Liberty and Property
(To geeks: I know I took liberties with a depiction of electricity. Enjoy the story as-is, if you can.)
(To lawyers: I know I took liberties with a depiction of civil procedure. It is supposed to be a different legal system than currently exists.)
(Meta note: Many thanks to [Draugr](%5C), whose series inspired me to write this.)
Liberty and Property
"You owe me, Gerald," Marylyn insisted on the other end of the line.
"Perhaps, but not that much," the german shephard replied, "I've never heard of a contract like that!"
"All the more reason," she teased. "You could have a case with your name on it in all of the textbooks."
He laughed. "I wouldn't want it in under -- what did you call this thing?"
"A slave contract."
Gerald winced. "It even sounds horrible! It's an offense to the very concept of personal liberty!"
"But you'd be on the side of liberty, defending him," she pointed out.
If the contract were obviously flawed, and he could counter sue, then he might get something for it. But as it was, his fee would not justify defending such a strange action.
"Will you at least talk to him?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Gerald sighed, and agreed. At the very least, he did feel sympathy with his potential client from the way she described his situation. He told her this client should be in his office at opening time early next week.
When Gerald showed up next Monday, however, he saw not a client, but a bum. A scrawy coyote, wearing heavily stained clothes and smelling faintly of trash, was asleep on the steps. He was curled up into a ball, head resting on his hands and unkempt tail hooked around his legs. Somehow, he looked amazingly comfortable.
"Hey," Gerald said somewhat gruffly, nudging the bum gently, "you supposed to be here?"
The coyote slowly stretched, and stood up. "Sorry Sir," he yawned -- and was quite surprised when he looked to see who nudged him. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "you're Gerald Martin?" he asked.
"Yes," Gerald replied, as he realized this must be the creature who Marylyn had given him.
The coyote slowly extended his arm to present a surprisingly clean hand. "Russell," he replied weakly without a smile.
Gerald took it, and shook it, finding the weight and texture like a floppy dead fish, but quickly showed him into his small office.
"Have you been here all night?" he asked nervously, feeling a small bit of guilt in his brush-off.
"Just since 4 AM," he answered, "I don't got a place to sleep."
Gerald presumed that was one significant piece of the contract, so didn't ask any further. Instead, he tried to follow procedure. "Have a seat," he offered, gesturing to a steel chair without fabric. He can't ruin that, Gerald thought.
The coyote sat down, seeming to somehow find a comfortable spot that Gerald could not see, and looked up at him at his standing desk.
It was hard for Gerald not to look into those soft brown eyes and want to get rid of him, but with the thought of Marylyn, he avoided it. "Now, let's get right to it. Tell me why you're here."
"I'm getting sued, Sir, and I'm scared." His voice was a little shaky, but more tired than anything.
"Okay, who's suing you, and what for?" This was information Gerald already had from Marylyn, but wanted to check Russell's understanding.
"Um, I don't know what for, Sir, just -- I ran away, and my master wants me back."
"Did you sign a contract with him?"
"Yes sir."
"And so he is suing you for breaking the contract?"
"I guess, sir. But I don't want to go back, he was mean to me." His voice was weak, but there was a tear in his eye.
Gerald wasn't sure how to handle this, but just tried to muddle through. "What did he do?" he asked in a completely level tone.
But Russell exploded. "He locked me outside!" he suddenly yelled, making Gerald flinch, "I didn't do anything to him! I signed something, but please don't send me back! Please!!"
Gerald looked at the coyote like the shattered shards of a glass he had dropped. He was used to dealing with businessmen, sometimes fast-talking and sometimes threatening, but nothing like this. He tried reassuring the coyote with "take it easy," and "it's okay," but it had no effect.
Not sure what else would happen, he called Marylyn. She jogged over in 5 minutes, and managed to calm the coyote down with a bunch of touchy-feely stuff she used to get children to talk about their divorcing parents. The vixen finally managed to get Russell to focus on Gerald, who could do nothing but soften his eyes and talk quietly.
"Now, Russell, they can't make you go back. That's not legal. If they win, and I'm not saying they will," he inserted when Russell's eyes got big again, "but if they win, then they can just make you pay money."
"You mean like what my master paid me."
"Probably that money, yes."
"But then I'll be broke, and I've already given it to Master Ben!"
"Master Ben?"
With Marylyn's help -- and another tear-filled outburst controlled by Madylyn -- Gerlad managed to get the facts of the case.
He lived with his first "master" Benjamin, and they loved each other, but he ran out of money. Since he could not afford Russell, he "sold" Russell to his second "master" who mistreated him. This "sale" was, in reality, a non-contractual obligation in this subculture: Ben would find a new master, who would take care of Russell as a gift, in exchange for some money perhaps. Since Ben got the money, and Russell was to serve, the court saw this as two unrelated gifts.
But the new "master", Damien, broke with this tradition. Instead he made Russell actually sign something, making it clear the money (now given to Russell) was in exchange for Russell's service: a contract. It was this contract that Damien was suing to enforce: he wanted either Russell back, or his substantial sum of money back. Russell didn't want to give the money back, however, because that was how Ben and Russell were going to rebuild after Russell was returned.
It gave Gerald the strong impression Marylyn should handle this -- a dispute with broken hearts and frayed nerves -- but it was, alas, a contract suit. If Russell was going to keep the money, he would have to argue for its invalidity, hence Gerald was necessary. With Marylyn now present, he tried his best to treat Russell like the rest of his clients.
"Alright, now I want to make sure some facts are right," he began, getting out the complaint. "I'll tell you what's here, and if that's wrong, speak up. Okay?"
"Arf!" he yipped.
A mere flinch and glare of Gerald's shock got the coyote to apologize. "Sorry, sir. It's something my master made me do. 'Speak,' you know -- uh, I understand."
Gerald just nodded in silence, wondering whether the conditioning of that tiny thing shouldn't itself be considered abuse.
He took out his copy of the complaint, and his pen. "Okay. First thing, based on the papers Marylyn sent, your former employer was named Damien Taylor?"
The coyote nodded.
"And about 9 months ago, you signed and agreement with him."
Nod-nod.
"And this agreement was a very long document?"
Nod-nod.
"And you knew what it said?"
"Sort of. I knew what we both wanted out of our relationship, but going to a lawyer seemed -- weird."
Gerald took a note of that. "And there was an additional witness to this contract?"
"Yes, Master Ben," he answered, a small smile creeping onto his face.
"And was he a party to this contract?"
Russell looked confused.
"I mean, he is not on the contract, is he?"
"I don't know," Russell answered, "he was selling me, so maybe."
"Did you ever have a contract with him?"
"No."
Gerald took a note of that too. Selling was an informal agreement, but the other side might argue an established cultural norm was present, and that it should be treated that way. If the judge agreed, then he would be limited in his lines of argument.
"Next question," he asked after he finished writing. His voice became unconcsiously gentle when he looked at Russell, "do you know what exactly you were required to do?"
