Hellspark (49 page)

(Yes, and look what happened to you!)

She had reached the fore. Om im swept her a low bow and drew the chair for her; when she and the other four were seated, he once again said, in ringing tones, “Court called on Flashfever.

Byworld Judge

Tocohl Susumo presiding.”

Under cover of the sound of some forty people jostling to settle, Tocohl said in protest, “You needn’t overdo it.”

“I like the sound of it,” he said, grinning. “I think I’ll do it again.”

“No,” she said, and he touched his hilt, suppressing his grin to a small quirk at one corner of his mouth…

Layli-layli calulan stood and the last few mutters of the crowd died instantly away. The shaman’s face was once more serene. “I come for judgment,” she said. “I accuse Timosie Megeve of

Maldeneant of the premeditated murder of Oloitokitok of Y, and of the attempted
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genocide of the species known as the sprookjes of Flashfever. Will you judge?”

Tocohl took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Yes,” she said, “I will judge.” And with that, Megeve’s trial began.

The trial was swift. The sprookjes had little to add beyond identifying the item (“same/like”) that

Megeve had given to Oloitokitok—before the two of them had taken daisy-clippers into the flashwood—as a locator. To that, Buntec could only say that it would have been possible to rig a locator to deliver the shock that killed Oloitokitok. She could not prove it had been done, although there was no

doubt in her mind that it had.

Confronting Megeve brought only a repeated indictment of the sprookjes, for “wasting” the world of

Flashfever.

Tocohl heard them all out. At last, she said, “Before I begin my deliberations, does anyone else have anything further to add?”

Yannick Windhoek stood. “Yes. The doctor layli-layli calulan

, who is also an Yn shaman, has explained to me that constant exposure to heavily ionized air has caused many members of the survey team to behave in an abnormal fashion.”

“I’m aware of the effect,” Tocohl said.

“Then I ask that you take it into account when you judge Timosie Megeve’s actions.”

“I intend to,” Tocohl said. She scanned the room, awaiting further comments or suggestions.

There were none. “That’s it?” she asked, her glance resting on Nevelen Darragh. Darragh merely directed her own glance at Om im, so Tocohl turned to him and said, “That’s it. Get them out of here, Om im. I need time to think.”

Om im did; in a matter of minutes he had, by voice alone, cleared the room of all except Bayd and the other judges.

Bayd laid her hands on Tocohl’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Megeve has plenty of judges to appeal to, you know.”

“I know. That makes it no less my responsibility.”

“Do what’s right—for all of us.” Bayd gave her a smile and a second squeeze, then turned to leave with Windhoek and Jad-Ing and Mirrrit.

Maggy’s arachne trotted along behind her. “Maggy,” Tocohl said, “you don’t have to go.”

“I know,” said Maggy happily, “I’m staying with you.” The arachne followed Bayd out into the courtyard.

A cheerful laugh beside her reminded Tocohl that Nevelen Darragh was still present. She turned, suddenly afraid, and Darragh said, “Shall I stay?”

When Tocohl hesitated, Darragh said, “I assure you Om im is quite as good as sounding board or as silent support.”

Tocohl blinked down at Om im, who raised a brow at her. “She’d feel more secure if you stayed, Nevelen. After all, you’re an old hand at this.”

“Stay,” said Tocohl to Darragh. She spoke in panic, but once the word was out, she found herself oddly calm and accepting.

“What did I tell you?” Om im said. After a bow to each, he strode the length of the room, pausing at the door to call out, “Now you’ll see what it’s like from the other side, Nevelen. I’ll be right outside, Tocohl.” Then he was gone from sight.

“He will be too,” Nevelen Darragh observed as she gestured Tocohl into a chair and drew a second up beside it for herself, “even if it takes you three days to reach a decision.”

To reach a decision, Tocohl thought, and once again heard the echo of Bayd’s words: “Do what’s right.”

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For Tocohl, that meant to begin with the Methven ritual for calm, and then to turn and examine the evidence against Megeve in her mind one final time, setting it deep in the context of Flashfever. When she was done she thought, with bitter amusement, So being a judge means that your choices are restricted…

There was only one verdict she could give; and as she looked up at last into Darragh’s eyes, she met sympathetic understanding—and agreement. “Tell Om im I’m ready,” she said.

