Lars rested a hand on his knee, preempting his leg’s shaking. He was grateful for the shelter of his pod. Only his lower legs protruded from the egg-shaped chair and it was faced away from the crowd. It felt like all eyes were on him but he couldn’t see or hear anything behind. On Meela’s advice, he’d activated silencing when he arrived.
Waiting for the trial to begin, Lars wondered if a grand room like this ever existed outside of digital space. Was there a base model somewhere? It certainly didn’t fit the aesthetic of his world, too gray and austere.
The Floor stretched out in front of him, the large open area where the lawyers would soon parade. It was pattered with large square tiles in three shades of gray. Beyond it, steps climbed to the row of High Seats, elevated so that they looked down on the room.
Meela had explained that the term ‘High Seat’ was both the name of the throne-like chair and an honorific for its occupant. They were stone, carved into the building, sharp lines stretching up to the two-story ceiling. The middle one was almost double-wide and was raised by an extra step; red light glowed from its recesses. There were five High Seats, just like the five Gods Lars hoped would protect him—an auspicious number.
The hairs on Lars's body prickled as he thought about the crowd behind him. Half of them were likely there to witness bets. FRC wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for a profit. The idea of the situation as entertainment was sickening. Lars didn’t dare swivel his pod.
Meela family Barlos burst in front of him, breaching the sound barrier with a hand to the inner wall of the pod. “Good. You’re here.” Even though Lars couldn’t hear the crowd, the loudness of her voice betrayed its volume.
He nodded.
“Now, as we discussed, when they call you say as little as possible. Only answer what you’re asked. When I am given right of question, answer as we rehearsed.”
Lars nodded again.
“Good. It will be alright.”
With that, Meela strode to the right edge of the room. It was bad form to cross the Floor when not speaking—one of the many rules she’d imparted so that Lars didn’t get into any more trouble than he was already in. She followed a thin strip of black tile to the steps. Then she climbed to take the right-most High Seat. She inclined her head slightly, an almost-nod to Lars. That was all she was permitted when seated above.
The seat left of center filled in next, its occupant loading in place. Meela had explained it would be the PRO representative, as the initial claimant, but he was surprised it was an Atargaetis. He knew the non-profit was theoretically supported by all member-worlds but it was rare to see them. They only made up 1% of The Continuance population and, outside, they largely kept to their world. The telltale scales adorned her temples and peeked out of her gaussy robe along her collarbone, like shimmering tattoos. Seaflower tentacles flowed like strange hair, ebbing under invisible waves.
Tertiary broke off from three men dressed in matching robes, to walk the left edge of the Floor. He supposed they were all Tertiary, but the one ascending the steps was the one that he knew. Tertiary smoothed the back of his robe and then assumed the seat next to the Atargaetis. He folded his arms fluorescing the purple insignia on his sleeve. It dimmed and he fixed Lars with a hard stare.
Lars shrunk against the padded high back of his pod. He really hoped retaining Meela wouldn’t backfire. The delegate from Lars's homeword appeared next. He was heavy-set and looked vaguely familiar, some sort of Minister. He settled into the seat between Meela’s and the center.
The light in the room dimmed. The red on the empty chair flared and the shadows became more menacing. Then the High Chancellor appeared, loading seated. He was dressed in tailored black, matching his chilling eyes. He cast a challenging gaze over the room and a shiver ran down Lars’s spine.
Lars had grown up with a mix of reverence and fear for FRC. Everyone on his planet had. Something deep in their collective culture longed to be deemed worthy of the Conglomerate. Lars had felt it the day he’d humbly scanned up. Even after everything, it still sat deep inside. It warred with his instinct to run.
The Chancellor’s face was that of a predator. He seemed larger than the others, somehow, though significant alterations would be a violation of Continuance terms of service. You could change aesthetics and mod your body within parameters, but this was something else. It must be a trick of the room, Lars thought, the light, the angles. He couldn’t help feeling small.
Then a darkly hissing voice cut through the silence of the pod. “I, High Chancellor Garok, declare these proceedings open. In the tradition of our founders, I attest that I shall hear all relevant parties and render rulings in accordance with our laws and in the best interests of The Conglomerate.”
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Best interests of FRC, Lars thought. The High Chancellor’s power was absolute. Meela said he could technically make new laws if he wanted to. It would come down to money and being able to reasonably argue best interests of The Conglomerate, even if the argument was flimsy. Five watch over me.
“I will now hear opening statements,” the Chancellor declared. He leaned forward, the angle emphasizing his facial ridges, spines shooting out aggressively from his cheeks. “As the initial claimants, I invite the PRO representative to the Floor.”
Lights flooded the Floor and a murmur rose behind Lars. His sound suppression must have been canceled but there was still a form of dampening in place; he couldn’t make out any of the words.
