He Without Sin (36 page)

Funny, I get no response from Dr. Gleshert. I
wouldn’t put it past him to delete my messages
upon receipt if he’s in the wrong mood. He did tell
us that Dylan would be transferred to a proper
facility so it’s possible that Doc doesn’t have an
update to pass along. No news is good news and
that’s the saying that I’m going with here.

There’s still been no contact with any of my
shipmates since the debriefing. I’m missing some of
them already, mostly Carol. Each one must be
going through some equivalent of what I am going
through. Even so, you would think consideration
would have been given to the notion of keeping in
contact. We were together a long time. Debriefing
should have covered this.

A Question of Innocence

Answers

“We are in session. Commander Means, I am under the impression that we, you and I, have an understanding of the seriousness of this proceeding. Is that a correct assumption?”

“Yes, your honor, it is.”

“And is there that exact same understanding between myself and the honorable members of the bar here representing their respective sides of this case?”

“Yes, your honor,” they respond practically in unison.

“There is.”

“I would like to remind all participants in this case— litigants, witnesses, representatives, interested parties, and visitors—that the defendant is on trial for negligence and dereliction of duty as Commander of a deep space vessel resulting in the death of his second in command, Master Wesley Brachus. The penalties for a guilty verdict are by no means insignificant and may indeed result in further civil prosecution. Let us proceed keeping the seriousness of this case in mind and act and speak accordingly. I would issue a warning to all of you: do not make me feel the need to repeat the terms of this understanding.”

Judge Compton employs a few moments of silence as his gaze passes slowly over the room and its occupants. It is clear that his words and threat have had their intended effect.

He resumes, “Now, if the bailiff will please find and remove the person or device responsible for that incessant clicking noise… It’s coming from over there,” the judge says as he points toward the offending sound. I did not notice it until now, and just as I do—it stops. The persons in the area whence the sound emanated do not move or otherwise betray the culprit. The bailiff, halfway to the gallery halts, waits, and then looks back at the judge who, in turn, scowls, waves the bailiff back to his post and says, “Gentlemen? Proceed,” indicating with his eyes first the representative for the defense, then for the prosecution.

“Thank you, your honor,” begins the prosecutor. “I repeat my question: why would your second in command, who you admit was on the surface on the planet without your knowledge and in noncompliance of protocol, ostensibly wander off into a desolate and dangerous mountain pass?”

This time David maintains composure and answers the question using an appropriate tone. I see Carol looking at me and she makes a silent and subtle gesture of ‘Whew.’ I agree.

I am still confused as to how we ended up with a trial. Past missions, both deep space and local, have suffered losses before. Forget about space missions, all endeavors whether scientific, military, civil, what have you, involve calculated risk. In our careers, the risks are pointed out multiple times and in detail. Sad to say, we have had the occasional loss of an entire ship and crew, and yet cadets continue to enroll, to enlist, and to volunteer. Who is to blame for these losses, or for this one in particular? Not David, surely.

And who’s to blame for Brachus’ actions but he himself? Still, one wonders: Why the trial? Who benefits if David is punished for something he did not cause, nor had control over? Or did he have control? Maybe he should have stepped up and reined Brachus in. It’s true that he relinquished the bulk of control of field operations to him, and for a significant length of time, but that’s a commander’s prerogative. And maybe he should have enforced the order for officers to board according to protocol. But how? Brachus was easy to read in one regard: He was out for himself only. How do you control that?

Dean Carson is on the stand now. He’s being questioned by the prosecuting attorney about the impact of the loss of Master Brachus on the Academy. He answers, “Wesley, I mean Master Brachus, will be missed terribly. He brought a lot to the program, and had a long and bright future ahead of him. I would add that I considered him a personal friend.”

“And what is your opinion of Commander Means?”

“Commander Means has likewise been an asset for many years. He is certainly experienced and we are fortunate to have had the benefit of his service and dedication. But,” he continues, “a complex procedure has been established based on the evaluation of losses in the past. A protocol that is specifically designed to enhance the safety of crew members exists. It must be followed. It must be enforced.”

“Your honor, would you please instruct the witness to answer the questions without embellishment? He was not asked about procedures or enforcement,” objects the defense attorney.

“The witness will restrict his answers to the topic of the question.”

“On the topic of protocol, Dean, please do explain what you mean. Why is the protocol as it is?”

“The current protocol, the one in effect at the time of the tragedy, is the end product of years of analysis of empirical results. In other words, as each misstep or, in the worst of cases, loss, is incurred, an analysis is completed to determine what could have prevented the loss. As we have applied this procedure again and again over the years, the protocol has evolved into what we have today. Sometimes the guidelines are misunderstood or may appear cryptic, but each one is there for a reason. And that reason is to increase safety.”

I don’t buy it. The dean supports the prosecution; ok, I get it, let’s move on. I notice the judge is preoccupied with something. The prosecutor stops in mid-sentence, and looks towards the bench. The judge, noticing his look, orders him to continue.

There is a subtle humming, or vibration, pervading the courtroom. It is of low magnitude but it is there and it’s continuous. It’s the building itself–heating, cooling, filtering. I lose interest in the dean and the monotonous back and forth of question and response. My attention wanders and it is with some effort of will that I maintain what I hope is the appearance of alertness.

“… and Mr. Carson, is it not true that you are in the so-called LMP?” asks David’s attorney. At this, I am brought back to full attention. Exactly the question I would have asked!

“The LMP?”

“Yes, Dean. Why certainly you know the acronym for the life-extending medical treatments that you have been receiving for some time. A very long time, in fact. Isn’t that true?”