“Yes,” said Darragh, rising, “you are.”

As Darragh walked the length of the hall, Tocohl herself rose, discovering only then that her muscles ached with stiffness. (Maggy? How long—?) (About two hours.) Tension then, not length of time. She stretched to work out such of the ache as she could.

The common room filled in minutes. None of the surveyors had gone far, that much was clear.

Again, Timosie Megeve was brought; again, Om im called court for her. This time the quiet was instant and absolute.

At the front of the room, Tocohl perched on the edge of the table. Cribbing formal words from a handful of byworld trials she witnessed, Tocohl said, “In the matter of Timosie Megeve of Maldeneant:

“I find the evidence connecting him to the death of Oloitokitok of Y to be insufficient and circumstantial.” She met layli-layli calulan

’s eyes; the effort of doing so chilled her. “We could not prove it,” she said with emphasis.

Layli-layli calulan dropped her eyes under the scrutiny, an admission that even she could not deny the truth of that.

“However,” Tocohl went on, “the charge of attempted genocide is quite another matter. There we can prove that Timosie Megeve consistently, and with forethought, concealed information that would have enabled this survey team to make a clear evaluation of the sprookjes’

intelligence. We can see the same pattern in his attempts to disrupt the survey team itself, which also lessened the team’s ability to make such an evaluation.”

Turning to face Yannick Windhoek, she said, “As for the effects of the ionization, we must—as you say—take into account the abnormal behavior of other members of the survey team.

“Kejesli acted hastily in the matter of the sprookjes, yes, but he was willing to give them a last chance by taking swift-Kalat’s charge of murder against them seriously.” She smiled briefly at Kejesli; “Seriously

enough

, at any rate,” she pointed out.

“In like manner, layli-layli calulan

, although prepared to curse Ruurd van Zoveel, allowed herself to be stopped by a ruse.” At that, Windhoek’s eyes widened; he glanced at layli-layli who gave him silent thumbs-up confirmation. Tocohl went on, “And she never bothered to check the survey computer to learn van Zoveel’s true name. Even Edge-of-Dark was glad of a chance to do right, rather than angry that she’d been conned… All any of the rest needed was a little push in the right direction.

“Yet Timosie Megeve remained unmovable. Worse, he was pushing in the wrong direction. He admits that he thought the sprookjes sentient; yet everything he did was an attempt to convince others they were not. He did not actually commit genocide, yet his actions might, in the end, have resulted in genocide.”

Tocohl slid from her perch and turned to face Timosie Megeve. “You found the sprookjes so unlike you in spirit that you judged them unworthy of human rights; in like manner, I judge you.

Timosie Megeve of Maldeneant, I find you guilty of attempted genocide. How do you choose, Megeve: death or restriction?”

“I appeal.”

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“That is your right,” said Tocohl. She stepped back. “Address your appeal to another judge.”

Timosie Megeve raised his hand. In a defiant voice, he said, “Yannick Windhoek, will you judge an appeal?”

“I will judge,” said Windhoek, his voice as cold with finality as his face: “No appeal. The judgment stands.”

Timosie Megeve whitened, and Tocohl had no choice but to repeat her query, as if she were caught in its relentless rhythm: “How do you choose: death or restriction?”

“I accept my role,” he said, “I choose death.”

The option was always given; it was seldom taken. Silence fell heavily. Tocohl stiffened. “Very well,”

she said as, one by one, the members of the survey team raised their hands to shoulder height—each signifying his or her unwillingness to perform the deed.

Layli-layli calulan rose, twisting the bluestone rings from her fingers as she stepped forward.

“Pattern demands that I fulfill it,” she said, holding out her rings to Tocohl.

Tocohl raised her palm and the rings dropped into it. “Death,” she said softly, “at the hands of layli-layli calulan of Y. Let it be so.” And to layli-layli calulan

, she said, “You have his true name.”

“Death,” said Timosie Megeve scornfully, “at the hands of this barbarian. Do you expect me to believe in your death curse?” He began to laugh.

Layli-layli calulan raised her hands, touched him ever so gently, and spoke a few grim words against the harsh, rasping sound of his disbelief.

