Hannah Jacques takes a sip of water, and sets the glass down on the lawyer’s table, then she begins.
“Olubi Inuro was a husband, a father to two daughters, and a farmer. His plot was a mile from his house and he walked there and back every day. One day, he walked his daughters to the school bus, then continued to his plot. He had been working for fifteen minutes when an AI error took a lorry off the road and right into Olubi’s farm, where it killed him. Two hours later, Olubi returns home, sits down at the dining table and makes eating motions even though he has no food, no dishes, no cutlery. There’s blood everywhere, but Olubi’s wounds are healed. He’s a re-animate, functioning body, lost mind. At least that’s what they tell us.
“After an hour or two, Mrs Inuro is trying to process what has happened, when some people knock at the door, some officers. They’ve seen the accident and they want to take Olubi in for processing at the Honeycomb.
“My client contends that there is no habeas corpus here, that the government has no right to take Olubi Inuro, and we contest the idea that Mr Inuro might be dead. We sought and received a temporary restraining order from the court, and we wish—”
“Objection, my lord,” says Blessing Boderin, the tall, bearded defence lawyer, who suffers from albinism.
“It’s an opening statement,” says the judge.
“May we approach the bench?”
The judge beckons and both lawyers huddle.
“My lord, we are concerned about a conflict of interest. Mrs Jacques is the wife of Mayor Jacques.”
Hannah says, “I am not here as the wife of anybody, my lord, I am here as an attorney-at-law representing my client. There is no conflict.”
“The vagaries of this case may affect the marriage, my lord, and when the government wins—”
“If.”
“When the government wins, it may cause irreparable damage to the holy union.”
Judge Lafe holds an indulgent smile in place. “Get back to your seat, Boderin. Don’t interrupt my court with nonsense just because there are feed cameras.”
Hannah’s first witness is the police officer who came to take Olubi away. As the officer is sworn in, she notices Boderin pass a message to a paralegal, who leaves the court.
Meetings all day.
There is a lancing pain deep within Jack’s forehead and he hasn’t had the time to take analgesia or a break. He is also on a caffeine buzz. He needs sleep. He takes another pull of coffee. Cleaning up a chemical spill, even with Koriko and Wormwood helping, was a nightmare. Getting relatives to understand that the bodies were too toxic to embalm. Some were so badly contaminated that even Koriko did not want them for Honeycomb.
He had known about the toxic waste dump. Femi Alaagomeji told him about it during the war, but he had not thought about it since. Until the phone call that woke him and announced the tragedy.
Lora signals to him, and he wraps the meeting up.
“What?”
She hands him a note.
“What’s a Boderin?” asks Jack. “Am I meant to know who this is?”
“He’s one of your lawyers, sir,” says Lora.
“The government has many.” Jack squints at the paper. While he knows there are numerous court cases going on, he never has to give them direct attention.
I am sorry but I could not prevent the trial from going ahead. This one can hurt you, the scribbled note says.
“What case is this?” asks Jack.
“Olubi, Rosewater high court, family suing your government for the body of their patriarch. Your wife is lawyer for the plaintiff.”
“Oh. Okay. But we’ve been sued before.” Hannah did not mention this, but then they had a half-rule not to discuss work. Jack didn’t even know she was licensed to practise law, or if she had ever tried a case.
“Not by your wife, sir, and not with international media covering the trial live.”
“Not Gone Charity… they don’t get involved in legislation usually.”
“All indications are that this is a test case.”
It doesn’t seem possible, but his headache worsens, kicks the pain up a notch.
“Sir, judging by minute changes in your breathing, a slight narrowing of your eyes, a furrowing of your brow, I’d guess you are in pain. Are you?”
“It’s just a headache.”
“Diagnostics,” says Lora.
Yes, Ms Asiko.
“Health check on the mayor.”
Affirmative.
“It’s just a headache,” Jack says again.
Three thin metal rods emerge from the floor of the office up to six feet, and scan Jack, triangulating findings.