His eyes started tearing up again.
"It's okay, Russell," Gerald tried to comfort with his voice, despite not moving from behind his desk. Marylyn rubbed his shoulders to help him out, and whan evenually came out of his mouth was a quiet whimper.
"I have to do -- whatever he wants. Anything he wants. Sleep where he wants, eat when he wants -- I can't even make money, I have to give it to him."
Gerlad's eyes lit up: there was a statutory prohibition against contracting away future wages!
Without saying a word, he was getting ready to fight. He knew he could win. "All I need from you," he said, putting down the complaint, "is a retainer. Do you have any money?"
"The bank won't let me touch it, because of the suit."
"Okay, would you sign an agreement to pay m--"
"No!" shouted the coyote, tears starting again, "no more agreements!"
"Okay, okay, take it easy," reassured Gerald. "Will you at least promise, just tell me, you'll pay me? Marylyn will be a witness." He wrote down a pocket change figure on a blank invoice, and handed it to Russell to sign.
"Yes," he answered, writing just his name in jagged letters as his signature.
"Good," Gerald concluded, "now I can get to work." He got them out of his office, and sat down to read.
After reading the complaint, he decided that if the contract were found valid in its entirety, it was iron clad, and the coyote would have to pay. But when Russell produced his copy of the contract later that day, contracting away future wages was just one of several blunders that made this seem highly unlikely.
The first thing was that the set of duties for Russell were all very non-specific. 'Slave shall perform any duty for Master relating to the person or property of Master, within abilities of Slave.' The language was so vague as to be unenforcable: did "stay there" mean in the room, on the floor, or kneeling down? Gerald suspected it was a way to cover up many things too heinous to put in a contract.
The second thing was, at least from Russell's account, that this might be a contract of adhesion, not entered into voluntarily by Russell. Gerald could say that the former master ordered him to enter into a contract without getting his consent. If your master could order a slave to write a letter, his logic went, then they could order you to put your name to something, and you would be compelled to by the cultural norm to do so.
Finally, the most obvious: slavery was contrary to the spirit and letter of the state and world government charters. If all else failed -- Gerald could not see how it would, but was prepared -- then he could go to unconscinability. He would argue that its terms were intended to create indentured servitude, and it should be thrown out out for that reason alone, no matter what it said.
When Gerald explained all this to Russell the next day, with a smile he could not hide, Russell nodded, but was not enthusiastic. He seemed to take it, like his Master imposing a new rule upon him. To Gerald, he seemed like an abused child -- even though Gerald could tell he was well over age.
Putting on his standard contract lawyer persona, Gerald called up the lawyer listed on the complaint. "I represent Mr. Russel Trent, and I wish to speak to Mr. Clark," he told the male who answered.
"I was expecting you call," he replied, voice quite silky.
"Good. Because you should know that you are walking into a fight you can't win."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Since I presume you have some intelligence, I would expect you to agree that the contract you are trying to enforce is full of holes."
"You seem to believe that this suit is going to get past explorations. If what my client tells me is true, then your client will drop the entire thing and settle before then."
"What?" demanded Gerald.
"See you in court," teased the other end. He hung up before Gerald had a chance to say anything else.
What did Damien think he had over Russell? Deciding there was nothing else he could do, Gerald went ahead with his answer to the complaint. It was only 3 days until the deadline; he would have to type fast.
***
Gerald didn't see Russell until an hour before he was scheduled to appear before the judge. While Russell at least cleaned himself up quite considerably, the coyote still looked quite underfed, and kept his fearful, submissive demeanor. It was hard for Gerald to tell what the difference was between conditioning, lack of sleep, and malnourishment.
Marylyn dropped Russell off, and Gerald just tried to get him to remain calm. "Just sit there, and don't say anything. Don't make any noise at all, okay?"
Such an order was, as Gerald hoped, answered with a quick and silent nod. However, when Gerald saw a tall tiger and a rather buff panter walk by on their way into the courtroom, Russell grabbed a hold of Gerald's shoulder and hid behind him.
"Easy," Gerald whispered, height matching the panther's but not build. "Just walk in, sit down, don't move, and stay quiet. Okay?"
Russell, however, didn't let go of Gerald's shoulder for another minute, almost making them late.
Gerald stepped in, bowed at the center asile as was customary, and guided Russell to a chair and sat him down. "Forgive us. Madame Arbiter, my client has some -- emotional difficulties," he said as he finally got the coyote to sit down, too petrified to move.
"You're here now. So, Mr. Clark?" yawned the cheatress with a very cat-like showing of her teeth.
"Yes, Madame Arbiter," smoothly began the tiger, voice just an annoying to Gerald's ear as it was before. "As you have seen, very much is in dispute in this case, even down to whether a contract exists or not. Since this is the case, I would simply move that discovery begin immediately. I should primarily wish to verify that Mr. Trent has not violated any continuing provisions, by either seeking employment, or --"
"I object," interrupted Gerald. "Provision 10 of the contract under dispute is, on its face, unenforcable. I ask for a summary dismissal of it."
The tiger just smiled, as the judge waited for his response. "If the defense wishes to argue the entire contract unenforcable, the plaintiff would accept, on one condition: that the Arbiter consider the -- unusual practices which caused this case be recognized as a culture, and the rules of evidence be expanded to these new grounds."
"Mr. Clark," the cheetress pointed out, "your suit is for Breach of Contract. If you willingly admit this contract is invalid, then you have no case."
"I do not wish my case dismissed. Rather, I wish to expand the form of my complaint from a narrow contract to a substantial duty that was breached. A section 14 violation is the best description of this duty, which was voluntarily entered into, and understood as a contract."
Gerald, however, didn't like that. It was obviously a trick. "If I may say, the format of a contract enshrined by The State was done so with prevention of particular abuses in mind. I feel it would be unfair to change them merely for a tiny set of extenuating circumstances." He clenched his teeth; what on Giaya was Clark up to?
It was in the middle of Clark's reply that he proceedings were interrupted by Russell getting up and running out the door.
The rule was that nothing could proceed unless the Plaintiff and Defendant were both personally present to advise their attorneys, so Gerald had no choice of action. "Excuse me," was all he could say before running after him. He found Russell in the bathroom, locked in a stall, but obviously hiding rather than using it.
"Russell," stated Gerald calmly, "we need you out there."
"I'm sorry," was the whimper of an answer.
"Russell," Gerald growled, "I can't go back there until you come out. It's the law! Now get out here!"
"Please," he whimpered, "leave me. Give in. Pay him the money. Do what he wants!" he whined.
"Russell," Gerald directed, trying to calm his voice, "could you please come out? Just look at me."
It took a moment of silence, but Russell eventually walked out, eyes full of stark terror, and his entire body trembling slightly. "I'm sorry," he whimpered, "but Master -- he'll beat me if I don't go back. He'll do something horrible --"
"How do you know that?"
"He said so!" Russell snapped.