“Your honor. Relevance? This line…” interjects the prosecutor.

“Your honor, I believe there may be a stronger connection between the witness and the deceased than mere friendship. A connection that may cloud that objectivity of the witness and may influence his testimony. It is in the best interest of my client, not to mention in the best interest of fairness, that this relationship, if it exists, be brought to light.”

The judge stares at the defense attorney for an instant or two before saying, “You may continue in this line.”

“The LMP, Dean? Is it true?”

“Yes, of course it is true, as you well know. And it’s not a secret.”

“Is that a treatment that is normally reserved for extended-mission crew and their immediate families?”

“Yes, normally, but…”

“Dean, do you qualify under either of those categories?”

“I do not. But it was considered wise, in the name of continuity, to extend…”

“Considered wise, by whom, I wonder? Don’t answer that. Instead consider this: There is a long history in our society wherein learned men and women consider term limits to be the wise choice.”

The dean doesn’t answer, the prosecutor objects, and I am ready to stand and cheer for this breath of fresh air in the proceedings.

“I have no further… Wait, there is one last thing. I understand these treatments are quite expensive. Who is paying for them?”

The dean smiles and relaxes visibly. “I am,” he says calmly.

“Oh really? On a dean’s income? Thank you. No more questions.”

The trial went on at an excruciatingly slow pace
punctuated by brief moments of headway eliciting
in me primarily boredom interspersed with short
bursts of mild interest. I have to say I coasted along
quite happily for a while after that cross
examination of Dean Carson. Maybe David’s
lawyer is not so bad after all. Is he bluffing, or does
he know something? Either way, he had the dean
flustered.

Poor Mark and Craig. They both had to take the
stand, being the ones who found the body. Craig
was nervous and came across as totally believable. Mark on the other hand did not betray one iota of
nerves. He did a workmanlike and professional job
answering all that was put to him with short and
succinct answers. I’m not sure how a judge and jury
would interpret his demeanor, but to my eye it was
a great job—vintage Mark, but without any of his
corny gags. He said that Brachus had special ores
processed, but that he, Mark, did not deal with the
output—Brachus picked it up personally. ‘Was the
output part of the so-called ‘gear’ or ‘keepsakes’?’ he was asked. ‘I do not know,’ said Mark.

My signed statement has previously been accepted
into the court record and I do not expect to have to
take the witness stand.

So far, it seems to me it’s all been about character. Prosecution tries to demean David’s and that of his witnesses; defense tries to bolster David’s while
bringing into question the character of the
witnesses for the prosecution. If I had to call it, I
would say David is losing. Prosecution hammers on
the fact that David did not have Brachus safely on
board at the time of the accident and that this was
the primary cause of the whole affair. A simple
matter of not enforcing the rules.

Defense has been trying to raise the question of
why Brachus, ignoring the widely known deadline
for boarding, would remain on the surface for
‘keepsakes’—whatever those may be. I would be
hammering away at the fact that Brachus was
amassing gems and probably other valuables for
his own personal wealth using mission equipment
and personnel. What is so difficult about it? I know
Mark knows; am I going to have to say something? I really don’t want to have to be the one. Not
again.

Judgement

The row of small high windows along one courtroom wall admits beams of early morning light. These beams create a series of bright parallelograms slanting across two of the remaining walls, heavily distorted by the corner, the room trim, and wall décor. I swear I can see them move, creeping slowly across the wall and down as the morning progresses.

I see Mark and Craig have joined the gallery; I presume this means they will not be called as witnesses again. Tracy is here too, as she has been throughout. Boy, could
she
be a witness as to Brachus’ character. I have to say that for the first time ever, she looks uncomfortable to me. None of the usual flirting, winks, and what not. No eye contact at all. She’s out of her element for sure.

We are experiencing one of those inexplicable delays during which, to the naked eye, absolutely nothing, and I mean nothing, is happening. There is the occasional low murmur of hushed conversation riding on top of the ever-present hum of the building itself.

The defense attorney begins speaking, addressing Judge Compton. My attention is drawn back to the proceedings when I hear something regarding Ensign Waters. Suddenly, an undercurrent of whispers passes through the gallery like a wave. I can see surprised glances pass between not a few of the people. Carol too seems excited and is smiling at me for some reason. When I give her a questioning look she just makes a head movement toward the back of the gallery.

I don’t see it. Just then an attendant opens the courtroom doors. A figure enters. One of the strips of sunlight, at that moment, is positioned such that it falls slanting across the person illuminating his head. I hear a muffled gasp from somewhere in the room. The face is familiar and I am confused, looking from the face and the white hair to Carol and back again, not able to work it out. I can see now that the figure is supported at one side by an aide who has one hand on the left elbow of the white-haired person and her other hand on one of the courtroom doors.

The figure turns and says something; his elbow is released and he starts slowly walking unassisted through the gallery toward the bench. He is smiling slightly and, as his pace is slow and deliberate, looks from side to side. When he is about half way down the short aisle, he looks my way and catches my eye. Now it clicks; Dylan. Dylan is here. A rush of emotion clouds my thoughts for a moment. It’s a lot to grasp. He’s back!

The bailiff holds the gate open for him and Dylan makes his way to the witness box. The progress of his recovery was unknown to me until this moment. I’ve heard of trauma or medicines causing hair to turn white, which is striking enough, but that’s not the only difference. His movements are slow and deliberate—ok, that could be part of his recovery. But the way he scans the room, the way he commands our attention…