“Test case, you were saying.”
“Yes, sir. If only one person is able to avoid going to the Homians, a precedent would have been set.”
Lora doesn’t know the half of it. Or she knows and is not saying, which is a thing she does sometimes. If the hosts don’t all go to Honeycomb, the deal with the Homians is in jeopardy, which means Koriko might not defend Rosewater, which means Nigeria could invade again. How good a trial lawyer is Hannah?
“Please clear my schedule for an hour,” says Jack. “And bring up the feed.”
“Aminat Arigbede is expected in twenty-five minutes.”
“What does she want?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘The city is moving and shit.’ End quote.”
What the hell?
“I don’t have time for her.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lights dim automatically and the feed rises from the desk. A flat version of the scene remains on the surface.
“Zoom,” says Jack, and the images become larger. He loves Hannah’s hair all severe, under a wig, which she doesn’t have to wear.
Ah, shit. This is going to hurt.
“… say that you have expertise on the topic of so-called reanimates, Dr Soko?”
The witness nods. “That would be a fair assumption, yes.”
“How long have you studied them?”
“Since 2056. More than ten years.”
“How many reanimates have you personally examined?”
“Six hundred and fourteen.”
“Exactly?”
“I keep meticulous records.”
“Isn’t this dangerous?”
“Not most of the time. There are many myths about re-animates, but the truth is they reflect their environment. I have found that a peaceful, gentle environment gives a peaceful, gentle reanimate. The rates of violence from and among reanimates is comparable percentage-wise to any human population.”
“Could you tell the court how you examine them.”
“Basic anthropometry, physiology, blood chemistry, ultrasound scans, encephalograms, electromyograms, brain imaging, like that.”
“Doctor, would you say so-called reanimates are alive?”
“Objection,” says Boderin.
“Overruled. The witness will answer,” says the judge.
Soko says, “They are certainly alive in that their hearts are beating, their lungs oxygenate their blood, they have brain activity, their eyes are open, and they have goal-directed activity. They suffer pain. They require nutrition or they die. Isolated from water, they die within a week like any human.”
Hannah clasps her hands together in a gesture that seems to imply supplication. “Doctor, how do reanimates differ from you and me?”
Soko exhales. “I should preface this by saying we use re-animates as an umbrella term. They are actually quite a heterogeneous group, so what I’m about to say will contain generalisations.
“In the early stages of reanimation, cortisol… that is, stress hormone levels are quite high, but within a week this returns to normal. EEGs of most reanimates show disorganised background activity, generalised slow-wave activity and a lack of response to opening or closing the eyes. Functional MRIs show reduced blood flow to the frontal lobes. There are other minor changes, but these can be found in regular humans on either side of the bell curve.”
“Bell curve?”
“Normal distribution.”
“I see. And what about their memories of themselves?”
“That’s difficult to answer.”
“How so?”
“On the one hand, it’s very clear that they are not functioning like their previous selves. They are not verbal, for example, and their complex abilities seem to have gone. Certainly their frontal lobe functions are impaired. But that doesn’t mean the self is gone. It may be locked in, trying and failing to communicate.”
“Objection, speculative.”
The judge turns to Hannah with a raised eyebrow. She looks down, and takes a minute to think.
“Doctor, could you tell us what the self is?”
“Self, mind, consciousness, these are terms that are difficult to define due to their subjectivity. It is about an entity existing as distinct from the environment and being aware of this. One of the problems is that existence is subjective.”
Hannah laughs. “I’m sure many of us here, myself included, would be shocked to be told reality is subjective.”
Soko says, “What we perceive to be reality is information brought to our brains by our senses. But there are multiple representations in the brain for each perception. The brain has to make a choice about which representation to use. The choice is based on the environment in which that brain developed, and current context, which can be rather individual. The brain then reconciles that representation into the whole of reality of that moment. We each create our own reality. The self, or the mind, can be conceptualised as the observer of and interactor with that reality.”
