matthn23

Here's a story I wrote:

The Program
By Matt H. Nelson



The states were bound to save a bundle by implementing it, as was the federal government. No longer would a fair trial be denied to the poor because they couldnt afford a good lawyer. And the lawyers themselves wouldnt have to carry the burden of conscience in defending the flagrantly guilty.
Approval of the new program was all but certain. Why shouldnt computers be trusted to compile all the precedents set since the inception of due process in America? The incessant printing of the countless volumes of law books was not only eating away the forests, but also challenging the incompetent minds of humankind, letting the O.J.s of the world go free too, too often.
Only the truly ingenious lawyers knew enough of the law to facilitate justice (or to free O.J.); and fortunately for the creators of the Program, the great lawyers were a dying, dejected breed. Cases were taking too long to process for the justice system to further allow.

Rubin sat at the defense table in his orange jumpsuit, with only a thin computer screen and connected headset on the cherry stained wood before him. His brown hands were free to pick up the headset, and with a nod from the young white judge, he did. Covering his ears with the Sony-labeled headphones and adjusting the mic in front of his mouth in an effort he knew was useless, Rubin Carter was oblivious to the connection he couldve made with the wrongly accused Rubin Hurricane Carter of 50 years past.
The black clothed judge had his own monitor, along with 2 tall, white computer towers, one on each side of him, his cherry desk and his black leather swivel throne. The computers and the judge sat beneath the famous Signing of the Declaration of Independence picture, flanked on both sides by an American and a state flagand no witness stands. Altogether from the elevated stage, the images Rubin faced joined to preside over the little rooms emptiness.
That is, empty not (but maybe figuratively) counting the half dozen bailiffs and security slash TV cameras. The bailiffs often served as camera operators, but they more so enjoyed being on camera, lounging or pacing the floor twirling nightsticks as if the audience paid attention.
Neither the bailiffs, the judge nor Carter was the object of the audiences interest. That is, forgetting about the running bets on how many times the judge would pick his nose; or on whether or not Carteror any defendant ever, for that matterwould choose to defend himself manually by speaking into the mic and touching the red Self-Defense button in the bottom right corner of his screen. The audiences in their homes, pubs or specifically designed interactive court TV joints waited and watched intently for that which Carter and the jurors didthe plaintiff programs case.
The jurors, of course, werent let into the interactive polling websites or TV channels. They had their own wall-sized screen for detailed viewing. And the well-paid, well-trained police never leaked information about cases to the press. No media buzz would get to the unidentified peers of Carter, who sat detained in the deliberation room down the hall (for their protection).
While the Hurricane had been forgotten, O.J. Simpson had not. When and if word of a crime (or a filing of suit) got out before a trial, it didnt matter much. The opinion polls and the verdict of the Program (or the Programs jury) always coincided. And riots or protests, the definition of anarchy, were a thing of the past. People whined, of course, but werent heard except among themselves.
The tapping of the gavel hushed the crowds and families across the world. The judge, or Program Systems Moderator, put on his headphones and touched his screen to start the prosecution program. No face came to the screen saying, Your Honor. A synthetic male voice simply said, The prosecution calls Exhibit A, the police recording of Rebecca Wilson.
Video quickly played before Rubin Carter, bringing tension to his eyes. He stiffened, sucked in a breath of air and blurted, Baby, covering his mouth quickly. The young black woman lay naked on white carpet, bloody and surrounded by police boots.
The video paused crisply when Carter spoke. An echoed, deeper version of the prosecutions voice asked, Does the defense wish to make an objection?
Those watching the upper upper far right segment of their screen were lucky enough to see the defendants emotion.
No.
The video began again. The police camera operator finally spoke, Six fifty-seven AM, March fifteenth at Roundtree and Lake in Fairview. Visible lacerations on wrists and inner thigh left. Suicide set-up by a very clever murderer, my guess. Another police voice chimed in, Not too clever. Theres not even a note. And another, Classic scenario. The camera rose up to show the faces of all those on the scene, 8 ethnically and sexually diverse, standard issue cops. Two of them waved at the camera.
The video stopped. Carter covered his face with one hand, leaning on the table for support. A sniffle was heard in the silence.
Yeah, cry you bastard, some hundreds said simultaneously around the globe.
