The Reawakening 3/3

Continued from part 2

We had to sit through two more days of evidence and argument before we could bring Makwa into the court. There was an opportunity after the other side had presented the statements of those who thought they had been wronged, the stories from native Canadians of how they were still suffering from the handicaps that my recklessness had inflicted on their earlier generations. We had the right to respond and presented Makwa. Plenty of the spectators were obviously surprised to see one of the natives with us. The judge looked puzzled but said we could go ahead. The other side’s lawyers showed little reaction, although I noticed a glimmer of suspicion in the eyes of the one of their front men. Makwa was asked to state his relevance to the case.

“I can remember when the forests were cleared,” he said. “When they made way for the febro plantations. It was on land close to where my family, all my people had lived for hundreds of years.”

Eyes widened around the court. The judge looked as surprised as anyone and asked him to explain.

“I spent a long time in suspension,” he said. “Like the defendant.”

“So how old are you?”

In my life, forty-six years. In terms of the world, one hundred and fifty-one. Not quite as old as this guy.”

“What happened?”

“I was in an accident, electrocuted in the maintenance room of a giant casino. It threw me into a coma and the doctors said I was unlikely to survive. I was rich, I owned the casino and four others, and my family wanted me to have another chance, so they paid for the process, the cryogenic suspension with the nerve stimulants, on the understanding that I would be brought back if it became safe. That’s what happened four years ago. So now I’m back. Nowhere near as rich as I used to be as all the casinos are long gone, but alive again, and my brain’s as sharp as ever.”

My lawyers took over, asking what he could remember about the febro plantings.

“I remember it was on land that had been deemed a common holding of our people. There was a big round of discussions, community meetings and online forums, and a vote was organised. They voted in favour, by about five to one.”

I remembered that. I had been highly satisfied at the time.

“There must have been some opposition.”

“There was, but they were always in the minority. As far as most of us were concerned we were getting a good price for the use of the land – it was mega money over fifty years – and we had a cut of the profit. That was going to bring in a lot more than the trees cut down for timber and the fishing rights in the rivers. And it wasn’t all of the land; there was still plenty of forest left untouched.”

“Were there any concerns about the risk to the environment?”

“A handful of people tried to raise a stink, but they never brought any of their own evidence. I remember the corporation gave us access to all of their scientific data, and we took it to teams in two universities who checked it out and said it was all solid.”

I remembered that as well. I had worried that those scientists were going to come up with something that got in our way, but they saw it the same way as our scientists.

“Did they say there was a risk to the environment?”

“They said it was tiny, and that was only if there was something in the science that nobody knew about, exactly as the corporation claimed. We didn’t have reason to think there was anything we hadn’t been told. It was an easy choice for most people, a lot of money against a tiny risk.”

There were mumbles in the background. I looked at the other side’s team and noticed uneasy expressions. The lawyers asked Makwa for more detail, asked about how the money was spent, led him to tell everyone that all of the local population became wealthier, lived better, at least for a few years. He couldn’t say anything about the reactions when the toxins appeared and began to poison swathes of the North West, as it happened after his accident, when he was in suspension.

“So you learned about that when you were brought out of suspension, four years ago. How did you feel?”

“Sad, it was bad to hear that most people had to leave, and a lot of them struggled. But it was a relief to know that they had been able to clear up the mess, even if it took a long time.”

“Did you feel any guilt for agreeing to the plantations?”

“A little, but it was shared with most of the others of my generation; and we did it because we thought that was the best thing at the time.”

“Do you feel any anger towards the corporation that put in the febro plantations?”

“Anger? They were out to make money, but so were we. I wish their scientists knew more than they did, but I wish the same of the ones that we hired.”

“So you all the share the blame?”

“I wouldn’t use that word. We all did something that turned out wrong because we didn’t know enough.”

I could sense more unease on the other side, and noticed that, after holding a stern look for days, the judge was softening her expression. I hoped the same of those hidden jurors. Then our lawyers switched the line of questioning.

“You’ve been back in the world for a few years now, and must have been aware of the case some of your people’s descendants have raised against the corporation.”

“That’s right. I went to the early meetings.”

“But you haven’t supported it.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Why?”

“No-one did early on. I had already got to know plenty of my people’s descendants and got to know how they felt about what had happened, and it was pretty much what I felt. Their great grandparents had made a decision because they wanted the money, and been surprised when it went wrong. We’ve been recovering over the past fifty, sixty years, more people making money again, and some moving back to the region as it got cleaner. It was only a handful who wanted to make a big thing about it.”

“So what’s changed their minds?”

“That bunch of lawyers.” He nodded towards the other side’s team. “They came to us, told us we had a big grievance, talked up how much money we could get. Didn’t say much about how much they could get but when I pressed them it would match our share. That convinced me it had nothing to do with justice, just money, and I didn’t want to be part of it.”

There was an objection. The judge turned it down and our lawyer quickly wound things up. Then the other side’s lawyers questioned Makwa, went over all the same ground from different angles, questioning the credibility of what he had said, trying to cast him in a bad light. He played it straight and didn’t give them anything. It culminated in a decisive question.

