The Kruton Interface

PROLOGUE

The Lord High Judge of Tortfeasors’ Court of the Supreme Judiciary of Kruton sat in chambers. Around him were gathered the finest lawyers on the planet Kruton. They were very probably the best lawyers in the universe; for every inhabitant of the planet, from microscopic spoor to full-grown adult slime mold, was either a lawyer or a lawyer-in-training, and Kruton swarmed with billions and billions of inhabitants. Despite this population glut, however, Kruton was united; it was a planetary nation. And it was a nation of lawyers, not of men.

The agenda for this meeting was a discussion of relations between the Affiliated Law Firms of Greater Kruton and various alien species belonging to the Galactic Council of Worlds. Kruton was a member of that august body.

Specifically, talk gravitated around problems with the race called the humans, whose sphere of influence, the “United Systems,” had long been a thorn in Kruton’s side (metaphorically speaking, for Kruton bodies did not properly have sides).

“Let’s sue the bastards!”

The Lord High Judge of Tortfeasors’ Court heaved a liquid sigh and turned his (its) “head,” which at the moment looked not unlike a heap of decomposing garbage.

(Krutons could, and regularly did, appear to be different things at different times. A Kruton was a fluid, changeable sort of creature, consummately protean by nature. By human standards Krutons were, in fact, quite disgusting.)

“That, my dear friend and colleague, is the general idea,” the Lord High Judge said acerbically. “But the question is, what sort of brief can we bring against the humans?”

The Head Prosecutor, to whom the admonition had been directed answered: “We could sue them for never giving us a chance to sue them.”

“Eh?” The Lord High Judge reflected on this suggestion, his interest piqued. “A tantalizing notion.”

“Very progressive,” a deputy prosecutor agreed.

“Oh, not all that progressive, really,” the Head Prosecutor said. “There’ve been precedents. One alien race in the Zantac Nebula sued another for being more technologically advanced than it was — and won. The defendant race had never even heard of the plaintiff race, much less done anything to it.”

“Brilliant legal strategy,” the Lord High Judge effused, spreading out viscously all over his bench. Bits of fur sprouted here and there along his body. “Admirable.”

“The same legal theorem applies to us Krutons,” the Prosecutor went on. “We’re hemmed in by expanding alien species in our part of the galaxy. We need living room. We’re running short of resources and we’re not good at technology, as every one of our number goes to law school. It’s a bad situation. Somebody’s responsible!”

“Someone must pay!” chimed in another of the best of the seventy-odd billion lawyers of Kruton.

“Well, of course that’s true,” the Lord High Judge concurred. “The trick is to persuade a jury. However, I do think that particular notion is a bit too radical for the Galactic Court of Interspecies Torts and Claims.”

“Possibly,” the Head Prosecutor conceded.

“We will take it under advisement,” the Lord High Judge pronounced. His body slurried and slid, running this way and that like spilled green porridge. “Meanwhile, let’s hit the humans with a big juicy liability case.”

“Yes, let’s!” the others chorused, shifting and reshaping excitedly. There was much oozing and gurgling and splashing about. For a human, the sight would have caused much distress.

“We need an accident!” said a defense attorney who was all fangs, teeth, and tusks.

“That would be unethical,” the Judge said, sucking three newly sprouted foretentacles.

“What would be unethical?”

“Sthaging an accthident… excuse me. Staging an accident. The Law forbids fraud!”

“Oh, of course. I meant, let’s set up the preconditions that could lead to a big juicy, potentially lucrative accident.”

“I thought you were a defense lawyer. Where would this accident take place?”

“Along the Human-Kruton Interface. And I could defend the humans for lots of money.”

“An accident like that,” the Judge said, “would be an incident, not an accident.”

“Your Honor, it should be both an accident and an incident. Diplomatic, military, political, the whole schmear.”

“I see what you mean,” the Lord High Judge said. “Yes, yes. That’s the ticket!”

“How can we do it?” came the eager question from a prickly, quill-covered shyster.

“Well, how about if one of our military vessels, carrying a diplomatic mission, crosses the Interface and, say, runs into an asteroid?”

“Yes, but it would be fraud if the ship deliberately ran into an asteroid.”

“Oh. Wait a minute, let me think.”

The High Prosecutor clicked his talons. “I’ve got it. Well send the ship out there and have it race around helter-skelter. It’s bound to run into some kind of trouble.”

“It could start a war!”

“We don’t want a war!” the Lord High Judge gasped. “We can’t win a war!”

“No, a little skirmish is all I’m talking about. Our ship gets blasted. Wait, let’s just say it gets heavily damaged. On human territory.”

What “faces” there were instantly lit up.

“Negligence!”

“Negligence!”

“Tort!”

“Tort!”

“I like it, I like it,” the Lord High Judge said, in his mind picturing himself delivering the final summation to the jury. (After all, he was a lawyer, too.) I shall speak to the combined chiefs of our military forces.”

“Bumbling, incompetent fools,” grumbled the fanged lawyer.

“Well, of course,” the Judge said. “How much military science can one learn in law school?”

“True, true.”

“We must make allowances,” the Judge said. “Military prowess is not our forte. Tort is our forte.”

The cry went up. “Tort! Tort!”

“All hail The Law!”

“Hail! Hail!”

“The Law is All, The Law is Eternal!”

A lizardlike creature rose. “Let us bow our fluids in prayer.”

All bowed what there was to bow.

“O Great Lawgiver, we humbly petition Thee in this, our billable hour of need… ”

“Amen! Enough,” the Lord High Judge said wearily. “Leave me.”

The lawyers sloshed, skittered, and wriggled out of the chamber. The door contracted and silence fell.

The Lord High Judge of Tortfeasors’ Court sighed as he collapsed into his natural form, a puddle of green, semi-congealed goo that looked like lime gelatin.

“I don’t feel myself today,” the Lord High Judge complained.