The Venetian Court

by Charles L. Harness

Genres: Science Fiction; Hard Science Fiction; Space Opera

Synopsis

The Plaintiff, Universal Patents, Inc., was heartless. The judge, Rex "Spider" Speyer was merciless. Ellen Welles' case seemed hopeless. Unless her lawyer could locate the mad creator of FAUST - the robot-inventor who'd given Universal Patents its stranglehold on the world economy - she was sure to die for patent infringement, a capital crime in the twenty-first century. Quentin Thomas, Ellen's lawyer, already knew that the judge was a psychopath, and he quickly learned just how dirty Universal could play...

Release date: October 31, 2013

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 202

Sample

Quentin Thomas strode past the music room, resolutely ignoring the tri-di mirror that hung just inside. Five years ago he would have paused briefly to check his appearance in that mirror. But no more. He had lost confidence in his looks. He wasn’t yet forty, but his hair was already thinning and turning gray. His face seemed to be built up around indeterminate creases. Was he already in middle age? He thought his iris implants might need changing again. Or should he go back to bifocals?

He had to get away, if only overnight. He wanted to watch the sun come up over the Massanutten Mountains, with mist pouring like a slow river through the Newmarket Gap. Then, facing the other way, he could see the cliffs of Stony Man up in the Shenandoah ridges. Perhaps he could go away this weekend. But here was this woman, waiting for him in the anteroom.

He walked on past the mirror and its reproaches. In grudging compromise, he touched his fingers to his new black lace collar—the current vanity of the profession. Did he really need a woman to review his appearance and/or for other purposes? No. He’d tried that—twice. And they had left him. One, two. He didn’t blame them. He would get on a case and then he would become oblivious to everything else. When he was in the midst of litigation, his personal life simply evaporated. There was no room for it.

He remembered.

“Choose, damn you!”

“But I can’t get away with you—even overnight. I have to be in court tomorrow at ten o’clock. You know that.”

“You can’t get away, even if that means I’ll leave you?” (Incredulously.)

“Don’t do this to me. You know I love you.”

“Lies … lies …” Screams … screams …

She had already packed, of course. And she had drawn out all the money in their joint-access fund. That was the pattern. The first. And the second.

Why was he so good with a female client and so damn useless with a female wife? He didn’t know; and he didn’t propose to analyze it. And actually he was pretty damn good with any kind of a client!

He walked on down through the hallway. Midway he saw the spider. It dangled from the hall ceiling on a single filament, mute and without motion. He paused and considered the tiny intruder with growing wonder. It shouldn’t be there. What prey did it hope to capture within the sterile confines of his apartment-office? It was out of place there.

Or was it?

His entry into the hall created a slight draft, and the silken thread trembled briefly, scattering a slender linear reflection of the ceiling lights.

That filament …

The woman in the waiting room wanted to talk to him about a filament.

Coincidence?

He shivered. Were the fates already at work?

As a rational human being, he didn’t believe in fate. Strike that. Your Honor, I misspoke. As a rational human being, I don’t want to believe in fate. And as a lawyer, I don’t want to believe that external forces guide my destiny, or that some deus ex machina determines whether my client wins or loses.

But that’s the way it seems to happen. I look deep into my subconscious, and I perceive, first of all, that I’m not a completely rational human being. And I see, furthermore, that the free play of my mind searches out fate—which in final definition is simply the logical mix of justice appropriate for all the dramatis personae. That’s why they come to me. When nobody else will touch their cases, they come to me. But in the end, it’s fate, not me. I just make it happen sooner, quicker, cleaner. I’m the go-between. I make the introductions between client and destiny.

But even as he pondered these oddities, the vertical line disappeared. He peered up and down. Nothing on the ceiling. Or on the hall carpet. His little guest had vanished. He shrugged. But he felt he had been alerted. He would be very careful. He would bear in mind the spider and its filament, and he would listen very attentively to this woman.

He walked into his waiting room. “Please don’t get up,” he said to Ellen Welles.

The screen signal was strident, compelling. Judge Speyer, in a motion at once curious and annoyed, reached across his desk and punched in. The noise stopped and the words of the message jumped onto the screen like scurrying fireflies.

