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The CHP lifter dropped me off at State Park HQ. This was not for my convenience. I had not been released from the incident; I was a witness after the fact; and last but not least, there was a State Parks owned electric bicycle and a lifter harness to return to cache.
Park HQ was crowded. A set of barrier tape hung in mid-air to attempt to give some privacy. Several stunningly well dressed men and women approached me to ask questions as soon as I stepped away from the lifter.
I ignored their questions until one of them had the audacity to step in my way. At that point, I met his eye and growled "Privacy."
He hastily stepped back, startled and a little shocked. Apparently the newsies think that everyone wants their twenty seconds of fame on channel umpteen-thousand-whatever. But personal privacy laws have teeth, and I just plain was not in the mood to deal with it.
Another plastic personality -- not literally, just an amazingly overdressed goon -- stepped forward.
"Are you on duty within the definition of _People vs. In Re King_?"
This one fancied himself a lawyer. He saw that I was carrying State Parks gear and had just stepped off a law enforcement lifter. Ergo, I must be a cop.
"No," I answered immediately and truthfully, because that precedent applied to peace officers in course and scope of employment -- including reservist activation -- and I had identified myself as a volunteer ranger and SAR tech. A fine distinction that had the potential to get very interesting.
Then I thought about certain implications of getting jiggy with a smartgun.
"Let me take that back. Possibly. Your legal software and mine can duke it out; right now I need to go return state property."
He gaped a little and I took great pains to make sure that I did not bring the bike anywhere near him as I walked past. Personal battery versus a blocking path charge could end up with instant re-play from three angles with expert commentary. Again, completely not in the mood to go there.
The barrier tape obediently wafted over my head as I approached it. Not anti-gravity -- still a trick confined to the lab -- but a combination of a static charge and micro aerostats.
The family was still there, of course. However, a very stiff-faced detective was using his smartware to read one of the older men his rights.
The area was covered in police and ranger bots, plus a medic bot or two.
Outside the barrier type, licensed media bots jostled for the best vantage points.
This was going to get ugly.
"You are in fact accused of a crime against person under the Cairo Protocol. This accusation has been made by a magistrate. You have the right to local jurisprudence. You have the right to extradition and trial by global authority. The crime against person of which you are accused is an atrocious felony. You are required to remain silent. If you do not remain silent, force will be used to assure your silence and protect your right against self-incrimination. If you understand, nod your head."
The man opened his mouth and took breath. I winced. As he started to speak, a surge of electrical energy passed through him, cutting off whatever he had been about to say.
The detective began again, "Sir, you are in fact accused of a crime against person under the Cairo Protocol. This accusation has been made by a magistrate..."
There was only one category of crime which enforced silence on the accused. I resignedly brought up the incident timeline on my holographic display, invisible to everyone but me, and perhaps the detective if he were looking and cared.
The incident type had changed from "Search and Rescue" to "Search and Recovery. Recovered 1042. Deceased 1115."
I walked past the detective, opened the cache, and started taking off the rescue harness. I racked it, making sure it was in contact with the charger. I did the same with the electric bike. Neither item was of any particular evidence value.
Sometime in that half hour, while I had sat on a log and admired the ruin I had made in a protected heritage forest, Billy had thought his last thought, covered in his own personal forest of machines, each doing its part to try to offset the horrendous damage of a fall that could have been a hundred feet [30 meters] (grr) or more.
I hoped there had been a person with him somewhere in there. I really hoped that I hadn't been the last human hand to touch him, the last contact with another person.
I closed the cache and one of the family members approached me, the question obvious in her eyes. I caught the eye of the State Parks ranger in the corner and he meaningfully shook his head. No, I was not to speak to them.
So I went over to him and he shook my hand.
"Thank you, Alan, your efforts are appreciated. I think we have everything we need, you are free to go."
I dutifully grasped the offered hand, let go of it, and turned to leave. The detective flagged me down.
"Anderson? You're qualified for transport, yes?"
I reluctantly nodded. The detective was going to have a lot of work to do, and there were specific rules about how persons accused of major felony matters were to be transported.