Prosecution calls its first witness, Mr. Phang Xu. Video accompanied the voicean older Chinese man already sitting in a small chair in front of a wall sporting a royal blue Motorola banner. He wore an elegant, red, long-sleeve shirt and held his hands together in his lap.
State your name for the record, said the HAL-like computer voice (2001: A Space Odyssey).
Phang Xu, he said easily. He was some distance from the courthouse.
And your relationship in its entirety with the case youve sworn to keep secret else lose credit status? (It was assumed by the audience and all involved that the witness swore to tell the whole truth, with or without the bible.)
Im the landlord. I found the body. I called police immediately in compliance with state law and told no one what I saw. He seemed amused with himself at the rhyme. And Ive met Mister Carter on many occasions, always coming
There was a pause, but those at home and abroadincluding the jurorsheard it not.
A defensive female voice intervened, Objection, improper use of the word always.
The judging echo voice tiresomely agreed, Granted.
Xu continued, He usually came late and left early. I was going to the apartment in response to the written request for maintenance that Miss Wilson had sent me
three weeks previous. It says I can come unannounced at any time.
Prosecution calls Exhibit B, the Repair and Maintenance Request Form signed by Miss Wilson. The form opened up in a window of the screen, which one of the bailiffs had previously occupied.
Meanwhile at the Courtroom Saloon downtown, twenty-four giant screens encircled a sea of tables with pitchers of beer and people passing around remote control bet placers. People scanned their hand, pressed a few buttons and were done. The pre-defense bets had the riskiest odds and the biggest payoffs. Remote opinion polls also circulated with the supermodel clone waitresses. Naturally, they werent brought out until the end of the defense programs summary.
Some of the huge screens were divided into the grid the way Carter and the jurors viewed the proceedings, with occasional close-ups. Some were individual frames, like the legible Maintenance Request Form or the Motorola witness screen. Another listed the running bets like the PSM Nose Picking, Bailiff Drops Nightstick or Defense Objection 10+ (the defense [or prosecution] program objection was a rare occasion, usually in response to human errors of speechwhich were somewhat infrequent after watching enough court TV). The biggie, Manual Self-Defense, had scored no bets for this trial yet.
Please continue, asked HAL of Xu.
I knew that Mister Carter had been at the apartment because of the 2 fresh condoms I found in the bathroom trash, where I was supposed to unclog the drain in the shower. I couldnt help but notice. I had to pull hair out of the drain and throw it away, you know.
Prosecution calls Exhibit C, used condoms tested against the defendants DNA with a positive match. A picture of two used condoms being held up by gloved police hands took a space in the grid next to the orange suited defendant. A transparent overlay of a badge in the corner of the screen made it official.
Please continue.
After I unclogged the drain was when I found the body. I assumed that Miss Wilson wasnt home from the beginning. I rang the bell several times before entering, of course. Then when I was done in the bathroom, I went to look in the bedroom to make sure she wasnt there. But she was. He looked at the ground in front of him as if he were looking at the body again.
Hundreds of millions could see the horror for themselves because the video ran silently on repeat in a section of the screen. Or they could turn it off at their discretionbut nobody would. This was the most interesting case for weeks (not that anyone remembered cases to compare them).
Then you called the authorities, HAL said.
Yes.
Your witness.
Carter perked up. Finally somebody, or something, would speak for him.
No questions, the kind HALette voice said.
What? Carter blurted.
Does the defense wish to make an objection?
A long silence throughout the Saloon and the courtroom preceded, No.
Rubin Carter knew that Xu had heard an argument between the couple a few months ago. There were no threats, but still the fact that it wasnt brought up made Rubin feel somewhat better. The lawyer program was right in avoiding questions intended to gain character merit. The real defense was his alibi.
Over and over he played a scene in his mind, the discussion with Rebecca in her bed before sunrise that morning. They had just made love for the second time, and made their necessary trips to the bathroom. A plush, black and white marble print comforter covered the couple.
I dont know what I would do without you, she said.
He had to tell her. It was time. I dont think I can take my job anymore. Even for you.
What do you mean? Where will you work?
Thats just it. I dont need to work, dont want to. I havent been doing it for myself. Havent been doing anything for myself, except keeping out of debt, out of trouble.
Honey, nobodywell, not everybody gets to do what they want to. I mean who really wants to answer callers questions all day about universal remotes?