My dear Brother Speyer:

It has come to my attention that proceedings in United States v. Systems Motors have been completed for over two years, but I have not seen your opinion. I wonder how this is coming? I appreciate that you have a crowded docket, but so have we all. We have some interns—third-year students from the University of Maryland—if you need further clerical assistance.

As you know, U.S. v. Systems Motors is an extremely important case, not only for the case law that is sure to come from it but also as casting a light on the economic future of a considerable segment of industry …



There was more.

He waited a moment, then punched the print button. After the record rolled out he ripped it off like a paper towel. And then he was perplexed. He had read the message. Why had he printed it? He well knew what the senior judge wanted. He had known for months. He wadded up the memo and tossed it into the macerator. And then he scowled. Systems Motors. He would get to it. Why was the chief so antsy? He would get to it. Soon. He just needed something to charge up his psychic batteries. Then he could write that damn antitrust opinion.

Writing a decision was like taking a written examination back in college. Or law school. Especially law school. And all his life he had done poorly in his written examinations. Now, the orals were something else. He did well in oral recitals. But he needed a push to set anything down in writing. Especially a written opinion. Another bad thing about these written decisions, the circuit court of appeals could reverse them. He led the panel of district judges in reversals. Those dreadful written opinions! Every one was simply a target for a reversal. He sometimes had the impression that the appellate panel agreed ahead of time they were going to reverse him. Well, with Systems Motors he wasn’t going to get reversed. He would show them how alert and profound he was. They would marvel at the depths of his insights.

For a long moment he thought about Systems in another context. Systems could well be The Big One—the one that would serve as a stepping-stone to one of the circuit courts of appeals—and from there to the United States Supreme Court. It wasn’t just a daydream. With a little help from his political friends, he expected it eventually to become a reality. But not on his current record. He needed something really significant. And a big antitruster like Systems might well be it.

If he could only get started.

But how to get started?

He needed a death penalty case.

He got out his court calendar and pondered the entries one by one.

The criminal docket offered the usual array: computer embezzlements, extortions, armed robbery, dope, rape, even a couple of manslaughters. But none carried the death penalty. He needed a trial where he could lay the big one on the defendant. Nothing.

How about the civil side? Ridiculous even to think about it. What excitement lay in product liability, class actions, breach of contract, negligence, employment discrimination?

And then his eye fell on the simple one-line entry, Universal Patents v. Welles Engineering Corp. and Ellen Welles, patent infringement.

This was it.

His heart began to pound.

He could do it. He could wrap up U.P. v. Welles within two trial days. Today is Monday. Start Friday. Let the poor doomed defendant anguish through the weekend. Wind it up Monday week. Start dictating that damn antitrust opinion that afternoon.

His face lit up in a marvelous smile. Then, as he visualized the final, inevitable scene when the patent trial came to its crushing denouement in his courtroom, he began to chuckle quietly. The chuckles changed to laughter. His pot belly surged like an animal. Finally he got things under control. Shaking his head in deep and utter satisfaction, he wiped the water from his eyes.

“Systems,” he murmured, “you and I have a rendezvous next week.”

“Why me?” Quentin Thomas asked. He studied his visitor thoughtfully. Ellen Welles was pale, thin to the point of emaciation. Sunken eyes accentuated her high cheekbones. He detected faint traces of makeup—as though she had applied powder, rouge, and lipstick, appraised the result as hopeless, and had taken them off again. She wore a dark-gray business suit, with matching light-gray blouse and black tie.

She radiated a strange blend of urgency and remoteness. And perhaps the strangest thing of all: She wasn’t using her body in addressing him. Normally a woman’s hips, legs, arms, breasts were part of her functional personality. This woman brushed all that aside. Her sole concession to femininity was a faint perfume, an elusive thing that he had to strain to catch, like a whisper. Lilies? Perhaps. Like a single bud clipped, for remembrance, from a funeral wreath.

“Why me?” the lawyer repeated softly.

Ellen Welles twisted her handkerchief in her hands. “My corporation counsel wouldn’t take it because it’s a patent case and will require highly specialized handling.”

“And there are six major law firms here in Port City that handle patent causes. So still I ask, why me?”

