Page 32 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian

Desynthesis
(Fantastic Transactions 2, 1997)

In the icy ninth week of desynthesis an ad hoc tribunal convened
in the waning daylight hours of a November afternoon. Guards with
antique weapons barely restrained the mob howling for blood outside
the old wooden barn serving as the seat of government. Inside, a man
whose once-shaven face had been known to millions on video
screens rapped a tire iron on the crossbar of a stall to bring the court
to order.
“Gentlemen. Ladies. The gravity of the task before us does not
outweigh the mass of adverse public opinion waiting for our decision.
Let us get down to business. This court, operating under whatever
authority remains vested in me and the other members of the cabinet
still living, will now try the case of the People versus Juan Cabron.
Mr. Vice President, you are certain that the defendant, let me see,
here—bailiff, could you bring that lantern a bit closer? Thank you—
yes, Mr. Cabron, was an employee of Proteus Laboratories. Is that
correct, Mr. Cabron?”
A short dark man in khaki trousers and a faded flannel shirt was
prodded to his feet by an armed guard.
“Si, yes, that is my name, Your Honor, but I am only—”
The makeshift gavel rapped resoundingly.
“That’ll do for now, Mr. Cabron. You are represented by counsel?
No? Then we can dispense with more preliminaries. How do you
plead?”
“I do not understand, Your Honor. I did not do anything wrong.”
“Deny the charges, eh? No matter. Let’s get on with this. I don’t
think any of us want to be here when it gets dark.”
A loud murmur of assent came from the small assembly of
loyalists. An even louder rumble of discontent could be heard from
the citizenry milling and churning outside.
“Now,” said the judge, “does anyone have a pencil and something
to write on? You there: I appoint you court reporter. Get as much of
this down as you can and leave it somewhere safe. Posterity should

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