Lora is barely aware of motion in the shock-proof luxury vehicle that takes her to work. Having studied people and their habits, she realises that on inheriting as much money as she did, she is expected to increase the amount of luxury in her life. She finds this concept difficult to grasp experientially. While it means spending more money on the same things, she is trying to tell the difference. The engine of this vehicle is nigh-on silent. The upholstery is soft. There is a wide range of refreshments, including liquor. The AI has an English accent. There is a robot to take luggage into the destination, although Lora doesn’t require that. She looks at the back of the construct’s head and feels no kinship.
So far, luxury means separation from people who cannot afford it.
We are now at the mayor’s mansion, ma’am. Shall I seek parking, or would you prefer that I keep the engine running right at the entrance?
“Thank you. Return to base until I call you.”
Very good. Have a pleasant working day.
The office is busy, even at this time of the day. She will go to the residence at nine, but for now, she has a meeting with Blessing Boderin. The lawyer is waiting outside her office. He stands when he spots her coming.
“Miss Asiko.”
“Mr Boderin.”
“I think some of the candidates are lining up outside.”
“Why? How many experts are there?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“But we only need one.”
“I know. But there’s a glut of expert witnesses in Rosewater. Luckily for you, it drives the price down.”
“The mayor doesn’t care about the price.”
“Good. Can I have a raise?”
“Funny.”
“How about a bonus if I win the case?”
“Will you win?”
“Yes.”
Lora sees no signs of dishonesty or nervousness on his part. In fact, everything about Boderin shouts confidence. His shoes at a high shine, his immaculate suit, his height, his facial expression, his blue eyes. His hair…
“Why do you dye your hair?”
“Because it’s light brown, and some clients get uncomfortable working with an albino.”
“Why would they?”
“You must not be from around here.”
“I am aware that albinos are discriminated against, but I would have thought your skill as an attorney would trump that.”
“It doesn’t. Sometimes I have to wear contact lenses to hide the blue.”
“If you win, I will make sure you get a bonus,” says Lora. “Shall we begin?”
“Reality is a hologram, therefore personality is an illusion. Boundaries between people are a construct that means nothing in the grand scheme of…”
“The brain generates the self as a side effect of its processes. As long as the brain is functioning, whatever it manifests is the personality, even if it is different from before revival. It…”
“… real question is that consciousness is not required for identity. For the purposes of legal proceedings we have to be talking of a legal entity. The reanimate body is free of consciousness, but not selfhood…”
“Wait,” says Boderin. “Whose side are you on?”
“I have no side. I’m on the side of truth.”
“Oh, fuck off,” says Lora.
“… not only combining aspects of Baba Sala’s final film, but the evolution of understanding tabula rasa, speaking of evolution and belief in the linguistics of the phrase ‘presence of mind’. If we go back to Ptolemy, we will find formative…”
By lunchtime, Lora no longer wishes to listen to candidates.
“Is it just me, or do they all seem completely insane?”
“It’s not just you,” says Boderin. “Although we’re all just people cracked and broken in different places.”
“You don’t seem worried.”
“I’m not. I’m going to win regardless.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
“May I speak freely?”
“Please do.”
“We are doing this because the mayor panicked and asked you to ask me to interview for an expert of our own because Mrs Jacques’ expert gave us a bloody nose. The mayor pays the bills, so here I am.”
“But you don’t want any experts.”
“I don’t need any experts, but if one can be found, that is good, I’ll take him or her.”
He is nearly smiling, and Lora finds this pleasing. She tells the secretary to dismiss the candidates and pay their travel allowance.
To Boderin she says, “Let’s go out to lunch. I am experimenting with luxury. Would you like to come with me?”
“This… is much better… than interviewing… crackpots,” says Boderin.