Gerald flinched again, remembering the words of Mr. Clark. "What are you talking about?"
"He said it, just now. He looked at me, and --" Tears appeared in Russell's eyes. "I could see it. He has this whip, he keeps it on the wall, and --"
"Russell!" barked Gerald. The coyote shut up.
"Look at me."
Russell was already looking at him, but stared harder.
"Damien cannot do anything to you. If he threatens you again, you can sue him." Gerald wouldn't mind that case, he thought -- unless Russell would be this difficult again. "And if he threatens you in the courtroom, I can have the judge make him pay a lot of money, on the spot. Okay?"
Russell slowly nodded, but his eyes remained full of fear.
"Trust me: nothing is going to happen to you." He let the silence hang, but decided Russell had nothing to say. "Now, let's go back in there, okay?"
Another nod.
Maybe this is what Clark has in mind, Gerald cynically thought as they returned: Russell would be too unstable to stand up to the process. How many other things could Damien do from across the courtroom that would make Russell cry, or run away, or fly off the handle? This was, indeed, a culture, with norms so thick they would impact procedure. His client's episode was proof of that.
Finally getting the trembling Russell back to his seat, Gerald took a new tack. "My apologies, Madame Arbiter. My client claims that the Plaintiff place a microchip in his brain, to control his thoughts. I move that we perform an immediate search on the Plaintiff for the device's controller."
Mr. Clark and the cheatress looked at him with a look of visceral shock, like he had teleported into the room instead of walking in. "Are you serious, Mr. Martin?" demanded the Arbiter.
"Well, it must be true, for my client is proof. He would never willingly run away from his own defense. So, like Mr. Clark, I am asking for an extralegal procedure to take circumstances into account."
The tiger's smile did not return. "Your point is made," he said gruffly, silky voice becoming the quiet ripping of fabric, "I withdraw my request for the extra evidence rules."
"Well thank you, Mr. Clark," stated the german shephard boldly, "and in return, I would accept the general idea of the live-in slave subculture being considered as a culture. I submit that a well-established interpersonal code was the cause of my client's sudden egress, and anything with that power must be surely be recognized by Madame Arbiter."
After everyone looked at Damien long enough for him to squirm a little, the cheatress gave her verdict. "Very well. I will consider it relevant and real -- but only within the confines of statute. And Mr. Clark, I am issuing your client a restraining order against the defendent. If he causes one more disruption in these proceedings, he'll be in contempt."
Gerald smiled, and gave a backward glance at Russell. The coyote was stunned. That's just what Gerald wanted; for him to learn someone besides his master had his well-being in mind.
"Thank you, Madame Arbiter," Gerald added.
"Now then, Madam Arbiter," continued Mr. Clark, as it was almost what he wanted, "in light of the recognition hereby granted, I submit that the Defendant breached a duty by running away from the Plaintiff, in violation of an agreement that is culturally recognized."
"You will have to prove that," she calmly directed, "but I will entertain the notion."
Gerald nodded, and gave a backward glance at Russell, who had closed his eyes. It would be a real suit after all.
Gerald got time for discovery to prove that the duty was invalid -- or at the very least, did not extend to abuse. He spent the next two weeks digging, and finally managed to find the original author of the contract -- who Gerald thought would make an excellent witness.
"I just assumed it was valid," Jahli swore in his deposition. "That contract would hold up in the state of Aldahar."
"Even with the future wages?" asked Gerald.
"For a short time frame, yes."
"Even the endless renewals?"
"I didn't write endless renewals. They were a series of one-month options for Damien. Russell could get out between the one month options. It was 'at will'."
"It doesn't say that, anywhere," Gerald pointed out.
"The language's meaning was established in precedent of employment law."
"We have a civil code here, sir."
"Oh. I see."
This, Gerald thought, was why it was stupid for the world government to mandate all lawyers be interchangable across states. Rather than rationalizing the laws, it created unwitting slave contracts.
However, there was one sticking point in the process of coming up with the necessary testimony: Russell's previous Master, Benjamin, would have to testify, and he wasn't sure how Russell would react to that. He decided that the best he could do to get a guess was to make Russell watch his deposition.
He brought Russell into his office, and put him beside the court recordist -- who upon seeing the coyote, protected his suitcase of sound equipment like he was placed next to a wild animal.
But Russell didn't stay there long. When the husky appeared, he almost knocked over the equipment jumping up and running into his arms. Rather than crying, or hugging Benjamin, Russell seemed to revert to a wild type and started licking his face.
When the two of them were rubbing each other's backs, half way to fondling, Gerald barked loudly, "Sirs!"
This gave Russell a heart attack, and got the husky's attention quickly enough to put the coyote down.
"We are here to do a depostion, if you two can take a breath," was what he said.
Russell let go, eye gaze seeming very reluctant, and quickly returned to his seat. Through his body moved. his eyes never left the husky.
"Alright," Gerald began as the dog sat down in his assigned chair beside Mr. Clark, "please state your name for the record."
"Benjamin Kingsford," he answered formally.
"Now, Mr. Kingsford, do you know the defendent?"
"Yes sir."
"What relationship did you have with him, about three weeks ago?"
"We were -- romantically involved."
Gerald glanced at Russell; he just kept staring, seeming to process none of the words. Gerald hoped this was a good sign, and decided to start moving the questions to ones of a more personal nature. "How close would you say you were?"
Benjamin though a moment, before smiling gently. "We knew each other inside out."
"Were you part of the live-in slave subculture?"
"Yes, sir." Benjamin got more nervous, but Russell did absolutely nothing.
"And what effect would you say this had on your relationship?"
"It -- strengthened it, and deepened it considerably."
"Do you think Russell feels the same way?"
"I know it."
"How?"
"I can tell in his eyes."
"For the benefit of the record, could you please explain that."
"Okay, um -- well, he's staring at me. He's quiet, so he's not in pain. And his continuous eye contact shows me he's waiting for instructions. He wants to please me, to make me happy."
Gerald noticed happiness in Russell at his mention, but no change. "Why does he watch so intently?" he continued, cringing silently at the words 'please me.'
"Because anything I do, or say, or even feel, he can respond to. With your permission, I could show you."
"Explain first," insisted Gerald, remembering Russell's last episode.
"Well, I can tell him I want to hold him, just by looking."
"Very well, demonstrate."
Benjamin looked straight at Russell, and became slightly sad, eyes softening, and reflecting a sense of longing. Much more orderly than before, Russell got up from his seat, and walked over to Benjamin.
The husky gave him a brief hug, and said, "thanks, Russell," as the court recordist whispered their actions for the benefit of the microphone, and adjusted the sound levels.
Once Russell and Benjamin had resumed their seats, Gerald continued. "But did the look really do it, or was us talking about this giving him an expectation?"
"Oh, he did it for the look. He knows when I'm upset, and he wants me to be happy. Sometimes," he said with a smile, staring at Russell briefly, "he will -- or, used to, anyway, just come up to me when I had a bad day, even when I tried to hide it. He always knows."