"Back in a second," I muttered and ducked around a corner to remove the smartgun from my backpack and clip its holster to my pants. The bracelets on both my wrists changed to alternating black and white, a zebra formation that under other circumstances would be almost pretty.
Having changed roles to reserve corrections officer, I came back to the detective and to his prisoner.
"I have one for transport, California Superior Courthouse at San Jose, time 1145 hours. Do you accept this charge?"
"I do," I said formally. I then approached the man, who was shaking now from repeated and automated applications of the stunner that kept him from speaking.
"It is my duty to take you from this place and immediately to a magistrate. You will walk to the nearest capsule, right now. If you do not, you will be stunned and carried by bots."
Please, sir. Please don't start walking towards that capsule. Please.
He saw the absolutely sincere desire in my eyes, shivered, and clumsily started walking towards the slidewalk.
The moment we crossed the barrier tape, the reporters stopped and watched us in silence. There was no point asking him questions he could not answer. My duty now prohibited me from loitering for any reason, let alone to answer questions.
So it was in silence with the occasional click or whirr from a bot that we walked, myself two paces behind and to one side, first to the slidewalk and then to the nearest capsule.
The people who had been waiting for it hastily stepped back. A man was already seated inside.
I motioned to him. He shook his head.
Really.
"Sir, under magistrate authority this capsule is commandeered for public service. Please leave the capsule now."
He slowly stretched, stood up, and sat back down again.
What was it with people today?
Another capsule was nearby. I used subvocalization to hold and clear it.
I sent a police bot into the malcontent's capsule to accompany him. The capsule door closed as he shouted, "Hey!"
I subvocalized "PC 148(a)(1) misdemeanor, transport to Santa Cruz County Courthouse, cite and release."
It changed colors to black and white and departed.
I then indicated the reserved capsule to my prisoner -- also now colored black and white -- and he stumbled to it. People were now giving both of us -- and the six police bots escorting us -- a very wide berth.
We both entered the capsule and he sat down heavily. I subvocalized departure commands; the capsule complied; and the scenery started racing by.
I opened an emergency compartment and removed two bottles of water, offering them to the suspect. He took one, opened it and drank. He then started to say something again and I took pity on him, now that we were out of public view.
"SHUT! UP!" I shouted, and startled him sufficiently that he complied.
"Sir, you are under felony arrest for an atrocious crime. I'm going to spell this out for you really clearly. If you try to talk, or to communicate with others, you will be immediately shocked. If you keep trying you will be stunned. There is nothing at all you can say right now that can make anything better for you. That is why the law says you're not allowed to talk. I can't turn off the shocker or stunner, and if I tried, I'd be committing a felony by trying.
"If you are sick of getting shocked, nod your head, OK?"
I hadn't said anything the detective hadn't said to him repeatedly, but I was saying it in a totally different way -- exasperated and in plain language.
He nodded. He looked pale. I double checked a readout on my display, subvocalized a request, and spoke to him again.
"I am monitoring your vital signs and you do not appear to be in medical danger. I am a licensed paramedic. Even so, I just requested a doctor to meet us when we arrive at San Jose and he will privately speak with you and confirm my assessment. You can only speak to him about your health.
"My job is to keep you safe, protect your rights and get you to the courthouse.
"You cannot and must not speak to anyone for any reason, except public and private counsel and a doctor. If there is something you would like to know, too bad, you'll have to wait. If there is something you need for your comfort, you can use the pictograms on the display to indicate your need, and I will do what I can to provide it.
"We are on maximum priority so the ride to San Jose will take eleven minutes. Court appointed counsel will meet you when we arrive. You can talk to him or her freely. You cannot and must not talk to anyone else. The public counsel will help you contact or obtain private counsel.
"Just nod your head again."
He nodded, turned to the screen, and tapped the pictogram for "Where am I going?"
I replied, "You are going to the California Superior Courthouse at San Jose. We will be there in just over ten minutes."
