Chapter 11

The New Pittsburgh City Administration building was 111 stories high, located in the older section of downtown, five blocks from the capital building itself. Like most of the buildings in this part of the city, it was of pre-revolutionary construction and the drabness of the architecture-which had been designed with cost-savings in mind as opposed to aesthetics-was its primary feature. It was within this building that the New Pittsburgh branch of the Martian court system dwelled, taking up all of the office space on floors 50 through 54. In the back corner of the 53rd floor was Courtroom 5, which was currently the realm of Judge Diode Skinman.

The courtroom was a large, open room carpeted in Martian red, as were most of the government offices on the planet. It resembled an Earth courtroom in only a superficial manner. The Judge's podium was not really a podium at all, just a standard plastic office desk sitting atop a portion of the floor that had been raised about a meter. Next to the desk, still on the raised portion, was a chair that served as the witness stand. On the main level of the floor, three meters in front of the testimony area, were two simple tables, one for each of the lawyers and the principals of whatever case was being discussed. Circling around the entire assemblage, in optimum position for viewing the proceedings, were twenty chairs for the fifteen jury members and five alternates. Against the back wall was a bleacher style arrangement of seats for the public to sit in should they be so inclined. Though not many people bothered viewing trials on Mars, on this day things were a little different. Every one of the public seats was filled with reporters, family members of the defendant, family members of the victim in this case, and the just plain curious. The case of Mars vs. Griffith-a possible murder that had captured the attention of the entire planet-was about to be heard.

Ken Frazier was sitting in the third from the middle of the jury box chairs. This was his tenth and last day of serving as one of Judge Skinman's jurors, his mandatory two-week stint at an end. Jury duty on Mars, as he had found, was not quite the same as it had been back on Earth. Here on Mars the rules and procedures of doing one's civic duty actually made sense and were designed to be as painless as possible.

The selection of those who would serve jury duty was pretty much the same-a random assortment of citizens from the city in which the courtroom was located, their names pulled from the census computer. On Mars, though, one did not easily get himself or herself excused from fulfilling the duty. Very few excuses were accepted in regard to employment or family obligations since the Martian government paid the full salary of a worker for the duration and professional, in-home childcare was provided at no cost to those who needed it. As a result, a comprehensive cross section of Martian society would typically be found in any jury box, not only the retirees, the unemployed, and the just plain morons who weren't smart enough to get out of it.

The two-week duration of jury service was another difference from Earth days. A Martian juror was put into a jury that sat in judgment over every case that came through that particular judge's courtroom over the course of ten working days. No longer were lawyers for either side allowed to pick and choose what kind of jurors they wished to hear their cases. They were not allowed to question them or know anything about them at all. A juror's personal views or past experiences were considered irrelevant. The only valid reasons for removal from a particular case was personal knowledge of one of the principals involved or some sort of clear ethical conflict of interest. This system worked because unanimity was no longer required for conviction in a criminal case or for a verdict in a civil case. No longer could a single juror with a radical viewpoint or a terminal case of stupidity or simple preconceived notions hang a jury and cause a mistrial. If ten or more of the fifteen jurors agreed a suspect was guilty, he or she was deemed guilty. For a verdict of innocence or for decision in a civil suit, a simple majority was all that was needed.

The speed and efficiency of the Martian justice system meant that in a two-week period the average juror could hear testimony in as many as five different matters every single day. Martian trials moved quickly. Showmanship, blustering, and misdirection were not allowed and were rarely attempted. The lawyers for each side of whatever case were employees of the Martian government and, though they were charged with being the advocate of the side they represented, they were bound by stringent ethical rules. Their overriding concern was not to win their case at all costs but to expose The Truth, no matter what The Truth was and regardless of whether or not it was a hindrance to their client or to the state. Gone were the days when each side would have its own expert witnesses on certain matters, each paid handsomely to say whatever the lawyer wanted him or her to say. The average trial these days came to the court's attention less than a week after the matter in question and lasted less than an hour.