Gerald was now getting to the point. "And you have this understanding between you for many things?"
"Oh yes. When I'm tired, when I'm sad, when I'm happy, when -- I want to, uh, be intimate," he said tactfully with a smile.
"And do you think Russell would have these same things with the Plaintiff?"
"I object," interrupted Mr. Clark, and Gerald mentally slapped himself, "he did not admit to knowing the Plaintiff at all."
"My apologies," continued Gerald, "did you 'sell', in this cultural context, Mr. Trent to the plaintiff?"
"Yes sir."
"Okay, now, do you think Russell would have these same -- signals with the Plaintiff?"
"I don't know for sure, but I would guess so. It's pretty common for slaves to learn what their master wants, and do it before they ask."
Gerald decided to stop for a moment; Mr. Clark's silence was uncanny. "You have no questions, Mr. Clark?"
"Not a one," replied the tiger, silk returning to his voice -- silk that made Gerald suspicious.
Gerald decided not to push it and ask if a Master could make a Slave run to the restroom; he just asked a few more question about how much Russell meant to Benjamin, and called it good enough.
Mr. Clark just declared on the recording that everything was in order, and left. Gerald could only hope things would be so orderly in court.
***
Two weeks later, the trial began. As usual, the Plaintiff went first. But Mr. Clark brought only two witnesses to testify, and (apparently to keep Gerald in the dark) did not take depositions. This gave Gerald more power while they were on the stand -- power that he was surprised Mr. Clark would give him, but power he would use to his best advantage.
The first witness, of course, was the plaintiff, Damien Taylor. In his gravelly voice suitable for his height, he basically testified that not only had he earned Russell by the subculture, but had cared for him and built a trusting, affectionate relationship with him. He said, under oath, that he missed him.
If it was true, Gerald thought, he must be a complete sociopath.
Gerald began his cross-examination in a rather bland manner, but it was designed to give Mr. Clark a false sense of security. "Mr. Taylor," he asked first, "you said that you cared for Mr. Trent, is that correct?"
The panther's eyes were sharp, but his body was completely relaxed. "Yes," he replied calmly.
"Would you say that involves discipline?"
"Yes."
"Affection?"
"Yes."
"A lot of compensation on your part?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever harm Russell?"
"No," was the reply without hesitation.
"Did you ever abuse him?"
"No."
"Did you ever exploit him?"
"No."
"Never exploited him, are you sure?"
"I am sure."
"You have never --" Gerald held up a copy of statute. "-- 'caused Russell, through undue persuation, to act in the best interests of another party or yourself, at great expense to himself?'"
"I object," interrupted the tiger, "this definition is not relevant, as the prevailing culture makes 'exploitation' a voluntary part of a relationship."
The cheatress silently turned toward Mr. Martin.
"Madame Arbiter," he replied, "I am referring but to one incident: the sudden egress of my client from this courtroom. I only wish to highlight Mr. Taylor's questionable character."
"Madame Arbiter!" snapped the tiger, "he cannot --!"
"Stay yourself, Mr. Clark," she growled. "Now, Mr. Taylor, council for the defense has a point. I will give you one chance to change your statement. I am ordering the previous two questions and one answer struck, and I will allow Mr. Martin to ask a more specific question, including the definition. Go ahead, Mr. Martin."
"Mr. Taylor. Section 14, subsection 2, paragraph 23 of the Civil Code of this state reads: 'The term of exploitation, as defined in these torts -- and it lists some -- shall have a standard as follows: one party caused another, through undue persuation, to act in the best interests of another party or the first, at great expense to itself.' Do you believe that causing my client to leave the courtroom, paralyzed in fear, in the middle of the first hearing, was exploiting him?"
Time stopped briefly while Damien thought about his answer. Gerald was just a moment from getting the entire case thrown out. It would be over this very day, a thought quite tantalizing.
"No," the witness finally said.
Gerald was pleased that the cheatress was now glaring, but avoided cracking a smile. "What reasoning is behind your conclusion?" asked Gerald, just like all his other questions.
"I don't think," he said slowly, "my persuasion is 'undue', sir."
"No further questions."
Gerald went back to his desk, waiting to see if Mr. Clark would want a supplemental examination or not. He would get another cross, since Mr. Clark had waived a deposition, and he hoped this thought would make the tiger not do it.
"Madame Arbirter," he said, voice no longer smooth, "I am ready to call my next witness."
The second witness just talked about the subculture, in specific terms, and Gerald had not said a word. He wanted Madame Arbiter to get the whole thing. In fact, he only asked one question: "Dr. Linbau, despite the terminology of forced servitude, all of the relationships you have looked at are voluntary, and without coersion, correct?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"No more questions."
Russell followed Gerald to lunch -- perhaps, Gerald thought, a habit of following a master that applied to him. The two of them went across the street from the Hall of Justice to a small shop that sold sandwitches. When they got to the counter at the front of the line, Gerald ordered a rather tall one called the House Club, while Russell stared at the menu and said nothing.
"Do you want anything?" Gerald prodded, thinking of those in line behind them.
At this provocation, Russell just walked out of the line, and sat down at a table.
Gerald got his food, paid, and sat down a minute later. "You sure you don't want something?"
"I want something, but I don't have any money."
"I'd buy you lunch," Gerald pointed out, thinking it obvious.
"Oh. I'm not used to that, sorry."
"Not used to it?" asked Gerald, squeezing the sandwitch hard and taking his first bite, "I thought your master would buy you food all the time."
"Master Ben would buy what he wanted, and give me some if he knew I was hungry."
So it was another signaling thing, Gerald thought. All these things were making him quite irritated, but supposed that having zero ability to make decisions required them if the slave was to survive and perform his duties. But dealing with Russell was so strange as a result, that Gerald found it wearing him down.
"Well, since I am not your master, look at the menu, tell me what you want, and I'll give you the money to pay for it, okay?"
"What you have there looks quite good," Russell answered, watching Gerald chew queite intently.
"Okay, here. Get yourself one."
Russell took the money -- but without a smile, which Gerald did not expect. He got the sandwitch and just looked at it while Gerald got through about half of his.
"Anything else?" Gerald asked, unable to hide the irritation from his voice.
"I, uh, have to go to the bathroom."
"Good grief, Russell, then go!" Gerald growled.
The coyote got up quite quickly and headed for the door in the back, making Gerald wonder how long he had been holding it. When he came back, Russell seemed visibly more relaxed, and was able to enjoy his sandwitch.
"Russell," Gerald sighed, making Russell stop eating momentarily, "I'm getting -- frustrated with all this. It's not your fault," he added hastily when the coyote's eyes saddened, "but I don't know what you expect from me. Please tell me," he added, expecting Russell would not talk without prompting.
