Over the next few weeks, I will share #SaturdayScenes for Prime Decision, episode one of Quantum Law. You can get the full download of Prime Decision by registering through my Reader’s Club:
If you need to catch up with previous part of this or other stories, you can access them at my #SaturdayScenes page…
Jerry Simmons, attorney at law, exited his associate’s drone mobile. A blast of hot summer air met him there, atop the Federation’s Western Sector Court building. Jerry looked over the cityscape that had once gone by the name of Los Angeles. Burned and crushed during The Crisis, few called it that now. Nothing angelic about all the dull aluminum gray that clad every building and structure in this Western Sector Capitol.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment and sighed.
“You’ll do well,” Advocate 359 told him.
Jerry nodded and clasped the handle of his briefcase a little tighter. He almost went through it again, the whiny rant he’d spewed during transport. But he stopped himself short. It wouldn’t give him more satisfaction than talking to a wall, an extremely logical one, and one that didn’t need a cup of coffee to get itself going in the morning.
“Do you need me to walk you through the protocol again?” 359 said.
Jerry turned to his assigned synthetic partner. Dressed in a full charcoal suit that hugged its female facsimile curves, it regarded him with a confident, yet faint smile.
Jerry clenched his jaw and looked away. With his free hand, he smoothed his cheap blue suit, hoping his sweaty palm would undo the wrinkles. He’d borrowed the suit. These days he didn’t have much use for formal wear, not with the kind of braindead legal paper-pushing work he did.
He breathed in deep, reminding himself not to blow it, like he had on his first and last case before a Quantum Law court. Human lawyers didn’t get a chance like this often. Certainly not twice. He should count himself lucky for getting a second crack at it.
As its slogan said, “to ensure even-handed, always accurate, high quality representation for all,” the Quantum Law Ministry, or QLM, assigned most Federation criminal cases to synthetics like Advocate 359. To keep things “equitable,” the QLM, handpicked human lawyers per the strictest standards, best in class and best in show. To ensure quality control, the QLM birddogged them with one or two synths. Didn’t cut it? Slacking off on your “accuracy”? Eject. Back to the bush leagues.
Jerry winced, recalling how he’d blown it. He would tell anyone that asked he had no use for QLM rules or round-the-clock monitoring. But now, that steady-streaming Federation check would sure cure his latest financial shortfall.
How had this chance come up? Well, the court hadn’t handpicked him—that was for sure. Rather, his desperately guilty client had demanded it, against the court’s most vigorous objections and in spite of Advocate 359’s best efforts to represent him. Why? Oh, because Jerry had helped the guy’s girlfriend land on the plus side of a lame real estate deal. Never mind she’d also landed in Jerry’s bed that same night—to celebrate.
Jerry shook his head again.
“I’m going to need a verbal response,” Advocate 359 said. It came closer to him, its pneumatic gears giving off a faint buzz, and its feminine synthetic features shaping their best version of a sympathetic frown. “Do you need me to go through the protocol again, or—”
He raised his hand. “I got it.”
“Just the facts, Mr. Simmons.”
“Call me Jerry, please.”
“No emotional pleas. No theatrics or tricks. It won’t work in there.”
He shifted the briefcase from one sweaty hand to the other. It felt just as heavy, which reminded him he needed to lighten up.
He forced a smile. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“I’m here to assist.”
“Calling you Advocate 359… It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Maybe something shorter? Like a nickname?”
A pause, a half-step back. “We don’t have nicknames.”
“No, I guess you don’t.” OK, now to come up with a nickname that wouldn’t offend her. Huh. There he went, thinking of her like a chick, no matter how much he’d promised himself he’d think of them as nothing but a collection of its. Things. Synths. Robots. Computers. Algorithms.
Still, maybe he owed her better. So far she’d done nothing but treat him with deference and respect.
Like now, when she leaned in a little closer and shot him a coy smile. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I was thinking Niner. You know. Short for three-five-nine.”
She wrinkled her button nose. Actually wrinkled it. “I don’t know about that.”
“OK.” His smile broadened, and this time he felt natural about it, like he meant it. “How about Ace, then? Like Ace attorney. Like the ace pitcher in a baseball team. Goes with the A in Advocate 359.”
She tapped her chin. “Hmm.” Her eyes rolled up, as if to ponder. “Without making any final commitment, let’s try it for a while. But—” She raised her chromed, fully articulated finger. “Not in court, OK?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ace.”
She smiled. “This way.”
He followed her away from her drone mobile and toward a set of stairs. Jerry waved over at the two cylinders that stood, empty at the moment, about twenty yards to the left of the stairwell.
“Lifts.” Her upraised finger oscillated like a metronome. “Too many Gs.”
He sighed. Shifting his gaze to the left of the two elevator shafts, he looked over the city, gray, sterile. Out of limits.
“Not a comfortable ride,” Ace added.
Jerry didn’t move.
She stopped and turned to give him another of her synthetic frowns.
“How uncomfortable?” Jerry said.
“It’s not done.”
He grinned. “But not impossible.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
He kept grinning at her. Why was he insisting on the elevator? He supposed climbing down forty-two levels to get to his assigned courtroom didn’t exactly sound inviting. Still, something else about that lift beckoned him.
“We’re all equals, right?” he said.
“Partners but not the same.” Her synthetic façade gave way to a blank, almost ashen expression.
“No, definitely not the same.”
Her synthetic forehead creased. “Your makeup isn’t compatible with the tube lift.”
“What happens if a human can’t do the stairs? You know, like with a bum knee?”
“All attorneys are fit to serve in every way.”
Jerry nodded and grinned. “And fit to ride the tube.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Fine.”
They walked over to the lifts. She pressed the call button. Jerry’s red flag should have gone up when the tube slowed to a whirring stop, slowing its spin along spiral rails it didn’t touch. Magneto-drive or something like that, Jerry guessed. That’s how it went down or up without the cables of old-styled elevators. Still, his red flag didn’t go up then. Neither did it snap to attention when Ace told him to strap on, even as she did the same on the other side. He buckled up, tightening the belt around his waist like she did, and hugging his briefcase against his chest when he saw her cross her arms.
He did start to get concerned when, looking him in the eye, she said, “Human onboard.”
“Half-speed setting,” a monotone voice replied.
“Level three,” Ace said, still staring at Jerry.
The hum came next, soft at first, then intensifying as the tube accelerated its spin until Jerry didn’t know whether he would become permanently lodged into its side or get drill-screwed into the ground.
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