Ken had initially been a bit skeptical of such a system, so ingrained with twentieth century attitudes toward crime and punishment was he. When first told of how Martian justice operated it actually made him a bit uneasy-visions of Nazi Germany or African nation show trials spinning in his head. The defense team working for the same government agency as the prosecution? Limits on what kind of defense testimony was allowed? But after seeing the system in action and participating in it, he was forced to conclude it really was fair, impartial, and most of all, efficient. He had sat in judgment over matters both criminal and civil and in each case the testimony delivered was succinct and to the point. Assault cases, theft cases, a robbery, a case of child abuse, a dispute between business partners over ownership of a valuable component, a breach of contract case between two other business partners-all were laid out in a matter of an hour or less and sent to the jury in less than two hours. In no case did Ken get the impression he was being led by the nose toward a forgone conclusion or that he was merely a rubber stamp for a decision that had already been made, this despite the fact that in every criminal case so far the verdict had been a unanimous guilty one and that in every civil case the plaintiff had prevailed. That was simply because of the fact that cases without merit were not brought to trial in the first place.

And now, by simple luck of the draw, he would hear the case of Mars vs. Griffith, which had been all everyone had talked about for the past week planet wide. Murders on Mars, while drastically less common than had been the case on Earth, were not unheard of. The New Pittsburgh Police Department investigated, on average, fifteen to twenty homicides every Martian calendar year. Most of these were spur of the moment murders committed in a fit of rage, either between spouses or squabbling acquaintances. As in Ken's day, such incidents were usually fueled by alcohol or drugs and tended to be confined to the lower classes of society. Angleworth Griffith, on the other hand, was one of the richest men in New Pittsburgh, the owner of a prominent Internet advertising agency and, instead of being accused of a spur of the moment killing in a fit of rage, he was accused of the cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder of his wife, Kinsley Griffith, a well-known actress who had starred in several entertainment movies over the years.

Only the barest facts of the case were currently known to the general public, including Ken and his fellow jurors. The Martian media, though completely independent and, for the most part, free, were bound by a stringent code of ethics and subject to oversight. They were not allowed to report speculation or innuendo as fact and the New Pittsburgh Police and the Martian court system were not allowed to release any investigation details prior to trial. All that was known was that Kinsley Griffith had filed for divorce from Angleworth two months before. No reason for divorce was required on Mars and none was given in this case. A week after the filing, Kinsley was reported missing by Angleworth. A search was undertaken for the actress but nothing turned up until six weeks later when her decomposing body was finally found in a large lake at the Red Hills Golf Course in the south part of the city. An autopsy was performed. Two days later, Griffith was arrested and charged with murder. A preliminary hearing was held the next day-in secret as was the Martian custom-and he was ordered tried. Now, eight days later, the case was being called on Ken's last day of jury service.

A uniformed and fully armored New Pittsburgh police officer stood near the judge's desk and served as the bailiff. He had been perusing something on his PC but now he perked up as he heard a transmission over his radio link. He nodded to himself and then made the announcement that court was returning to session. "Here come The Man," he said.

The doors at the rear of the courtroom slid open and Judge Skinman strolled in. No one rose in his honor-it simply was not done on Mars-but the babble of conversation that had been permeating the room died down. There were no elaborate trappings to the office of judge as had been the case on Earth-no black robes, no wigs, no hats. Skinman wore a faded T-shirt, upon which was a silhouette of a couple practicing rear entry intercourse. The inscription on the shirt declared that his honor had won the Stinky Slut Club's annual botching contest the previous year. He sat down in his chair, belched wetly, cracked his knuckles, and then looked at the crowd that had gathered.

"What the fuck's the haps?" he greeted politely, leaning back a bit and yawning. He looked at his jurors. "I trust you all got down and stinky on your lunch hour?" he asked them. "I know I did."

No one answered his rhetorical question, although Ken had certainly gotten down and stinky, as he had every one of the last six lunch hours of jury duty. The two companions he had gotten down and stinky with, Dazzle Yamamoto and Sandra Mendez, were sitting on either side of him. Both chuckled at the judge's words, giving meaningful glances to Ken. The looks did not go unnoticed by Skinman.