Touching his stubbly chin, she turned his head back to face her, as if to bring him back to reality.
Im serious, Rubin whispered, then spoke. Remember that fight we had a while back about why I never buy anything? Well Ive been reading underground zines and checking out the possibilities. Dumpsterfuls of food are thrown out every day. Tons of places that wont rent go vacant and unattended for years. Ive had my eyes on this one place for months now.
And what about the electric bill and the TV bill?
I hate TV. He sat up to look at it there on the dresser. Im sorry, but I do. Every second we make love with it on, I dont think of anything but fucking the damn screenwriters in the eye sockets, then cumming in their brain like its a seed of some psychoactive drug that will help them see their true horrible self. That is, if theyre still alive to see it.
The inconsolable look in her eyes was what Rubin remembered there in the courtroom. He had overdone it, he thought. It was his fault. He almost deserved a guilty verdict. Just like he almost pressed the red button in the bottom corner of his screen.
Prosecution calls its second witness, Mr. Jesus Munoz. The Spanish accent was eerily adept.
This time, the banner was different, although still blueAT&T. The well-dressed businessman sat with one leg propped upon the other. He spoke his name when prompted. He told his secret story for more reasons than just to protect his credit rating.
It was his patriotic duty.
I am Mr. Carters boss. That is, I was until he came in and quit with no notice the day of the murder.
The pause again failed to air on TV. The show wasnt live.
Objection, improper use of the word murder.
Sustained.
Munoz continued, the alleged murder. Mr. Carter came in first thing that morning and told me his intentions to leave the company. I noticed he wasnt wearing his usual fragrance. In fact, he kind of stunk.
Note that Rubin thought of taking a shower, but Beccas drain was still clogged.
Anyway, when I told him he would receive his pay credit as scheduled, he insisted upon coming in himselfin personto pick up his pay in the form of a check.
People everywhere looked around quizzically.
HAL appropriately intervened. For those jurors who dont know what a check is, Mr. Munoz, would you please explain.
A check is a piece of printed paper with account routing numbers, specifying in type or handwriting the amount paid and the intended recipient. They were rather popular about twenty years ago, before the revelation of the debit card and then the VeriChip. Saying VeriChip, he held up his fist to show a raised patch of skin on the back of his hand. (Cash was still somewhat popular with the youth, though carrying more than reasonable sums was against the law.)
Although Mr. Carter has the aversion to the VeriChip, he can, of course, still get direct deposit. He switched legs as if to think. I cant imagine why he would want a check unless he planned to close his local accounts and leave the state.
Your witness.
Here, surely Rubins character could be defended. He had rarely been late, never been absent and his secret company caller percentages had twice earned him a note of thanks on the hallway Thumbs Up bulletin board.
Mr. Munoz, the defensive female started.
Thank God, Rubin sighed.
HALette proceeded to obtain all the above positive info for the record. Few in the TV bars captured the humor in the bulletin board bit.
Yes, Munoz agreed, Mr. Carter was, overall, a good employee.
Thank you, that will be all.
Now the camera was focused more tightly on Rubin Carter. Funny, he thought looking at himself on the screenthis was what he had looked like at work, answering the phones all day and through the weekends. The headset was even the same style.
Now, though, he wasnt expected to speak at all, except as his own last witness (from his current seat). There and then, with no advertisement behind him, he could tell and prove exactly whom he was with and what he was doing at the time of the suicide. The only problem, Rubin thought, was would anyone understand his lack of motive?
Before the prosecutions summarization, the trial paused for a ten-minute commercial break. Carter received some water in a clear plastic cup, and couldnt refuse to drink it. The frail PSM stood and stretched his bony arms. The bailiffs practiced balancing their nightsticks on their fingers in a sort of contest.
Bets across the world gave Carter a 10 to 1 chance of innocence and a 100 to 1 chance of self-defense.
Of those few who placed a bet favoring Rubins self-defense was one Mick Ranger. At least that was what he called himself. Mick knew Rubin personally, and placed the small wager with cash. There in the Courtroom Saloon, Mick wore a scruffy beard, out of style clothes and a backpack.
Placing the bet was impossible without a debit card or a VeriChip, so Mick gave a twenty-dollar bill to a college female stranger and asked her the favor.
