Planetary Perpetrator
James Flynn
There was
complete and utter silence inside the legal courtroom. CCTV footage was being
played for the benefit of everyone present, footage relating to the horrific
manslaughter charge against the defendant, Mr. Adam Curshaw. Adam, a
distraught-looking young man with a network of deep creases around his eyes,
stood near the front of the court, accompanied by his lawyer.
On the other
side of the room, flanked by another lawyer and a handful of relatives, was a
bereaved mother who’d lost her young infant to the reckless driving of the
defendant. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the video played, and every now and
then she wiped them with a shaky hand.
Judge Sage sat
up front, behind a big wooden desk. In contrast to everyone else in the room,
he showed no emotion whatsoever. Or, perhaps it would’ve been more accurate to
say that it showed no emotion
whatsoever. Emotions weren’t part of the judge’s programming, nothing like that
had been installed within it, its job was simply to evaluate each case in a
logical, straightforward manner. And even if it had been capable of feeling
emotion, it would’ve been impossible for it to show it anyway, what with the
silver, spherical, reflective dome it had for a head.
A product of the
biggest, most influential tech company in the country, Judge Sage had been
given free reign and complete legal authority over its first case. It was judge
and jury combined, all in one, with no restraints or restrictions over its decisions.
Officials were watching closely from the back of the courtroom, the mayor, a
handful of politicians, corporates, etc, hopeful of its success, but there was
also anxiety in the air due to its excessive granted powers. Allowing the AI
judge complete power and authority had been essential, though, because the top
brass had to display complete confidence in their new product.
Behind their
backs, their fingers were crossed.
The footage was
horrible to watch, not only due to the graininess of it, but also the content.
There was no sound, as was the case with most street CCTV recordings, but it
didn’t seem to need it.
A woman could be
seen pushing a pram across Dunhill Road, close to a residential area with a few
shops nearby, mindful of the oncoming traffic. She got halfway across and
stopped, waiting for a small blue hatchback to go past. The hatchback swerved
erratically, however, ramming the pram and folding it in two.
At this point
during the video, the bereaved mother looked up towards the inhuman face of the
judge and screamed. ‘You see, Your Honour? He ran my poor baby over! Did you
see that?’
The woman’s
lawyer whispered a few words into her ear in an effort to calm her down, and
then the rest of the video played out.
The car
screeched to a halt, pieces of pram spread across the road like discarded
litter, and then a cyclist appeared on the scene to offer her help. A few more
seconds of grainy footage ensued, with the mother bent over the bleeding baby
in hysterics, and the cyclist prancing about in a panic, then everything went
black.
With the video
over, all eyes in the courtroom rolled over to the mechanoid judge, waiting to
see its next move. Its smooth cranium remained motionless for a few seconds,
its black robes covering the slopes of its shoulders, then, in a voice that
could’ve cut glass, it said, ‘Mr. Adam Curshaw to the stand.’
The man walked
up, head held low. His lawyer followed.
‘Mr. Curshaw,’
hissed the judge, ‘could you please explain why you collided with the pram?’
The lawyer piped
up before Curshaw could answer. ‘Your Honour, my defendant swerved off course
because the cyclist forced him to. The cyclist swerved into him just before the
collision. It really wasn’t his fault.’
There was a
pause as the judge considered this, its intricate circuitry buzzing inside its
silver skull. When it was ready, it said, ‘Mrs. Julie Mitchell to the stand.’
There was a
shuffling of bodies at the rear of the courtroom, then a middle-aged woman
appeared and made her way up the walkway.
‘Mrs. Mitchell,’
rang the ominous voice of Judge Sage, ‘did you swerve your bicycle into the
path of Mr. Curshaw’s automobile?’
The woman,
unable to afford a lawyer, cleared her throat, and said, ‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘And why did you
swerve into him?’
‘Well, Your Honour,
there was some oil on the road and...and I had to steer my bike around it to
avoid slipping in it.’ She swallowed, brushed some hair away from her face
nervously, then continued: ‘If I hadn’t done so, Your Honour, there could’ve
been an even worse accident—’
‘Worse
accident?’ yelled the bereaved mother. ‘My baby’s dead!’
The woman’s
family did their best to calm her down, then the cyclist was eventually
dismissed from the stand.
‘Detective
Saunders to the stand,’ ordered Judge Sage.
