IX: Twelve Angry Beings

After the closing arguments, in which Mr. Trowley gloated and Ms. Benjerpot attempted to salvage her case, the judge sent the jury off to deliberate. He was just about to call for the bailiff to escort Dixie and Johnny back to the holding cell to wait when a smell began to permeate the room, and a light smoke began to waft up from the cage where Dixie and Johnny sat. Chichay and Sweaty looked at one another with dread.
“Oh for shit’s sake,” Chichay muttered.
“Fucking fools.” Within moments, Dixie and Johnny had been blasted with a fire extinguisher, their clothes only slightly singed. Most of the gallery had been evacuated, and the judge looked furious. The two Trout Mob goons stood in the back, smirking.
“At least the jury wasn’t in here for that,” Trowley said under his breath.

“Awful hot in here,” observed Juror Six as he took a seat in the jury room. The room was stuffy, like someone had used an oven during a heatwave with the windows closed. The bailiff stood by the door and nodded as the rest of the jurors filed in.
“We’re working on it,” the bailiff said, reluctant to step any further into stifling the room. “The atmospheric controls in this courthouse are pretty old and they sometimes throw a tantrum when the weather changes too quickly.”
“Our tax money at work,” grumbled Juror Three as he pushed past the guard and took a seat at the scarred conference table. It was empty except for a container of pencils and a pile of scrap paper. He stared across the table at the row of small windows, which looked out onto the side of the building next door. Hardly a view worth considering.
Several other jurors appeared at the door and entered the room, taking seats in the twelve creaking chairs that surrounded the table. The Foreman entered, sitting at the head of the table, and watched as the remaining jurors filed inside.
The only other items in the room were a water cooler and a small stack of paper cups, and a decrepit electric fan. Juror Two headed straight to the water cooler, poured himself a cup, and drank it with the intensity of a being who had just crossed Tatooine. Juror Seven entered the room last.
The bailiff stood in the doorway and took a headcount of the jurors. When they were all inside and seated, he addressed the room.
“Ok, citizenry, you can go ahead and get started on your deliberations. This room is yours to use as long as you need. There is a small restroom through that door,” he gestured at a narrow door, camouflaged in the wall at the far end of the jury room. “I’ll be right outside. If you need anything, just knock.” He left then, closing the door behind him. They could hear the whir of the lock as it slid into the place.
“I didn’t know they locked the door,” Juror Five whispered to Juror Ten.
“The fuck you think, they’re gonna just let us wander around? We’re prisoners, much as those two on trial.” The room was quiet for a few moments. Ten looked over at the Foreman, who had taken the stack of scrap paper and started to tear it into smaller strips. “Hey man, let’s get this show on the road.”
“Yeah, just a sec,” the Foreman replied, counting strips of paper.
“What’s the paper for?” asked Three.
“In case we decide we want to vote by ballot,” he replied, straightening up and looking at the other jurors. “Everyone ready?”
“Let’s make this fast, ok?” said Seven. “I have tickets to the game tonight.” The Foreman ignored this comment and continued.
“So we can proceed with this however you want. You want to just take a vote and see where we stand, or do you want to discuss it first? I’m ok with either option.”
“I think it’s customary to take a preliminary vote,” Juror Four answered. She was a smartly dressed, middle aged humanoid who appeared confident, but vain. She had already checked her appearance in a small compact twice since sitting down.
“Yeah, let’s vote,” said Seven. “Who knows, maybe we all already agree and we can get the hell out of here.”
“I’m in. Let’s vote,” Three said.
“Might as well see where everyone is,” Ten grumbled.
The Foreman nodded. “Remember, this has to be a twelve to nothing vote either way. Everyone who votes not guilty, raise a limb.” Seven jurors raised their limbs immediately. After a pause, four more did, including the Foreman. “Nine, ten, eleven…”
All eyes rested on Juror Eight, who kept his long arms by his side.
“Ok, guilty?” Only Eight raised his hand. An audible groan made its way through the entire group. “Eleven to one.”
“There’s always someone,” growled Ten.
“Now what?” asked Seven.
“I guess we gotta talk it over,” replied Eight. This elicited an even louder groan from Ten, which everyone else ignored.
Three leaned across the table and looked Eight in the eye. “Come on, man. You really think they did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You sat there in court, same as the rest of us. Even if the prosecution had been competent, you really think two people did all that!”
“They’re known criminals,” Eight put in.
“They’re Earth humans!” Three exclaimed.
“It’s so obvious that they couldn’t pull off something like that,” agreed Six. “I was convinced from the beginning.”
“This is one of those open and shut things,” Three said, keeping his eyes on Eight. “The judge said reasonable doubt, and the defense handed us mountains of reasonable doubt. The prosecution, too, for that matter. Need me to list ‘em for you?”
