| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Omni Flash |
It’s time for Ronan to speak. In the old ways, a witness would be assigned
either the defendant or the plaintiff or prosecutor. They were on one side
or the other. Over time, this started to feel too combative. Society decided
that the point of the justice system should be to uncover the truth, and
balance fairness. There were different variations for the setup, but the
changes were sweeping. A whole new vocabulary was created, which alone, made
everything seem less partial. Lawyers became advocates or
adherents to more clearly define their roles. Defendants became
accused, and were considered pending so as not to bias the
decision from minute one. Even juries changed. Half of the arbitration
panels deliberated in one room while half did so in another. If they came to
the same decision, maybe it was more likely right. Ronan still remembers the
old ways and the old terms, and since this is the first time he’s ever been
in any court in the centuries he’s been alive, he still frames everything
he’s seeing through that lens. It’s jarring when they contradict it.
He must remember that he’s an attestant, not a witness. Attestant, not
witness. Because he didn’t witness Talus do anything, he can’t
attest to it. He can only tell the court what he knows, and what he
knows is that Talus is not right in the head. As he’s sitting up here, not
answering the most recent question that he was asked, he’s thinking about
who else could be blamed for his son’s behavior. He keeps coming back to the
implantation procedure. Something must have gone wrong. They must have made
some mistake. They...spliced the wrong genes, or—he doesn’t know, he—
“Mister Truett. Mister Truett,” Jericho Hagen urges. “Have you seen any
other behavior out of the accused which you might categorize as abhorrent?”
he repeats.
Ronan was zoning out, but now he’s more sure of what he wants. He waits to
answer again, but this time, he’s looking the attorney—no
adherent—dead in the eye. “I wish to make an alternative accusation.”
He looks up at the judge—adjudicator. “Did I do that right? Am I
supposed to say it another way?”
“There is no formal syntax,” she replies. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, I—” Ronan begins to say.
“This is not the place for that. We will have to schedule a new inquisition
to formalize your accusation. Until then, you cannot be expected to attest
further at the current proceedings. But I must warn you, people have used
this as a delaying tactic in the past. I will not stand for it in my court,
so you better have a plausible accusation.”
“I do, your honor.” What Talus did was wrong, but it may not be his fault.
Ronan is not going to try to stop Talus from being dealt with accordingly,
but those bot doctors need to answer too, and he doesn’t want to continue
until they do. He stands from the chair, and begins walking back towards the
attestant waiting area.
“Agent, please prepare the next attestant for a round of assertions,” the
adjudicator orders. They changed it from bailiff to fit all the other
A-terms. So stupid.
The agent escorts Ronan back into the joint chamber, where he is supposed to
go into his own little private room. They keep attestants separate, again to
maintain impartiality. Something has gone wrong here too, though. The next
attestant is out of her own room already. She seems as surprised to see him
as he is to see her.
“Mayumi.”
She doesn’t speak. She picks her jaw off of the floor, and slips back into
her room.
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