"Well then," he said, offering a knowing grin, "It's good to know the freedoms won by our Founding Parents are not going unused. Laura bless Mars. And now, to business. Next on the docket is the case of Mars vs. Griffith, a murder trial." He glanced at the lawyers' tables, where the prosecuting and defense attorney were both seated. "I see council for both sides is here. Mr. Ragney, are your witnesses all present?"

"Fuckin' aye," the prosecuting attorney replied. "They're chillin' in the holding rooms."

"That's the shit," Skinman responded. "And you, Mrs. Waggins? Are your witnesses present?"

"Fuckin' aye," she said.

Skinman nodded. "Well, lets get some lube on the asshole then," he said. He turned to the bailiff. "Zinger, bring in the defendant."

"Fuckin' aye," the bailiff said. He spoke into his radio link for a second. A minute later the side doors of the courtroom slid open and another police officer led in Angleworth Griffith.

Griffith was tall and conservatively groomed for Martian culture, his hair short, neat, and uncolored by any sort of genetic stimulation. He was dressed the same as any prisoner being held in the New Pittsburgh jail facility-in a pair of brief orange shorts and a matching half shirt with NPPD PRISONER stenciled boldly on the front and back. His hands were manacled in front of him but other than that no restraints were binding him. Escape from the courtroom might be theoretically possible if he moved very quickly and the NPPD officers on shift were very incompetent, but there was no way he would ever get further than the stairway before the building was locked down tight and he was tracked by means of a bracelet attached to his left wrist that was fitted with a triangulation transmitter and was virtually irremovable if the NPPD didn't wish it removed or if the person in question did not have access to a fully equipped machine shop. He was led over to the defendant's table where he took a seat next to the lawyer assigned to his case. Griffith's face was expressionless as he settled in. No communication was exchanged, either verbal or through body language, as he settled in.

"Angleworth Griffith," Judge Skinman said formally, "you stand accused of one count of pre-meditated murder. At your preliminary hearing you pled not guilty. Does that plea still stand?"

"Fuckin' aye," Griffith said.

"The court's down with it," Skinman answered back. He turned to the prosecuting attorney. "Let's get it on."

He got it on. It took him just under ninety minutes to present the entire case. He made a brief opening statement in which he declared he would show that circumstantial evidence pointed to the conclusion that Griffith had strangled his wife in their home, transported her body to the lake in which it was eventually found, and sunk it there by using metal chains. He then began calling witnesses. Each one was on the stand less than ten minutes, with the exception of the lead police detective, who was there for nearly thirty. The story of the alleged murder was presented in chronological order for the most part.

It was shown that after Griffith's wife had filed for divorce, Griffith had been heard complaining to acquaintances in the Covington Heights Social Club-a rather high class intoxicant and botch establishment-that the liberal Martian divorce laws were going to allow her much more of his fortune than he really wanted to part with. This testimony was offered by the bartender and one of the regulars to the club. The prosecution pointed out that no less than six other people could testify to the same basic conversation if need be. Need did not be. The defense attorney conceded that the point had been made.

Six days later, Griffith's wife turned up missing. The police officer who took the report testified that Griffith told her he had last seen his wife the night before, when she'd gone to bed in a separate room of the house. Griffith's story was that he went to work the next morning without checking on her and found her missing upon his return that evening. Mrs. Griffith's PC-which she could have been tracked with-was still on her bedroom dresser, something that raised immediate concern. It was quite unusual in modern culture for a person to leave their house voluntarily while not in possession of their PC.

