Chapter 1: Provocateur

The year was 2128.

He was still alive. He shouldn’t be, but technology had progressed to such a state that it was keeping him in a living-dead state, in between, not dead, sort of alive.

In 2078 technology made a major quantum leap forward. Nanotechnology became readily available to the general public and, in 50 years, they made great strides.

One of the marvels of modern science was the long-term hospital care centers. The room housing James was specifically designed for long-term care, for patients who could no longer look after themselves.

The room was quite fascinating in its utility. It was white but was capable of changing colors to suit the resident’s mood. The ceiling had no visible tiles, making it appear seamless, and could even simulate the evening sky or a sunny day.

The bed itself was a marvel of nanotechnology. Built-in sensors monitored his vital signs. It could self-clean by charging the nanomaterials that made up its weave. Any debris fell through to a bottom pan, where it was pumped out to be recycled.

The bed cleaned him in much the same way. It rotated him to stop any bed sores from appearing and, as it did so, the nanomaterial would pick up the dead skin, dirt, and even feces. The bed would then go through its self-cleaning cycle after that, leaving it as clean as when it was manufactured.

There were tubes to help him breathe and eat when he could no longer do it by himself. Supplies were replenished via an automated distribution system within the walls, so there was never a need for someone, anyone, to come by.

It was, from a utilitarian perspective, the perfect system.

The worst part was that he was, unfortunately, able to know what was going on--one of those few that had retained his mind while his body had given up.

James was somewhat resentful of that fact.

He remembered a scene from a movie he had loved.

“You know, I know this steak doesn’t exist. I know that when I put it in my mouth, the Matrix is telling my brain that it is juicy and delicious. After nine years you know what I realize?”

Cypher took a bite of the steak and rolled it around his mouth in the same way a connoisseur would a new wine, and groaned in delight. Agent Smith watched, bemused. The machine took all of this in before Cypher finally gave the answer they were both expecting.

“Ignorance is bliss.”

Indeed it was. This was something James could relate to; at least if he had lost his mind like some of the other poor fucks there he wouldn’t need to worry about it. As it was he was starved for conversation. Hell, human contact, any human contact, would do.

And therein lay the problem.

There was no next-of-kin. Most of his nearest relatives were already dead and he had no children to speak of. There was nobody to console him, to see him off into the afterlife, to mourn his passing. He was never able to make a commitment to a friend or a lover. Moreover, his past girlfriends, if they were still alive, were likely in a room just like his.

The room took away all form of human contact and James was as scared as he had ever been. He could really use someone to talk to but no one came. No doctors, or nurses, or caregivers. Hell, even a janitor would do, but there was no need so no one came.

The man who lay in the bed was James William Smith and he was 129 years old. The machines could keep him alive for another 20 years but needed the mind to maintain the body. James did not care anymore. He was a little old man locked in a cupboard and shoved away in the darkness where no one could see or hear him.

James decided to give up. It was his time now to pass on.

He was terrified, alone, and horribly sad.

A single tear streaked down his cheek and the last thing he heard was the sound of the heart monitor’s monotonous tone.

His eyes were closed. Of course, cataracts prevented him from seeing the line on the black screen even if they were open. The sound and the line both signaled his death, an event no one would remember or care about except for the obituary page of the newspaper.

He could just imagine what his tombstone would say, “Here lies James William Smith. He lived and he died. R I P”

James’ lips turned into a scowl.

Then the lights had faded and the bell had begun to toll.

As his heart stopped and he was plunged into darkness he heard it - the hollow sound of the bell ringing again and again.

There was another flash of light. Suddenly James found himself elsewhere. Looking around, he frowned. The most obvious change was that he was no longer an old man in a bed. He was twenty-five years old, or at least appeared to be. He was dressed in a snazzy suit, black shoes, and a nice blue tie.

Staring around he quickly noted that he wasn’t in Kansas any more. He was, in fact, standing in a hallway, frowning again. He seemed to do a lot of that. James could see other people milling about, walking to and fro, and heading off to destinations unknown.

“What the fuck?” he thought.

Looking up, he saw that there were other people around he hadn’t noticed before. James walked into the hallway and came across a handsome man with long dark hair and dark eyes that had a hint of laughter. The man wore trousers and a white shirt with a long black leather duster over him that didn’t quite seem to fit. Dazed and confused James paused for a moment then strode over to him.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes,” the man turned around and faced James, smiling happily.

“I’m new here,” James said.

“Ask a question and receive an answer,” the man responded.

“Where am I and what am I doing here?”

“You are in between,” the man stated. He had a slight sway to him. He continued, “And you are here to find your answers.”

“Really? What answers?”

“To all of life’s questions.”

James nodded and studied him. Suddenly he knew exactly who this guy was, “I know you. You’re Jim Morrison.”

“At your service.” They shook hands.

“Did you really die when they say you did?”

“Yes,” Jim nodded. “But I popped down to earth every so often. It amused God.”

“God has a sense of humor?”

“Scary, no?” Jim winked.

Just then, an Amerindian wearing nothing but a loin cloth and a few feathers and beads walked up to them and inclined his head. Jim bowed and the man nodded at him before motioning James to follow.