"I just -- I feel lost without a master. I'm sorry if I act wrong, but I'm just so used to having someone tell me what to do. The world is so big, so dangerous, I've learned only one person can protect me and keep me out of trouble. And without Master Ben, you're all I've got."
Gerald finished his sandwich, and tried the only thing he could think of. "Would you like Benjamin to sit in the courtroom behind you?"
Russell's eyes lit up. "That would really help. Can you get him off of his job?"
"I'll see what I can do," Gerald answered with a smile -- a smile at the prospect of no longer having to manage a slave without an instruction manual.
Gerald waited until Russell finished eating, and then called Benjamin's office. He worked as a legal secratary, it so happened, and his employer would have been far less forgiving did Gerald not use his contract lawyer voice. When Benjamin entered the courtroom and sat directly behind Russell the effect was more than Gerald could have hoped for; Russell relaxed tremendously, and made not a peep when the proceedings resumed.
Mr. Clark declared their case at rest, so it was Gerald's turn. He was still hoping to get everything done in one day. It would be a new record, but one he suspected none of them would mind breaking.
Gerald first started by asking that Damien's testimony be dismissed. "Madame Arbiter, I would like to begin by arguing that the bulk Mr. Taylor's testimony be dismissed by the court. I will obtain from the court reporter specific sections later today, but I would like to explain my reasons first. There are three reasons.
"First, any events he described cannot be verified to have happened. Second, any subjective information about their relationship does not pertain to the duty, and third, I believe that his statements of compassion are falsehoods, and should not be considered by Madame Arbiter in determining the validity of the social duty based upon mutual trust."
"I see," she said, "Mr. Clark, the third one I am most inclined to agree with. Can you say anything in defense of Mr. Taylor. And may I remind you," she added somewhat caustically, "of his answer to my question granting you a little leeway."
The tiger swallowed, and knew what Gerald knew: any argument so ingeniously concocted in the face of such events would probably not be acceptable to the judge. The best one could do was give in. "The third point, I have no dispute with, Madame Arbiter."
"Very well. Now, Mr. Martin, for the first of your objections, I would ask why Russell cannot testify to the truth or falsity of the events in question."
Now it was Gerald's turn to risk offending her. "My client, Madame Arbiter, is not fit to testify. I don't believe he colud stand up to the pressure from Mr. Clark's questioning, and the signals being sent by Mr. Taylor."
"Would taking his deposition without testimony be acceptable, Mr. Clark?"
Thinking about how Benjmain would be next to him, Gerald gave the correct answer, just as Mr. Clark had. "I suppose, Madame Arbiter."
"Then, I order it done. Now for the second objection, do you have anything to say, Mr. Clark?"
"The duty in question here, as has been explained to Madame Arbiter, is based upon directions given by my client to the Defendant. To figure out if that duty has been violated, it is essential to determine what the directions given by my client were in relation to the action that was taken."
"Madame Arbiter?" interrupted Gerald nervously, asking for permission.
"Are you finished, Mr. Clark?"
"Yes, Madame Arbiter."
"Very well, Mr. Martin."
"Madame Arbiter, I don't see the precise events as relevant, for there is no disputing the fact that my client ran away. If I am understanding Mr. Clark's logic correctly, that would violate his duty just fine."
"Madame Arbiter," responded the tiger, "the reason the specifics are necessary is because we need Madame Arbiter to make a determination, as required by Section 14, of the type of remedy we receive."
Gerald knew just what Mr. Clark was aiming to do. "Madame Arbiter, I would protest. Mr. Clark is just trying to intimidate my client, based upon his reactions and behavior --"
"Stop there, Mr. Martin," she growled. It was not her quiet voice, but her eyes that shut him up. "While you have demonstrated clearly the Plaintiff's disregard for the rights of your client, you have shown nothing against his council," she chastized. "So, as a result, I am ordering that Mr. Trent also be asked questions about the events surrounding his departure."
Gerald swallowed. Mr. Clark just smiled, and his voice's edge disappeared. "Thank you, Madame Arbiter," he replied silkily.
"In that case," suggested Gerald, "I request the date be set one week from today so I have time to prepare."
"Agreed," she answered.
Gerald concluded with his own witness who had studied this subculture. He just interrogated his to cover similar ground to that of Mr. Clark, and found quite a bit of agreement. Mr. Clark was at least kind enough, like Gerald, to ask no questions, save one. "Just to be clear, the subservience of the slave to the master, at the slave's desire, is a total loss of conscious and moral decision making as far as is possible?"
"I would not call that typical, but in extreme cases, that is correct."
With those words, the cheatress adjourned them all for a week.
***
"Benjamin," addressed Gerald on their way out, "I'd like to ask you two rather difficult favors."
"Yes?" he asked.
Gerald hoped his good mood would get them done. "First, I'd like you to put up Russell for a week. I'm sure you can see what he's been through more than I can."
Russell begged to Benjamin with his eyes, and the husky seemed to melt. "Sure," he answered with a warm smile, making Russell run over and hug him again.
"Second," continued Gerald, trying to get all of the words out before his brain stopped him, "I'd like to see where you first found Russell, and see if I can -- meet a slave for -- just to learn about it, a little more. They do have female slaves, I hope."
Benjamin and Russell released. "Of course," Ben answered, and gave him an address on the other side of town. "But to get in, you have to learn the secret handshake."
"What's that?"
Benjmain answered him by taking his hand, as if he would shake it -- and suddenly sucking Gerald's middle finger.
"Hey!" Gerald snapped.
Ben laughed and Russel joined in.
"That's disgusting!" growled Gerald as he wiped his hand on his shirt side.
After the laughter died down, Benjamin gave him the real answer. "No, seriously, if you just act assertive, they'll see you coming a mile away. Stand tall, look proud, maybe a little gleam in your eye..."
Benjamin demonstrated his half glare, half tease in the mirror, and Russell -- as far as Gerald could tell -- became quite excited.
Getting the idea, Gerald thanked them, and quickly left them to whatever activities they would pursue -- and he didn't want to think about. He also thought he heard Benjamin yell something about testing a prospective slave, but didn't take note of it.
Gerald couldn't find the address: he found the side of a rather extravagant hotel on the intersecting street, but there was no separate building where that number should be. In desperation, he ventured into a back alley to find the service entrance standing open, and a hallway inside whose split marked the way to 'SLAVE TRADE, 8 PM to MIDNIGHT, FRIDAYS'.
Seeing as he had not left the office until 8:30, he went down a hall, past a kitchen and staff area, to a room that was windowless and lit with flood lights from overhead. It seemed to be a quiet bar, in the middle of what would otherwise have been a very large storage area. There were two different bars, one on either side of a large stage with a rather large instrument -- a huge body and a lot of keys an one end -- banging away with jovial, fast chords all by itself.
It took Gerald a moment, but he could quite clearly see the pattern of behavior that told him who everyone was: the right side where he had entered held hard-eyed dogs and cats who seemed to look across the way at what they wanted. The left side waited until they were beckoned, and came forward, though sometimes a few would try just pestering whoever would accept their attention.