The lead detective-who had uncovered the witnesses from the Covington Heights Social Club-explained how he had used that information, coupled with the mysterious disappearance, to obtain a search warrant for Griffith's house and office. In the house he found soil and moss residue on the bottom of a pair of Griffith's shoes. Fresh laundry soap residue was found on the sheets and pillowcases of Mrs. Griffith's bed, suggesting that the linen here had been recently laundered. A check of the lint trap in their dryer turned up fibers that matched this linen, confirming it had been in the last load run through, this despite the fact that their bitch-a woman named Darla Sankey-had been on vacation for the three days proceeding the disappearance and the other laundry had been piling up since. A further look at the bed itself turned up trace amounts of Mrs. Griffith's blood on the mattress-blood that decay rate analysis proved had been there less than 72 hours. When the detective asked Mr. Griffith about these discoveries his answers were far from enlightening. He claimed no knowledge of when the linen had been washed last even though analysis of the soap residue indicated it had been washed in a twelve-hour window that fit quite neatly into the time period in which anyone but Mr. Griffith had last seen Mrs. Griffith and well after the departure of the bitch for vacation. Griffith also claimed to have no knowledge of where the soil and moss residue on his shoes had come from, although he offered a vague explanation about how he had gone to a nearby park for a walk the day before her disappearance. And as for the blood residue, he had no explanation whatsoever and claimed complete ignorance of how it might have come to be there.

It was then explained by a forensics expert how the soil sample from Griffith's shoe was analyzed and compared with the soil from the nearby park he'd claimed to have visited. Since every park in New Pittsburgh was constructed directly on the bare soil at that particular geographic region, it was quite easy to eliminate that particular park as the source of the shoe soil. It was also nothing more than a process of elimination to start going through other areas in the city where bare soil was exposed, one by one, and comparing a sample in each with the shoe soil until a match was made. It took several weeks but eventually pay dirt was struck at the Red Hills Golf Course. On the eleventh hole of the course, near a sharp dogleg left, 130 meters from the green, a near perfect match was found beside a lake. Infrared spectrographs were brought in and, sure enough, there was Mrs. Griffith's body, stuffed in a canvas bag and wrapped with heavy metal chains, sitting at the bottom.

An autopsy revealed she had died from strangulation and had suffered several cuts to her face just prior to death. There was no evidence of sexual assault. Fibers stuck in her clothing revealed she had been lying on the linen that had been found on her bed shortly before her death. The type of canvas bag she had been wrapped in was identical to the type used at Griffith's office for storing computer components. The type of chains used to weight her down were identical to the type used by the maintenance department of the building in which his office was located for doing outside maintenance. One such set of chains had been noted to be missing from the building's inventory during the investigation.

At this point in the trial, the prosecution rested its case and the defense attorney took over. On Earth, in Ken's day, any decent ambulance chaser would have been able to get Griffith off, especially considering his fame. The evidence was entirely circumstantial and the burden of proof that would have been required was "beyond a reasonable doubt." In addition, speculation about any number of wild, improbable theories could have been introduced to the jury as possible explanations for the damning facts. On Mars, however, defense attorneys were forbidden from employing such antics. If no evidence for a harebrained explanation was forthcoming, said explanation would not be introduced. This included the defendant's own harebrained explanations. Griffith's attorney was able to do little more than repeat that Griffith claimed he hadn't killed his wife. Though she had been charged by the constitution with investigating his story in every way, with running down every lead he gave her that might have suggested his innocence, she had received no such leads and there had been nothing to run down. She had no witnesses to call and her half of the trial lasted less than ten minutes. After brief closing statements, the case was given to the jury.

"Check it, my fine ass-fuckers," Skinman told them before sending them to deliberation. "By now, I'm sure you're down with the standards of the Martian court system. You've heard all the testimony, been told all the facts that have been uncovered. If your common sense tells you that Angleworth Griffith murdered his wife, then you must vote guilty. If your common sense also tells you that Angleworth Griffith pre-meditated this murder, you must vote that he's guilty of pre-meditation. That's the shit. Now go get it on."