Two days later, Timosie Megeve died, laughing no longer. At the end, he had no choice but to believe.

Windhoek, who was heading in the direction of MGE’s main center, might have carried the final survey report, but Kejesli preferred to waste MGE’s money. A message capsule went instead, and with all due ceremony, as subdued and formal as it was under the circumstances.

Tocohl felt odd. There was no triumph, only a sense of relief that it was over at last.

She felt drained—worse, she had no sense of expectation.

Mirrrit and Jad-Ing, with Maggy’s assistance, had put together a program that enabled anyone whose 2nd skin had graphics display to reproduce the sprookjes’ feather-rufflings; and Bayd had, quite pointedly, taken over the job of learning the sprookjes’ language.

Alfvaen would return with the survey team. Kejesli meant to restore her reputation with MGE

but

Alfvaen would have gone anywhere to be with swift-Kalat, much to Maggy’s embarrassingly outspoken satisfaction.

But all this only served to leave Tocohl at loose ends. Spatters of rain began to fall, sending the last few onlookers scurrying for shelter, but Tocohl felt no need to hurry.

“Tocohl?” A hand caught her elbow. It was Nevelen Darragh. “I’d like a word with you in private.”

And the hand at her elbow swept her along. “Om im volunteered his quarters.”

Tocohl was inside almost before she realized what was happening. When she did, it was with great surprise to see Windhoek, Harl Jad-Ing, and Mirrrit. Maggy’s arachne squatted on the table, chatting happily with Om im and Mirrrit.

“Sit down,” Darragh said, and Tocohl obeyed, curious at last. Darragh went on, “You have a panel of four judges at your service, quite enough for a judgment of sentience.”

Tocohl turned to stare at her. It was Maggy’s sentience they meant—they knew

, all of them. She opened her mouth to protest.

“Just a moment,” Darragh said. “I do understand your reasons for not wishing such a
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judgment made—but we would be prepared to grant you Maggy’s guardianship at the same time. Kids need looking after.”

“I—Nevelen, as far as I know, Maggy’s the only one of her kind as yet

. I won’t have her… growing up under intense scrutiny. Being treated as a freak or a curiosity wouldn’t be good for her.”

“Then the judgment will be held closed, reported only to other byworld judges.” Darragh watched her carefully. “Give it thought before you answer, Tocohl. Such a decision would set a precedent that would be of great advantage to others like Maggy as they arise, and it would alert the rest of the byworld judges to look for them as well.”

Darragh was right, Tocohl knew, it would help the others, but Maggy was her first concern.

“Maggy, what do you think?”

“Would we stay together?”

“We’d stay together.”

“Then whatever you decide is fine with me.”

Tocohl took a deep breath. “All right, Nevelen, as long as I’m her guardian and the judgment is closed. I won’t have her treated as a freak,” she said again.

Moments later, it was official: the extrapolative computer known as Margaret Lord Lynn of

Hellspark had been declared a sentient child, Tocohl her guardian, and the proceedings had been declared For Judges’ Ears Only.

Tocohl shivered. To Om im, she said wryly, “So you told them about her. I didn’t think you knew.”

But his sudden look of surprise told her she was completely wrong. She turned to Darragh, hoping for an explanation.

The one she got was not the one she expected. Darragh said, “Om im was our backup. If you hadn’t asked for a sentience judgment on Maggy, he’d have asked for one on the sprookjes.”

“But that was already decided…”

“Not as far as the government knows. And since we all traveled here for a sentience hearing”—a wave of her hand ran the range, from smiling Mirrrit to scowling Windhoek—“the government pays our travel expenses, not you.”

“Oh,” said Maggy, “that’s good! That means we have lots of money left over for more memory!”

Darragh laughed and Tocohl laughed along with her. “As for who told me,” Darragh said, “it was

Maggy herself. It was clear from her behavior that she’d gone well beyond what we normally think of as standard behavior, even for an extrapolative computer. I asked her for the details.”

“I told you she was a mean trader,” Maggy volunteered.

Tocohl eyed the arachne curiously. “And what did you get in return?”

“Nothing,” said Maggy, hunching the arachne, “unless you count the experience.”

“Taking advantage of children, Nevelen?” said Om im. “I’m surprised at you.”