Illegal Alien

Dale brought his massive bulk out of the swivel-mounted chair. "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"And on the secondary charge of using a deadly and dangerous weapon, how does your client plead?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Your client is entitled to a speedy trial, if he so desires."

"We waive that right, Your Honor."

"Very well. How long do you need to prepare?"

"Twelve weeks should be sufficient, Your Honor."

"How does March fifteenth sound, then?"

"Fine."

"The People?"

Deputy District Attorney Linda Ziegler rose; at forty-one, she’d already had an illustrious career, and was one of the top lawyers in Monty Ajax’s Special Trials Unit. She was thin, with jet-black hair cut in a short, punk style. Her nose was aquiline; her chin, strong. "Yes," she said, in a crisp, clipped voice, "that date’s fine, Your Honor."

"Your Honor, I’d like to now raise the question of bail," said Dale.

Ziegler had sat down, but she immediately rose again. "Your Honor, the People oppose bail in this matter. The particularly brutal nature of the crime—"

"Your Honor, my client has a clean record."

"Your client has no record at all," said Ziegler, "which is hardly the same thing. For all we know, he’s a notorious criminal on his home world. That starship could have been deporting dangerous offenders — sending them off into space to fend for themselves."

"Really, counselor," said Dale, his low voice filling the courtroom. "There’s absolutely no basis for any of that. Presumption of innocence surely extends to the accused’s background in the absence of direct evidence to the contrary, and—"

"Enough, Mr. Rice," said Judge Dyck. "We’re satisfied that you’ve made your point."

"The People still oppose bail, Your Honor."

"On what grounds, Ms. Ziegler?"

"Flight risk."

"Oh, please!" said Dale. "A Tosok would be recognized anywhere."

"Granted," said Ziegler. "But there are many jurisdictions that might deny our extradition request."

Dale spread his giant arms. "My client has assured me of his intention to stand trial."

"Your Honor, the accused has access to a spaceship. That’s a clear flight risk."

"The Court is cognizant of the larger issues in this case," said Dyck. "We’re inclined to grant bail, in part to demonstrate to the Tosoks the reasonable nature of American justice."

"In that case, Your Honor, the People urge a high bail figure."

"Your Honor, my client has no money — absolutely none."

"Then how is he paying you?" asked Dyck.

"I’ve, ah, taken an interest in potential Tosok business dealings. My recompense shall be deferred until some time in the future. They really do have no money, and so bail of even a token amount will be a significant concern for Hask."

"We don’t doubt that there are resources that can be made available to your client, Mr. Rice. Bail is set in the amount of two million dollars; ten-percent cash bond required." Dyck rapped his gavel.

Dale turned and looked at Frank Nobilio, who was seated in the gallery directly behind the defense table. Frank’s eyes were wide; he clearly didn’t know where the money would come from. But Dale simply reached into the jacket pocket of his Armani suit, pulled out his check-book, and began to write.

After the arraignment, Dale and Frank took Hask back to Valcour Hall, where he was clearly delighted to be reunited with the other Tosoks. The two humans then returned to the offices of Rice and Associates, on the twenty-seventh floor of a Bauhaus high-rise in downtown L.A.

Dale sat behind his wide desk; Frank felt lost in a massive easy chair that faced the desk. Two of Dale’s office walls were covered with oak bookshelves. The shelves were high quality — even in the middle, even supporting massive books of statutes and case law, they didn’t sag. The third wall had the door in it. Mounted on it were Rice’s law-school diploma (from Columbia), several award citations, and pictures of Dale with such notables as Colin Powell, Jimmy Carter, and Walter Cronkite. There were also several pieces of framed art on that wall. Frank at first took some of the pictures to be very odd indeed — one was a giant, juicy cheeseburger; another seemed to be nothing more than a pile of pink satin ribbons. But as he’d moved close to examine one he discovered they were actually completed jigsaw puzzles, each made of thousands of pieces cut into almost identical shapes. On a large antique table across the room sat a partially finished puzzle, its border all filled in.

"We’ll need to hire a jury consultant, of course," said Dale, looking over steepled fingers.

Frank frowned. "Oh."

"You don’t sound enthusiastic."

"I— no, we’ve got to do whatever is necessary. It’s just that tailoring a jury to favor our side… well, it seems to undermine the whole concept of a fair, impartial jury."

"That’s right."

Frank’s eyebrows went up. "You agree with me?"

"Certainly. You ever read To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"No. Saw the movie, though."