The deliberation took less than ten minutes. An initial vote on the question of innocence or guilt proved unanimous in favor of the latter. A brief discussion was required on the issue of pre-meditation, with two of the jurors speculating that maybe... just maybe, it might have been an impulsive act of violence, but in the end, that vote too was unanimous. Their foreman-in this case a forewoman, Dazzle Yamamoto-noted down their verdict and told the computer they were ready. They were led back to the courtroom where the judge, the defendant, and everyone else were still sitting.

"You have a verdict?" Skinman asked.

"Fuckin' aye," Dazzle told him.

"That's the shit," Skinman said. "Lay it on me."

"Guilty as charged," she said immediately, without pausing for dramatic purposes.

"The vote?" the Judge wanted to know.

"Unanimous."

"Guilty of murder then," Skinman said. "And on the subject of pre-meditation?"

"Guilty as charged, unanimous as a motherfucker."

Skinman nodded, stifling a belch and reaching down to scratch his balls. "I guess that'll do it then," he said. He turned to Angleworth, who had buried his head in his hands. "Mr. Griffith, look up at me."

Angleworth raised his head, revealing fear on his face now and a few tears streaming down from his eyes.

"You've been found guilty of pre-meditated murder," he told him. "The penalty for such a crime under Martian law is life imprisonment at hard labor. Your ass is outta here. You are hereby stripped of all constitutional rights and will be remanded to the custody of the Martian Planetary Penal System, effective immediately. Now take a flying fuck at Phobos, you slimy scumbag. This trial is adjourned."

The same police officer who had escorted him into the room now escorted him back out. Griffith continued to weep but did not resist. By day's end he would be discharged from the New Pittsburgh jail and transferred to a planetary prison facility. He could appeal his sentence from there if he wished but the appellate court and the Martian Supreme Court itself would not hear the case unless there was a clear case of misconduct during the trial or unless some new evidence to suggest innocence was discovered. What he could do there, however, was end his own life. Not only were lifers not kept on suicide watch but they were provided with a lethal dose of narcotics if they requested it. About half of those sentenced to life in prison took this particular road within their first six months.

The reporters, members of the public, and family members of the principals all made their way out of the courtroom through the back door. The lawyers, after a brief conference with Skinman, exited through a side door. This left the jurors alone with the judge. He looked at his watch, seemed to think for a minute, and then began to speak. "The next on the docket is Mars vs. Cousely, which is another assault case. We probably have time to run it out before 1700 but I say, fuck it. This is the last day of jury service for you motherfuckers and it's within the realm of conceivability that his case just might take longer than the end of this particular day. So, with that in mind, I'll dismiss you early. You've been a good jury. Thank you for getting down with your civic duty and you're all free of further jury service obligation for two years. Court is adjourned for the weekend. Party on, Martians."

With that he stood, belched again, farted, and then strolled out through the back door to his chambers. The jurors all looked at each other for a moment and then stood. They spent a few moments saying farewell since they would not be meeting again. Hugs were exchanged, even a few kisses, particularly among those cliques that had formed. Ken gave very large hugs to Sandra and Dazzle, the members of his particular clique. Dazzle was a fourteen-year-old mother of three. She worked part time as a childcare specialist for the Martian Day Care system. Sandra was a professional woman of nineteen. A computer systems engineer, she worked for the Martian Government in the communications department. She had yet to find that special someone to marry and have children with although, like most women her age, she was extremely passionate about sex.

"It's been a lot of fun fucking you two," Ken told them as they walked arm in arm out the door. He didn't offer to keep in touch with them because he really didn't want to, nor did they him, or each other for that matter. They were really nothing more than casual acquaintances. It was just that on Mars, casual acquaintances liked to fuck each other.

"Yes," Dazzle agreed. "You guys made jury duty a little less boring."

"I thought it was pretty static too," Sandra put in. "And hey, since Skinman let us out early, why don't we go and tear off one more quick one? I don't have anything better to do."

"Sounds good to me," Dazzle said casually, taking a quick glance at her watch.

Ken looked at his own watch. "I'm meeting my girlfriend after jury duty today," he said. "But since we are out early, I guess I could come over for a bit."

"Well fuckin' aye then," Sandra said, smiling. "Let's go."