He looked at the limited list of pictograms and did not find one that said anything like "Why?" or "What have I been arrested for?" or "What the hell is going on, and why does a bot shock me whenever I start to say anything?"
He tapped the pictogram for "I'm cold."
I subvocalized to turn up the capsule interior temperature to eighty-five degrees. He may have thought that he'd controlled the thermostat directly. If so he'd be wrong.
The capsule raced into the tube system at Scotts Valley and became a lot faster. At maximum priority the capsule was treated the same as a ground ambulance.
He started to say something again and I raised my hands at him and growled, then put my own hand over my lips.
He subsided.
I took a sip from my own bottle of water. I looked at him again and took another sip.
He took a sip from his water.
Mirroring. A technique for getting someone to comply who was in no mood to comply. In other words, monkey see, monkey do.
At this speed the outside was a blur. "Classical music," I said, with no need to subvocalize, and the capsule began to play a carefully selected instrumental piece. A panel of judges had reviewed each musical piece authorized for playing during atrocious felony prisoner transport.
The prisoner had just started to relax when the capsule smoothly slid to a halt, the door opened, and an elderly woman with a cane stood near the doorway.
"Mr. Liberman, I am Counsel Acosta, and I am the public counsel assigned to your case. Please step out of the capsule and I can answer all your questions."
He looked at me fearfully and I nodded. The police bots huddled out of the way to let him pass. The counsel looked at me about as much as she looked at the bots, which is to say, not at all.
Once he left the capsule -- into a carefully neutral private lounge with a table, low chairs and no windows -- the capsule sealed and sent me on my way. My task was done. Accused, meet lawyer, in a secure environment from which escape was virtually impossible.
The zebra bands faded from my bracelets and I took the smartgun off my belt and put it away in my backpack. The capsule dumped me at the next public drop point and took itself and the bots out of service. A brief memory download, the bots assigned to other duties, the emergency compartment re-stocked, and it would be back in service.
I decided to wander the corridors a bit. Nowhere in particular, just walking.
There had once been a time when a person accused of a truly serious crime would be tortured, or interrogated, or "questioned" in the hopes of getting them to admit some version of the truth of what had actually happened.
Park HQ was crowded. A set of barrier tape hung in mid-air to attempt to give some privacy. Several stunningly well dressed men and women approached me to ask questions as soon as I stepped away from the lifter.
I ignored their questions until one of them had the audacity to step in my way. At that point, I met his eye and growled "Privacy."
He hastily stepped back, startled and a little shocked. Apparently the newsies think that everyone wants their twenty seconds of fame on channel umpteen-thousand-whatever. But personal privacy laws have teeth, and I just plain was not in the mood to deal with it.
Another plastic personality -- not literally, just an amazingly overdressed goon -- stepped forward.
"Are you on duty within the definition of _People vs. In Re King_?"
This one fancied himself a lawyer. He saw that I was carrying State Parks gear and had just stepped off a law enforcement lifter. Ergo, I must be a cop.
"No," I answered immediately and truthfully, because that precedent applied to peace officers in course and scope of employment -- including reservist activation -- and I had identified myself as a volunteer ranger and SAR tech. A fine distinction that had the potential to get very interesting.
Then I thought about certain implications of getting jiggy with a smartgun.
"Let me take that back. Possibly. Your legal software and mine can duke it out; right now I need to go return state property."
He gaped a little and I took great pains to make sure that I did not bring the bike anywhere near him as I walked past. Personal battery versus a blocking path charge could end up with instant re-play from three angles with expert commentary. Again, completely not in the mood to go there.
The barrier tape obediently wafted over my head as I approached it. Not anti-gravity -- still a trick confined to the lab -- but a combination of a static charge and micro aerostats.
The family was still there, of course. However, a very stiff-faced detective was using his smartware to read one of the older men his rights.
The area was covered in police and ranger bots, plus a medic bot or two.
Outside the barrier type, licensed media bots jostled for the best vantage points.
This was going to get ugly.
