Fractions_ The First Half of the Fall Revolution - Ken MacLeod [284]
Wilde stepped a little to the side, so that while he was unarguably and correctly addressing the court, he was also speaking to Reid and to the wider audience.
‘My counter-charge is this: that David Reid had me unlawfully killed, by the reckless action of people acting on his behalf and by his personal, wilful neglect of my injuries. That having done that, he has made no efforts in good faith to resurrect me. He claims that this is difficult – nonetheless, no evidence exists of any attempt on his part to overcome the difficulty. I claim compensation for loss of life-experience and loss of society, for my entire down time. That is, for nothing less than the whole of Ship Time, and possibly for longer.’
Eon Talgarth had to call for order, more than once, before the hubbub ceased.
‘Do you have evidence to bring for this charge?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Wilde.
He stalked over to his seat, reached into Tamara’s backpack, and pulled out the folder of Talgarth’s notes. He held it high as he walked back, and presented it to Talgarth.
‘The evidence,’ he said, ‘has been gathered by a certain Eon Talgarth, and has been a matter of public record and never challenged.’
The court fell silent, except for the toy-helicopter buzzing of the remotes and the distant din of the machinery outside.
Talgarth riffled through the pages, and shook his head. ‘There were conflicting claims,’ he said, ‘as to the manner in which Jonathan Wilde met his death. Although I myself inclined to the view which you have just stated, there are no surviving witnesses other than David Reid and, putatively, yourself. Its not having been challenged has, I’m afraid, no bearing on the matter. No court on this planet recognises libel, and they do not recognise a refusal or failure to rebut a claim as any evidence in its favour.’
He sighed, as if in regret for more than the inadequacy of the evidence; for, perhaps, a political passion long spent, which had driven him to compile the dossier. He handed the folder back to Wilde.
‘The court cannot accept this as evidence,’ he said. ‘In the absence of other evidence, or the confession of the one you have accused –’
He glanced at Reid, who was shaking his head vigorously.
‘– which I understand will not be forthcoming, and which I have no power to compel, I do not see how this charge can be tried at this time. Should you call Reid as a witness, he may refuse to answer, and no adverse inference may be drawn from that.’
Reid’s legal adviser stood up and conferred briefly with Talgarth, while Wilde stepped back out of earshot and looked away. When the woman had sat down again, Talgarth tapped with his gavel.
‘The counter-charge is dismissed,’ he said, ‘without prejudice to either party. Wilde’s bringing of the charge cannot be called vexatious or frivolous, and is not to be held against him. The name and reputation of David Reid remain unsullied. The allegation that his killing of Wilde was unlawful, or with malice, remains as it was before the charge was brought, that is, an unsubstantiated historical speculation which he is within his rights in treating with contempt.’
Reid and his assistant exchanged smiles.
‘However,’ Talgarth went on, with an abrupt harshening of his voice, ‘the claim that Reid was responsible, culpably or not, for the death of Jonathan Wilde is…considerably better attested. The witnesses are not, of course, in this court, but some are known to survive and could be asked to testify.’
He beckoned Reid’s adviser, and after they had conferred again he banged his gavel.
‘Reid does not contest his responsibility for the fact of Wilde’s death.’ He held out an open hand to Wilde. ‘You may proceed.’
‘Ax?’
No response. Ax is watching television in his head, or in front of his eyes, or whatever the hell he does.