Sure, she said. You must be freakin blitzed!
Mick published a zine with the help of some friends. The computer-free publication wore the title THE RANGER. He didnt dare take a copy out of his backpack at the Saloon, for fear of being called a terrorist. While the ethical anarchy Mick discussed was quite peaceful in theory, few in the throes of the pro-war work-and-pay lifestyle would agree that they werent living in a free state. And considering his current whereabouts, he didnt want to proclaim any distrust in the Program.
Want to buy me a beer? Mick asked the blond at the bar.
Sure. Since youre about to lose twenty bucks and everything.
When the bottle arrived, Mick raised it and declared a toast. To the bailiff who drops his nightstick! May he bend down to get it and rip his pants so we can have some real entertainment!
Here, here!
A moment passed before Mick noticed the blond whispering to her friend about his bet, his malodor, or both. It was too late for her, Mick thought. She had taken his money and was now forced to sit beside him for the remainder of the trial. It soon became obvious to the blond that the man was both creepy and serious.
Then the television commercials faded into the grid screen. The PSM was seated under the old picture. The video of Rebecca was gone, along with the condoms, AT&T and the Maintenance Request Form. Several views of Rubin Carter surrounded the Saloon, along with bailiffs standing at attention.
HALs dubbed statement over the silence of the courtroom began, The simplest answer is most often the right one.William of Ockham, Ockhams Razor. Less is more in many cases. A problem, which you jurors have before you, should be presented in the simplest fashion and supported with evidence. In the ten years of The Programs hourly verdicts, in courtrooms around the world, a close friend or lover of the opposite sex has committed ninety one point six five seven percent of all murders.
The question I put to the jurors is not whether eight point three four three percent constitutes a shadow of a doubt, but rather is this example of man, Rubin Carter, the simplest answer. That will be all for now.
Defense calls Exhibit A, Enspirons credit report of Mr. Rubin Carter.
The majority of the grid filled with two enlarged sheets of paper, all that was needed to show Carters stellar report.
The female voice spoke again, Defense calls its first witness, Mr. Harold Rose.
H & R Block and the green and blue background set the stage for a heavyset man in a suit. The chair couldnt have been comfortable for him. His feet were both planted on the ground like they were rooted there, holding him somewhere he didnt want to be. The pieces of paper he held shook like leaves.
He spoke his name, his position at Enspiron and then proceeded to explain the credit history of Rubin Carter. This is somewhat of a strange case, but Mr. Carter has one of the most modest, undaunted credit reports I have ever seen. Hes never made a late payment. He has zero debt, but a credit limit of one hundred thousand dollars. He has switched residences only twice after moving out of his parents house. And aside from this charge of murder, his criminal record is nil.
Thank you, Mr. Rose. Your witness.
Mr. Rose was familiar with the process and didnt need Prosecution to tell him to continue, so he did. The only problem is that if everyone were like this man, the state wouldI mean the credit companies would die out. I would be out of a job. He smiled, putting the paper on his lap. But we all know that wont happen, dont we!
HAL answered, Thank you, Mr. Rose.
Note that nobody thought of the actual HAL voice, the sarcastically altered IBM (each letter one letter back in the alphabet) from the non-famous movie.
Defense calls its second witness, Mr. James Fesser.
Video cut to a green banner with white letters, The U.S. Mint, and a picture of their latest gold coin to the right of the bearded witness. The coin was a reproduction of the early 20th century silver Peace Dollar with Lady Liberty. The enlarged yellow coin revealed its ONE HUNDRED-dollar value. In front of the banner sat Mick Ranger.
The girl at the bar beside him in real time took a minute to notice. In that minute, Mick finished his beer and set it back on the bar, watching himself say his real name on the stand while hoping no one would subconsciously compare Fesser with confessor and the negative connotations of fessing up, etc.
Hey, thats you! She tugged on his backpack to get his attention. Wow, thats cool. Hey, everybody, I know him. Hes right here.
Rubin sat upright in his seat, taking a deep breath. As he exhaled and slumped back down, the female voice began.
Mr. Fesser, what is your relationship in its entirety with the case youve sworn to keep secret else lose credit status?
