A MATTER OF JUSTICE
An Adaptation of 12 Angry Men for the Battletech Universe
By Sentinel 28A
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Let's see if I can update every night with this baby.
Bloodhype is not a drug mentioned in the Battletech universe—I got that one from Alan Dean Foster.
Sentinel Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist
Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
26 June 3060
5:15 PM Terran Standard Time
"Someone's in left field," Rowley muttered. She let the chair fall to all four legs, then leaned across the table at Sheila. "You think he's not guilty, Sheila?"
"I don't know, Rissa," Sheila replied quietly, looking at the table in front of her.
"I never saw a guiltier man in my life!" Rowley exclaimed. "You sat right there in that conference room and heard the same thing I did. The man's a killer, Sheila."
"He's nineteen," Sheila said by way of answer, looking up at Rowley.
"So? That's old enough. Hell, I was only…" Rowley stopped for a moment, suddenly realizing what she had almost said. She hurriedly glanced around the table. With the possible exception of Caii and almost certainly Johnson, everyone at the table had killed. She amended herself. "He's a murderer, Sheila Knifed his own father. Four inches into the chest. Innocent little nineteen year old." Rowley snorted, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah, right. They proved it a dozen different ways. You want me to list them?" Malthus' face darkened at Rowley's insubordination, but Rissa Rowley was known for her defiance of higher authority. Her superb battle record compensated for it.
"No," Sheila answered.
Sorensen now leaned forward, at Sheila's right. "You believe the kid?" he asked incredously.
"I don't know, Wayne."
Johnson beetled his eyebrows in confusion. "So why'd you vote not guilty, then?"
"There were eleven votes for guilty. It's not easy for me to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first. Bad enough I send them to die in combat."
Johnson smiled nervously at that. "Well, who says it's easy for me?"
"Have you ever been put in that position, Mr. Johnson?"
Johnson looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes. "What's with the look, Commander? Just because I voted fast? I think he's guilty. You couldn't change my mind if we talked for a thousand years."
"I don't want to change your mind," Sheila said. "I just want to talk about this. Look…this kid's been kicked around all his life. He grew up in a slum. His mother died when he was nine of a bloodhype overdose. That's not a very good start. He's a tough, angry kid—but he's been trying to improve himself. He went to night school, he went to cram school, fought like a natural man to get into the Sentinels. He's got potential as a MechWarrior, where he can vent all that violent energy. I just think we owe him a few words, that's all." Sheila looked around the table. Some met her gaze angrily. Some turned away. Senefa regarded her dispassionately, her face unreadable. Nicia, as always, needed something to do with her hands, and had picked up a stylus and begun doodling on a notepad.
"With all due respect, Commander, I don't mind telling you this," Sorensen snarled. "We don't owe this kid a damned thing. He got a fair shake. The cops who arrested him could've just shot him. This inquiry is costing the regiment some cash—and since we're mercs, that's something we're always short of! He's lucky we even gave him a chance at all in this regiment. We're all grownups here. You're not going to tell us that we're supposed to believe him, knowing what he is. I've lived among his kind all my life, Commander. You can't believe a word they say. You know that." Sorensen was flushed with anger. Sheila's expression was one of barely suppressed rage.
But it was Sterling who replied. "I don't know that, Major. That's a terrible thing for someone to believe! Since when is dishonesty a group characteristic? What's all this talk of 'their kind'—"
"All right, Art, it's not Sunday. We don't need a sermon," Rowley interrupted coldly.
Sterling half rose from his chair. "Excuse me, Miss Rowley, but what this man has just said is very dangerous—" He subsided when Sheila quietly reached over and touched his arm. Sterling took a breath, calmed down, and sat down again.
Senefa spoke into the silence. "I do not see any need for arguing like this, quiaff? I think we should be able to behave like officers, ladies and gentlemen."
"Right!" Johnson enthusiastically agreed.
Senefa shot him a freezing glare and continued. "If we are going to discuss this case, let us discuss the facts. Not our own opinions."
"That's a good point," Duenan said. "We've a job to do; let us endeavor to complete it."
Nicia rapped her knuckles on the table. "I have an idea," she said when everyone turned to her. "I'm thinking out loud here, but it seems to me that we need to convince Sheila here that we're right and she's wrong. Now I've known Sheila a long time, and she can be kinda stubborn, like the armor plates on an Atlas." The table shared a laugh at that, which broke a little of the tension. "Maybe we should each take a minute or two, try the case on for size…"
"That sounds fair enough," Duenan replied. "Suppose we go around the table then?"
"Let's do it," Johnson assented.
"Right." She turned to Dunsien, to her immediate left. "You're first, Dunsien-san."
"Oh." Dunsien colored red as suddenly all attention was on him. "Well, um…I just think he's guilty. I thought it was obvious. I mean, the kid stood there in the dock and didn't say a thing."
"He doesn't have to," Sheila said softly. "The defendant has the right to remain silent, under Virentofta and Common Terran law. He can't be forced to incriminate himself."
Dunsien wilted. "Well, sure, I know that, ma'am…I know that. I…er, what I mean is…I think he's guilty," he finished lamely.