“So while all your people believe they have a right to be given back what they lost, you disagree. Why should your position count for more?”

“It’s not all our people, it’s the ones you’ve brought along. And as for me, I’m the guy who was there when it happened.”

The following day the jury found in our favour.

 

 

Everybody respected the etiquette of the courtroom, but I could see the frustration and suppressed anger of the other side’s lawyers, and the despair on the faces of the group of native people behind them. Our side allowed ourselves smiles and handshakes but were careful to keep our elation under control. We allowed the other side to leave first, avoiding eye contact and hoping they could control their emotions. One of my team said the crowd outside the building, all supporting the other side, had been told the news, voiced their disgust but were not creating any disorder. I felt a sense of release, knowing I had retained control of all my assets and could get on with new plans, new investments, further expansion of my empire. It was a moment to savour and, despite my mental shuffling of business possibilities, I resolved to treat all around to a big party that evening. As we stood to leave I noticed Eleza Cru tapping the corner of her optical frames, blinking at the message only she could see, then tapping on the screen of her wristband. I slid through the bodies to speak quietly.

“Are you passing the news to our friend?”

“I am. I’ll send the first of the codes later this week.”

The codes were directed to some of the banks in which my money was held. Over the next few weeks there would be a series of transfers to highly discreet accounts in other institutions, then proceed through stages into a network of accounts held by organisations in which Makwa and his business associates held controlling stakes. He was another businessman who, by coincidence, had a similar personal history and similar outlook to myself, and our understanding had served both of us well.

Our group held back for a while in the courthouse atrium, waiting for the other side’s spokespeople to make a tearful speech to their followers and the press, then for them be driven away and the crowd to begin to disperse. When we went outside and the press was waiting for us and I had decided on a short statement of satisfaction rather than triumph. Then I noticed John and Aleezia were on the fringes of our group, and in a moment of sentiment I gestured towards them to come towards me as we approached the reporters. A few dozen of the other side’s supporters remained and greeted us with a round of angry yells, but there were yards between us the security robots seemed to have them under control. I met the journalists at the top of the steps, my first interaction with the press in my new life, and was surprised, and should have guessed, that they had no notebooks, recording devices or cameras. Everything they needed was embedded in the chips of their optical frames and neural studs. I made a short statement that I was happy that, despite all the changes in the world, the legal process of North America had maintained its credibility and that justice had been done. I thanked my own legal team and those of my descendants who had supported me, and provided a photo opportunity with arms around the shoulders of John and Aleezia. Then came the offer that I had agreed with Eleza Cru and other advisers after Makwa’s testimony.

“I’m aware that people on the other side will be disappointed with the result, especially the descendants of the native communities who have been caught up in this battle. But I wish to hold out an olive branch and say that, when the dust has settled, I will be ready to talk to their representatives about the possibilities of supporting specific projects to support their communities.”

I had planned for that to be all, but we were distracted by a commotion among the protesters, a moment in which two of them broke through and ran towards us, only to be flattened by the security robots’ stun guns. It caused a shuffling of bodies among our group, a moment in which John took a protective step in front of me but I patted his shoulder to move away. The reporters were uncertain whether to direct their attention towards us or the protesters, took steps forward and back, one of them moving backwards then turning to face me from a foot away. I noticed his pale brown complexion and dark hair, made eye contact through his optical frames and thought he was going to ask a question. But instead he spoke in a quiet, hard voice:

“Five generations of my family have suffered from what you did.”

Then he grabbed my testicles, flipped my body and threw me head first down the steps.

 

Now I lie on a trolley in a room that I guess is in a medical facility, able to hear every word but unable to speak, see or move any muscle in my body. I can hear machines running, bleeps from monitors and mild gurgles through the tubes that have kept me alive, and have a sense of those inserted into my mouth and arm. I’ve been aware of the conversations over recent weeks, that the attack inflicted severe damage on my neural network, effectively cutting me off from the world without actually killing me. The doctors have tried to prompt a reaction from me, and I’ve tried to produce one, to the extent of inward screaming in frustration, but my body is an inactive slab. I’m alive but not alive.

I had picked up shreds of what was going on around me, but it was John who sat beside my bed and quietly explained what was to happen. An ordinary patient in my condition would be regarded as beyond saving, disconnected from the machines that kept them alive and allowed to slide into death. But I’m not ordinary; I have immense wealth and a legal document from my earlier life that says I should go into cryogenic suspension until medical science has reached the stage of being able to repair my broken body. It may be in ten years, or several hundred, but the institutions and the letter of the law will make sure that I endure, and hope that one day I am brought back to life.

It is planned for today. John returns, and I can hear his voice come closer and tell me that he is sorry that we didn’t get longer together, that he feels we could have had a special bond. His words stir up emotions that I have no way of expressing. Then I’m aware of being moved, from my bed to a trolley, through a corridor, into an elevator, then into a room where I hear bodies moving but nobody speaks. The tubes are removed, I’m lifted onto a harder surface and think of a refrigerator tray. Then comes the noise of sliding panels, the hiss of surfaces being sealed, and the fading of all sound. I go back to suspension, not alive, not dead.

Image by David S. Soriano, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 

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