It was clear to Gerald that he should sit on the bar at the right. Remembering that he should be a little bit more dominant than usual, he tried to make a seat by glaring at everyone sitting, thinking about wanting to sit down.
When he walked past a vixen talking rather quietly to a bear, the bear advised her, "make room for him, here sit on my lap." She did, and Gerald nodded in acknowledgement before sitting down.
He sat on the tall padded stool, and looked across the room. It at least elevated him enough he could barely see around the rather large instrument. There were probably almost 100 in all, of both genders and every species. Blocking out the whispers beside him, and thoughts of his incompetence at whatever skill this was he was exerting, he started scanning the crowd with his eyes as if it were a legal brief, looking for something in the mass to jump out at him.
The first gaze he met was a a male bird of some sort, but he quickly moved it across the room and bumped into a skunk with a pink thing behind her ear. Since she could see nothing but his head due to the stage height, he decided to wait and see if she would notice him. He stared with his smooth gaze, and sure enough, she saw him. When he put a little extra smirk on it, she started walking toward him, tail moving slowly back and forth.
She went around the side of the stage, which left about six feet of a hallway from the wall. When she rounded the corner nearest him, he could see she was wearing not only a quite thin dress over her lanky and young figure, but also a rather overdone bronze braclet on her wrist, with a chain that dragged on the floor. As she got closer, she hesitated briefly, making Gerald change to calmness first, and then took a shot at the compassion he had tried to show Russell.
"Hello," he said quietly into her ear as she arrived, the noise around them bad enough he considered this most logical, "my name is Gerald. What's yours?"
"Sarah," she answered back, her breath smelling considerably better than Gerald feared his was.
"If I may say," said Gerald, trying what he had put together over the years as a pickup routine, "you are quite lovely."
"I'm surprised you think so," she replied, brown eyes flicking away from him.
"No, I mean it," he said, touching her shoulder gently. But she twitched in response.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice trying to be as gentle as he could, "I really do think you are quite attractive."
She didn't look at him, but she didn't leave either. This seemed to be one of those strange behaviors -- vaguely like Russell. It was his first puzzle.
"What do you think of me?" he asked, trying to get her to look at him in the process of looking him over.
But she didn't look as she answered. "You're probably pretty attractive too," she replied.
"Please look at me," Gerald stated, deciding he would have to make her do it.
She turned back toward him, and looked him in the nose, or so he guessed. She did not meet his eyes.
"I'm new at this," he admitted, "I'm not sure if there is something I am supposed to do. All I know is that I would like you to help me understand how all this --" He had trouble saying it. "-- slavery stuff works. Just spend a few days teaching me."
"I -- I don't know how, I'm sorry."
"Well, then, just stay with me, and maybe you and I can figure it out together?"
She finally met his eyes. "I don't know yet," she answered.
At least, Gerald thought, she was looking at him now. "Okay then," was all he could say.
She didn't respond, and looked away again, toward the stage, where the instrument taken away by two large malamutes.
Gerald wondered what he was missing. What did that bear next to him have that he didn't? She still seemed tense, and Gerald wished he could help her relax. "You seem tense. Is there anything --" Wrong question, he thought impulsively. That would be what Russell would ask. He decided start over and to rephrase it. "Tell me, what relaxes you?"
She looked back at him briefly, before looking away. "Knowing I'm safe, that I won't get hurt, that ..." She never finished. She didn't have to; Gerald was once again thinking of how Russell had behaved.
"I want to show you I won't hurt you," Gerald said, voice still soft, and smoother than that of Mr. Clark, "but you're making it difficult for me. I just want you to relax a little."
That last sentence got her to turn around and look at him again. She studied his face intently, just like Russell had done Benjamin. Gerald focused upon compassion: he did want to make her happy, and when she looked at him, he smiled a little bit. This smile, which Gerald barely noticed himself she reacted to. She, for the first time he had seen, smiled herself.
Gerald knew that was what Russell wanted, but only now was starting to internalize how important it was. But as he made this breakthrough, the test suddenly arrived.
"May I have your attention please!" announced a rather large tabby cat in a suit, who had appeared on the stage when Gerald was otherwise occupied. Gerald looked up now to find him gesturing to a thick metal poll taller than he was -- and he was 6 feet -- with a giant ball on top.
"Tonight, we've got a new act -- or should I say, a new phoenomenon! It's a test for all of us masters to show our power. Not just over our slaves, but the power over nature itself. Only those bold enough to seize this power shall earn the trust, and undying gratitude of their slaves.
"Masters, for your protection, and their affection, get them to touch the ball, or at least bring their chains close enough for them to touch the power!" He then hustled off the stage as the lights went out.
After a moment of darkness, the device splashed light all over the room. The ball spewed bolts of lightning three feet from the center of wide stage, as shadows splattered everywhere in their wakes. Whips energy dared anyone to come close enough to get cracked, as Gerald felt literal static in the air.
It was hard for Gerald to look at, but he knew he had to. He was told by the announcer, now walking around the room, that the long chain dragging on the floor from the wrist of the slaves was not only the symbol of their servitude, but the solution. Enough of them had to stick their wrists into the storm of lightning to cause the lightning to travel down the chain, and reach the metal floor of the stage. This would trip a breaker to turn it off.
Gerald knew everyone's hair was standing on end from the tremendous field, but could see the awe and fear in her face; her hair would be on end anyway. Gerald's newfound powers were about to be tested. He had to relax her enough to do the unthinkable.
"Now," Gerald whispered to Sarah, trying to get her to trust him more than he trusted the device's operators, "we have to go up there. I'll go with you."
But she didn't move.
Gerald saw one or two others starting to move in that direction, so he gently nudged her.
She trembled and held firm.
"Trust me," he said, directly into her again to be heard.
Nothing.
"You won't have to touch it. Could you at least save our pride? Go up there and make a show of looking at it?"
Her feet started moving, but the shoulders Gerald's hands touched were stiffer than he thought possible.
She joined the line that formed at the edge of the stage, a row that slowly made its way up onto the stage, surrounding the ball at a distance of four feet. Gerald now decided that a thin rubber gasket on the inside of the bracelet was for electrical, rather than comfort, purposes.
The smell in the air was quite strong on the stage, as the ring formed. He could see all the rest of the slaves were equally terrified, all being guided gently up by one master or another. Gerald could feel her trembling. He wasn't sure what he would do; the task seemed impossible.
In fact, he saw the vixen who had been with the bear burst into tears, and push past him off the stage. The male bird, who had been captured by an even larger cat, followed suit in a more orderly fashion, as did one or two more, much to the disappointment of their masters.
Gerald was worrying about Sarah, but then it hit him: she was still here, and trembling instead. She was obeying him: his implicit command to stand and face this tremendous lightning show.