Rowley jumped in. "Okay. Facts. I got 'em. Number one, let's take the old fart who lived on the second floor right underneath the room where the murder took place. At ten minutes after midnight, he hears loud noises from the upstairs apartment. He hears the kid say to his pops, 'I'm gonna kill you!' A second later, he hears a body hit the floor. The old dude runs to the door of his apartment, looks out, and sees the kid running down the inside stairs and out of the building. He calls the cops, and they find the father with a knife in his chest."
"And the coroner did fix the time of death at midnight," Duenan added.
"Yep. That settles it for me. What else do you want, Sheila?"
Before Sheila could answer, Senefa spoke up. "The boy's entire story is flimsy. He claimed he went to see a holofilm. That is a little ridiculous, quiaff? He could not even remember which holo he saw."
"That's right. You hear that?" Rowley grinned at Malthus. "You're absolutely right, Senefa."
"I take no pleasure in it, Rissa."
"Look," Sorensen put in, "what about the woman across the street? If her testimony don't prove it, then nothing does."
"That's right!" Nicia's eyes lit up in remembrance. "She saw the killing, didn't she?"
"In order," Duenan commanded.
"Just a minute, Tai-sa." Sorensen got up and began walking around the table, occasionally stopping to wipe his nose with his hankerchief. "Here's a woman who can't sleep. It's been hot, y'know. Anyway, she looks out the window, and right across the street she sees the kid stick the knife into his father. She's known this kid all her life; thinks he's a punk. His window is right opposite hers, across some maglev tracks, and she said she saw the kid do his father."
"Through the windows of a passing maglev train," Sheila said.
"Yes, ma'am. And they proved in court that you can look through the windows of a maglev at night and see what's happening on the opposite side." He raised a finger. "They proved that."
Sheila looked up at him, a soft, humorless smile on her lips. "May I ask you something, Major?"
"Sure."
"Why did you believe her? She lives in the slums, so she's one of 'them,' too, right? Can't be trusted and all that?"
Sorensen's eyes were blazing. "I don't have to take that, Commander. Not even from you."
Duenan stood quickly, not liking where the situation was suddenly going. "Calm down, please."
"I don't have to take that!" Sorensen repeated hotly.
"Yeah, actually, you do," Rowley commented. "It's called 'chain of command,' Wayne." Sorensen humpfed and returned to his seat.
So did Duenan. "Very well. MechWarrior Darkwood, it's your turn."
"I'll pass," Darkwood replied.
"That is your right. Lieutenant Commander Whelan?"
Whelan paused, and when he did speak, spoke carefully. "I was convinced with the testimony from the people across the hall. Didn't they say something about an argument between the father and the boy around seven that night? I recall something along those lines."
"I think it was eight, not seven," Caii corrected him.
"It was eight," Sheila confirmed. "They heard the father hit the boy twice, then the boy ran out of the house, angry. What does that prove?"
"It doesn't exactly prove anything," Whelan said defensively, "it's just part of the whole picture. I didn't say it proved anything." He rose and crossed over to the juice. Sheila regretted her tone of voice; Sorensen had made her angry, and she had not meant to take it out on Whelan, one of her most able commanders.
"Anything else?" Duenan called out after him.
"No, Tai-sa. I'm done," Whelan said with finality.
Duenan sighed. "All right, Johnson-san. What about you?"
"Beats me, Tai-sa. Most of it's been said already." He gave them his most winning smile. "We can talk all night about this, like I said, but we're wasting our time. Look at the kid's record. He's been in a few reform schools. Tried to steal a car, for the love of Freud! He was picked up for knife fighting—stabbed somebody in the arm. That's one fine MechWarrior you've got there, Commander."
Sheila gave him a look of utter disdain. "Ever since he was five his father beat him regularly." She looked directly at him. "He used his fists."
"So would I! A kid like that!" Johnson snapped back, but he couldn't meet her gaze.
"It's the damn kids." Sorensen crossed his arms over his chest. "The way they are, you know? They don't listen." He scratched at his beard; when he spoke again, it was with bitterness. "I've had two kids. My oldest was killed on Sudeten…" He took a deep breath and forced himself to go on. "My other boy, when he was eight years old, he ran away from a fight. I saw him. A Sorensen, running away from a fight! We got a pedigree as long as your arm, twenty generations of fighters. I told him right out, 'I'm gonna make a man out of you or bust you into pieces trying.' When he was fifteen, he punched me in the face and left. Haven't seen him in three years. Damn kid! You work your ass off…" He suddenly noticed the stares and turned red, embarrassed at having said too much. "All right, dammit. Never mind that. Let's keep going."
"We are missing the point here," Senefa said evenly. "This boy…aff, he is the product of a bad neighborhood and a broken home. We cannot help that. We are not here to go into the reasons why slums are breeding grounds for criminals, which they have been since time immemorial. The children who come out of that kind of background could be potential menaces to society—"
"You said it," Sorensen interrupted. "I don't want any part of any slum kid, believe me."
No one spoke for almost ten seconds, and to everyone's surprise, it was Darkwood who broke the silence. "I grew up in a slum," he said quietly.