"You are in fact accused of a crime against person under the Cairo Protocol. This accusation has been made by a magistrate. You have the right to local jurisprudence. You have the right to extradition and trial by global authority. The crime against person of which you are accused is an atrocious felony. You are required to remain silent. If you do not remain silent, force will be used to assure your silence and protect your right against self-incrimination. If you understand, nod your head."
The man opened his mouth and took breath. I winced. As he started to speak, a surge of electrical energy passed through him, cutting off whatever he had been about to say.
The detective began again, "Sir, you are in fact accused of a crime against person under the Cairo Protocol. This accusation has been made by a magistrate..."
There was only one category of crime which enforced silence on the accused. I resignedly brought up the incident timeline on my holographic display, invisible to everyone but me, and perhaps the detective if he were looking and cared.
The incident type had changed from "Search and Rescue" to "Search and Recovery. Recovered 1042. Deceased 1115."
I walked past the detective, opened the cache, and started taking off the rescue harness. I racked it, making sure it was in contact with the charger. I did the same with the electric bike. Neither item was of any particular evidence value.
Sometime in that half hour, while I had sat on a log and admired the ruin I had made in a protected heritage forest, Billy had thought his last thought, covered in his own personal forest of machines, each doing its part to try to offset the horrendous damage of a fall that could have been a hundred feet [30 meters] (grr) or more.
I hoped there had been a person with him somewhere in there. I really hoped that I hadn't been the last human hand to touch him, the last contact with another person.
I closed the cache and one of the family members approached me, the question obvious in her eyes. I caught the eye of the State Parks ranger in the corner and he meaningfully shook his head. No, I was not to speak to them.
So I went over to him and he shook my hand.
"Thank you, Alan, your efforts are appreciated. I think we have everything we need, you are free to go."
I dutifully grasped the offered hand, let go of it, and turned to leave. The detective flagged me down.
"Anderson? You're qualified for transport, yes?"
I reluctantly nodded. The detective was going to have a lot of work to do, and there were specific rules about how persons accused of major felony matters were to be transported.
"Back in a second," I muttered and ducked around a corner to remove the smartgun from my backpack and clip its holster to my pants. The bracelets on both my wrists changed to alternating black and white, a zebra formation that under other circumstances would be almost pretty.
Having changed roles to reserve corrections officer, I came back to the detective and to his prisoner.
"I have one for transport, California Superior Courthouse at San Jose, time 1145 hours. Do you accept this charge?"
"I do," I said formally. I then approached the man, who was shaking now from repeated and automated applications of the stunner that kept him from speaking.
"It is my duty to take you from this place and immediately to a magistrate. You will walk to the nearest capsule, right now. If you do not, you will be stunned and carried by bots."
Please, sir. Please don't start walking towards that capsule. Please.
He saw the absolutely sincere desire in my eyes, shivered, and clumsily started walking towards the slidewalk.
The moment we crossed the barrier tape, the reporters stopped and watched us in silence. There was no point asking him questions he could not answer. My duty now prohibited me from loitering for any reason, let alone to answer questions.
So it was in silence with the occasional click or whirr from a bot that we walked, myself two paces behind and to one side, first to the slidewalk and then to the nearest capsule.
The people who had been waiting for it hastily stepped back. A man was already seated inside.
I motioned to him. He shook his head.
Really.
"Sir, under magistrate authority this capsule is commandeered for public service. Please leave the capsule now."
He slowly stretched, stood up, and sat back down again.
What was it with people today?
Another capsule was nearby. I used subvocalization to hold and clear it.
I sent a police bot into the malcontent's capsule to accompany him. The capsule door closed as he shouted, "Hey!"
I subvocalized "PC 148(a)(1) misdemeanor, transport to Santa Cruz County Courthouse, cite and release."
It changed colors to black and white and departed.
I then indicated the reserved capsule to my prisoner -- also now colored black and white -- and he stumbled to it. People were now giving both of us -- and the six police bots escorting us -- a very wide berth.
We both entered the capsule and he sat down heavily. I subvocalized departure commands; the capsule complied; and the scenery started racing by.
