Wikipedia commons
WITH MALICE AFORETHOUGHT
(part 2 of 2)
Nik Morton
Morgan came to, opened his eyes, and realised he could
see stars, stars in the firmament... The deja
vu feeling overwhelmed him. He jerked his head in its awkward helmet.
Thank God, she was all right! Floating beside him, Naomi offered a
brave smile. They were both lucky to be alive; their suits had escaped
intact. He glanced over his shoulder as the rescue shuttle encroached. The
space station's outer lab spoke was askew.
Once inboard, the station patrolman stepped
forward as they clambered out of their suits.
‘You're both under arrest.’
Naomi paled. She didn't understand, looked at
Morgan in bewilderment. Even Morgan was a little confused. One advantage with
the Temporal Module was that you didn't lose your own sense of time; the brain
impressions were indelible. The old concept of time-travel would not have
worked: once you travelled into the past, your future and the brain-patterns of
that future would cease to exist; you would exist in the now... So, thanks to
the mnemonic head-phones in the Booth, he was fully cognisant of his criminal
act; he was aware that he had illegally time-travelled. What Morgan could not
understand, however, was how the authorities knew that he had done it.
For, in this present, there could be no
record of Naomi's death, of his use of the Module. He had no intention of going
back in the Booth. He’d planned to live in this particular continuum. His
other-self - whom he had so recently seen - would now be suffering the trauma
of losing a wife.
So, how did they know?
‘...charged with crimes against the Universal
Code.’ An awed look came over the assembled shuttle crew.
Morgan shrugged his broad shoulders, intent
on bluffing his way out.
‘I don't know what this is all about,
patrolman. That's a very serious charge - I only hope you know what you're
doing.’
The Twenty Eight Intergalactic Jurists from every accessible galaxy
studied him with variegated intentness.
Morgan had initially been daunted by the
sheer presence the Jurists exerted on him. The
Universal Code was a just one, he knew; they would desist from any form of
extra-terrestrial interrogation such as telepathy or the tapping of prescient
imagery. He would be tried as if in a court of law on his native planet, Earth.
Floating voice-boxes filled the auditorium;
each one a microphone link and translator for the hundreds of worlds listening
and watching. The entire auditorium itself was an image-purveyor, a circular camera.
Apart from the Jurists arrayed in a heart-shape on shimmering cerise-coloured
plinths, the place was seething with representatives from the planets:
ambassadors, Justice Societies, Earth-reporters and the Somnolent Sentries
colloquially known as The Recorders who constantly scanned the Time-vortex.
Morgan found the courage to smile
reassuringly at the woebegone Naomi, though inwardly knowing he was doomed.
There appeared to be something wrong with the
concept of time as he was given to understand it. Even though he’d triggered
the camera's spy-eye on entering the Booth - as he had only now learned from
the Prosecution - he still could not comprehend how the film existed in this
particular continuum. Perhaps there was another, negative law for films. Did
that explain the apparitions and ‘shadows’ on some photographs? Instead of
being ghosts, were they in fact images from the future? He didn’t know. The
only irrefutable fact was that they had him dead to rights, on videotape,
breaking the Universal Code.
His sentence would be very harsh indeed. He
had put everyone's future at risk.
The Prosecution was
coming to his summing-up: ‘The Earthman in the Dock has already signed an
affidavit confessing to his most heinous crime.
‘The decision required of this Court is not
regarding his culpability; that has been defined in accord with our Code. No,
your verdict is on his sentence.’
The mountainous tetrahedron-shaped Prosecutor
faced the Jurists. ‘Here is a man who warped back in time to look upon his
wife, knowing of her incipient death, and with malice aforethought spared her life! I believe that for this
kind of selfish action there is only one solution to adopt. The risk of our
present or future being altered - hitherto unbeknown to our Esteemed Recorders
- is too great.
‘Therefore, I must call for a verdict not of
mercy or retribution, but essentially of practical expedience.
‘I implore you, Revered Wise Ones, revert the
Accused into the past, to kill his wife and thus set the finely balanced
temporal scales right again.’
Stunned, Morgan's chin dropped, mouth wide in
abject horror. The alarmed eyes of Naomi sought his own, momentarily pleading;
then they softened, as if saying she understood that he was helpless, that she
would go back to be murdered by him, that at least he had tried...
His eyes smarted as a banana-shaped warder
laid an invisible feeler on his shoulder, about to escort him into the
subterranean cells whilst the verdict was considered.
He had no doubt that the Prosecutor's
suggestion would be adopted; Defence had rested on the Court's mercy. There
didn't seem to be any alternative. Schemes for outwitting the sentence flitted
through his giddy brain but were as instantly dismissed. The Jurists would make
sure he carried out the murder, of that he could be certain. He tried
convincing himself: it wouldn't be killing Naomi, she was already dead. He
remained unconvinced.
If he hadn't gone back, if he hadn't fought
with Gregory, there might never have been an explosion, he berated himself,
reluctantly stepping down.
He halted, thunderstruck.
‘Wait, please!’ he called, mind reeling. He
had to get it right. The whole idea was mind-boggling, but it was a chance. He
must get it right.
‘Oh, Wise Ones, please hear me!’
The warder tried restraining him, struck him
dumb with lancing thoughts.
‘Desist, warder!’ a Jurist commanded.
‘It is his prerogative - let him be heard!’
roared twenty-eight ‘voices’ in unison, all simultaneously translated,
clamorous.
‘If you consult the videotape recovered from
the damaged lab, you'll learn that the explosion was caused by me and Assistant
Gregory fighting. He was molesting my wife Naomi. I stopped him...’
The Jurists switched their attention to the
Orb suspended high from the cavernous roof of the auditorium. Within the globe
the video-film reeled off in split-seconds. The ephemeral scene sent a grim
chill through Morgan, detachedly seeing himself struggling with Gregory.
‘Now that I've established that, Wise Ones,
let me state my case.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘If I hadn't gone back in time, there would
not have been an explosion.’ He eyed them all. As one, the Jurists concurred.
‘But if there hadn't been an explosion - thereby killing Naomi - I wouldn't
have gone back.’
Frowns circumnavigated the miscellaneous
features of the Jurists.
He had stated two truths, each contradictory
to the other. ‘We come to the vicious circle, the Time Paradox,’ he said.
The Jurists agreed simultaneously.
‘My case is - you cannot condemn my wife to
death, for she shouldn't have died in the explosion I caused because I
shouldn't have gone back in time as there wasn't an explosion until I caused
one!’
Viewers around the universe were stupefied;
people and creatures rose, ‘gaped’. It was difficult to follow and yet it made
complete sense. They could not quite grasp it, yet understood.
Completely in accord, the Jurists announced:
‘You have proven Sufficient Doubt, Morgan Bland. We must therefore acquit
you...’
‘Morgan, I still don't see how you were acquitted.’
‘We became part of a paradox,’ he smiled. ‘The
point is - have I changed things? By my selfish love for you, have I altered
the future? And what of my other self, in that other time-continuum where you
died?’
Naomi shuddered. ‘Don't talk like that,
Morgan, please.’
‘We'll just have to wait and see. But if and
when the change occurs, will we know?’
They had a child. He became the most murderous space pirate in the
history of the known galaxy.
***
Previously published
in Dream, 1986.
Copyright Nik Morton
2015
If you enjoyed this
short story, you’re invited to read others to be found on this blog; search for
‘Saturday Story’.
My anthology of crime
stories Spanish Eye featuring Leon Cazador, half-English half-Spanish private eye, written ‘in
his own words’ can be found in paperback and e-book.