Aftermath

18

From the secret diary of Oliver Guest.

The lead prosecutor told the jury at my trial that I was “a sick parasite, preying on society.”

Parasite on society; this, mind you, from a lawyer.

It was, furthermore, inaccurate. Biology admits three forms of interdependence in living organisms. First there is symbiosis or mutualism, in which each of the participants benefits from and may indeed be dependent for survival upon the presence of the other. The mitochondria that serve as energy centers in each of our cells are a good example. We need each other. Then there is commensalism, where two organisms coexist but provide neither harm nor obvious benefit. Into this category I would place many of the protozoa in our alimentary canals. And finally there is true parasitism, where one organism does nothing but damage to the other. The Ichneumonidae, those wasps that both fascinated and repulsed Charles Darwin and led him toward atheism, are a fine example. The wasps lay their eggs in the living but paralyzed bodies of caterpillars and cicadas. It is difficult to discern any possible benefits for the reluctant hosts.

The prosecutor’s accusation was also unfair. I am not, and was not, a parasite, even stretching the meaning to accommodate popular usage.

I do not particularly blame the man. It is one of the unfortunate aspects of the legal profession that excess carries no penalty. There is never, for a lawyer, such a thing as too much. Consider the oxymoron, a “legal brief.” The prosecutor must have known that the evidence against me was overwhelming, regardless of questions of character. Had he made a speech testifying to my unhappy childhood, noble nature, and kindness to animals, it would not have affected the verdict. He could have served as a de facto defense attorney, and made no difference to the outcome.

Actually, I might have preferred his worst accusations to the efforts of the defense counsel appointed by the state. She, with the best will in the world, decided that I had no chance if my plea for clemency depended on the physical evidence alone. Instead, she would prove that I was an asset to society rather than a parasite. Because of the value of my work, I ought not to be placed into long-term judicial sleep. She referred to my groundbreaking researches on telomod therapy, which she said was “even now being applied to a group of human experimental subjects.” The jury stared at me. “Human experimental subjects” has a certain ring to it. Their eyes said, “Next stop, the gas chambers.”

She then told them I was a world’s leading authority on cloning, a subject that happens to be regarded by the general public with strong suspicion. Finally she emphasized what a genius I was, and showed how my career had been marked since early childhood by an outstanding brilliance.

You could see the wheels working inside jury heads.

Question: “Who do you want out on the streets even less than an insane mass murderer of teenagers?”

Answer: “An outstandingly brilliant and cunning insane mass murderer of teenagers.”

I knew at that point what my defense attorney apparently did not: my fate, in spite of or because of her best efforts, was sealed.