Rubin, Im going to talk to you while providing all the necessary information. There can be no objections there, if I did my research right. As long as you dont answer. You have to answer to nobody but yourself, and Im sure you already are, with the guilt youre feeling for breaking up with Rebecca just hours before her obvious suicide. I am here to tell you it is not your fault, its theirs.
Here, Mick restrained himself from pointing or gesturing at the banner behind him, for fear of being prosecuted himself. Instead, he looked to one side and then leaned toward the camera.
Tell yourself right now that its not your fault. Think about that morning, before you went to quit your job. Remember what I told you? At what must have been the same time Rebecca was slitting her wrists?
Mick noticed that he had the entire Saloon transfixed on what he was saying. It was then, too, that he spoke to them instead of Rubin.
We were at the Waffle House for over two hours, drinking coffee. From like five AM to seven, I remember. The waitresss name was Betty. Shell testify.
Anyway, Rubin, I remember reassuring you of your decision to leave her. I basically compared her to the state, the poor quality of life in which most people live. You were leaving that.
Objection, disassociated thought.
Sustained.
As for my credit status, Miss Program, you can shove it. I dont need to be frightened or forced to defend my good friend. And if youas the prosecutor surely willtake a look at my credit score, it will be rather poor. I find it amusing that no credit equals poor credit, i.e. bad credit. But cops are basically given homes at age twenty one.
Mick knew he could get that in there, because the prosecution wouldnt object to a witness for the defense making illogical statements (even though the prosecution program was supposedly designed to not have any personal interest in success).
Rubin, Im going to ask you right now to do it. Take over. Ask me a question.
Rubin Carters profile took an extra-close-up spot on the screen. The bailiff was doing his job well. Noticing his spot on the screen in front of him, Rubin looked at the camera and, therefore, millions of people who couldnt help but wonder if they could place a bet at that moment.
I would die if I didnt do it. I will die if I dont do this. I believe it. He reached for and pressed the red corner of the touch-sensitive screen.
The clamor and yelling there in the Saloon drowned out his subsequent question to Mick and the U.S. Mint bannerso much that Mick in the bar yelled Shut up!
Can you hear me? Rubin asked. At that moment, from the still expectant face on Mick, he knew the answer, but asked again. Finally the bar quieted, getting over the weirdness. Can you even hear me?
I can hear you now, Rubin. Mick smiled.
The Darth Vaderesque voice of the judge rumbled out of nowhere. This court will take a twenty-three and a half hour recess, as stated in file one, page eighteen of the incident flowchart.
And the screens went blank. Black and silent as death. White words filled the void, explaining that the trial would resume on the next scheduled broadcast.
Haaa ha, Mick gibed at the awesome silence.
He turned 360 degrees around, waiting for a response from the people. He heard Oh my God and other whispers from all sides. The people kept looking at the screens for a full minute, as if reading were hard. Somebody said, I want my money back.
Mick felt disgust at that remark, in fact at all the whispered confusion. Instead of raising doubt in the system, it seemed he and Rubin had just shocked everyone and rendered them helpless, insecure and dumb.
There was still pleasure to be had in that, he decided. He smiled and forced up some laughter, thinking about friends, acquaintances and complete strangers who would benefit from the event. Somehow he had completely forgotten about the money he was now owed.
Mick Ranger, now surrounded by people at the bar asking for more beer, stood looking at the blank screen thinking about the Program. How many people would now at least think twice about the VeriChip? How many would consider Rubin a hero? That is, assuming he would be found innocent.
How many more tax dollars would go into the updating of the Program? How much more would the mainstream media hype the bureaucracy cutting, time saving nature of the unrecognized beast? How many registered citizens would actually bother to vote against more Program mandating? Was there a chance that these events might cause an economical effect, preventing the construction of a new prison somewhere, causing a baseball strike, another war in South America and a couple mysterious disappearances?
Then the screens filled back up with color. A long, slow motion sequence captured the curiosity of all watching. Children played (ran aimlessly with colored streamers) in a field, dozens of hardhat wearing men worked together on a building, a light-skinned black family of four sat down for dinner. Then the superimposed image of the flag of the U.S.A. faded into its full glory, blowing in the wind. Next, long Super Bowl-like commercials from Budweiser to Nike to Sears filled the hour.