"You're doing good," Gerald filled in, having now to raise his voice over the noise of buzzing air, "just stay here, and watch it." He wasn't sure how anyone was going to accomplish this feat, for many others were speaking to their slaves too.
"Just watch it," he repeated, just trying to get her accustomed to standing here.
Sarah seemed to be relaxing a little, if her shoulders were any clue, but Gerald didn't know if it was really him, or just the social pressure -- which was thicker than the accumulating smoke from the arcs.
It was hard for Gerald not to stare at the device, and just marvel at its power. As the MC said, it was the power of nature bound here on Giaya. How many humans had stared at the sky during a rainstorm? How many of his own generation had, for that matter? Looking around, many were staring just like they must have, the arc length of three feet looking just as amazing as 50,000 from the clouds.
And that was when he realized it: he was staring, she was staring, all of them were staring at it. They barely flinching when a rogue arc landed within an inch of them. Could this be the effect the MC wanted?
"Sarah," he said, trying to lower his woice to keep it calm, "are you feeling very relaxed?"
She nodded.
"That's because of me," he continued, trying to guess at what a hypnotist would say, "you can trust me."
She didn't respond.
"I am your master, Gerald," he said, "and I care about you a great deal. You care about me, too. And what both of us want is to show how much we care about each other."
Still no response, still relaxed, even when an arc nearly clipped her nose, making Gerald back up reflexively before returning to his close position agaist her back.
"Show me how much you trust me, and care about me. Hold out your arm into the storm."
That, at least, made her more nervous again.
"Nothing will hurt you," Gerald continued, trying to nip that in the bud, "I'm right here. Just reach up toward it."
Sarah blinked twice, closed her eyes, and slowly began reaching toward the ball.
"Good," he whispered, "keep going." He was glad she had her eyes closed, for otherwise she would have seen the look of terror on the face of every other slave. They expected her to die.
But, as Gerald knew was planned, she did not. The first arc within reach licked not her fingertip, but the bronze band. And when the machine seemed to like the taste, a large arc grabbed a firm hold, selecting that as the best way to find the ground along the floor.
Everyone else was so awestruck by her trust, that masters whispered -- or outright pushed in three cases -- their slaves to join in quick succession. When two dozen had made themselves targets, the addition of one more resulted in a sharp pop from under the stage, and the device went dark.
"Congratulations on your new slaves everyone!" shouted the MC, as the lights came back up, "Well done!"
Gerald saw Sarah still motionless, in shock -- mental shock that the physical shock did not occur. "It -- tingles," was all she said.
Gerald smiled at her. "You have done well. And made me pround of you," he added to try and get a response. Sure enough, it did.
She agreed to go home with him, where he finally explained he was a lawyer, and that she was welcome to stay with him. He got her to talk a little about herself -- what she did and did not like in basic behavior, and he worked out a set of rules that accomodated her with only one exception: no interference with his work.
***
The seven days Gerald spent with her, before Russell's deposition was due, was productive. The only two things he did that he considered the least bit harsh were leaving her alone, locked in the house, and made her sleep on the couch after his back complained on the first night. By showing his affection and reward for her discomfort, however, she easily lived with it.
The skill she forced him to practice, that perhaps had become second nature to Benjamin, was presence. When someone had done something so dramatic as make themselves completely dependent on another, it seemed that they looked for a source of authority, strength, and comfort of a particular kind. Even though she was far more independent than Russell, she needed to seek certainty in comfort in his presence. This skill, Gerald hoped, would let him affect Russell.
The capturing of depositions, when ordered by a judge, was not only a closed affair, but was under the supervision of another judge. When Gerald walked into the courtroom, he was quite unnerved to see an ex-professor sitting at the tall pedistal -- the professor who once gave him a mid-term with the most red ink he had ever seen.
Gerald told himself that surely he had been forgotten -- that was years ago -- and instead on keeping Russell in line. So far, it seemed to be working. Russell sat, and when Gerald gave him the look of intesity he had to give his female skunk, Russell's eyes were magnetized to his, just like Benjamin.
"Now, Russell," Gerald whispered, "I'll ask you questions first, and then Mr. Clark will, just like when we talked to Ben, okay?"
He nodded, but Gerald could tell he was incredibly tense. "Just relax, okay? I'll be nice. If Mr. Clark scares you, just look at me. I'm here to make sure his questions aren't out of line."
Russell nodded, but he didn't relax in the slightest.
Gerald, at the risk of a bad impression, leaned over to pretend continued whispering -- but slipped him arm behind Russell to rub his back. "Relax," he directed quietly, "I mean it. This is very important to me."
Such language of the master, and touch for added presence, finally got Russell to relax visibly.
"I'm going to be here, okay? Just think about how this feels when you get nervous."
Russell didn't answer, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Gerald hoped this was his attempt to internalize this feeling.
Deciding it was the best he could do, Gerald then got up, and told his client, "Mr. Trent, up on the stand, please." He kept using presence, trying to be subtle about it, but glancing across the courtroom, he saw Mr. Clark looking most uncomfortable.
Russell was sworn, gulped "I understand" to his oath, and sat down in the elevated chair, bringing him almost level with Gerald's eyes as he paced.
"Good morning, Mr. Trent," he said, as was customary. When Russell did not answer, Gerald turned and briefly prodded Russell with his eyes.
"Good morning," Russell answered nervously.
"I hope you're up for answering questions." Once again, Gerald looked at him briefly.
"Yes, sir," answered Russell.
"Alright. First, Sir Arbiter," Gerald said turning, "you have the list of subjects in front of you my client has been ordered to testify about?"
"Yes," growled the lion.
"Good. Then let us begin. Mr. Trent," he turned back to Russell before staring to pace again. "The fact at the center of this dispute is the fact that you ran away from the Plaintiff one week ago, on the 26th of last month. Is that correct?"
Russell nodded.
"Answer verbally, please," directed Gerald in his smooth Mr. Clark-like voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you know that you had an agreement with Mr. Dennett?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then why did you run away?"
Russell's muzzle trembled, and Gerald gave him a look to calm him down. Russell breathed twice, and the coyote managed to answer. "Because -- because I knew Damien didn't -- didn't care about me anymore."
"I object," suddenly interrupted Mr. Clark, "Mr. Martin is signaling the witness."
Gerald grit his teeth. "Sir Arbiter, I have done nothing of the sort," he insisted.
"You have been quite expressive with your face," the lion pointed out.
"My client has emotional difficulties. I am merely trying to ensure he answers the questions in a timely manner."
"This is proof, Sir Aribter," interrupted Mr. Clark, "he admits it is a signal."
"Mr. Martin, Mr. Clark does have a point," he answered with a glare.
Gerald sighed. This judge knew nothing of Damien's outburst, and how such signals were recognized. In fact, to ensure procedure was followed, it was his duty not to know.
Gerald did the best he could, which was not much. "Sir Arbiter, if you are convinced I am signaling the witness, I will stop my changes in glance, but I request something else, something that could not be a signal to calm the nerves of my client."
