A Learning Experience

Chapter Twenty-Four

Heinlein Colony, Luna

“Thank you for coming,” Rochester said.

Steve scowled at him. It had been 0300 on the starship when his interface had jerked him awake — and, for good measure, woken Mariko too. If it hadn’t been an urgent call, he might just have given in to the temptation to go right back to bed. Instead, he’d taken the shuttle from Earth orbit to Heinlein Colony. If something had gone badly wrong, bad enough for Rochester to call him, it probably demanded immediate attention.

“You’re welcome,” he said, trying to remind himself not to snarl. Just because he was tired was no excuse for snapping at a subordinate. He’d heard plenty of stories about commanding officers who’d refused to allow their subordinates to wake them, even when the enemy forces were on the advance. It was one of the reasons Adolf Hitler had lost World War Two. “What happened?”

“A crime,” Rochester said, as he turned to lead the way into the colony. “Quite a bad one, I’m afraid.”

Steve winced. He’d been expecting something to happen ever since they started expanding the circle of recruitment wider and wider. Ex-military personnel tended to have some common sense, particularly the ones who had served in combat, but civilians could do some damn silly things from time to time. Or maybe it was an ex-military person. Some of them could be idiotic at times too.

“Shit,” he said. The legal code they’d devised was about to be tested, badly. “What happened?”

“From what we’ve put together,” Rochester said, “Daniel Witherspoon managed to get very drunk last night, probably from one of the illicit stills. While drunk, he started an argument with his wife that turned into a fight; he beat her pretty damn badly. And then his daughter tried to intervene and got beaten too. They’re both currently in the medical bay.”

Steve sucked in a breath. “How bad was it?”

“They would both have been sore for several days, according to the medics, if they hadn’t been treated,” Rochester said. “The lack of any real damage is quite indicative.”

“Bastard,” Steve said. If Witherspoon had been so completely drunk he’d forgotten himself, it would have almost certainly resulted in considerably more serious damage. Instead, he’d managed to hurt both his wife and daughter without inflicting any permanent harm. Or, at least, without inflicting any permanent physical harm. Who knew how they would react after being beaten so badly? “Where is he?”

“In the cells,” Rochester said. “Jean is keeping an eye on him.”

Steve hastily accessed the interface and retrieved the file on Daniel Witherspoon. He’d been discharged from the army four years ago and, since then, had spent most of his time trying to hold down a succession of part-time jobs, while drinking heavily. Someone would probably claim, in hindsight, that recruiting him had been a mistake. But, looking at the file, it was clear that Charles had felt sorry for him. Witherspoon, out of the army, had had few skills that any civilian employers wanted or needed. He’d certainly never really tried to develop himself.

But there was no point in feeling sorry for him, Steve rebuked himself sharply. Maybe Witherspoon hadn’t been able to get a break until now, but it didn’t excuse beating his wife and child. Or… had he turned aggressive because of his success? Steve had wondered, sometimes, what would have happened to him if he hadn’t had the ranch? Would he have drunk himself into an early grave? Or would he have sucked in his pride and stayed with the military?

They reached the handful of holding cells and stopped. Jean D’Arcy looked up at them, then smiled. Tall, black, with hair cropped close to her skull, she looked formidable even without combat implants. And she’d held down a position of sheriff in Texas long enough to be utterly confident in her own abilities. When she’d been offered the post of Lunar Sheriff, she hadn’t hesitated before accepting the job.

“It’s good to meet you at last,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for this opportunity in person.”

“We can talk later,” Steve said. “For the moment, I want your impressions of our friend in there?”

“He’s claiming to be totally repentant,” Jean said. Her mouth twisted with distaste. “He’s lying, sir.”

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Jean admitted. “Some guy goes and drinks himself into a maddened state, then goes off and beats his wife. But the truly repentant ones act differently. This guy… weeps and wails when he thinks he’s being watched, but goes quiet when he thinks he’s alone and unobserved.”

She shook her head. “And there’s also the injuries,” she added. “This was no maddened beating, sir. This was as deliberate as a spanking.”

“I thought as much,” Steve said. He hesitated, then asked the next question. “Have you spoken to the victims?”

“The wife is confused,” Jean said. “The daughter… is torn.”

She shrugged. “Sir, when someone is married, when the relationship is still there, people are often torn between wanting the husband back and wanting to be rid of him,” she continued. “So far, despite the beating, Mrs Witherspoon hasn’t reached the point where she just wants him out of her life. His daughter… she wants her old father back, but she also wants to be rid of the drunken lunatic who’s taken his place.”

Steve gritted his teeth. One of his family’s friends had been in the National Guard, rather than the regular army. He’d been called up for service in Iraq, been wounded there and returned a broken man. Two years afterwards, following screaming fits and threats against his family’s life, he’d put a gun in his mouth and killed himself. His children had wondered, out loud, just what sort of devil had stolen their father’s body. The kind man they’d known had died in Iraq.

