Mardock Scramble

Balot readied herself, then entered the Broilerhouse with the Doctor.

The court hearing started at nine thirty precisely and later broke for a thirty-minute lunch recess.

After everyone was seated they waited another two minutes for the judge to return from the restroom.

Twenty minutes later Balot decided on absolute silence, and before long the time was 15:32 and the judge lowered his gavel, signifying the end of the proceedings.

The six hours of deliberations produced results that were entirely satisfactory as far as the Doctor, Oeufcoque, and the district attorney were concerned. For Balot though, it was all one long humiliation.

“The fact that you can’t speak may well turn out to work in our favor. Consider the impression it makes,” said the DA just before the discussions started.

“It might only be a grand jury, but there’s no better way of demonstrating the suffering you’ve been through,” said the senior assistant district attorney, a man in his early thirties—the DA assigned to their case. He was welcoming the Doctor and Balot who had joined the throng of court personnel congregating on the eleventh floor of the Broilerhouse on Central Street and was treating them like royalty. He wasn’t the only one—DAs who were supposed to be busy with other cases were finding reasons to drop by the waiting room to catch a glimpse of Balot.

Hey, is that the survivor that everyone’s talking about? She seems in pretty good shape to me, what’s she going to accuse them of?—they could hear these sorts of snippets of conversation from the other side of the door.

“Some of the veteran DAs like to make fun of this sort of case,” said their DA apologetically. “They still don’t think prostitution or rape is anything to get worked up about.”

Their DA seemed different, though. He said so himself, and the Doctor introduced him as a different sort of man. A man who was sympathetic toward innocent victims, women who were the victims of violence, and those of a low social standing.

“The counsel for the defense will probably follow the same line of thinking. Are you sure you’re ready for that? Just try and compose yourself as much as you can. Remember, the counsel for the defense doesn’t really care whether their client is guilty or not.”

The DA smiled brightly as he gave Balot her instructions. As if that was part of the plan to ensure that Balot would be nice and relaxed.

“Remember, the truth means nothing to these people. No matter what sort of criminal their client is, they’ll use every sort of legal trick up their sleeve to try and get them off the hook, and in return they’re rewarded in the region of sixty thousand dollars a year, a pretty damn good salary these days…” The DA shrugged his shoulders at this point, as if to say he was troubled by it, but what could you do?

“And it’s our job to face these people, specifying which of the material witnesses should be treated as suspects,” he continued with a shake of his head. “The counsel for the defense we’re up against in this case is quite a formidable opponent, I have to admit. Even as we’re bringing the lawsuit against them, there’s no sign of the defendant, Shell-Septinos—he’s not in jail, and he’s not even been named a formal suspect. He hasn’t even denied the charges—just called to have the deposition denied. Well, to make up for it we left everything right till the last minute ourselves, as well, I suppose, not letting them see the charges before we absolutely had to.”

The DA giggled, as if he’d told a particularly witty joke.

“I bet there was some discussion among the other side’s camp when it came to tactics—they would have been wondering right till the last minute what we were going to hit them with.”

Balot just sat there, still.

In the waiting room. And later, at the DA’s table in the courtroom. She sat still, making no noise or sound of movement, just enduring words such as She seems fine to me or Well, it stands to reason, I’m not surprised.

“So I’m sure the defense will be unnecessarily—well, they’ll say all sorts of things about you and won’t pull any punches. If he could get a not-guilty verdict for his client by appealing to the court’s latent misogyny, he’d do it, make no mistake. At any rate, all you need to do is stay calm—even more so this time given your injuries—and all you need to do is to press the yes, no, or no answer button.”

At this point Balot nodded for the first time. That was all it took for most men to take the lead, tell her what to do. The DA was no exception.

“Well then, let’s go,” said the DA, heading toward the courtroom with the petitioner and Concerned Party, Balot, and the Doctor, who was the Trustee in charge of the case.