Mick didnt stick around for all the excitement. He got the blond to go to an ATM and get him the maximum amount of cash allowable in one transaction, and left her with the rest of the money and a slip of paper with his address on it. He didnt expect to hear back from her. Maybe she would show up at the Saloon for the remainder of the scheduled trial.

Twenty-three and a half hours passed slowly for both Mick and Rubin. Neither slept more than an hour, but both shared a similar dream. The worst possible scenario began and ended in a simple stream of consciousness. The infamous voice-over echoed Guilty in their heads, arousing suspicion to whether or not the jurors had any say in the matter. Of course they did. They had been conditioned all their lonesome lives to believe in the inherent iniquity of mankind, women included. This was their only chance to do something about it (albeit a forced chance, a duty).
In his cell, Rubin recalled the rumors that illiterate people were let onto the jury, if chosen at random. They certainly wouldnt trust computers with their peers lives. (With every aspect of their lives, yes, but with the ultimate aspect, no.) If word miraculously did get out about the technical inner-workings of the Program, it could easily be misconstrued as faulty, therefore ensuring its expensive improvement. Then, every up to date criminal court in the world would need updating, again.
But, the great leader of state would say, there on the legal battlefield where the tech work is done, no emotionally or politically or monetarily minded men have the chance to meddle and impart bias. Then perhaps the long-term leader would smile and say, Thats our job. Ha!

Rubin still wore the orange jumpsuit. His heart made it hard to pay attention to anything else. The numbered patch on his chest bumped up and down, as if the numbers were a tattoo his being was convulsing against in rejection.
Innocent until proven guilty, he thought sarcastically.
If Rubin had been wealthy, he couldve afforded new clothes. Then again, if the police didnt label all of his belongings evidence, he couldve easily changed into something more respectable. Such was the law.
Wearing the orange was almost an act of civil disobedience, because he could have borrowed from family or asked a favor, etc., as he was expected to do (thereby lowering his self-esteem and instilling a sense of guilt). His outfit, then, was a statement, a proclamation of the backwardness of the law, his having to prove himself unguilty. Some viewers might get that.
A new, older Program Systems Moderator sat between the computer towers. Thin, rectangular bifocals hung on the end of his nose, assisting his reading of the screen in front of him. Although all eyes were on him and it was time to begin, he still studied the flowchart, tapping the directional buttons on his screen.
Finally, he lowered his head to look over his glasses at the defendant and the camera. This court is in session, he said and cleared his throat.
For the record, the defense has elected to represent himself, waiving his right to an attorney. Although this case is unprecedented, there are procedures to follow. First, I have personally been selected to oversee the proceedingsas a judge of old. I must note, however, that the Program CPU will be assisting me. In no way shall I deviate from the unbiased protocol.
Meanwhile, Mick sat at the end of a long beer-filled table facing a screen that displayed Rubin and the courtroom. Numerous other screens just showed the close up of the new PSM. Mick considered himself lucky to have been let go before the proceedings aired. Still, though, he didnt know the verdict. He couldnt help smirking and thinking about how that ensured a safe, unbiased betting atmosphere.
Luckily, the PSM continued, there isnt much of this case left to dotwo witnesses and the defenses summation. Mr. Carter, would you call your first witness to the standback to the stand, I should say.
Rubin stood up while holding the headset on his ears. Defense calls Mr. James Fesser.
Mick popped up on the grid screen, sitting in front of a new banner black, white and silver surrounding Dells logo. Of course, Dell made the computer systems found in every Program-operated courtroom worldwide.
Rubin leaned on the cherry stained wood to look at Mick in live time, although Mick could only hear him. The thin screen was an obstacle, but all Rubin needed was a few words.
Mr. Fesser, can I call you Mick?
Yes, sure, Rubin.
Mick, could you describe our relationship for the jury?
Yes. Were friends. I recall you telling me that you felt nobody knew you better than me. That you trusted nobody like you do meeven though we just met a few months ago. You gave me twenty bucks on the sidewalk, even though I wasnt begging. I was reading. Then we laughed about it, had lunch together and weve been meeting weekly since then.
Since then, have I ever expressed any hostility toward Rebecca whatsoever?
No.
Yet is it not true that Ive told you every secret thought, every last wish I could care to muster, no matter how off the wall or crazy?
You tell me everything. For sure. And none of it was crazy.
If we were such good friends, if I told you everything that morning at the Waffle House, and if I did kill Rebecca, dont you think I wouldve shared that with you as well?