“I thought he would have been treated for alcoholism,” he said, sharply. “Did he evade the tests somehow?”

“No,” Rochester said. “But while we handled the physical need for alcohol, we didn’t — we couldn’t — handle the mental addiction to drink. It’s possible that even one sip of moonshine or rotgut tipped him back over the edge.”

“We will need to be more careful with our screening tests in future,” Steve said, darkly. “For the moment…”

He turned back to Jean. “What would you advise we do with him?”

Jean met his eyes. “Right now, we have a legal code that is largely untested,” she said. “And we really need to make it clear that we are not engaging in arbitrary punishment, no matter how deserved. We can’t use his fists any longer.”

Rochester clenched the fists in question. “This isn’t one miner beating the shit out of another miner,” he said. “Nor is this a fight that broke out over gambling. This is this… asshole deliberately beating his wife and daughter, without any cause I care to recognise. There is no bloody way this can be excused.”

He looked at Steve. “Give me five minutes alone with him, please.”

Steve was tempted. He was very tempted. Mariko would not have allowed him to lay a hand on her, not unless she wanted it. And his partner would be furious with him if he allowed the man to escape without punishment. A savage beating might teach him a lesson. But, at the same time, Jean was right. They needed to test their legal code.

“Select a jury,” he ordered, finally. There wouldn’t be any lawyers; someone would have to speak with Witherspoon, then explain his rights under the legal code. “Make sure they’re people who don’t know him personally, if possible. Let them be unbiased.”

“Show them the images and there won’t be a single unbiased person in the colony,” Jean muttered. “The girls were quite badly battered, sir.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I know.”

In the end, he ended up explaining Witherspoon’s rights himself. The man seemed torn between repentance and a cold self-satisfaction that sent chills running down Steve’s spine, something that he was tempted to mention when the jury finally assembled. Pushing his feelings aside, he explained that Witherspoon could either admit to the charges or deny them and present a countervailing argument of his own. The jury would either accept his arguments or find him guilty. If the latter, they would also devise their own punishment.

“But I didn’t mean to do it,” Witherspoon whined, when Steve had finished. “Really, I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Then I suggest you tell that to the jury,” Steve said. “They’re the ones who will decide your fate.”

He had never been fond of lawyers — viewing them as a plague on mankind — but he was starting to realise they might serve a useful purpose. Someone would have to be appointed as the Public Defender, to advise suspects of their rights under the law and assist them in producing their defence. Someone else would have to sum up the case for the jury… no, that someone might wind up leading the jury one way or the other. And there would have to be someone to present the case against the suspect.

The jury assembled in the largest available chamber in the colony, a room that had once served as a dining hall and then turned into a storeroom for supplies brought from Earth. A handful of colonists, including three lunar bloggers, took seats where they could see everything, then Witherspoon himself was brought into the court in handcuffs. Jean, who would be presenting the case for the prosecution, had pointed out that she really needed extra staff or a dedicated prosecutor. Steve had to admit she had a point, although it would raise problems of its own. What would happen when the prosecutor found winning more important than justice?

“The charges facing Daniel Witherspoon are serious,” Jean said. “The previous night, Witherspoon drank heavily, then went home to his chambers. There, he fought with his wife, which ended with him beating her quite heavily. When his daughter attempted to intervene, she was beaten too. Both women are currently in the medical bay.”

Witherspoon looked reluctant to speak when it was his turn. Indeed, he hadn’t even attempted to suggest if he would be pleading innocent or guilty. Steve rolled his eyes, then waited, as patiently as he could, for the man to present his defence. He had hours, if necessary. There would be no attempt to cut his defence short.

“I was drunk,” he said, finally. “I did not mean to hurt either my wife or my daughter.”

Jean rose to her feet. “You inflicted no permanent harm,” she said. “That implies, very strongly, that you were in perfect control of yourself.”

She showed the jury images taken by the doctor. “As you can see, the bruises look very bad,” she continued. “But they would have faded, naturally, over the coming week if they hadn’t been treated already. There would have been no permanent physical harm. But the scars you inflicted on their minds will never heal.”

Witherspoon offered no defence. Eventually, the jury withdrew to a secure room to debate Witherspoon’s fate. Steve watched them go, wondering if he was doing the right thing. A word from him could have condemned Witherspoon to death, or return to Earth, or a lifetime of hard labour. What if the jury took the view that no permanent harm wasn’t as bad as something that did cause permanent harm? Or felt that they’d heard too much about mental harm from courtrooms down on Earth? It was so hard to prove that anyone had really suffered mental problems or depression from anything.

The jury returned, fifty minutes later.

“It is a principle of lunar law,” the foreperson said, “that a person is responsible for their own actions. If they should happen to be under the influence of drugs or alcohol, they are still responsible for themselves as they chose to enter a state of diminished rationality. As such, your attack on your wife and daughter was your responsibility.