Hannah says, “And is that mind separate from the body in the Cartesian manner?”
“No, that’s been debunked and is, at best, an intellectual curiosity.”
“Objection.”
“Most investigators do not believe there is any such thing as Cartesian duality any more.”
Hannah says, “So you are saying the mind and body are linked.”
“I am saying the mind and body are one, irreversibly linked. I am saying the self is embodied.”
“Objection.” Boderin stands.
The judge, benevolent uncle, inclines his head. “What’s your objection?”
“This is a nice digression, my lord, but what does it have to do with Mr Olubi?”
Hannah turns to the judge. “My lord, the government contends that Mr Olubi Inuro lost his mind and selfhood at the time of his accident. The government would have us believe that Mr Inuro’s body is an empty vessel to be bartered away to alien overlords and filled with an alien interloper.”
“My lord, this bashing of René Descartes is all well and good, but I wasn’t aware that it was time for summation.”
“Objection overruled, but Mrs Jacques, get to the point, hmm?”
“Objection, prejudicial.”
“It’s prejudicial for her to get to the point?” asks the judge.
“It’s prejudicial to call her Mrs Jacques. She is the wife of the mayor.”
“Don’t irritate me, Mr Boderin.” The judge gestures for Hannah to continue.
“Dr Soko, you’ve examined Mr Inuro.”
“Yes.”
“Would you agree with the government that his body is empty of any mind?”
“I would not.”
“But the government has a whole policy based on giving quote unquote empty bodies to aliens. What is your evidence for this?”
“Mr Inuro went home immediately after the accident. He performed several ritualistic actions relating to his life. He acted like someone severely brain-damaged, but he was himself. As of when I last saw him, he would go about the motions of driving a tractor. This is consistent with what I’ve found when studying other reanimates.”
“So would it be fair to say that there is no factual basis in the government’s claims that there is no human left in reanimates?”
“It would. I consider the reanimate to be in a state of diminished function, but not dehumanised. This is the same consideration for people with catastrophic strokes or severe advanced dementias.”
“Some commentators say that people with advanced dementia have lost their personhood.”
“I am not one of those.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Nothing further, my lord.”
The judge nods, then turns to Boderin. “Would the defence like a recess before cross-examining?”
Boderin stands. “No, my lord. I only have one question for this witness.”
“Proceed.”
“Dr Soke, thank you for informative and helpful testimony. You are obviously a man of great probity and compassion. It’s an honour to be here with you. Please tell the court, if you will, would Mr Olubi be alive and performing all these wonders of neuroscience and philosophy without the presence of the alien to reanimate him?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Dr Soke. I have nothing further, my lord.”
“Well shit,” says Jack.
Lora says nothing.
“At least Boderin isn’t a complete fucking idiot.”
“What do you want to do, sir?” asks Lora.
“I do not know.”
Jack’s phone beeps. It’s a text from the president.
Remind me to send your wife a lovely bouquet of flowers. You know, a man who can’t keep his house in order has no business being a leader. You would have been better off marrying your assistant.
He seems almost cheerful. Bastard.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hannah cannot be allowed to win the case.
“Do we know the judge?”
“Conservative, harmless, family man, two children, husband is a dentist.”
“Background?”
“Pristine.”
Fuck.
“Sir,” says Lora. “Isn’t it time you had a word with your wife?”
Jack has no answer. She’s right, of course, but she doesn’t know Hannah or the arrangement they have.
Maybe the president is right. For all the time Jack spends with Lora, he should have married her, and at least she is always on his side.
Hannah leaves the court escorted by the bodyguards. She is stoic in the face of the reporters, encouraging to the Inuro family before they leave, and allows the driver to lead her into the car. She activates the tint on the glass, including the barrier.
“Clear all transmissions.”
Yes, Mrs Jacques.
Finally alone, shaking with adrenaline, Hannah weeps.