Labouring behind her, splashing the bath bubbles in his exertions, Boderin comes to a noisy climax and flops onto Lora’s back, still joined. Lora matches his breathing and sweats like he does. She feels him still rigid inside her, and she is aware of a whole mess of sub-routines struggling to come out, programming she removed but that creeps up on her at odd times, and which, despite deletion, still remains a phantom in her memory. The suite has a transparent ceiling and the only thing above them is the sky, although it started raining half an hour before they arrived.
“We should fuck again,” says Lora.
The next day she attends court, not because she has to, but ostensibly because she wants to keep an eye on Boderin’s performance. She is able to admit to herself that she finds his form pleasing, and that she might be here just to see him in his element, as they say. Both he and Hannah Jacques pretend not to know her in court. She, in turn, does not push the matter.
Hannah says, “Your Honour, I would like to call Venture Alade to the stand.”
Venture walks with great difficulty, dragging his left side, like one who has had a stroke and is in recovery. He has a carer who walks with him to ensure he is comfortably placed. He wears glasses and has a wedding ring on his left hand. His suit appears pressed, but the contortions of his body rumple it. When sworn in on the bible, he speaks clearly.
“Tell us, Mr Alade, do you live in Rosewater?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“From the start. I was here in 2055.”
“Where do you currently reside?”
“Ilu-be.”
“Are you married?”
“Divorced.”
“Do you have children?”
“Two. I see them on alternate weekends.”
“How old are they?”
“Five and six.”
“Do you work, sir?”
“Objection. Relevance? My lord, are we to sit through this gentleman’s entire curriculum vitae? Shall we find out he is a Libra and likes knitting?”
“Mrs Jacques?”
“I am establishing Mr Alade’s current level of functioning, my lord. It has relevance to the case that will become clear.”
“Establish it quickly,” says the judge. “The witness may answer.”
“I am a payroll clerk with Integrity Construction. I give chits to the weeders.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“It’s all right.”
“What do you do after work?”
“I play games on Nimbus.”
“Do you win?”
“Objection.” Boderin is on his feet. “My lord…?”
“Mrs Jacques?”
“My lord, we are getting to the crux.”
“You are getting to thin ice. Overruled.”
“Mr Alade, we can see that you have some functional difficulty moving about. Was this due to injury?”
“Yes.”
“When did this occur?”
“2056.”
“Could you tell us the nature of the injury?”
“An automaton dropped masonry on me from a great height. I was illegally on a building site.”
“That sounds as though it would be a serious injury.”
“It was. My skull was crushed and the debris rested on my ribcage, compressing it.”
“That would have been hard to survive.”
“I didn’t survive. I was pronounced dead when the ambulance arrived.”
Boderin starts writing furiously.
“You were dead?”
“For six months. I rose again after the second Opening.”
“Are you saying you were a reanimate?”
“Yes. I was dead, now I’m alive.”
The court erupts into chaos and the usually mild judge smashes his gavel repeatedly. He points to the two lawyers.
“Get over here.”
They both approach the bench and the judge muffles the microphone. Lora hears everything clearly because she put a microphone on Boderin as per the mayor’s instructions.
“Mrs Jacques, is this a stunt of some kind? Because I find it in bad taste.”
“Not a stunt, my lord. Mr Alade was a reanimate in 2056. We have the hospital death certificate. Furthermore, he will testify, and I have witnesses who will corroborate, that he was kept away from the death squads—”
“Objection.”
Hannah looks sharply at Boderin. “This isn’t testimony. He was kept safe from the death squads and slowly regained his mind to what you see today. He is not as he was, but he is certainly not mindless, as the government would have us believe.”
The judge looks to Boderin. “Do you have any comment?”
Boderin says nothing, but even from where she sits, Lora can see him gritting his teeth while trying to keep his expression calm.
“Boderin?” says the judge.
“My lord, the defence has no objection to this evidence being presented.”
“Very well. You may proceed, Mrs Jacques.”
Hannah returns and takes a breath. “Mr Alade—”
Boderin bounds to his feet. “My lord, if it pleases the court, the defence is willing to concede that this is indeed Mr Venture Alade, and that he was dead and is now alive, and was a reanimate and regained his mind over time.”