The Atargaetis descended the stairs with a dancer’s grace. There was a children’s tale about her people dancing in the water. He’d wondered about the origin of that story. Foreigners were not allowed to witness their traditions. It was rare to be allowed to set foot on their world. Her silken slippers barely sounded on the hard tiles. She seemed to glide to the center of the Floor.
“High Seats.” Her voice was breathy. She bowed her head to the platform then turned to nod at the crowd. “People of The Conglomerate.” Her scales shimmered as she moved.
She cupped her hands in front of her and addressed the Chancellor. “The Peoples Rights Organization has a long history of advocating for groups and individuals without means to do so themselves.”
Meela had explained that PRO was largely funded by a bequeathed patent, some sort of essential shiptech that provided funds as well as great influence.
“The destruction of planet F-311246.3 was a clear violation of Code A421. PRO seeks damages to support the survivors. They did not petition for membership or entrance, and yet they are in the Continuance and cannot survive elsewhere. They are now the responsibility of those who put them there. We humbly ask the High Chancellor for this ruling.” She inclined her head, seaflower hair drifting, and then returned to her seat.
High Chancellor Garok afforded her the barest hint of a nod, then he addressed the room. “I would ask FRC to take the Floor.”
Tertiary lumbered in comparison the the Atargaetis, descending the steps, plasti-sheet in hand. He paused in the middle of the Floor. “Conglomerate peoples, High Seats.” He began to pace, both hands and the sheet clasped behind him.
“FRC assures the court that a thorough audit has been completed in accordance with charter requirements. It is confident that the conditions leading to the incident are unlikely to repeat. While tragic, we remind the court that this is but 0.00001% of all Harvestings. The Conglomerate depends on these yields. We depend on these yields.”
Tertiary raised a finger, spinning on three-toned gray tiles. “In good faith, FRC has already taken responsibility for the population of F-311246.3. It now resides on FRC architecture, thus far funded at FRC’s expense. FRC believes these good faith actions are beyond the requirements of our charter as the population would not and does not qualify as a member world. A421 therefore does not apply and FRC is not liable. We humbly ask the High Chancellor for this ruling.”
The murmur of the crowd rose and then was dampened. Lars couldn’t see them behind his pod.
Tertiary spun again and his plasti-sheet wobbled. “Additionally, FRC seeks compensation from the Deinya Government for its unauthorized use of Continuance technology. FRC makes the reasonable proposal of retroactive payment for patent licensing and account fees of the population for the time in question. We humbly seek this ruling as well.”
Lars caught a glimpse of a smug smile on Tertiary’s face, as the Cogitare turned to climb to his Seat.
The High Chancellor spoke, leaning forward in his massive chair, “The representative of the Deinya is invited to the Floor.”
Lars tensed as the Minister he couldn’t place almost jogged down the gray steps.
“It is a great shame,” the official began. “It is a great shame,” he repeated. “Conglomerate Peoples and High Seats, it is a great shame that my government finds itself here today. Lars family Dexius has brought that on us.”
There it was. Lars fought the urge to tuck his knees up to his chest and fully hide within the pod.
“He is of our people and he is of FRC’s workforce. We share this shame. I Gallu family Tullios, Trade Minister, am here to convey that our government proposes that the fault lies with FRC and its employee. To demonstrate our conviction, we have filed claims against both parties, Operator and Employer negligence.”
Lars could feel the hairs prickling all over his body as the Minister spoke. He’d known it all before, but hearing it in court was different. It was real. And of course, they sent the Trade Minister. That’s all they care about.
Gallu family Tullios continued, “The Continuance instance on our servers was initially created without our permission. The aged architecture was available only because it had been decommissioned in favor of more efficient—less expensive to run—technology. Our government bore significant expense, including transfer costs, which were particularly high due to the age of this hardware. We seek reimbursement for those costs and deny responsibility for IP-related claims. We humbly ask the High Chancellor for these rulings.”
Lars exhaled as the Minister climbed the steps. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding his breath. Would he ever be able to go home after this? It would take him years to get back but what would happen when he did?
The High Chancellor tapped his fingers on the armrest of his High Seat. “Lars family Dexius has chosen to retain an individual lawyer, as is his right. Please take the Floor.”
Meela descended. She raised an arm in Lars's direction. “Conglomerate Peoples, High Seats, I am here on behalf of Lars family Dexius. He is of the People, he was doing his job. Lars has had positive annual reviews for his full tenure as a Harvester Operator for FRC. He was following procedure. And since the incident, he has been compliant. The AI is at fault and, as it is a wholly owned FRC technology, FRC is financially responsible for the outcome. We humbly ask the High Chancellor for this ruling.”