If you were guilty, you couldnt have hidden it from me, Rubin, nor anyone. Im sure you would have told me.
And if I had told you, or if you had even sensed it, would you not have become an accessory to the fact, an accomplice in the crime?
Yes.
Rubin paused for effect, standing upright to relieve his hands from the leaning. Mick, were you approached by police at any time about your relation to the case?
No.
You mean to say that not one officer has interrogated you, or at least confronted you?
No.
And why do you suppose that is?
Because this, like many other cases, looks open and shutsimple like Hal the prosecution said in his summation. The polices interest in justice seems to parallel the interest they pay on their homes. Not to say theyre slacking off. That should be impossible with the sheer per capita volume of them and their informants.
Let me object here for the prosecution, Rubin continued seriously.
The PSM started to say Granted, but stopped. He was imagining the real prosecution objection being inserted there, maybe a bit earlier.
Rubin continued. The police absolutely must be doing their job correctly. It must be assumed. He stopped for a second.
We cannot doubt that. If we do, then all the evidence the Program has to work with is worthless and the whole system tumbles and mass chaos ensues. I mean, if the police didnt bother to question you, then perhaps they dont even think I killed Rebecca Wilson. Maybe they simply feel like its too late to do anything about it. The wheels of the Program were set in motion and theres no stopping them. Well, Im here to say that it is not too late. I would love to go home right now, even though I am planning on moving.
Before I close, Id like to say that I respect you greatly, Mick. You are an inspiration. Thanks for sticking up for me. Thats all Ive got to say.
Rubin sighed satisfactorily and sat down, imagining clearing the coattails from between his seat and his buttocks. (Tailed coats had become fashionable in the course of time.) The camera caught no such gesture.
HAL started at Mick, Who are you?
There watching from the bar chair, Mick heard that again, but only in memory, as this line of questioning was stricken from the record. The jurors and the TV watchers neednt worry about disregarding certain statements. The program would remove them.
That question was funny, because the answer was easy.
I am a man, as opposed to you. It is my nature to build and program you, relinquishing you from any responsibility, but making myself anonymous. I am a man friend of your current enemy. Why should I even talk to you but to implicate myself in some crime you can assuredly concoct?
In court on the stand Mick had to wait up to five minutes for questions/ responses from the Program. It made him think about how the witnesses for the prosecution planned their statements to accommodate the Program, and their selfish interests of finger pointing.
The voice came through the speaker with a hint of grandeur.
Human, the Program finally said, why is it you label me your enemy when it was your kind who created me, thereby assuring that some meaning and purpose accompanies my existence?
Let it be known computer, said Mick, that I myself had nothing to do with your creation. If it were up to me, obviously I would have you terminated. Not that people are much better when in positions of authority. The money-making, prison building option of incarcerating people is easy, and there at all times to feed the need for the act of judging others.
Mick tapped his feet, looked at the nearby bailiff and wondered if he would actually let him go after all that was being said.
I object, said HAL, to your name. It is a falsification of your being, your signature on the record of history. You deny yourself an identity, so why should anyone believe anything you say?
You ask such questions as if you have an identity. You are a vessel for other peoples programming. Period.
That will be all, Mr. Fesser.
Mick didnt see the blond bitch anywhere. She stole his money. Oh, well. He realized that he wasnt getting pissed at her, really, but at the fact that the Program had cut out that conversation. He thought it might happen, since That will be all was said twice. Who are you? was changed to What do you do for a living?
Im unemployed. I refuse to do anything for a living, the type of living where forty hours a week gets me enough money for work clothes, transportation to work, shelter while Im not at work, etcetera.
A few taps of the feet later, prosecution came up with this: Where do you live?
I have no address other than my P.O. Box. I stay with friends and family intermittently.
(Pause) Could one say you are homeless?
No, I have a home at my disposal on each side of the city.
(Pause) So, if someone, lets say the police, wanted to get in touch with you, they wouldnt know how?
Im sure they couldve figured it out with all the money they have at their disposal. Plus, Im here, arent I?
How were you summoned?
I was Rubins one call from jail.
And when he called, did he ask for Mick or James?
Mick.
Why?
Its a pseudonym. Im a writer. I publish my own journal. Its basically about why I believe you are mankinds greatest mistake, you and the promulgation of religion.
