Plantman, working abundant foliage in the Office of the Prosecutor, suffered the Prosecutor’s draft oration, which the Prosecutor practiced, without the least self-consciousness or awareness of Plantman’s presence — or so it seemed — pacing back and forth before his closet mirror.
“I have data,” said the Prosecutor. “I’ve molded this case with my own hands. Cut and dried. CUT. And. DRIED. I can’t see the problem. I don’t UNDERSTAND what we’re waiting for. The Accused should have fried months ago. Enough, enough, I say. No more appeals! Another case of laws obstructing The Law. This ‘man,’ so called, killed his parents. In their home. Under the ruse of bringing them sustenance.
“He is a married man with children of his own. What message might his actions bring to The Young? What monsters will they grow to be if this man is not punished, if he is allowed to do ten, fifteen years time, then know freedom to see the weddings and graduations of his own children? This ‘man,’ the murderer of their grandparents. It is indeed a mad world, but not a lawless one, yet.
“What? he has a reason, a theory, justification for his heinous deeds? Why don’t we abandon The Law completely, let everyone ‘reason’ for themselves? A tidy bit of anarchy that would be! My duty is to translate the facts into conviction and penalty. Reasons, theories, excuses from the mouths of The Accused fall upon deaf ears in this Court. You’ve probably spoken to some low-level official about data and Pyramid and what not. This is no longer mere data; this is my blood. The information has been fully digested. I have written my statement. Drafted my presentation. Loose bits, extraneous bytes, what have you, have merged into a coherent theme under The Law. All specifics are now general. It is whole. It fits. It is conviction. In unity there is The Law. This case is not about The Accused per se, but The Law defiled.. Not Prosecution versus Defense; but the durability of The Law itself.
“The actions of The Accused as individual are irrelevant in and of themselves; however, they attain great relevance under light of The Law. Words, ideas, conjectures — all become meaningless in lieu of action, and meaningful only in that they have profaned The Law. If there were no Law, The Accused could very well murder his parents and get on with life. He could murder me or you or whomever he pleased.
“Because of The Law, he can murder no one without paying with his own life. Sound economics indeed. No something for nothing. No free lunch.
“Some will do anything to defy The Law. Flee. Lie. Even die in their attempt to flout The Law. Leaving debts, for instance, or killing citizens and then themselves before The City can put them to death legally. Dying to escape The Law. Mocking The Law, mocking The City and its Citizens, and mocking ones who, like myself, defend and perpetuate The Law. The City gives me power over information so that I may obtain the knowledge to enforce The Law. The price of this privilege is my absolute fidelity to Justice, my utmost determination to keep her pristine under-panties unsoiled.”
The prosecutor digested ambiguous data into meaningful prosecutions for The City.
“Beautiful Law. Eternal Fiction,” the Prosecutor said. “Like buildings and cars and The City herself. Creations born in the brain, birthed on paper, matured in steel and concrete. Admire The City, the fertile imaginations of her creators. Citizen Imaginations. The spirit of The Law courses through the veins and arteries of us all. Sound language constructed our collective tale, this Epic of The City. Break her and you break our universal dream. Like injecting profanity and vulgar usage into a delicate poem. Breaking the linear accretion of small pleasures that is narrative.”
The prosecutor would never let barbarians storm The City.
“The murderer will not interrupt our dream of The City Without End. We will not submit to his nightmare of chaos and despair.”
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