THE LAST MAN: Part Thirteen

The light is caustic and even, not sterile but stale and lifeless. It conspires with the ambient tension of this austere hall and swells with the anticipation of something as yet undefined. It builds in my chest, supplanting the arguments, rebuttals and soliloquies carefully crafted in the quiet and safety of ancient archives. I am alone at a small table, with only the hand full of notes I have scribbled.

One by one the judges, five in all, enter and take their places behind the obsidian black bench. It is high above the small space where I stand. I must strain to see each of their faces clearly. This might as well be a prison, for there is nothing but the cold white walls and single wooden door behind me.

Four of the judges are ministers from Section Twenty-one. I recognize the man from Efficiency and Entertainment, the lady from Security and Resource, the woman from Reproduction and Socialization and the man from Science and Police. The last is a man from the Corporation who will oversee the proceedings. They are much older than regular Associates. Certainly the normal rules do not apply to them. The man from the Corporation takes a seat, leaning on an elbow, as if all this is a bore or imposition. I can see little of his features except that he is slender and tall, with bright white hair. There is wisdom in his face, or rather, I shall amend, a great deal of knowledge. Wisdom, I believe comes with caring and understanding. Knowledge, in and of itself, offers ample room for evil to proliferate. I have no direct proof that he possesses wisdom, knowledge or evil, but I will grant him the benefit of the doubt and allow him the luxury to maintain or dismantle my respect. He sits apart from the others, more as an observer or an arbitrator than as a judge.

The judges’ faces are also partly obscured by shadow. That feels like a disadvantage, like a barrier or deficit I cannot fairly overcome. I am the powerless facing the powerful. It is futile, for how under such circumstances can I reasonably demand rights? Only by their benevolence will I be allowed any favor, which is in itself a defeat. After all, if they give me rights then they may rescind them at will. I hear the voices of those ancient ancestors and know that nothing is mine that I don’t fight for.

“I cannot see your faces,” I protest. I am not as confident as I hoped I would be. It sounds more like a complaint than a protest. There could hardly be a greater difference between the two.

There is no reply. The silence holds in the air like a frozen heartbeat. A throat is cleared and some papers shuffled, but nothing more. Though I cannot see them, I can feel their contemptuous stares.

“I am prepared to begin,” I say, eager to break the silence. I am happy to begin with or without their blessing. Surely they see that as another sign of my all too apparent weakness. “I have arguments to present if the court is ready?”

The silence is explosive now. It is quite deliberate on their part. Of that there can be little doubt. It underscores the question of fairness, and the futility of this fight. Any shred of confidence evaporates like a puddle beneath a hot sun. Sentinel senses my fear.

“The accused’s…” the man from Efficiency and Entertainment begins. I cut him off quickly.
“The accused?” I shoot back. “How can I have been accused of anything?”

The ministers whisper among themselves for a moment. Their words are urgent, that much I can tell. I can hear nothing of what they are actually saying. All the while the white-haired man from the Corporation remains idle, and almost detached. His gaze moves lazily about the room, as if I and the ministers and the city are abstracts to him.

“The accused’s fate has already been determined,” The man from Efficiency and Entertainment begins again. I start to speak but he stifles me with a wave of a hand. “Your fate has been determined, but the collective wisdom of this body has decided it may have overlooked some pertinent argument that may persuade us otherwise.”

“So it is really quite impossible?” I say.

“Not entirely, but it will be exceedingly difficult to dissuade our decision.”

“The burden of proof is exceedingly high,” says the woman from security and Resource.

“Then this is not a trial, but an inquisition,” I say.

“You must know,” says the man from Science and Police, “that this hearing is hardly more than a courtesy. Section twenty-one believes a great deal can be learned from your case. Given that echoes of a terribly dark past still exist undiscovered within each of us, it is necessary that every aspect of your case be studied carefully.”

The Corporation is nothing if not thorough. Curious how something as rampant and mechanical as a state, or race, nationality or collective assumes a living consciousness at some point. It becomes alive and hungry with an ego as vibrant and strong-willed as any individual. O)ne might say that ego was more potent, and certainly more dangerous than any single person could hope to attain or perpetrate.

“Echoes of the past?” I am indignant.

“Surely you understand why you are here?” says the woman from Security. “It would be pointless to argue a case with the ignorant. It would be just as well to schedule Reclamation immediately.”