I opened an emergency compartment and removed two bottles of water, offering them to the suspect. He took one, opened it and drank. He then started to say something again and I took pity on him, now that we were out of public view.
"SHUT! UP!" I shouted, and startled him sufficiently that he complied.
"Sir, you are under felony arrest for an atrocious crime. I'm going to spell this out for you really clearly. If you try to talk, or to communicate with others, you will be immediately shocked. If you keep trying you will be stunned. There is nothing at all you can say right now that can make anything better for you. That is why the law says you're not allowed to talk. I can't turn off the shocker or stunner, and if I tried, I'd be committing a felony by trying.
"If you are sick of getting shocked, nod your head, OK?"
I hadn't said anything the detective hadn't said to him repeatedly, but I was saying it in a totally different way -- exasperated and in plain language.
He nodded. He looked pale. I double checked a readout on my display, subvocalized a request, and spoke to him again.
"I am monitoring your vital signs and you do not appear to be in medical danger. I am a licensed paramedic. Even so, I just requested a doctor to meet us when we arrive at San Jose and he will privately speak with you and confirm my assessment. You can only speak to him about your health.
"My job is to keep you safe, protect your rights and get you to the courthouse.
"You cannot and must not speak to anyone for any reason, except public and private counsel and a doctor. If there is something you would like to know, too bad, you'll have to wait. If there is something you need for your comfort, you can use the pictograms on the display to indicate your need, and I will do what I can to provide it.
"We are on maximum priority so the ride to San Jose will take eleven minutes. Court appointed counsel will meet you when we arrive. You can talk to him or her freely. You cannot and must not talk to anyone else. The public counsel will help you contact or obtain private counsel.
"Just nod your head again."
He nodded, turned to the screen, and tapped the pictogram for "Where am I going?"
I replied, "You are going to the California Superior Courthouse at San Jose. We will be there in just over ten minutes."
He looked at the limited list of pictograms and did not find one that said anything like "Why?" or "What have I been arrested for?" or "What the hell is going on, and why does a bot shock me whenever I start to say anything?"
He tapped the pictogram for "I'm cold."
I subvocalized to turn up the capsule interior temperature to eighty-five degrees. He may have thought that he'd controlled the thermostat directly. If so he'd be wrong.
The capsule raced into the tube system at Scotts Valley and became a lot faster. At maximum priority the capsule was treated the same as a ground ambulance.
He started to say something again and I raised my hands at him and growled, then put my own hand over my lips.
He subsided.
I took a sip from my own bottle of water. I looked at him again and took another sip.
He took a sip from his water.
Mirroring. A technique for getting someone to comply who was in no mood to comply. In other words, monkey see, monkey do.
At this speed the outside was a blur. "Classical music," I said, with no need to subvocalize, and the capsule began to play a carefully selected instrumental piece. A panel of judges had reviewed each musical piece authorized for playing during atrocious felony prisoner transport.
The prisoner had just started to relax when the capsule smoothly slid to a halt, the door opened, and an elderly woman with a cane stood near the doorway.
"Mr. Liberman, I am Counsel Acosta, and I am the public counsel assigned to your case. Please step out of the capsule and I can answer all your questions."
He looked at me fearfully and I nodded. The police bots huddled out of the way to let him pass. The counsel looked at me about as much as she looked at the bots, which is to say, not at all.
Once he left the capsule -- into a carefully neutral private lounge with a table, low chairs and no windows -- the capsule sealed and sent me on my way. My task was done. Accused, meet lawyer, in a secure environment from which escape was virtually impossible.
The zebra bands faded from my bracelets and I took the smartgun off my belt and put it away in my backpack. The capsule dumped me at the next public drop point and took itself and the bots out of service. A brief memory download, the bots assigned to other duties, the emergency compartment re-stocked, and it would be back in service.
I decided to wander the corridors a bit. Nowhere in particular, just walking.
There had once been a time when a person accused of a truly serious crime would be tortured, or interrogated, or "questioned" in the hopes of getting them to admit some version of the truth of what had actually happened.
