“I see. Today is May 29th. Linda Rawlings was killed on January 16th, approximately four and a half months ago. Disregarding for the moment where the crime was committed, that date would be within the working limits of this time scanner?”
“If it works at all, it certainly should be.”
The judge scratched his cheek for a long moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “You see that clock on the courtroom wall?”
“Yes, Your Honor. It says that it is 9:16 A M. May 29th, 2076.”
“You could now focus your scanner solely upon that clock, and keep it focused there while you… move back in time, I suppose we must say.”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Judge Johansson nodded first to Dolores de la Quinta, then to District Attorney Martinez. “What I am trying to do here is two things: to test the capabilities of this device; and to preserve as much privacy as possible while doing so. If this machine is ever to come into general use, privacy and the freedom from unwanted intrusion will be major concerns. I believe that for the moment, at least, I have found a satisfactory means of achieving the latter. You may correct me at any time if you find a flaw in my procedure.” He turned back to the astrophysicist. “Very well, would you please activate your device and focus it upon that wall clock. Make it as large as possible on the screen.”
The Englishwoman murmured a few words to the computer operator beside her, then walked over to sit down beside the graviton reader and its operator. A few minutes later data from the reader began to flow to the O-CLIP computer in the trauma room of the Sunny and Harmony Hallowell Trauma Center twenty-one miles away.
An image took shapeon the monitor. “Nine twenty-three A.M.,” said Judge Johansson, leaning forward to read the black-and-white characters, “May 29th, 2076. Very well. Now take it slowly back to yesterday, keeping it focused on the clock. All right, 8:43, 7:21,6:14…”
It took nearly a minute before the display on the screen read 9:22 AM, May 28th, 2076. The judge pursed his lips, then nodded slightly. “Very well, speed it up if you can. Take it back to precisely 8:30 A.M. on the morning of January 16th.”
The date appeared on the screen. A soft murmur ran through the courtroom.
“Good. Now, then, I am going to hand to both Mr. Martinez and to Ms. de la Quinta a sealed envelope. Inside those envelopes is a brief description of what my daily log says I was doing in my chambers between 8:30 and 9:00 on the morning of January 16th. I will ask them to open those envelopes at the conclusion of this demonstration.” He turned back to the astrophysicist.
“You see that doorway in the wall just behind me? Behind that door is a short passageway that leads to the door to my chambers. My chambers should be directly behind where I am presently sitting. Can you move your image from where it is on the clock into the center of my chambers?”
“I believe so, Your Honor.” The Englishwoman left her seat by the graviton reader and returned to the computer operator. She whispered instructions. The picture on the screen blurred, then disappeared. It was replaced a few moments later by an incomprehensible swirl of images that suddenly solidified into what was clearly the corner of a desk. The astrophysicist murmured further instructions. The desk receded until the picture on the monitor was that of a book-lined office. Three people were frozen around the desk.
Once again the courtroom stirred. “Can you… track in a little closer?” asked the judge. “Just so that we can see who the people are. Yes, just like that, that’s fine, stop!” Judge Johansson leaned forward, peering at the screen. “Yes, that is clearly me sitting behind the desk; that is my clerk, Mr. Wesson, who seems to be handing me a paper; and the person sitting in front of us is, I would say, Ms. Lucinda Ellacott of the New Mexico Bar Association. You would agree with me, Mr. Martinez? Ms. de la Quinta?”
The district attorney sighed plaintively. “I would, with reservations, agree, Your Honor.” His lips were tight.
“Ms. de la Quinta?”
“I agree, without reservations.”
“Good. Now, if we could activate the scanner so that we can see what actually transpires during the course of the next thirty minutes…”
Very little, actually. By the time the slightly jerky, black-and-white picture of three people chatting around a desk had reached the fifteen-minute mark the courtroom had grown noticeably restless. Watching lips moving and hands gesturing in total silence was not the high drama the spectators had come to see, no matter how miraculous the process behind it might be.
“Shall we move on?” muttered the judge impatiently after another five minutes of the same thing. “Would you care to open your envelopes? Mr. Martinez, might you read aloud what you find there?”
The district attorney scowled down at the paper in his hand, then began to read aloud. “ ‘My log says that on the morning of January 16, 2076, I had a meeting with Lucinda Ellacott of the New Mexico Bar Association between 8:15 and 9:15 A.M. concerning a proposed revision in the pension plan for retired judges. I do remember that meeting, and what was discussed. I have no specific memory of the fact, but I assume that Christopher Wesson, my clerk, was also present, as he generally is whenever I meet with members of the Bar Association.’ ” The Fighting Bobcat’s scowl deepened. “That’s all it says.”
Judge Johansson nodded. “As a fair-minded person, would you say that the demonstration of the time scanner up to this point would seem to indicate that it does indeed function as advertised?”
The district attorney hesitated, bit his lip, and finally nodded reluctantly. “Seems to, Your Honor, seems to. But I would caution—”
“Very well, then. I hearby rule that evidence procured by viewing the time scanner may be entered into evidence with the same degree of credibility or non-credibility attached to it as might be given to any other eyewitness account. Bailiff, you may bring the jury back—we are ready to proceed.”
A short while later the bailiff, the graviton reader, its operator, and the Ph.D., escorted by a phalanx of armed state policemen, were taken from the courtroom through the judge’s private entrance. A two-meter comm screen was hung on the wall facing the jury. Thirty-five minutes after he had departed the courtroom, the bailiffs face appeared on the screen.
“We are now in the parking lot of the Casa Grande Motel,” said the bailiff. The picture changed, to show him standing in front of several cars and the bottom floor of the adobe-walled motel. The others in his group were clustered around the graviton reader, which could be seen on the floor of an open van. “That room there,” said the bailiff, turning to point at a door, “is room 128, where the body of Linda Rawlings was found. It is approximately ten meters from the… so-called time scanner in the van.”
“Very well,” said Judge Johansson, “you may direct them to begin scanning. It has been established that Rawlings left the defendant’s room in the Easy Rest Hotel next door at approximately 10:45 P.M. in the evening of January 16th. You will tell them to focus the machine upon the interior of room 128, beginning at 10:45 P.M. of January 16th, and to leave it there going forward in real time until I tell them otherwise.”
“First we’re going to have to focus it on something that will tell us what day and what time it is,” pointed out the voice of the English astrophysicist. “Otherwise there’s no way to calibrate the operation of a cobbled-together device like this.”
“Hrmph. I hadn’t thought of that. What do you suggest, then? Remember, privacy must be absolutely safeguarded.”