are wired into the computer. A plastic band goes around your head that holds the pickups for your brainwaves. Then they fasten a bunch of little sensors all over you that beam data to the master receiver. You lie on a couch like a big damp sponge and watch the proceedings on a full-sized visiwall. As the trial progresses, the computer monitors the jurors’ emotional responses and stores them. When the presentations are complete, the computer evaluates all the responses and weighs them, along with the points of law programmed by the attorneys, to arrive at an absolutely unbiased verdict.

My attorney cleared his throat and raised his voice. “It is clear that one essential element of this crime is not present. That element is intent. My client had credits legally due him which he expected would more than cover the amount drawn.”

Now that sounded better. More lights flashed, and the tapes mined jerkily. One clicked and began to race ahead. The judge’s eyes were closed.