Elefante Bianco

Past the small wood gate that separated the gallery from the court floor, a long wooden table seating five men faced the judge’s bench. Here, Kimball could see among others, Olgumari Saccio, the lead prosecutor. Just to the right and slightly in front of the bench was the witness box, lower than the judge’s bench but still gave its occupants a good four feet of elevation over the court floor. Below the witness box was a modest desk for the stenographer and the court translator. Just to the right of the witness box was the elongated jury box running along the right wall, flanked on each side by bailiffs. On the opposite wall, across from the jury box was another tall box with its own private door. Presumably, this was the defendant’s dock, where the accused would be seated for the duration of the trial. As the defendant was a seagoing vessel, the dock sat empty. However, it came complete with another bailiff, who evidently had no other place to be, so he stood guarding the empty dock. Underneath the box was the defendant’s table, where the lead advocate for the defense, Andre LeBrand, sat alone and looking a bit lost. After showing his diplomatic identification once again to a seated guard at the gallery gate, Kimball made his way past the prosecutor’s table, ignoring the glare from Saccio, and over to LeBrand on the left side of the court floor. “Andre, have you seen Alexis today?” He asked worriedly. LeBrand eyed him unknowingly. “Who?” “My assistant, the one you keep hitting on. Have you seen her this morning? Do you know where she is?” LeBrand shrugged and shook his head, as if to doubly indicate that he both did not know her whereabouts, and was not quite certain who he was talking about in the first place. Kimball leaned heavily down on the tabletop, as he hunched over in deep thought. “You have a cell phone, right?” “Ah, a cellular phone.” LeBrand corrected. “Yes, of course. But why?” “Because she’s called you a few times over the past couple of days. You should have her number in your phone.” “Well that is fine and lovely.” LeBrand explained dismissively, then motioned with his head over his shoulder to the bailiff in the dock behind him. “But you see, the boorish cad over there has confiscated it from me until recess.” “What? Why?” LeBrand waved his hands about carelessly, as though conducting an orchestra while trying to swat a fly. “Oh, some silliness about a conversation I was having. He is a prudish old dried out husk of a man, who does not like to hear the luscious language of love. It reminds him of how alone he is, I presume.” “You were talking dirty on the phone, in court. Loudly, I presume?” “Ah, but it is the pitch of a man’s voice that heightens a woman’s arousal for passion. For example when I –“ “No!” Kimball interrupted irritably. “Just forget it. Okay, listen up. Once the trial begins, I want you to go before the judge, and tell him that you’ve consulted with your client, and have decided to change your plea to ‘No Contest’.” LeBrand looked at him curiously. “But my client is a ship.” “Yes, I know. But if we plead ‘No Contest’ there will be no need for a trial, and they can take the damned ship, and this whole mess will hopefully be over with. After that, we can go look for Alexis.” “I can’t go in front of the judge, and tell him that a ship told me to change our plea!” LeBrand insisted apprehensively. “I’ll look like a fool!” “Look-“ Kimball grabbed him by the jacket, which immediately caught the attention of the bailiff looking sternly down at them from the dock above. Kimball released him, and answered in a harsh whisper. “I don’t care how you tell him. Say it was your idea. Just tell the judge we do not want to go forward with the trial, and so we plead ‘No Contest’.” LeBrand shuffled the papers in front of him, most of which were blank. “Well, I don’t see why. The trial probably won’t last beyond today or tomorrow anyway. Marisupan courts are quite efficient that way.” “It doesn’t matter. We don’t want a trial. If Saccio offers his invoice as evidence, it could cause a dangerous rift in the city, which could lead to civil war!” “That Saccio’s a mud hen.” LeBrand grumbled, looking icily over at the prosecuting attorney, who was conversing with his deputies. “He would certainly love to have Circia erupt in chaos.” Kimball looked back up at him. “Why do you say that?” “Because he has no soul!” LeBrand exclaimed. He stood up defiantly, and gestured overtly towards Saccio with both arms. “He is adrift in a sea of self-satisfaction and blithe Machiavellian trust in the benevolence of bureaucratic machina. He loathes the life and liveliness that breathes within all of the common people, and serves only the hand that feeds him. He’s probably never even felt the touch of a real woman. Why I think-“ “You’ve been warned.” The bailiff above him growled angrily. LeBrand touched his right hand to his forehead, and gestured towards the guard in deference. Then, he turned back to Saccio, and snarled with a biting sarcasm that could not be mistaken in any language. “Forgiveness, please.” Saccio smiled and nodded condescendingly at them, and then returned to his conversation. LeBrand sat back down, sulking quietly to himself.