“Ignorance in this case is a subjective claim,” I think, not caring, indeed wanting Sentinel to read that one particular thought. I can’t help but smile.

“Your offense…” begins the man from Efficiency.

“Offense? Again, good ministers, I’ve committed no offense,” I assert.

“Your existence is the offense,” the man from Efficiency says.

“And that is a violation of the law?” I ask.

“The ultimate law is the law of social order.”

I shrug, aghast. “I was simply born this way.”

“An unfortunate situation,” says the woman from Reproduction. “Within my office your indiscretion has been the topic of research and debate for some time.”

“Hardly a situation of my choosing.”

“This is not about blame,” says the woman from Security, “but about judgment,”

“Judgment of what?”

“Whether your existence constitutes a credible threat to society,” she replies.

“In what way?” I ask.
“You represent diversity, the antithesis of homogeneity.”

“Diversity is a polite word for chaos,” charges the man from Police, “which every government, every law in human history was meant to eradicate. One might make the case that chaos and diversity stand in direct opposition to law.”

“Which hardly seems human,” I reply.

“Please don’t think us cruel on this matter,” the woman from Security softens somewhat. “With uniformity comes common cause and common direction. Diversity only leads to animosities and the crippling of that common direction. Wouldn’t you have pity with a two-headed creature, each struggling with its own thoughts and desires? How could such a creature exist? Now imagine three, or five or a hundred heads.”

“Perhaps the other alternative is common need,” I reply.

“Until those common needs diverge or rise in opposition to one another. Such is the need for one common law, not many.”

“A common flaw,” I scoff. Indignance is the last shred of power I possess. “Is society so fragile that it cannot sustain my existence?”

“That is the question,” says the man from Efficiency.

“Do you think me some criminal or revolutionary?”
“It is forbidden for Associates to go to the Low City,” charges the man from Police.

“Not by choice,” I say.

“So you would have us believe anyway,” he replies, with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“You have Sentinel,” I cannot help by say, with a satisfied grin.

“You have tried to subvert Sentinel by obscuring your true thoughts.”

“To escape persecution.”

“Prosecution is persecution to the unjust,” charges the woman from Security.

“And persecution is prosecution to those who hold power,” I say.

The court falls silent. Up to now I have met their charges and that has helped to buoy my spirits. I have no illusions of ultimate victory, but I swell with pride at minor ones. All the while the man from the Corporation remains silent, but I can feel him watching me with a certain curiosity, and, though it is likely a delusion, some respect.

“Why would you wish to exist in a society that doesn’t want you?” says the woman from Socialization, as I look through my notes. The question takes me aback somewhat. “There are no more of your kind here. It must cause you great distress. Wouldn’t Reclamation be a relief?”

“I am less bothered by your color than you are by mine,” I tell them. “I might argue that I am more endangered by this society than this society is threatened by me.”

“A position that strengthens our argument,” says the man from Efficiency.

“Two sides of the same coin,” adds the woman from Resource and Security.

“But only because of your own intolerance,” I say. “Are you ruled by that intolerance, or do you rule it?”
“We rule in the interests of society,” the man from Science says. “We are ruled by the interests of society as the Corporation prescribes.”

“Do I threaten you so much?” I ask.

“You do indeed.”

“And there is no room for humanity within the law?”

“There can be no humanity without order. The social order dictates the law. Within the law there is structure and security. Outside the law there is only chaos and man’s barbaric past, which you represent.”

“You represent a time when humanity was divided,” says the woman from Reproduction, “compartmentalized by race and national identity. Humanity was schizophrenic, unfocused, exhausting its talents in pointless directions. We solved those problems, or believed we had until you came along. Now we wish to study you more closely as a means of future prevention.”

“So it is impossible for me to prevail here?”

The man from Efficiency shakes his head slowly. “Impossible is a very strong word, but it will be very unlikely.”

There is a long, uneasy silence. I look at the judges, unsure what I should say. I have, for the moment exhausted my arguments. More to the point I have exhausted my ability to obscure them from Sentinel before they may be used against me. A gavel strikes, resounding loudly; wood against wood. It sounds in the empty hall like a rifle crack, causing me to flinch. The muscles of my gut tighten briefly then relax with a wave of warm nausea.

“We will meet again in one hour,” say the woman from Reproduction, “but so far this court is not impressed with your arguments. You have been given a great favor, but there is a limit to what this body will endure. We trust you will have a better argument or we will conclude this hearing and pass judgment.”