“Well,” James shook hands with Jim, “see you around.”

“Peace, bro.”

“Who is he?” James asked just as he was led away by the Indian.

“A weird, naked Indian,” Jim answered.

James started laughing.

The Indian smiled but didn’t speak; he never spoke. He was simply a guide and therefore had no need to speak. James followed the Indian for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only minutes. He couldn’t tell.

He was led through a succession of slightly curved areas. Each room, for lack of a better term, had a group of people sitting or standing near a closed set of oak double doors on the inner curved wall, with what looked to be an ornate balancing scale design engraved upon it. Eventually, they reached what was apparently James’ waiting room. The Indian motioned to an empty seat. James inclined his head respectfully and sat down on it.

The Indian nodded in return and left.

Some indeterminable time passed as James sat and waited for something, anything, to happen.

Suddenly, the large double doors swung open, revealing a giant man in a dark charcoal suit and a long golden sword in a scabbard attached to his belt. James raised an eyebrow at this and somehow knew that the man was the Bailiff.

The Bailiff walked into the hallway and eyed James, saying, “Mr. Smith?”

James nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Come with me, please.”

James rose in a rush and walked with the armed giant through the double doors which closed automatically after they passed through.

The room itself was shaped like an auditorium or lecture hall with theater seating. Its walls and ceilings were white with engravings of various scenes focusing on the concept of Justice--often represented by an angel with a sword.

As James walked down the steps various people sat watching on both sides of the aisle. Based upon their dress he guessed that they were from different time periods of Earth’s history. Some looked positively bored, others sat watching with keen interest, while still others chatted amongst themselves.

At the ground floor were three podiums a few feet apart, facing away from the gallery and towards an elevated boxed seat. If this room were in fact a courtroom, that box seat would be where the judge would sit.

James spotted Jim sitting in the gallery and the man flashed him a wink as James was led to his seat between two of the podiums.

As he sat down, James noted what appeared to be a jury box to his right. Seated within it were people that bore a close resemblance to Benedict Arnold, Lizzy Borden, Richard Nixon, John Wilkes Booth, Edward Teach, John Dillinger, and the 1976 Philadelphia Flyers.

James watched as the Bailiff strode to the side of the bench. As he did so, another man, with a serious looking face and somber black robes walked out of a side door and up to the seat.

At the podium to his left a scruffy looking lawyer suddenly appeared, --an older gentleman in a suit that seemed somewhat in disarray. Glancing to his right, he saw a smooth-looking man dressed in a sharp, sleek suit with a dark red tie, his hair combed back, and his eyes alight with some untold joke.

“Oyez, oyez, oyez. All rise and give your attention. The honorable Judge Archangel Raguel presiding.” The Judge nodded his head at the Bailiff, who then responded, “This court is now in session.”

Judge Raguel sat down, looked around, and sighed, “Is the Counsel for Heaven prepared?”

“Yes, your Honor,” the man to his left said, surprising James.

“And the Counsel for Hell?”

The man to his right, the Counsel for Hell, chuckled, “Of course, your Honor.”

Finally, the Judge looked at James. “The Appellant will speak his name clearly.”

James blinked, “James William Smith, your Honor.”

“You are James William Smith, born in 1979 to Amanda and Andrew Smith of England, and perishing in 2114.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” James said with a nod.

“Very well,” Judge Raguel nodded. “The counsel for Heaven may begin his argument.”

The Counsel for Heaven straightened his tie before stepping up to his podium. “May it please the Court, the issue here today in the matter of the Appellant, James William Smith, is whether the aforementioned is to be sent to Heaven or to Hell.”

James sat back resignedly. Aside from the periodic donation to some religious organization or another he hadn’t really given thought to God or religion through most of his adult life. The last time he had been in a church was to attend his mother’s funeral.

Heaven or Hell? Where would he be headed?

The Counselor for Heaven motioned to the space in front of James and a large, golden, Scale of Justice appeared. “According to the applicable codes, Appellants are judged by their actions.” The two pans began filling up with what appeared to be very fine sand.

“In the case of the Appellant, there’s not much, ah, substance.” The sand trickled to a stop on both sides. James noted that there was not very much sand at all in the pans. Had his life been that empty? That meaningless? “This, in itself, is not sufficient to render a case unusual. However, that is.” The counselor pointed to the very fine pointer on the beam. It read, very clearly, zero.”

Zero?

James turned his head in a daze, looking at the scales and, yup, they were equally balanced. Was that such a bad thing or did boring equate to not getting into Heaven these days?

“As for each and every act of goodness or badness committed by the Appellant,” the counselor picked up and dropped a thin stack of documents, “Insofar as they exist at all, their weight has long been established precedent. In the normal course of the resolving of an Appellant’s disposition, it is made self-evident by the comparative weight of Righteousness and Sinfulness as measured by the Scale.” Here, the Counselor motioned again towards the golden balance, “And all that remains is for the Court to decide the proper degree of treatment that is warranted.”