“We went to them. They turned us down. But each of them recommended you, Mr. Thomas. You seem to have”—she searched for words—“a certain … reputation.”

Quentin Thomas almost smiled. “You brought the complaint?”

She pulled it from her attaché case. As she handed it over she looked about the room curiously. “Is this your office?”

“It’s an anteroom to my apartment. I work here and I live here.”

Why do I join office and abode? he thought. Because it’s safer? Was he being paranoid? A little, perhaps. On the other hand, it was a lot easier for an unscrupulous opponent to bug an outside office, search files, even plant a bomb.

“Are you alone here?” she asked. “No partners? No associates?”

“Just me. When I need research, I call on Legal Data. When I want papers typed, I just dictate them to the public steno on the mezzanine. But let’s see what we have here.” He studied the document briefly. “Universal Patents, Plaintiff, versus Welles Engineering Corp. and Ellen Welles, Defendants. Standard allegations of ownership of the patent for ‘Electrically Conductive Polymer.’ Infringement by defendants by making and selling their ‘Fiber K,’ thereby infringing plaintiff’s patent.…” He looked over at her. “Do you infringe?”

“Yes. We’re literally within the claims of the patent.”

“And the patent is valid, so far as you know?”

“So far as we know. All the best references were cited. And it does appear to be an unobvious invention. It seems to meet all the criteria for patentability.”

“Can’t you simply stop making—what do you call it—Fiber K?”

“The whole corporation is based on Fiber K. We researched it several years ago, got into business, started selling, filed our own patent applications, then Universal Patents issued their patent. They were ahead of us. We couldn’t believe it at first. They hadn’t even done any research. Just a paper patent, cranked out by a computer. A computer-inventor.”

“Faust,” murmured Quentin Thomas.

“What?”

“Faust. That’s the name of the computer. A man named Robert Morrissey invented it. He’s in a looney bin somewhere today, but his machine keeps churning out the inventions. Universal Patents administers his estate. Interesting. Hmm.” He thought a moment, running through the possibilities. Nothing seemed to emerge. It was hopeless. She was counting on him, as some sort of last resort, but he just couldn’t do it. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Welles. I can’t help you. I can’t take the case.”

But she was not to be put off. “Is the greatest defense lawyer this side of the Mississippi afraid of losing a simple patent infringement suit?”

“Mrs. Welles …” He toyed glumly with the pen set on his desk and his voice became carefully noncommittal. “Some sad things have happened in the patent laws in recent years. Let me give you a bit of history. In the period 1985 to 2000, the United States Supreme Court broke every patent that came before it. In effect, the high court abolished the patent system. There was a strong legislative reaction. In 2002 the Congress enacted new patent statutes, completely removing most of the grounds previously used by the Supreme Court to invalidate a patent. The new patent statute may eventually turn out to be unconstitutional, but until the Supreme Court strikes it down, it’s the law of the land.”

“I’m aware of all that,” Ellen Welles said.

He leaned forward and studied the pale features. “And did you know that the statute of 2002 makes patent infringement a criminal offense?”

Her sunken eyes glittered back at him. “Yes. Patent infringement is now a capital offense. It carries the death penalty.”

The lawyer rose nervously from his chair and began to pace back and forth in front of the woman. Then he turned and faced her. “Mrs. Welles, something is missing here. I’m not getting through to you. If your company loses this suit, someone will die. Your answer to the formal complaint of infringement has to name that person. Otherwise you lose the case by summary judgment, and the court is entitled to designate arbitrarily any person within the management echelons. For example, the president or the chairman of the board.”

Mrs. Welles smiled a twisted smile. “I know that, Mr. Thomas. As both president and chairman of the board, I will designate myself.”

His eyes rolled up. “Oh, God,” he muttered.

She said, “There’ll be a jury.”

“The judge could take the case away from the jury. He could give a directed verdict.” He thought about that. “Who is the judge?”

“Speyer.”

Quentin Thomas started slightly.

“You’ve heard of him, of course?” Ellen Welles said.

“He’s known in the circuit as ‘Speyer the Spider,’ ” he said quietly.

“I know. I checked. I hear he’s a borderline psychopath.”

“You heard right. He’s had two patent infringement suits under the new statute. He took . . .