Lora whispers urgently, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I see,” says the judge. “Mrs Jacques, is there anything else you wish to establish from this witness?”
“No, my lord.”
“Very well. Your witness, Mr Boderin.”
“Thank you, my lord. Mr Alade, what has happened to you is nothing short of miraculous, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir.”
Boderin nods. “And to what or whom do you attribute this miracle?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What, sir, brought you back from the dead?”
“The alien. Wormwood.”
“Thank you. Nothing further.”
The judge looks to Hannah. “Mrs Jacques?”
“I rest my case, my lord.”
“Thank you. Mr Boderin, would you like to call your first witness?”
“The defence rests as well, my lord.”
A murmur rolls through the courtroom, stalled by the judge’s gavel.
“Very well. I will hear your summations after recess.”
A private room in the courthouse. Poor hologram facilities means there is a hiss in the room where there should be silence. Jack Jacques’ rendered image is adequate, but Lora thinks it cutting-edge for ten years ago. The mayor is at some function or other, wearing isiagu complete with red cap.
“It’s hit all the news feeds, so the impact when we lose will be worse,” says Lora. She has said this before, but uses it to break the silence.
“We’re not going to lose,” says Boderin.
Jack says, “It’s not hit all the news feeds. Not all. We need the influencer sites to carry this. I want the common woman talking about it. We need to boost the signal. Losing is only part of the problem.”
“We’re not going to lose,” says Boderin.
“I’ll get our publicity guys on it,” says Jack.
“Why do we want more publicity instead of less?” asks Lora.
“Because it’s already out, so that’s not going to change. Already a few people are marching, but it’s spontaneous and sporadic. If we can get the dissent to a critical mass, it can justify martial law and the suspension of the courts. Which takes the decision away from the judicial system.”
“Can we get Hannah to withdraw the case?”
“We’re not going to lose,” says Boderin.
“I don’t know,” says Jack. “We have a strict rule about work–life separation.”
“Hey!” says Boderin.
Both Jack and Lora stare at him.
“Neither of you is listening to me. We are not going to lose,” says Boderin. He straightens his tie.
Jack squints. “Who are you again?”
“Blessing Boderin. I’m from Legal.”
“Right. Right. Listen, it doesn’t matter. No, listen to me. It doesn’t matter any more. Win, lose, it’s not relevant. We now know that at least one reanimate has his wits back. The question is brewing even now. If this one reanimate became normal again, what about my brother-sister-mother-father-lover-friend? Because if there is only a five per cent chance that a loved one will be back to normal, people are not going to accept the reality of handing over our bodies to aliens. It’s not a matter of if the current paradigm will collapse, it’s a matter of when.”
Boderin turns to Lora. “Do I still get a bonus if I win?”
She shrugs. “If you win.”
He wins.
Hannah’s summation is elegant and moving; it brings all the points together and by rights should carry the day.
Boderin keeps things simple. “That these people are dead, at least initially, is not contested. My learned colleague even submitted death certificates into evidence. If that’s not an own goal, I don’t know what it is. Like Godwin Odiye, who cost Nigeria a World Cup match in 1977. All this speculation about life, self, consciousness, this is all nice and touching. I honestly felt tears emerging from my eyes. It’s very informative, and I’ve learned a lot about neuroscience in this trial. I think the court should charge tuition. This would all mean something if any of it mattered. I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t matter, and it isn’t relevant. This has been a stupid, protracted philosophical exercise. As all, not some, all the witnesses testified, the reanimates would not be ‘alive’ without the aliens. The point is moot. Left to their own devices, the bodies of the dead would not be regaining life signs and mimicking life. They would just be bodies feeding worms.”
Deliberation takes less than an hour, and the plaintiff’s petition is denied.
The response, to Lora, is anticlimactic.
But demonstrations pick up steam that evening.