Illegal Alien

What’s the name of Mr. Spock’s father?

Do you know what the initials SETI stand for?

Have you ever attended a science-fiction convention?

Have you ever seen a UFO?

As with most Los Angeles trials likely to generate considerable media interest, The People of California v. Hask was scheduled into the main downtown Criminal Courts Building. That meant that jury pool had to be drawn from residents of central L.A. A thousand people were summoned.

Of course, not all of them showed up. Men, in particular, often simply disregard jury-duty notices; since little follow-up is ever done, they usually get away with it.

Every one of those who did show up was asked to fill in the jury questionnaire. Over seven hundred prospective jurors were eliminated based on their responses.

Among the reasons potential jurors were excused: they were single parents, or had an elderly relative living with them, or were in a precarious financial situation. One man had the irritable bowel syndrome — and a doctor’s note to prove it. Another was on a waiting list for a kidney transplant and could not guarantee he’d remain available until the end of the trial. A woman in her seventh month of pregnancy was let go as well.

Also struck from the list: all those who had difficulty seeing or hearing or who couldn’t read or write English effectively. Five people were dismissed because they knew one of the lawyers or court staff members — one had been to a lecture Dale had given once and had gotten him to autograph a book.

The remaining one hundred and eighty-five potential jurors — as always in central L.A., predominantly black, predominantly female, predominantly blue-collar or unemployed — were then examined by the lawyers during the process known as voir dire. And, at long last, a total of twelve jurors and six alternates were selected.

Kelkad, captain of the starship, had just returned to Valcour Hall from a meeting at Rockwell International. Frank was in the lounge on the fourth floor with Hask, and they greeted Kelkad as he came off the elevator. "How are the repairs going?" the human asked.

Kelkad’s tuft waved in a way that signaled disappointment. "Slowly."

"I’m sorry to hear that," said Frank.

"I suppose it cannot be helped," said Kelkad. "But, although your race is backward technically, I am most impressed by the speed with which your engineers have grasped our concepts. They really are remarkable."

Frank grinned. "Darn clever, these humans, eh? Better watch it, Kelkad. Before you know it, we’ll leapfrog right past you."

Kelkad didn’t laugh. But there was nothing unusual about that.

*16*

Judge Pringle’s courtroom was on the ninth floor of the Los Angeles County Criminal Courts Building — the floor the Simpson criminal trial had been held on, the floor that required all persons to be searched before entering it.

The walls were paneled in California redwood. Pringle’s bench was mounted against the back wall, beneath a carved wooden version of the California state seal. The California flag, with its brown bear, was hanging from one pole to the judge’s right of the bench, and a U.S. flag hung from another.

On the bench the judge had a computer monitor, an open laptop computer, and over a dozen law books held up by black metal bookends.

Facing the bench was the defense table, on the judge’s right, and the prosecution table, on her left. Each of the tables had a computer monitor and a video monitor mounted on it. In between them was a lectern where the lawyer asking questions could stand — the days when attorneys loomed right into the witness’s face, a la Perry Mason, were long gone.

The jury box was next to the prosecution table. It held a double row of seven padded chairs; two of the alternates would sit with the main jurors.

The actual jurors — seven women and five men; six blacks, three Latinos, two whites, and an Asian — all wore bar-coded badges.

Next to the jury box, the camera for Court TV was set up; it was actually controlled by a technician at the back of the room, using two little joysticks.

At the side of the room, behind the bailiffs desk, six Tosok chairs had been installed so that Kelkad, Rendo, Torbat, Dodnaskak, Stant, and Ged could watch their shipmate stand trial; the Tosoks had spent the last several weeks screening videotapes of various previous murder trials so that they would understand procedures and proper conduct.

Frank Nobilio had a seat in the first row of the public gallery, directly behind where Dale Rice was sitting. Frank had been allowed this spot as a courtesy; he didn’t have to line up overnight along with the other members of the public. On Rice’s left sat Hask, in a special chair. As always, he was wearing a grayish-brown tunic covered with many pockets.

Rice’s right sat Michiko Katayama, his associate, a slim thirty-five-old woman.

Judge Pringle, clad in black judicial robes, wrote something on a legal pad then looked up. "Are counsel ready to proceed?"