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Questioning
24 November 2006 01:38What a cliché. There I was, handcuffed to a chair and telling them that I knew my rights. Yelling at them about what an outrage this was. Straight out of a movie. I couldn’t help it. I thought I was above the law at this stage, you have to remember. A member of the political cabinet currently in power. What a naïve little twit. This was their lucky day.
She walked in quickly and slapped her briefcase down across the table from where I was sitting. Quickly and without ceremony, she started shuffling through the papers she had brought.
When she had them into three neat piles, she finally looked straight at me. Well, ‘looked’ isn’t the right word. It was more of a stare. She still hadn’t sat down.
I could hear the hums and pops of her internal headphones and I could see the reverse image of the data spooling down her glasses. My life was flashing in front of her eyes.
It was an uncomfortable thirty seconds later before my court appointed lawyer sat down across from me and steepled her fingers with a deep breath before picking the best way to proceed with my case.
“Senator Peterson” she began, “You have been illegally copying yourself in no less that three separate incidents. We have begun digging on your property and have found six bodies. It will take time to go through them but I have no doubt that the DNA will show that they are also you.”
She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose with her eyes squinted shut. She put them back on again and resumed.
“You are guilty of not only copying yourself but also of clone-slaughter. Your career in politics is over. I will try to keep you out of jail. Your regular lawyer will not take this case. No lawyer will. To be associated with you at this point would be career suicide.”
And there it was. It hit me hard. She spoke with such nonchalant authority. I knew this wasn’t a scare tactic. It hadn’t even occurred to me that my career could be in jeopardy, let alone over.
I’d need to buy time for Peterson-1 to get to a safe place.
tags
She walked in quickly and slapped her briefcase down across the table from where I was sitting. Quickly and without ceremony, she started shuffling through the papers she had brought.
When she had them into three neat piles, she finally looked straight at me. Well, ‘looked’ isn’t the right word. It was more of a stare. She still hadn’t sat down.
I could hear the hums and pops of her internal headphones and I could see the reverse image of the data spooling down her glasses. My life was flashing in front of her eyes.
It was an uncomfortable thirty seconds later before my court appointed lawyer sat down across from me and steepled her fingers with a deep breath before picking the best way to proceed with my case.
“Senator Peterson” she began, “You have been illegally copying yourself in no less that three separate incidents. We have begun digging on your property and have found six bodies. It will take time to go through them but I have no doubt that the DNA will show that they are also you.”
She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose with her eyes squinted shut. She put them back on again and resumed.
“You are guilty of not only copying yourself but also of clone-slaughter. Your career in politics is over. I will try to keep you out of jail. Your regular lawyer will not take this case. No lawyer will. To be associated with you at this point would be career suicide.”
And there it was. It hit me hard. She spoke with such nonchalant authority. I knew this wasn’t a scare tactic. It hadn’t even occurred to me that my career could be in jeopardy, let alone over.
I’d need to buy time for Peterson-1 to get to a safe place.
tags