Judge Raguel seemed to be slightly annoyed, “Counselor, the Court is quite aware of the full text, findings, and procedures of Law. Please move on to your point.”

“Very well, Your Honor,” the Counselor for Heaven continued, “It is only by the commission of a deleterious imbalance of infractions against Heavenly Law that an Appellant is Damned. Even then, it is only by degree that punishment is rendered. Therefore, it is the contention of Heaven that as Man was originally created perfect and without Sin, being considered Good by default, the disposition of the Appellant should be judged as Heaven and a Sentencing Hearing scheduled to determine the full extent of his Reward in accordance to the Law.” He then stepped back from his podium.

The Judge wrote what appeared to be a note and then nodded towards the Counsel for Hell. James listened intently to Hell’s legalistic rebuttal which amounted to saying that while Man might have been considered Good by default at one time it did not necessarily mean that Man is still Good by default. Moreover, any given individual, James in this case, could not be considered to be on par with a perfect human.

Heaven simply replied that the matter was about James’ spirit. A spirit is created good and should not be considered bad without just cause.

After Heaven rested its case, the Judge then instructed the Counsel for Hell to present his case.

The Counsel for Hell smoothly stepped forward towards his podium and began. “May it please the Court, we are not here to merely ascertain the fate of one immortal spirit, but to ensure that Justice is preserved. My esteemed colleague would argue that Man is still to be treated as if the darkness of his history has not stained his spirit. Mankind’s history is full of murder, injustice, oppression, and worst of all, an almost pathological inability to keep faith with God, let alone his spouse or his fellow Man.”

James listened intently to Hell’s argument. He entertained no illusion that he could be held up as some example of moral virtue, but he had no recollection of any crime, if that’s what it was, beyond the sort of fibbing that he had committed as a child and teenager regarding accidents and homework. Moreover, he had never been a priest, been married or even engaged. He had never vowed anything.

It seemed as if Heaven’s Counselor had indeed been paying attention as he brought up the very same issues.

James, the Counselor pointed out, had never been the sort of person to commit to anything. So, while he wasn’t what Heaven would consider to be a model for humanity neither could he be painted with the wide brush strokes that the Counselor for Hell had used. For, if such sins could be attributed to all of humankind, then no man or woman, no matter what acts of goodness they committed, could escape damnation to Hell.

Hell, it seemed, wasn’t dissuaded in the least. The Counselor conceded that it was true that James was not a mass murderer like Charles Manson, a thief like Jamie Dimon, or a liar like any of the politicians produced in the twentieth century but countered that whether he had committed those sorts of crimes was not the question. He claimed that it was by his membership and participation in a human society that committed such crimes that showed guilt by association and should have these sins considered when determining his disposition.

After Hell had rested its case Judge Raguel asked for the Counselors’ final statements.

Heaven waxed eloquent that because James was not a bad person, as proven by the lack of major crimes and the very clear indication given by the Scales of Justice, he should be committed to Heaven where he would work to further goals of the Angelic Bureaucracy. James didn’t care for the way that the Counselor phrased things. It seemed as if Heaven was as much of a punishment as Hell seemed to be.

Hell simply stood up and pointed to James, proclaiming that however mediocre the crimes he committed he was still a Man and as a Man he should share in the blame for Mankind’s sins. And the price for those sins, he thundered, should be his immediate disposition to Hell! However mealy-mouthed Heaven was James was certain that Hell was not where he wanted to go.

Judge Raguel charged the Jury to find a verdict and they filed out to deliberate.

James wondered how long it would take. He recalled that juries could take weeks to decide a person’s fate, particularly for capital crimes. The Judge, on the other hand, appeared unaware of this and seemed to be having a congenial chat with the two Counselors. It seemed to James that it was true that judges and lawyers were cut of the same cloth and the only difference was who paid their wages. Then again, he considered, he wasn’t certain that there were any sort of pay in the afterlife.

James’ musings were interrupted by the Jury’s sudden reappearance in the Courtroom. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

After the Jury returned, the Jury foreman passed a note to the Bailiff. That note was then passed to Judge Raguel who read it. “The Jury, after careful deliberation, has been unable to come to a verdict. Therefore, the Jury is hung.”

Murmurs spread throughout the Gallery behind James and the two Counselors appeared a bit frustrated.

Judge Raguel tapped his gavel and there was the rumble of thunder in the courtroom.

“Order in the Court!” After silence ensued he continued speaking. “Before I rule a mistrial do the Counselors have anything to add?”

An idea struck James out of the blue. “Damned if you do,” he mused to himself with a smile.

Counsel for Heaven stood. “No, Your Honor.”

Counsel for Hell stood. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

Before the Judge could say anything more, James stepped up to his podium. He could feel all of the eyes within the courtroom looking upon him as he spoke. “Your Honor, if it please the Court, I would like to say something.”

The Counselors seemed nonplussed, but The Judge nodded, “The Appellant may speak.”

“Well, Your Honor, members of the Jury, and Counselors, I would like to propose that not going to either Heaven or Hell is in itself a valid determination, one that is reinforced by the Jury being unable to find for Heaven or for Hell.”