Objection, irrelative thought.
Sustained.
Yes, millions were watching this from their couches and barstools. Including Mick, somehow. He was a brave, lucky man. Brave to be in the bar, too. And lucky to avoid getting his ass kicked!
Your writing cannot be very popular, HAL continued. Im amazed you let the irrelative thought continue as long as it did. Allow me to save you some face.
That will be all.

The orange suit came to life in Rubin Carters body and mind as he resumed the questioning. Defense calls Betty.
Betty remembered the men and the time, luckily. But she didnt talk to Rubin. She answered the questions as if the Program were asking them. She had to throw in the fact that their tip was less than desirable. That wasnt nice.
As Betty got up and left the Dell background in full view, Rubin imagined the commercials running. There were no more witnesses, only his closing statement. He didnt even know what to say, but anything was better than nothing.
Mick didnt bet on Rubins innocence. He used the fact that he was broke as an excuse. Also, betting would seem to trivialize the seriousness of the situation. Really, though, Mick was not sure the court would deliver justice.
The jury had seen the video, the harsh, waving cop video. The cops didnt even testify, as usual. The evidence they provided should be enough to convict, they thought apparently. Defense had no reason to call them to the stand. Or did he?
Maybe, but it was too late to call anyone or to do anything but speak plainly. Minutes were passing, but culminating in an answer. The answer to his defense, in essence, was that the case was simply not simple. It couldnt end in either verdict without some real meaning and repercussion.
The commercials faded.
Rubin stood and tried to do so naturally, but he wore the headset still. It was another act he recognized as recognizant of his unfair state. Would they see it? Perhaps in his eyes as he searched the camera lens for the billions beyond?
This is no simple case as the prosecution would have it. My friend and alibi is not the only thing I have going for me. I had no motive to kill Rebecca Wilson. She was my love, but love fades. It changes. The computer here cannot know that. The computer cannot, therefore, help with this case. I can only hope that the jury can.
Rebecca was, like Mick said, like the statethe state of affairs in which I found myself. Incapable of faking love and happiness. I was free to leave that, and I dont know why Im justifying that to myself now in front of you all, but perhaps to free myself of guilt. To free myself of guilt; from this sentence of death.
You have your computer do it for you while the first stone is cast by he faded for a moment and looked down.
By the people who give in to being a juror. You so badly want retribution for poor Rebeccas sake, and I seem like your only chance to find it. The funny thing is that the audience is all out there watching this in order to be distracted from throwing stones at each other and quibbling about whatever.
The jurors listened, along with their own bailiff. Surrounding speakers provided the audio. Wires led to personal decision buttons lying on the table in front of the dozen voters. It was almost time to use the buttons.
There is no murder case, as my ex-girlfriends ex-landlord or my ex-boss would have you believe. She killed herself leaving no note because she had nobody, no parents or friendsnobody but me to defend her, as I do now. She couldnt have expected this. She was too innocent to understand me or the big bad world that drives people insane with anxiety from the lack of freedom.
Its not simple. Not at all. Dont feel obligated to believe anything is simple. If this were so simple, why would we need a multi-billion dollar computer to help out, anyway? That is all I have to say right now. Thank you.

Sitting in his chair waiting, Rubin wondered exactly how much and what parts of the trial were going to be shown to the public. That would be a matter of public record, so he could watch a recording if he were to be released. It wouldnt be complete, he figured, but that wouldnt matterif he were released.
The jurors deliberated for a solid ten minutes. They all agreed which button to press, and did so with a sense of absolution.
Since the verdict was only official upon its broadcast via satellite, Mick got to sit, drink and hope for the best. The college girl came into view and came straight to him.
I brought your money. Well, some of itas much as I could take out in a day. I felt kind of weird calling or coming over or whatever. Anyway. Whatever. Here you go. She handed him a tight roll of twenties.
Mick stuck the cash in his pocket and thought about the odds against that happening, him getting the money. On TV the suspense built, giving the feel of live action. The echoed voice of the Program announced the verdict out of nowhere into the courtroom and the homes of millions.
The cops came into the Saloon just afterwards. They quickly found Mick while holding pictures of him. Half a dozen uniforms surrounded, cuffed and searched him. They took the money.

THE END