They went, walking the six blocks to Sandra's apartment-the scene of most of their earlier forays. Once inside they wasted little time before getting down to business. They stripped off their clothing in the doorway and headed directly for the living room. Ken sat down on the couch and the two women knelt before him, passing his cock back and forth so each could suck it, bringing him to an impressive state of erection. They ran their hands over each other's bodies as they ministered to him, paying particular attention to the breasts. Once all were quite hot and bothered, they switched positions, Dazzle sitting on the couch and Sandra kneeling between her legs to lick her bald pussy. Ken got behind Sandra and licked her pussy for a while, enjoying the taste, before sitting up and putting himself inside her from the rear, slamming in and out of her aggressively in a manner he'd learned she preferred. After Dazzle's orgasm, the ladies switched places. Dazzle had a bit of an anal fetish and immediately attacked Sandra's asshole with her mouth. Ken fucked Dazzle in the pussy for a few strokes and then pulled out and put himself in her ass. She was very tight here and had impressive control of her muscles. He rubbed her clitoris as he fucked, just barely managing to give her another orgasm before shooting his own load deep into her bowels.

Ken rested for a bit after pulling out of her, smoking a cigarette while the two women pleasured each other in a 69. After butting his smoke in an ashtray he was hard again so he slid himself into Sandra once more, plunging in and out while Dazzle licked and sucked her clitoris. This sent Sandra careening into a multi-orgasmic frenzy that lasted nearly ten minutes and left her a quivering mess at the end of it. Dazzle then extricated herself from the bottom of the pile and went around behind Ken. As he pushed and pulled out of the semi-catatonic Sandra, Dazzle ran her tongue up and down in the crack of his ass, probing into his rear hole from time to time until he blasted another load. She then knelt down and sucked all of his offering from Sandra's pussy.

He looked at his watch once again and was shocked to see that it was now 1750. He was supposed to meet Slurry at his home in only ten minutes. "Shit," he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I gotta go."

He dressed quickly and said his final goodbyes to his two jury duty companions. They gave him one last kiss apiece and went back to their embrace of each other as he headed out the door. As he walked to the nearest tram station he pulled out his PC. "Com Slurry," he told it.

A few seconds went by and the hologram of her face appeared before him. "Hi, Ken," she said, smiling. "You running late?"

"Yeah," he said. "I lost track of time. Sorry. Where are you at now?"

"I'm at your place," she said. "Just got here. You didn't answer the door so I went ahead and went in. How long until you get home?"

He was not concerned or surprised that Slurry had gone right into his apartment. They had been dating for three months now and he had long since given her access to his residence, as she had given access to hers. They spent as much time together as they could spare from their other obligations and both had even slept over at the other's place on several occasions, although always in separate bedrooms. True to the Martian tradition of courtship, they still hadn't had sexual contact with each other-nothing more than the occasional passionate session of tongue kissing when things were particularly heated. As a result, they had been able to explore their growing friendship with each other without complicating it by sexuality. It was a friendship that had grown into what Ken could only describe as love, although neither of them had declared this emotion to each other yet.

"I'm still downtown," he said. "Figure about half an hour or so if I catch a tram right at the station."

"Okay, you flake," she said affectionately. "I'll just have to find something to do here while I wait. See you in a bit."

"See you then, Slur," he said. "And I'm sorry about the time. You know it's not like me."

"Fuckin' aye," she said, and then blew him a kiss. She signed off and her hologram disappeared. He smiled warmly and put the PC away.

He arrived at his building exactly 33 minutes later, taking the elevator up to his apartment and using his fingerprint to open the door. He saw that Slurry had indeed found something to do while she waited. She was sitting in his desk chair before his computer screen, his VR helmet on her head, his VR gloves on her hands, and female enhancement stimulators snaking both under her half-shirt, where they connected with her breasts, and under the leg of her shorts, where a stimulus would be cupped around her vaginal region. She was breathing very heavily, her pelvic region rocking slowly back and forth.