The air-car fluttered to the ground on the periphery of a large mob. The chauffeur opened the door and threw the prisoner from the vehicle. Unable to pick himself up because of his cuffed hands, he was seized by two officers and hauled by the arms. He looked up, seeing the opulent face of the New Congressional Hall through the writhing crowd.
More officers were deployed to keep them at bay. Cameras and microphones were shoved into his face, and fanatics coated him with spit and drink. The roar of comments and denouncements was deafening and made him sink deeper into a haze. The bumps of the stairs hitting his limp feet ended. He looked up. Two more officers opened the grand doors to the hall, and he was pulled inside.
The building had become far more gaudy and baroque since Bishop Kern led his march on the old capitol to end the separation of church and state. They marched him down gilded halls, uncaring for his comfort. Passing mixes of crosses and eagles, portraits and busts of presidents and saints—or what he thought he could make out as his delirium cleared. The room they stopped in front of was tamer than the rest of the building so far. It was the Richter Senate Office Building. Plain, heavy wooden doors slid open with great effort from two heavily armed guards.
The courtroom was as sparse on decoration as the doors suggested. Inside the room was a raised half-moon desk, at which sat the members of the Congressional Committee on Un-American Affairs. Bishop Snide, General Marrin, Senators Li and Marshall. Behind them were the flags of the North American Union and of the Christian Unionists—a white flag with a blue canton featuring a heavily stylized cross. In front of them was the sergeant at arms—looking more at home at the Vatican than the halls of Congress.
Opposing them was a small table at which sat Dr. Ricardo Perez and Mr. John K. Meo—a seat was empty next to the man’s erstwhile conspirators. The sergeant at arms took charge of him, and was nicer with regard to the treatment of his arm. The sergeant led him to his seat. “Hey chum, go swimming before you got here?” The Spaniard shook his hand as he spoke. “Those fanatics out there decided to give me a shower on the steps,” he said after releasing the Spaniard’s hand and taking his seat. “You’re lucky the Bishop told them to let you be. You know how they are.”
“How ‘bout you Meo? Got anything to say?”
“No. They were nice enough to let me plead the fifth if I promised on their bible that I would never send anything into space again.” Meo sat like a sack of potatoes, arms crossed and glaring at Bishop Snide. “Did you?”
“Of course I did, with my fingers crossed.”
The Bishop stood and raised her hands outward, as if she were about to begin a sermon. “All be silent. The trial will begin now.” The small handful of people in the room fixated on her. “State v. Galactica Incorporated. The defense stands accused of treason, illegal space flight, and conspiracy to commit both. How does the defense plead?”
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The three men conferred with each other. “Legally, we have committed treason—an offense against the state. Our space flight was illegal as well, another crime defined solely by statute. But agreeing to either would immediately damn us, not just legally but morally.” They agreed that though they did it to establish market share, there was an element of ‘for all mankind’ in their minds. While the other two continued to speak, Meo got ready to speak for them.
Meo straightened, leaning inches from the microphone. “Not guilty.” The Committee turned to look at the Bishop. “Plea accepted. Prosecution may proceed.”
The tall, sparsely haired man stood. He wore modest vestments around his neck. “Thank you, Your Excellency.” He shuffled some papers, and passed some others to his colleague. “Tenth of November, Twenty-one-oh-five—Mr. Keir took flight to Mars in a design created by Dr. Perez, and bankrolled by Mr. Meo. There was no permit issued for a space flight from Galactica Incorporated. There was no flight plan issued. All of which could have led to serious damage if there were to be a collision between their spacecraft and any other aeronautics assets. We ask the Committee to find the defendants guilty of all charges.” Dr. Perez sank away from his jovial mood, Keir rubbed his face, and Meo did not move.
The two senators spoke amongst each other, General Marrin was writing furiously, and the Bishop continued to stare down at the accused, unblinking. “Defense, your statements?”
Keir and Perez stayed seated. Meo stood alone for their defense. “Every single precaution was taken to ensure safety. We know better than the state what is up there, and had extensive calculations to avoid all spacecraft. We can turn over that paperwork if you wish.” He had taken on an air of smugness to the Bishop—one that neither Keir or Perez felt safe being within. “Furthermore, we launched out of Australia! Well outside of your jurisdiction. A place that does not require permission.” The Bishop was beaming daggers at them now.
“Is that all, Mr. Meo?” Bishop Snide turned her face at them. “Yes, Your Excellency.” Meo bowed to her. The rest of the Committee discussed the matter behind her back, she did not join them. The defense and prosecution stayed silent, watching the discussion. The senators and General Marrin looked pleased with their outcome. This time, it was Senator Li that spoke instead of the Bishop. “All rise, we have reached a verdict.” Both sides did as they were told. “We find the defendants—not guilty. However, we will be confiscating all materials involved in the project, all data collected. You three will be barred from being involved in the aeronautics industry for at least five years. All in accordance with the Public Safety Clause of Bill 102432.” The hammer came down, and with it came the spirits of Bishop Snide.