Detective
Saunders, the leading police officer in charge of the case, stood before the
judge.
‘Can you
confirm, Detective, that there was a spillage of oil at the site of the
accident?’
‘Yes I can, Your
Honour.’
‘And what do you
know about the oil?’ asked Sage.
‘I know that the
spillage was thirty-two inches wide, and twenty-two inches long, Your Honour.
And that it was positioned precisely one hundred and eighty inches from the
pram as it was struck.’
‘And who is
responsible for the oil being there at the time of the incident?’ asked the
judge, with its flat, digital tones.
Detective
Saunders looked stumped, caught off guard, the confidence suddenly draining
from his face. ‘That, Your Honour, I don’t know.’
Another short
silence ensued, with the judge’s head looming over the occupants of the room
like an omniscient orb. Finally, the electric voice rose up again, ‘Is it
possible to obtain more CCTV footage of the area in which the oil was spilled?’
A surprised
murmur echoed through the court.
‘Err, yes, I
think so Your Honour,’ said the detective. ‘There is a camera on the other side
of the road which probably points towards it, but—’
‘Case adjourned until
CCTV footage is obtained,’ said Judge Sage, in a lightning pitch that rattled
through everyone’s core. ‘And,’ it added, ‘I also want to question the
perpetrator behind the oil spill.’
‘Your Honour!
You can’t be serious! It could take weeks to find out who spilled the oil on
the road, and is it really—’
‘Case
adjourned,’ repeated Sage, amidst a chorus of groans and gasps.
And with that,
every person in the courtroom stood and filed out into the outside corridor,
grudgingly accepting that it would still be a long time before this ugly case
was settled.
When everyone
had left, Judge Sage remained in its position behind the grand desk, patiently
waiting for what it had requested.
* *
*
Three guilty
faces peered up at Judge Sage from the front of the courtroom. Adam Curshaw,
the driver of the car, fidgeted nervously with a trembling lip and an extra
network of lines around his tired eyes; Julie Mitchell, the cyclist, held her
hands together in front of her, her lips tight and pursed; and then there was
Peter Waltham, a sandy haired male mechanic who’d dumped the oil at the side of
the road where the accident had taken place, tracked down by Detective
Saunders.
‘Mr. Peter Waltham
to the stand,’ hollered Judge Sage, with its indecipherable, penetrating stare.
A pristine suit
hung from the mechanic’s shoulders, giving him a superficial suave appearance,
although to the trained eye it was clearly the first time he’d ever worn one.
‘Mr. Peter Waltham,
could you please explain why you dumped the oil on Dunhill Road on the 17th
January?’
The mechanic was
a bag of nerves. The tense atmosphere in the court, combined with the inhuman
stare of the judge, was overwhelming him. And, on top of this, like the
cyclist, he was representing himself due to not being able to afford a lawyer.
‘I…well, Your Honour, the thing is…I usually dispose of my waste oil at the
designated disposal point which is…err, which is…City Auto Repairs. This is
the…err, the main garage in my district, but it was closed for the entire week,
Your Honour…and…and I didn’t mean for it to spread across the road like that. I
tried to pour it down the drain, which isn’t ideal, I know, but...err, but then
I noticed the cameras and panicked. I’m so sorry, Your Honour!’
Once the
mechanic stopped blubbering, the entire room fell silent in anticipation of the
judge’s reply.
And then it
came.
‘For what reason was City Auto Repairs
closed on the particular week in question, Mr. Peter Waltham?’
‘What? Err, well,
to the best of my knowledge, Your Honour, there was a power cut in the area.’
Judge Sage
processed the input, its head protruding over the wooden desk like a polished
bowling ball. ‘What’s the address of City Auto Repairs, Mr. Peter Waltham?’
‘I…I can’t remember exactly, Your Honour. But
it’s on Station Road.’
The chrome face
pondered this for a moment. ‘That will be all, Mr. Peter Waltham.’
Baffled noises
rang through the room, heads turned this way and that, then Judge Sage spoke
again.
‘Detective
Saunders to the stand.’
Saunders came
up.
‘Detective
Saunders, could you tell me why there was a power cut on Station Road on the
week of the accident?’
‘No, Your Honour,’
he said, candidly.
The chrome dome analyzed,
thought and processed, its curves glistening under the courtroom’s lighting.
‘Case adjourned until this information is available to me,’ came the metallic
voice.