"Such as?"
Gerald swallowed. He didn't know what. Benjamin was the only thing he could think of. "If someone he knows would sit in the back of the courtroom," he answered nervously.
"What!?" demanded the lion.
"I object to that too," blandly added Mr. Clark.
"Sir," Gerald insisted sharply, the legal equivalent of begging, "we can give them a gag order until after the testimony is put in the record. My client is barely able to testify at all, and I am merely trying to get the facts. If you insist on believing that I am giving him some kind of factual information, I ask for something else to keep him calm. I could bring in an expert to testify to his state if you so order!"
Gerald saw nowhere else to go. He had to keep Russell calm, and he was willing to move the world to do so.
But, unfortunately, the judge cut off his arm before he could even grab the blue sphere. "I'm sorry, Mr. Martin," he answered sternly, "I will do neither. Instead, I will take a much simpler course: your client will testify, and he will do so without your signaling. You will prepare a list of questions you wish to ask, and Mr. Clark will ask them while you sit and watch."
Gerald was stunned, but swallowed his fear, and just murmured, "yes, sir."
"You have 10 minutes to prepare them," he directed, "Mr. Clark will wait here, in silence, while you work."
To Gerald, it sounded exactly like another test. He tried to think of his final, rather than his red-inked midterm. As he started writing the questions, he decided to dare his old professor, with reverse psychology.
He wrote the questions he wanted to ask in as scary a way as possible. If Russell ran away. perhaps he would be granted some leeway. If he was wrong, he tried to forget as he focused on moving the pen, he would be in contempt as much as Damien was.
He gave the list of questions to Mr. Clark, who looked them over and smiled. That smile made Gerald wonder how many questions Russell would survive. He tried to hide his nevousness, and thought he did a pretty good job, but couldn't really tell.
Either way, Mr. Clark soon stood, list in hand, and began pacing in front of Russell just as Gerald had. "Now, Mr. Trent," purred the tiger hungrily, "let's see what you can tell us. So, to repeat the last question, why did you run away?"
"Because -- he didn't care for me anymore," Russell answered, even more nervous than before.
"Please describe events leading up to you running away, say two hours before."
Mr. Clark showed not a hint of compassion, and Russell looked to Gerald, but the sheppard just looked at him levelly, just like the first time they had met.
"Well, I -- he throw me outside," whined Russell, "and... and wouldn't let me in, and it was hot, ..." Tears appeared in his eyes. "And no matter how much I called for him, --"
He looked at Gerald. But Gerald was stoned-faced as ordered, showing as little sympathy for Russell as Mr. Clark. With that glance, Russel burst out crying, jumped from the chair, and ran out the door.
Gerald followed him without a word, jogging quickly to the door. This time, however, there was no nearby bathroom. Instead, Gerald had to follow him through a half dozen halls, until he finally wound up on a bench near the front door of the Halls of Justice.
He held his head in his hands and cried, and seemed to ignore everything until he heard Gerald's footsteps arrive and stop.
"Russell, I --"
"No lawyer tricks!" he snapped, without looking up, "you lied to me!"
Only now did Gerald realize Russell was too terrified to realize it had been a trick. He thought Gerald really had abandoned him to the evil Mr. Clark, perhaps thought of by Russell as Damien by proxy. In the thin, sobbing figure, Gerald realized that everything he had learned, everything he had built up in the mind of this coyote for trusting others, was now in pieces on the ground.
Gerald really didn't know what he could do now; he was in completely uncharted territory. What happens when a master tricks a slave, and breaks his trust? He was afraid the plaintiff demonstrated the answer.
The only thing Gerald could think of was: call Benjamin. "Let's go find a phonee, Russell," he directed gently.
"No," growled the coyote, eyes suddenly looking up at him, filled with rage.
"I'm going to call Ben," Gerald answered.
"I don't believe you!" snapped Russell, "I can't trust you anymore. You're -- fired!" he yelled.
Gerald decided there was nothing he could do at all until Ben could deal with this. "I see," was all he said, "I'll tell the clerk. It will take 24 hours for it to take effect." That was all the time he had, Gerald thought, for Russell to change his mind.
He walked off, leaving Russell as he apparently wanted, to sit on the bench in tears. But as he found the phone, a most extraordinary thing happened.
"Mr. Martin," addressed a voice as he was about to pick up the hook.
Gerald turned to find the tiger, his voice gruff, and his face concerned. "Yes?" growled Gerald, Russell's bad mood rubbing off on him slightly.
"I'm here to make an offer," he began diplomatically. "I apologize for -- all that. But I want to make it up to you: if your client will pay half my fee, I'll drop the suit."
"Really?" asked Gerald, ears perking, and mood spinning around, "your client told you this?" This was quite extraordinary indeed.
"Not exactly," Mr. Clark admitted, "but based upon a conversation we had this morning about what he expected Russell to say, I am positive the court would throw it out at this point. I'm offering to save us both time, in return for my client getting my fee back."
"How noble," replied Gerald with a smirk. "Half down, half when you win, was it?"
The tiger smiled nervously, and looked at his feet. Gerald considered that an answer.
"Well, this is a new and astonishing development," Gerald continued. "I will ask my client. How much money are we talking?"
"Less than 10 percent of what Damien paid, suffice it to say."
"I'll tell him. Thanks."
Mr. Clark walked off. But Gerald did not take the offer to Russell, he instead buttered up Benjamin with it.
"Really?" was the husky's answer.
"Really."
"I'd take it!" he exclaimed.
"Glad to hear it. Now, would you come over here, and stop Russell from firing me, please?"
When Gerald explained quietly, Benjamin agreed with Russell -- "that was horribly insensitive, and sleazy too" -- but decided it was best to wait until after the settlement for Russell to fire Gerald.
When Gerald returned to see the judge, he was told Mr. Clark had asked for a hold in Gerald's absence. He gladly took the offer, and left the building as soon as Benjamin arrived.
That was also the last night he spent with the skunk. His breach of trust made him decide that these enslaved types were too sensitive after all.
***
The next morning, a message at his office told him they had accepted the deal. Shortly after picking the message up, a new call came in.
"Sir," said Russell nervously, "I want to -- apologize for the things I said. I now understand that you were just trying to do what was best for me, and I just wanted to tell you that your defense of my legal rights was most admirable."
His voice lacked emotion, as if Benjamin were making him read a script. Gerald smiled.
"And so, I -- well, Master Ben and I, have decided to pay you what you would normally charge."
"Well, thank you, Russell," said Gerald -- hiding the greedy part of the smile in his voice, "I take it you two are living together again?"
"Yes, sir," he said, voice gaining positive emotion immediately.
"Well, I will send you a bill, then. Enjoy yourselves. And Russell?" he added at the last moment, "don't be scared by all the fine print on it."
"Yes, sir," he answered. Gerald was relieved, as he hung up, that the voice was still smiling.
The End.
(version 1.0)