He paused and turned around to face Reid. Reid’s response was a tremor of the eyelids, and a shake of the head.
‘You don’t deny it?’ Talgarth said.
Reid stood up. ‘No.’
Wilde shot Reid a look of triumph and hatred, then composed his face to swing a calm smile past the cameras as he turned again to Talgarth.
‘In that case,’ Wilde said slowly and distinctly, ‘I claim that Dee Model’s body belongs to the legitimate heir of my wife!’ He smiled at Talgarth. ‘Whether that heir is myself or Jay-Dub I leave to the court to determine.’
Reid rose at once and bowed politely, though whether to Wilde or Talgarth wasn’t obvious.
‘I am happy to concede the ownership of the genotype,’ he said. ‘And to come to an amicable or, failing that, arbitrated arrangement about its use, or compensation for its use and any distress inadvertently caused. My major concern is the recovery of the gynoid’s software and non-biological hardware, which are incontestably my property.’
Wilde looked over to Tamara, who shrugged and raised her eyebrows as if to say, ‘What’s his game?’ The MacKenzie remote was saying substantially the same thing. It had expected a bigger fight, since the ownership of genotypes was a hotly contested issue. Its only suggestion was that any concession made here would avoid establishing a precedent that other courts might recognise.
‘Very well,’ said Wilde. He adjusted the microphone, his hand shaking slightly. ‘The only compensation I wish is that David Reid resurrect my wife’s mind as well as her body – something which is evidently possible, as the robot Jay-Dub has demonstrated by resurrecting me.’
Reid was on his feet at once. Wilde had to step back quickly as Reid strode up and caught the microphone from his hand.
‘The court has not accepted that Jay-Dub resurrected this man!’
Talgarth flicked ash from his sleeve. ‘Ah, but you have,’ he said mildly.
Reid sat down again. The woman beside him whispered in his ear, her face stiff with annoyance. The news remotes buzzed, and people in the crowd were checking out the running commentaries, on hand-held screens or on their contacts.
‘Order!’ Talgarth banged his gavel, carefully steadying his drink first. ‘David Reid may answer your request in his own time.’
‘I’ll answer now,’ said Reid. Wilde stepped back from the microphone, and returned to his seat.
‘You’ve stirred things up a bit,’ Tamara observed.
Wilde winked, confusing the remote adviser for a moment, and settled back to listen to Reid.
‘Wilde’s request is reasonable,’ Reid was saying. ‘The question of resurrecting the dead has for long been on the minds of us all. But, however much we may wish to do it, we are prevented by force majeure. Most of the personalities of the dead, including that of Reid’s wife Annette, are held in smart-matter storage which remains inaccessible without the co-operation of posthuman entities whose capacities and motives are unknown, but who – as experience has shown – are a risk to us all. I am responsible for keeping the codes that could be used to re-start them, and I can assure this court that until someone demonstrates a way to do this safely, these codes remain in my possession, and the dead…sleep.’ He glanced at Wilde. ‘There are some matters best left undisturbed,’ he told him.
‘He’s telling you not to push it,’ Tamara muttered.
Wilde grinned at her and went forward again as Reid took his seat. The tension in the crowd had diminished. Even Talgarth’s impassive face betrayed relief.
‘The robot Jay-Dub resurrected me without disaster,’ he said. ‘But there is more to the matter than this.’
Reid leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, and watched Wilde with half-lidded eyes.
‘The court has given its view on one of Reid’s charges,’ Wilde said, ‘and left the other in abeyance until the other Jonathan Wilde, aka Jay-Dub, can be…prevailed upon to answer it. I now wish to press my counter-charge, the outcome of which may perhaps affect how any fines and damages in these matters are allocated. It may also affect the question of the resurrection of the dead in general.’ He smiled at Talgarth, who no longer seemed relieved. ‘Not in a legal sense – on that, I’ll defer to the court – but in a practical sense.’
Wilde stepped a little to the side, so that while he was unarguably and correctly addressing the court, he was also speaking to Reid and to the wider audience.
‘My counter-charge is this: that David Reid had me unlawfully killed, by the reckless action of people acting on his behalf and by his personal, wilful neglect of my injuries. That having done that, he has made no efforts in good faith to resurrect me. He claims that this is difficult – nonetheless, no evidence exists of any attempt on his part to overcome the difficulty. I claim compensation for loss of life-experience and loss of society, for my entire down time. That is, for nothing less than the whole of Ship Time, and possibly for longer.’
Eon Talgarth had to call for order, more than once, before the hubbub ceased.
‘Do you have evidence to bring for this charge?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Wilde.
He stalked over to his seat, reached into Tamara’s backpack, and pulled out the folder of Talgarth’s notes. He held it high as he walked back, and presented it to Talgarth.
‘The evidence,’ he said, ‘has been gathered by a certain Eon Talgarth, and has been a matter of public record and never challenged.’
The court fell silent, except for the toy-helicopter buzzing of the remotes and the distant din of the machinery outside.
Talgarth riffled through the pages, and shook his head. ‘There were conflicting claims,’ he said, ‘as to the manner in which Jonathan Wilde met his death. Although I myself inclined to the view which you have just stated, there are no surviving witnesses other than David Reid and, putatively, yourself. Its not having been challenged has, I’m afraid, no bearing on the matter. No court on this planet recognises libel, and they do not recognise a refusal or failure to rebut a claim as any evidence in its favour.’
He sighed, as if in regret for more than the inadequacy of the evidence; for, perhaps, a political passion long spent, which had driven him to compile the dossier. He handed the folder back to Wilde.
‘The court cannot accept this as evidence,’ he said. ‘In the absence of other evidence, or the confession of the one you have accused –’
He glanced at Reid, who was shaking his head vigorously.
‘– which I understand will not be forthcoming, and which I have no power to compel, I do not see how this charge can be tried at this time. Should you call Reid as a witness, he may refuse to answer, and no adverse inference may be drawn from that.’
Reid’s legal adviser stood up and conferred briefly with Talgarth, while Wilde stepped back out of earshot and looked away. When the woman had sat down again, Talgarth tapped with his gavel.
‘The counter-charge is dismissed,’ he said, ‘without prejudice to either party. Wilde’s bringing of the charge cannot be called vexatious or frivolous, and is not to be held against him. The name and reputation of David Reid remain unsullied. The allegation that his killing of Wilde was unlawful, or with malice, remains as it was before the charge was brought, that is, an unsubstantiated historical speculation which he is within his rights in treating with contempt.’
Reid and his assistant exchanged smiles.
‘However,’ Talgarth went on, with an abrupt harshening of his voice, ‘the claim that Reid was responsible, culpably or not, for the death of Jonathan Wilde is…considerably better attested. The witnesses are not, of course, in this court, but some are known to survive and could be asked to testify.’