Frida had decided to charge the Communists with High Treason, a charge that automatically kept the public out of the court. I wasn’t sure if she’d done that deliberately or if it was a happy coincidence; happy, because the entire city wanted the Communists lynched. It was quite possible that the vigilantes would return and try to bully their way past the soldiers and if that happened there would be a massacre. The Communists weren’t the only faction that had guns; hell, we couldn’t even begin to disarm all of the militia groups. We’d just have to hope that they drew a lesson from what happened to the Communists and stayed out of armed violence. If not…
I shook my head as I was shown into the courtroom. It was clearly in the school’s gym and lacked a certain something, although I didn’t know what. Dignity, perhaps. Frida herself was sitting at one end of a long table, joined by the seven surviving High Court Judges and several others I didn’t recognise. Svergie’s Supreme Court was supposed to rule on matters like High Treason and Constitutional Law, but only half of them had survived the insurrection. The Communists had targeted them personally, just because of the positions they held.
“Andrew,” Frida said, waving me over. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please, take a seat.”
I frowned. “I was under the impression that I was here to observe only,” I said, puzzled. She seemed to be offering me a seat on the court. “I’m not actually…”
“You may be called upon to testify,” Frida explained. I smiled in relief. That made a great deal more sense, although I wasn’t particularly comfortable in the courtroom. Give me a good honest battle any day. “The Judges may want to put questions to you, or…”
“The Court will rise,” the usher bellowed. “The 3rd Supreme Court Judgement Session will now come to order.”
I sat down as the remainder of the court settled. “Bring in the prisoners,” the usher ordered. The side door opened and the nine Communist leaders — the ones who had survived the insurrection — were escorted into the room. They wore heavy chains, rather than light handcuffs or other restraints; I guessed that someone wanted to make a point. They looked relieved to be in private session; they might not have been able to play to the audience, but they wouldn’t be facing a lynch mob. They didn’t look confident or self-assured now; they just looked… terrified. I couldn’t really blame them for being scared. They knew they’d failed and were now looking at a short trip to the gallows.
“Daniel Singh will represent the prisoners,” the usher said. I reminded myself about the old saying — a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client — before realising that it was quite possible that no uninvolved lawyer had wanted to take part in the proceedings, or at least on their side. “The charges are as follows; High Treason, Conspiracy to Seize Power Unlawfully, Wilful Mass Murder — at least three thousand separate counts — and Mass Property Damage. Does the defending lawyer wish to make a statement before proceedings begin?”
“Yes, Your Honour,” Daniel Singh said. His voice was flat, but very composed. “I protest in the strongest possible terms this court and its claim to jurisdiction. I also protest our treatment. We have been denied access to friends and relatives, potential witnesses and those who might speak in our defence. We have been forbidden to stand before a bail court or even give testimony in our own defence. This court is illegal and a disgrace to our world.”
“You have been charged with High Treason, among other crimes,” the usher said, in response. “You would not be granted bail under any circumstances, but if we had done so you would have been lynched in the streets. You were not denied access to anyone; they chose not to come see you. And, as to our right to try you, you are in the dock. You may believe that this court is unconstitutional, but it was summoned in accordance with the Constitution, under the supervision of the surviving High Court Judges. We believe that we have the right to try you and if you are found guilty, we will sentence you and carry out your punishment.”
There was a pause. “The Prosecutor may speak now.”
The Prosecutor was a tall man, with dark hair that was shading towards grey. I listened as he outlined everything, from the early stages of the Communist Party’s plans for a coup to the final preparation and the assault on the stadium, killing hundreds in the opening blows alone. He brought videoed testimony from the survivors of Pitea, recounting their suffering and how they had barely survived under two weeks of Communist rule. Shopkeepers spoke of losing their stock to the Communists, women told of seeing their husbands dragged off and murdered, factory crews talked about losing their foremen and supervisors to the murderous mobs, collectively painting a picture of horror and suffering.
“I protest this,” Daniel said, at one point. “These witnesses have not been summoned to court. Their testimony is therefore unacceptable.”
“The case of Gustav V. Robeson would indicate otherwise,” the Prosecutor countered. “It was established in that case, and subsequently confirmed by the High Court, that videoed testimony was acceptable provided that it was properly recorded and notarized by a qualified court official. In this case, the dispositions were recorded under the watching eyes of no less than three officials from the court. There was little point in having the witnesses forced to endure your form of questioning.”
The Prosecutor continued his attack, noting that all of the allegations of fraud in the voting districts had been carefully disproved before the insurrection began — and, indeed, even some of the Communists had agreed with the final outcome. Those Communists, of course, were dead now, killed by their own kind. It didn’t take much imagination to guess why; they’d been honest and had paid the price for it. The Communist Leadership would probably have been happier with a lie claiming that the elections had been rigged.
“You claim that you were forced into insurrection,” the Prosecutor continued. “You have presented no reason to justify your claim. You merely want us to take it on faith that you had a good reason for your crimes, yet you refuse to accept some of our statements on faith. Your own people have testified as to your crimes against innocent civilians and those who merely belonged to the wrong political party. You cannot claim that you set out to kill people in order to save them.”
There was a long pause. “I have presented the evidence before the court,” the Prosecutor concluded. “I have proved that they deliberately set out to launch an insurrection with the intention of overthrowing the government and replacing it with one more to their liking. They murdered tens of thousands of people directly and saw fit to risk the lives of thousand more. They killed half the Council and seriously injured the President himself. They are guilty.”
“The accursed may make a final statement in their own defence, if they wish,” the usher said. “If not, the judges will issue their verdict now.”
“I so wish,” Daniel said, quickly. He drew himself up as much as he could in the chains. “This court is a farce. This trial is a joke. We believed that the purpose of the President in hiring outside mercenaries” — and here he shot a nasty look at me — “was to create an army that could be used to disarm the political parties and then impose a new order on the planet. We knew how close the President was to the rich and wealthy upper classes who ground the people into dirt beneath their feet; we knew what he had in mind.
“We knew that the Progressive Party had been suborned by the Liberty Party. We knew where the Conservatives and Farmers stood. We did what we could to prevent the planet from falling under a dictatorship. If we are to die today, then we will have died for what we believe in. This trial is a farce and, in the future, we will be hailed as martyrs.”