‘What?!’ cried the
detective. ‘This is crazy, Your Honour!’
‘And,’ it added,
‘if any person, or persons, are responsible, they will need to stand before
me.’
The bereaved
mother began to pipe up and yell, appalled at the prospect of waiting even
longer for a decision to be made. And at the back of the courtroom, the mayor,
the cluster of civil servants, the corporates and the officials exchanged
concerned glances. But despite the commotion, there was nothing anybody could
do; Judge Sage had carte blanch over the entire case, free to do as it pleased.
Sage’s word was
final.
* *
*
Several weeks
later Detective Saunders stood before the unrelenting stare of Judge Sage to
report his findings. ‘Your Honour, after investigating the power cut on Station
Road and interviewing several staff members at the National Electric Grid, I
can confirm that no single person, or persons, were responsible for the
incident. The company as a whole was negligent in monitoring certain power
lines and generator voltages, and so it’s impossible to give blame to anyone.’
Judge Sage was
motionless, statue-like, but nobody doubted the fact that some kind of intense
internal processing was taking place within it. When it finally spoke, all ears
were listening. ‘That will be all, Detective Saunders. Please return to your
seat while I deliver my final verdict.’
Murmurs echoed
through the long room. The lawyers, officials, politicians and family members all
held their breaths, clueless as to what was about to come. This was it. After
months of messing about and waiting, going back and forth with CCTV footage and
gathering irrelevant suspects and leads, the A.I judge was about to deliver its
final verdict. Several agonizing moments passed, the air in the courtroom
charged with an intensity so immense it was almost visible to the naked eye.
And then, Judge
Sage spoke.
‘Ladies and
gentlemen of the court. I now give you my final verdict regarding the
manslaughter charge against Mr. Adam Curshaw. After much consideration, I,
Judge Sage, declare that Planet Earth is the guilty perpetrator of the crime,
resulting in the death of one infant. Furthermore, exercising my powers as both
judge and jury, I am sentencing Planet Earth to the death penalty.’
Chaos broke out
in the courthouse. Emotions were already running high, and the ludicrous
verdict pushed many people over the edge. Security was called upon to calm the
most frantic individuals down, and once a decent level of calm had been
restored, the judge made an effort to explain its surprising conclusion.
‘Ladies and
gentlemen of the court,’ began Sage, ‘it appears as though some kind of
clarification may be needed. Please let me explain. The young infant was killed
due to Mr. Adam Curshaw swerving his car. Mr. Adam Curshaw swerved his car due
to Mrs. Julie Mitchell steering into him on her bike. Mrs. Julie Mitchell steered
into the path of the car due to an oil spillage on the road. The oil spillage
was there due to Mr. Peter Waltham putting it there. Mr. Peter Waltham left the
oil there due to the temporary closure of City Auto Repairs. City Auto Repair’s
closure was due to a power cut on Station Road. Station Road’s power cut was
due to the collective negligence of the National Electric Grid. The National Electric
Grid is a product of the United States of America. The United States of America
is a product of Homo sapiens. Homo sapiens is a product of evolution. Evolution
is a product of nature. Nature is a product of Planet Earth. I therefore
conclude that Planet Earth is the ultimate perpetrator responsible for this
manslaughter crime, and the appropriate punishment will commence post haste.’
‘Switch the
bloody thing off!’ cried the mayor. ‘This is insanity!’
The mayor’s
outburst was ignored, however, because all of the top officials knew that
switching the judge off wasn’t an option. It had been granted full authority
over the case, backed up by state law, and attempting to switch it off would’ve
been illegal in every sense of the word.
Certain other
members of the courtroom were less panicked, though. How, they reasoned, could
this ridiculous sentence be carried out, anyway? How could this faceless
mechanoid condemn an entire planet to death?
Little did they
know, Sage also had access to the nuclear button.
* *
*
When
mushroom clouds began to erupt and flare over the distant horizon, onlookers
from the surrounding areas were confused. Some people assumed that an invading
country had declared war, others thought that a colossal industrial disaster
had broken out.
A multitude of
speculations ran through peoples’ minds as the heat and fire advanced, some
wild, some bizarre, some ridiculous, but not one of them guessed that the
imminent Armageddon was due to a minor traffic misdemeanor caused by a small
patch of oil.
Of which, Planet
Earth was guilty.