“Furthermore, you have presented no excuse for your actions, no suggestion that they might somehow have been justified. Accordingly, we find you guilty of the charges brought against you.”

There was a long pause. “We debated sentencing for quite some time,” the foreperson continued. “Some of us felt you did not deserve to live, or that there was a strong possibility that you would reoffend. Others felt you simply did not deserve to live here. However, we have decided that you will spend four years at hard labour instead, assuming you wish to remain on the moon. If not, you may return to Earth.”

Steve wondered, absently, if Earth would take him. Witherspoon was an American citizen, technically, but the precise legal status of the lunar colonists was somewhat vague. It was arguable that they held joint citizenships, yet it was uncertain how it would all play out. As Kevin had said, it might be better if they all renounced their American citizenships. But Steve hadn’t been able to bring himself to do that, not really. He still clung to the ideal of America in his heart.

Witherspoon, after being told that he had a day to decide, was marched out of the room and back to the cells. Steve sighed, then walked over to the bloggers, most of whom were just finishing their articles. As the first trial on the moon, it would set precedent for the future… although Steve had no intention of allowing precedent to rule unchallenged. The jury would always have the final word on just what happened to suspects.

“Mr. Stuart,” Gunter Dawlish called. He’d moved to the moon, a decision that had boosted his popularity on Earth. “Do you have any comment on the case?”

“Justice has been served,” Steve said, after a moment’s thought. “The guilty man has been offered a choice between punishment or permanent exile from the moon.”

“Which is likely to be exile from his wife and daughter too,” Dawlish said. “Or will they be exiled too?”

“No,” Steve said. “They are not to blame for Witherspoon’s actions, so they will not be held to account for them. Should they wish to go with him, if he leaves, we will honour their request. If not, they will always have a place here.”

Another blogger stepped forward. “Don’t you feel it was handled a little too fast?”

That, Steve had to admit, was an awkward question. “I think we had all the facts established,” he said. “If there had been a requirement for more investigations, we would have delayed the trial until they were carried out. If necessary, we would have used lie detectors to ensure that everyone involved was telling the truth.”

“But the prosecutor was also the policewoman,” another blogger asked. “Does that not create a conflict of interest?”

“She wasn’t the one who passed sentence,” Steve said, with a shrug. The blogger had a point, but they didn’t have a legal staff yet. One would be needed, sooner rather than later. The next trial might be far less open and shut. “And now, if you will excuse me…”

He followed Rochester back to his office and sighed. “That could have gone better.”

“It went about as well as could be expected,” Rochester said. “Drink?”

Steve let him pour two cups of coffee, then took one gratefully. “Are there any other problems I ought to know about?”

“There’s one that may turn into a problem,” Rochester said, carefully. “You know we have a number of homosexual men on the moon?”

“I know,” Steve said. “So?”

“Two of them want to marry,” Rochester said. “Should we allow it?”

“What we want doesn’t actually matter,” Steve said. “Let them call themselves husband and husband if they want. If they want to register a partnership, let them do that too. It’s not as if we give any incentives to married couples.”

Or disincentives, he thought, in the privacy of his own mind. One of the reasons he had never actually married Mariko was out of fear of what would happen if the marriage failed. Judges granted women all the rights in America these days, while leaving the man permanently tied to her. He’d known two retired Marines who had been unable to remarry or even have more children because their income was being garnished to keep the wife in house and home, while they could only see their children from time to time. He had just never felt like taking the risk.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t cause any harm to the rest of us if they get married, does it?”

“Not really,” Rochester said. “Their teams will have to be resorted — I try to keep brothers apart, just to keep emotion out of the picture. But that isn’t a problem now we have plenty of people on the surface teams.”

“Then let us not stand in their way,” Steve said. He couldn’t understand homosexuality, but he imagined they had the same problem with heterosexuals. Besides, everyone deserved a chance to seek happiness wherever they found it. “Any other problems?”

“The teachers want the kids to have more afterschool activities,” Rochester said. “They think the kids spend too long in VR worlds, so I’m planning to expand the sporting complex for them. But not all of the kids are interested in remaining in school. Some of the teenagers have even been caught roaming the upper levels.”

Steve sighed. “Give them another lecture,” he said.

“I have,” Rochester said. “I’ve even threatened to have the next teenager caught up there publically paddled. It doesn’t seem to have done any good.”

“Of course not,” Steve agreed. “I was an idiot when I was a teenager too.”

He shrugged, expressively. “We’ll just have to keep playing with the problem,” he said. “And as we expand, the problem will solve itself.”

Rochester smiled. “And someone wants to set up a brothel,” he added. “She even has girls lined up and everything.”

“Best not to talk about it,” Steve said. “Mariko would kill me.”