He had no idea of how long it had been since they’d taken LUH away. Nor where she was. He knew they had been sedating him; most of the time in his sensory-less prison limbo he had slept. Without dreaming. Without really resting.
Now he sat in a high-backed chair with two robot policemen gleaming on either side of him. His own defense counsel, a stubby little man who had identified himself to THX for the first time a few minutes earlier, was standing in front of him, listening intently to the gibberish of the court, hand pressed to one earphone, eyes fixed on the proctor who stood in front of the judge’s bench.
There seemed to be a dozen cases being tried at once. The proctor was reading off computer cards as fast as he could, and THX’s earphones shrilled a cacophony of prosecutors and defense counsels shouting phrases that were mostly meaningless to him. But they shouted them with great vehemence, as if they really believed in what they were doing.
The judge (was he the one they kept referring to as Pontifex? THX wondered) sat high above everyone else at a sort of control booth, with a computer console flashing its lights behind him. He also had earphones clapped on his head, but his eyes seemed sleepy, bored—except that every once in a while, he snapped awake to say something. It always sounded like something harsh to THX, although he couldn’t understand most of the terms that the judge used.
Then he heard the proctor’s voice rattling off his own name: “Charge: 1138 prefix THX charged with violation ” index 3278.927, appendix 445-60-613. Drug evasion, malicious sexual perversions, unconditional response and transgression. Justice proceed. Pontifex 606 presiding.”
A waspish little evil-faced man got to his feet and bowed to the judge. “Mercicontrol prosecutor 727, if it please the court. Mercicontrol respectfully places its evidence before you…” The computer began flashing madly and the judge seemed to be looking down into a view-screen that was set into his booth. Or was he merely dozing?
“Tapes 9198, 5116, and 1477,” the prosecutor said. “These negative documents are certified by AN-OTO and registered at files, tomb 34.”
THX’s defense counsel raised a stubby finger. “Non-drug, nondrug total excuse. Defendant in unstable condition, not responsible. Nondrug asylum… precedent…”
But the prosecutor continued without pause, “Mercicontrol respectfully submits a 5254, immediate destruction, on the basis of an ECO TR-X 314; totally incurable chemical imbalance with socially deteriorating consequences.”
The defense counsel wagged his head. “Reject, reject. Inefficient unwarranted destruction. Must be saved… mass is one… can be productive. Name of economics; cure this soul… malignant cure. There is a heritage of good and economic efficiency… net gain.”
“Insane,” said the prosecutor.
“Granted,” said the judge, nodding.
The prosecutor went on, “Immediate destruction is the only efficiency. The crimes are of secondary importance. The issue is one of genetic inferiority. This man is of the womb…”
“Reject, reject!” shouted the defense counsel.
“He is the product of an illegal sexual perversion,” the prosecutor said to the judge, still ignoring the defense counsel, “and should have been destroyed at the moment of conception. What is in question here is a concept of economic efficiency and procedure that has allowed these erotics to exist and dilute this great society.”
“Reject, reject,” squawked the defense counsel. “The defendant is known to be of clinical origin, not of the womb… his records…”
“The services performed by these erotics must be automated. If sexual perversion is to be stamped out, the products of these perversions must…”
“Insane… insane… What’s the prosecutor trying to do here? All records pertaining to the defendant affirm his clinical origin.” The defense counsel reached down for a stack of computer cards and shuffled through them, reading, “The Office of Opportunity, the Festival of the Rings, employment and living selection, depositions made and submitted by the arresting officers… there is absolutely no precedent for the allegations made by the prosecution regarding the defendant’s origin.”
The prosecutor grimaced. “The defendant has committed crimes of perversion and corruption that are incompatible with clinical origin… There can be no doubt in anyone’s mind that he is an erotic type. Records that are even remotely subject to error or possible alteration must not stand in the way if society is to defend itself from these perversions.”
“This is not a race issue!” The defense counsel shifted tack. “Not here… remember sanctity of the individual regardless of race or origin. Econ equilibrium status 542 through 691 apply to this case… The defendant was a roommate of an erotic type… crime of persuasion and influence… Loss of innocence… but, examined and proven physically compatible. Crimes not relevant. Defendant used, not destroyed. Case rest.”
The defense counsel slammed his computer cards back on the little table from which he’d taken them, then turned to THX and smiled.
But the prosecutor summarized: “The perversions committed by this obsolete race have a definite corrosive effect on our society. If he is not destroyed, his deviate characteristics will be transmitted to others. We must not continue to consume these erotics. We must exterminate the source of sin. Economics must not dictate situations which are obviously religious.”
The judge sighed and stirred in his high seat. “Conclude,” he murmured.
“If 1138 is consumed and not destroyed, this perversion will spread. He must be destroyed. It is the only logical, efficient, and righteous verdict that can be reached.”
The proctor looked up from his desk. “Concluded?”
Both the prosecutor and defense counsel nodded.
The judge said, “Next case.”
The proctor began reading another charge. The prosecutor returned to his desk and began leafing through cards. In THX’s cubicle, the defense counsel stacked his own cards neatly and took off his earphones.
“You’re going?” THX asked, yanking his own earphones from his head.
“Of course. Your case is finished now. I’ve got hundreds of others waiting.”
“But what?…”
“The computer is analyzing your case. The proctor will inform you of its outcome.”
“But… wait…”
With a final smile, the defense counsel hurried out of the cubicle. THX started to get up from his chair, but one of the chrome police robots laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down.
The other robot picked THX’s earphones off the floor and wordlessly handed it to him. He noticed that the proctor was looking his way and slipped the earphones on.
The proctor was reading from a computer tape: “… 1138 prefix THX is deemed clinic- born of certified origin. Stands convicted of index 3278.927 appendix 445 through 613: drug evasion 321, 399, and malicious sexual perversion. Deemed organically invaluable. Subject shall be consumed as economics dictate.”
THX sat there, dazed. Consumed? Does that mean not destroyed? The police robots took his arms and guided him out of the chair, past a new defendant entering the cubicle, and out into the busy hallway.
The courtroom continued to buzz with dozens of simultaneous cases being argued at once. THX never saw LUH enter a defendant’s cubicle, far on the other side of the noise-filled courtroom. Strictly by coincidence, her defense counsel was the same as his.
Chapter 11
The chrome police robot was carrying a long pole as he led THX through the endless white emptiness of prison. The pole was electrified; THX knew it instinctively. He walked grudgingly, sullenly, without hope—but strangely also without fear.