"Oh, now come on!" Sorensen rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean—"
"I come from a broken home. I'm an orphan. I played in an alley filled with garbage," Darkwood continued, ignoring him. "Maybe it still smells on me, huh?"
Duenan saw trouble coming straight at her. "Now, Darkwood-san, please be reasonable. It is nothing personal—"
"There is something personal!" Darkwood shouted, shooting to his feet. Abruptly remembering the fact that he was the most junior in rank, he took several deep breaths and sat down, fists clenched.
Rowley reached behind Senefa and patted his shoulder. "Come on, Ben. He didn't mean you. Let's not be so sensitive."
"I can understand such sensitivity." Kahvi Falx had said almost nothing to this point. Her soft voice seemed suddenly loud.
"Let's stop this…this bickering," Duenan ordered. She was losing control and she did not like it at all. "We're wasting time. Commander, it's your turn."
"Arigato, Duenan-san." Sheila leaned forward, speaking with her hands. "I had a bad feeling about this trial. Somehow I felt as if there wasn't any real effort at establishing a defense for the accused. He was guilty until proven innocent, and no one seemed to really want to try. Too many questions were left unsaid."
"What about the ones that were asked, Sheila?" Rowley snapped. "For instance, let's talk about that cute little gravity knife of his. You know, the one our fine upright paragon of society admitted buying?"
Sheila gave her a nod. "Okay, Rissa. Let's talk about it. Hell, let's get it in here and look at the damn thing. Tai-sa, I'd like to see that knife."
Duenan looked confused for a moment, then got up and walked to the door. She knocked once. The lock instantly clicked and the door opened to admit the guard. Duenan leaned close and whispered; the guard gave a crisp salute and closed the door again. "Blake's Blood," Rowley said with exasperation. "We all know what it looks like. I don't know why we need to see it again. What do you think, Senefa?" She turned to the Clanswoman.
"Sheila has the right to see exhibits in evidence," Senefa replied simply.
Rowley paused, expecting more. When there was none, she shrugged. "Whatever."
Senefa ignored her and leaned across to Sheila. "This knife is indeed a very strong piece of evidence, quiaff, Sheila?"
"Aff, Senefa."
"The boy did admit to going out of his house at eight after being slapped by his father."
"Or punched."
"Or punched," Senefa conceded. "He said that he had gone to a pawnshop and bought a gravity knife; he did not say whether it was before or after the argument. The storekeeper admitted he had sold the knife, identified it, and said it was one of a kind. Why did the defendant buy the knife, especially if it was after the argument? As a present for a friend of his." Senefa's smile turned sarcastic. "Please, Sheila, this is strange."
"It's peculiar, all right."
"Damn skip," Rowley added. She pointed to Senefa. "Everybody listen up. Senefa may be a Clanner, but she knows what she's talking about."
"Thank you for reminding everyone about my origins, Miss Rowley," Senefa said with steel in her voice. "Returning to the case, the boy claimed on the way home the knife had fallen through a hole in his pocket and he never saw it again. Now that is quite the interesting tale, quiaff?
"We know what actually happened. The defendant took the knife home and a few hours later stabbed his father to death with it. Very efficiently, I would add. He even remembered to wipe off his fingerprints."
The door clicked open, and the guard walked in with an oddly designed knife in gloved hands, an evidence tag attached to it. Senefa took a pair of black gloves from her belt and tugged them on, taking the knife from the guard with a polite nod. The guard saluted and left, again locking the door behind her. Senefa held the knife up the light, examining it critically. "Everyone connected with the case identified the knife. Sheila, you are not trying to tell me that someone picked it up off the street, then stabbed the defendant's father merely to be amusing?"
Sheila shook her head. "No, Senefa; of course not. I'm saying it's possible that the boy did lose the knife, and that someone stabbed his father with a similar type. It's possible."
"Possible, aff. But not likely. The odds are quite high against it." Senefa spun the knife in her hands and rammed it into the table, the sharp edge sinking into the polished pinewood top. "The blade is common enough: a dagger-type with a five-inch blade. Most MechWarriors and pilots carry a similar knife to cut away a parachute or as a last line of defense. It is the hilt, however, that makes this knife different."
Senefa ran her hands over the hilt design, which showed a snarling grizzly bear. "The carvings are crafted by hand—by a laser, yes, but one operated by a human, not a machine. I am no expert on carvings, but I know weaponry quite well, and I have never seen this type of hilt design—not even with Clan Ghost Bear, who might be expected to use such a motif. Neither had the storekeeper who sold it to the boy." She glanced at Sheila with a smile. "My friend, are you not trying to make us accept a remarkable coincidence?"
"I'm not trying to make anyone accept it, Senefa. I'm just saying it's possible." Unnoticed, Sheila casually reached into a pants pocket with her right hand.
Rowley shot to her feet and slammed her hands down on the table. "Goddamn it, Sheila, it's not possible!"
Sheila's right hand moved in a blur, jamming a knife into the table between Rowley's fingers. It happened so quickly Rowley didn't have time to react more than a gasp. Stunned silence reigned the room, but it was not so much from Sheila's sudden action.
The two knives were identical.
