Erin did not tell the juror to ignore the law. If she tried to do that, the judge would cut her off, make her sit down—tell Calendri to disregard her argument. So she had to make the juror understand his own power by inference.
“At least that’s one point we haven’t passed yet. At least we don’t trust that program over there to dispense justice. Dispensing justice has always been an awesome responsibility, but, back in the days when we had juries of twelve, it was at least not such a lonely one. That responsibility now rests on you and you alone, Mr. Calendri.”
Her time was almost up; less than a minute left.
“Ephraim Polk doesn’t want your sympathy. We ask you for justice. And since justice is never served by the weak or the cowardly, it will take courage for you to do justice, all by yourself. It will require you to show as much courage as Ephraim Polk showed on the stand here yesterday. Maybe more.”
Then Erin was done. She took her seat, utterly drained. The courtroom remained silent for what seemed hours. Finally, Erin glanced up at the juror. He was not looking at her or Ephraim, he was staring at the wall behind the judge’s image. She looked at Clark, who was immobile, reading the papers in front of him. There was no sound from the media people behind her either, not the usual rustle of clothing or rattle of equipment.
Why wasn’t anyone looking at her? Were they all embarrassed for her? Had she made that much of a fool of herself?
“Interesting summation,” the judge finally said. She had removed her spectacles and held them in front of her chin, which only seemed to pull her features into an expression of thoughtful repose. “I have never before had counsel refer to me as ‘that program over there.’ It may border on disrespect for the court, but I cannot find any precedent that holds it improper. And it cannot be said that your words were untrue.”
Erin thought the judge's own comment was unprecedented, at least in her experience. The judge’s visage turned from Erin to Clark. “Very well, then. Mr. Clark, you may proceed.”
Clark commenced his own summation from the podium in a steady, wooden voice; she knew he would talk about the law and interface designs and relative costs, but Erin could not follow his words. She noted only that as Clark proceeded, his voice and gestures gained conviction, and that Calendri seemed to be following the defense argument with close attention.
I am finished, Erin thought. There is nothing more I can do. It was not enough. Yet, it was all I had. And I don’t know if I can ever do that again.
She looked at Ephraim, who was paying no attention to Clark, only watching her. Their eyes connected and she could feel the well start to fill again.
I know I could never do that again, by myself.
“I’ll have to go visit him after this is over. My father. I… I want to know what he thinks of me. Who we were—father and son.” Ephraim spoke to the cup of tea in front of him, noticing with one part of his mind the tiny hairline fractures that had begun to craze the white ceramic. Across the table, Erin remained silent, toying with one of the small fruit-filled muffins that the waitress had served with their tea.
She believed they had lost. Derocher had been right to drop his case. Ephraim turned his cup slowly on its saucer, watching her surreptitiously. Her face had taken on a gaunt quality, as if she had lost weight in the last forty-eight hours. She looked exhausted and… beautiful. Last night’s sadness pierced him and he covered the moment by sipping at his cooling tea. In an hour, maybe less, it would be over, one way or another. Success or failure, she would put this trial behind her and go on to the next case. She would forget him. He would forget her.
He didn’t want to forget her.
“I thought lawyers played tricks with words and laws.” His words limped, rough and halting. “I thought that was all… there was to it. I didn’t realize… what you could do. You made Calendri hear it, I think—what it means to me. You made him understand.” He spread his hands, shaken by a sudden sense of impending loss. “Whether the decision goes for us or against us, it was… art. I just want you to know that.”
She looked up, finally, her sea-colored eyes flecked with gold in the light from the window, a similar sadness shadowing her face. “Thank you,” she said. “Whatever happens this afternoon, don’t stop creating your collages. No, wait.” She leaned forward to lay two fingers against his lips, stilling the denial he had been about to utter. “Even if you have no past, you are still human. You still have a soul. You told me about raising that puppy the day you came to my office—how much it mattered to you that it live. What you said moved me, in a way I… don’t usually let myself be moved.” A faint blush tinged her pale cheeks and she shook her head. “That passion is still part of you, Ephraim. You still have your vision and your drive to make it live. You simply see things from a different perspective than before. I know this,” she said urgently. “Your strength is still there, even if you have to use fewer images. Trust yourself, Ephraim.”
She took her hand away abruptly, her pupils contracting, eyes fixing on the wall behind him. “It’s time to go back. The judge says the juror has reached a verdict.” She held out her hand with a wan smile. “Wish us luck. We sure did our best.”
He took it, trapped by the formality of dishes, and table linens, and the other diners. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely. “Win or lose… thank you.”
They got to their feet in unison and filed between the tables, barely noticed by the incurious diners.
Word had spread that a verdict was being returned, and Erin and Ephraim had to shove through an even larger crowd of media people at the courtroom door. They took their places in silence before the bench. Clark was already in his seat, managing to look triumphant in spite of his businesslike demeanor. Ephraim stifled a brief anger against the man who wouldn’t take any risks himself but was willing to defend the companies that took advantage of those who would. The judge was waiting for them to be seated, peering over her old-fashioned glasses. “That program,” Erin had called her. Remembering her defense of the AI system in her office, Ephraim stifled a smile. The judge raised her eyebrows at Ephraim and cleared her throat.
“Counsel for both parties are present, and we are back on record in the matter of Polk v. NeuroTek, Inc!' She called in the juror, and everyone waited for Calendri to resume his seat.
“Have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.
Calendri’s expression remained serious and unreadable. Ephraim had meant to watch him as Erin delivered her final argument, but her words had caught him up and he had forgotten Calendri entirely.
Ephraim found himself holding his breath. If they lost—it would be Erin’s failure. She would never let it be anything else. That smug bastard Clark would smile at her, and that smile would pierce something vital inside her—maybe cripple it forever. For one brief moment, he wished he had taken Derocher’s advice and settled out of court. Wanting to take her hand, Ephraim scrubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs instead. Calendri stood slowly and deliberately and faced the judge, not immune to the drama of the moment.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Calendri replied. With his notepad, he uploaded his verdict to the judge.
The judge seemed to study it for an eternity before speaking. “The verdict is in proper form. I will now publish it: ‘I, Peter G. Calendri, the juror duly empowered to decide this case, make the following verdict on the issue submitted to me.’ ”
Ephraim glanced at Erin; she had her eyes closed and head bowed.
“Question: ‘Was the NeuroTek cerebral implant defectively designed or manufactured?’ Answer: ‘Yes.’ Is that your verdict, Mr. Calendri?”