Chapter 6: The Prosecution

The Prosecutor was: a being that looked like a: mantis. Not a praying mantis — a: litigation mantis. Eight feet tall, iridescent: green carapace, compound eyes that: contained — Zrix informed me — approximately: fourteen thousand individual lenses, each: capable of independent focus. The: Prosecutor could literally look at: fourteen thousand things: simultaneously.

"The Prosecution. Calls this. Case straightforward," the mantis: began. The universal translation: rendered the mantis's clicks: and chirps into Hindi with: the specific cadence of a: lawyer who had won: too many cases and who: had stopped being interesting: about it.

"Sol-3 — Earth — has: accumulated seventeen violations: over a period of approximately: two hundred years. The violations: are documented, measured, and: verified by Council monitors. The: species in question — Homo: sapiens — has been aware of: the majority of these: violations for at least: fifty of their years and: has failed to: remediate."

"The Prosecution recommends: immediate quarantine. Cessation: of all electromagnetic: emissions. Removal of: all orbital debris. Confiscation: of all nuclear materials. And: placement of a perceptual: barrier around the planet: to prevent the species: from developing interstellar: travel until such time: as violations are: resolved."

The: chamber absorbed this. Four: thousand seven hundred and: twelve species' representatives: absorbing the recommendation: to lock my planet in: a box.

"The Representative: from Earth may: respond," the Chief: Adjudicator pulsed.

I: stood. In my Raymond's: suit. With my: six-hour briefing and my: pump-engineer credentials and: the specific, terrifying: clarity that comes to a: man when he realises that: the stakes are real and: that nobody else is: going to help.

"I'd like to: ask the Prosecution: a question," I said.

The mantis: clicked. The translation: rendered: "Proceed."

"Of the four: thousand seven hundred and: twelve member species: currently in the Council — how many have: been quarantined at: some point in their: history?"

The mantis: paused. The fourteen: thousand lenses shifted. "That is. Not. Relevant."

"It's relevant: to my defence. How: many?"

The Chief Adjudicator: pulsed. Yellow. The translation: "The Prosecution: will answer."

"Three thousand. Nine hundred. And forty-one."

The: number landed. In the: sphere. On the: gravity platforms. On: every being in the: chamber. Three thousand nine: hundred and forty-one: species — eighty-three percent: of the Council — had: been quarantined at: some point.

"And of those: three thousand nine hundred: and forty-one," I continued, "how many were: eventually admitted to: the Council as: full members?"

"Three thousand. Eight hundred. And seven."

"So: ninety-seven percent of: quarantined species eventually: resolved their violations: and became Council members."

"Over varying. Timeframes. Some required. Thousands. Of years."

"But they: resolved them. They: changed. They evolved. They: stopped doing the thing: that got them: quarantined."

"That is. The purpose. Of quarantine."

"And what: if — hypothetically — a: species could resolve: its violations without: quarantine? What if the: species was already: in the process of: changing? Would quarantine: still be necessary?"

The: mantis clicked rapidly. The: agitation of a prosecutor: whose straightforward case was: becoming complicated. "The violations. Are present. Tense. Not future. Tense. The Council. Does not. Adjudicate. Intentions."

"The Council: should. Because intentions: are the difference between: a species that is: dangerous and a species: that is growing. And: growing is messy. Growing: involves mistakes. Seventeen: of them, apparently."

*

The recess: lasted two hours. I: spent them in: the Pre-Hearing Antechamber. Under: the gas-giant chandelier. Eating: what Zrix assured me: was food — a grey paste: that tasted like nothing: and sustained like: everything. The: nutritional equivalent of a: khichdi that had been: stripped of all: flavour and imbued with: all purpose.

"You are. Performing. Better. Than expected," Zrix said.

"What was: expected?"

"Collapse. Incoherence. The previous. Three. Sol-3 representatives. Did not. Make it. Past. The opening. Statement."

"There were: previous representatives?"

"Three. Over thirty. Years. The first. Could not. Stop. Crying. The second. Became. Violent. The third. Refused to. Believe. Any of it. Was real. And demanded. To speak. To the. Manager."

"Very: human."

"Very. Average."

"You keep: saying I was selected: for being average. But: average people don't: cross-examine alien: prosecutors."

"Average. People. Do whatever. Is necessary. When. Their home. Is threatened. That is. What average. Means. In your. Species. It means. Resourceful. Under pressure."

I ate: the grey paste. The: flavourless, purposeful, sustaining: paste. And I thought: about Kavya. About the: forty-seven-second voice note. About the: specific, domestic, small-scale: version of the same: thing — a crisis requiring: resourcefulness. A: relationship quarantined. Communication: ceased. And the: question was the same: at both scales: can: you fix the thing: that's broken? Or: do you accept the: quarantine and learn: to live in the: box?

"Zrix?"

"Yes?"

"After the: hearing — if we: win — can you take: me home via: Kavya's house?"

"Is this. A strategic. Request?"

"It's a: personal one."

"Personal. Requests are. Not. Part of. Diplomatic. Protocol."

"I'm not: a diplomat. I'm a: pump engineer. And: pump engineers fix: things."