“No,” Eight replied simply.
“Then what do you want, man?” asked Ten. “Besides keeping us in this sweltering room?”
“I just want to talk it over,” said Eight.
“Nothin’ to talk about,” said Seven. “Eleven of us agree.”
“Lemme ask you something,” Ten interjected, leaning in closer to Eight. “You believe that lady, Benjerwhatever, from the prosecution? You believe anything about the story she told? That two Earth humans just blew up a planet for kicks?”
“I don’t know,” said Eight. “Maybe I don’t believe it.”
“Then why’d you vote guilty?” Seven asked, exasperated.
“Well,” Eight began, slowly. “If we vote to acquit, that family’ll get nothing. That planet was their livelihood. And the victims and their families? They’ll get nothing, too. It’s not so easy for me to just leave all those beings with nothing if we haven’t even discussed it. And what if those two really are careless terrorists who kill for fun? What then? Do we really just let them walk back out into our universe? We can’t just make that call in five minutes.”
“What difference does it make how long we talk about it?” Seven asked. “You couldn’t change my mind if we talked for a hundred years.”
“Let’s just take an hour, then.” Eight looked around the table. “The game doesn’t start until later tonight. We have time.” For a moment, it looked like Seven was going to come across the table and choke the life out of Eight, but then he gave his head a quick shake and sat back, arms crossed, and nodded. Everyone was quiet.
“Anyone else have something to say?” the Foreman asked. He looked at Two questioningly.
“No,” Two replied. The Foreman looked at Juror Nine, an older lady who seemed indifferent throughout the whole trial.
“I’m happy to sit here for the whole hour,” she said, pursing her lips. The room was silent again, only the hum of the barely functioning atmospheric system could be heard. Finally, just as Ten was about to start complaining again, Eight spoke up.
“Look, I don’t know. But a couple of decent, hard working folks lost everything, and a ton of beings lost their lives, and there happened to be two people there that day, acting like fools, making threats, and messing around.”
“I thought we established that they weren’t making threats,” said Ten.
“Says the defense, but that’s what they’re up there to say. These are wild, angry people! You could tell that just by the way they acted in the courtroom. Outbursts and stuff. And they had a slick lawyer who got up there and spun us a yarn. Meanwhile, the prosecution didn’t seem to be any good, so I think we owe it to everyone to just discuss it a little.”
“We don’t owe any of these beings shit,” Ten spat. Nine looked over at him and shook her head in the way that older ladies do when someone isn’t acting right. He shrugged. “They got a fair trial. If the prosecution sucked, it’s not on us to come in here and do their job for ‘em. Know what I mean?” He looked around the table. “Besides, I’ve lived around Earth Humans my whole life and they couldn’t have done this. They’re born lazy and incompetant.”
“Only an ignorant man could think that,” said Nine.
“Who are you calling-”
“Stop this arguing!” Four shouted. “We can behave like grown beings.”
“Yeah!” Juror Twelve chimed in. Everyone turned to look at him in surprise.
“If we’re going to discuss this case, we need to start with facts,” Four said, then shot a look at Ten, “Not opinions on the character of the defendants.”
“Why don’t we all take a turn pointing to some actual evidence as to why these two couldn’t have done it? By the time we all say our part, we ought to have convinced that guy,” Twelve pointed at Eight.
“Good idea,” agreed Seven. “Who wants to go first?”
“We’ll go in order,” the Foreman said. “Our juror numbers. You’re first.” He pointed at Two, who seemed surprised.
“Oh,” he stammered. “Well, it’s hard to explain, I just… don’t think they did it. It was obvious to me. And nobody proved otherwise.”
“Well yeah,” said Three. “Because the burden of proof is on the prosecution. And they didn’t do their job.” All eyes were on Juror Three now.
“Is that the factual evidence you’re considering in your not guilty vote?” the Foreman asked.
“No, that’s not evidence, that’s just an opinion.”
“Go on, then.”
“Ok, let’s take the lady. She gets up there and says the two defendants, Dixie and Johnny, is it? Are making threats by the fuel pumps, chanting and marching and stuff like that. But then when their lawyer gets up and questions her, she admits she’s not one for music and probably wouldn’t recognize singing or dancing.”
“None of that means they didn’t do it, though,” Eight pointed out.
“Very true, but I took that, along with the tramp saying they were drunk, to indicate that they were just singing and dancing and having a good time.”
“By jumping the janitor?”
“Coulda been an accident,” Three said. “You know how Earth humans are.” The jurors all thought this over for a few minutes.
Hoping to keep things moving, the Foreman nodded to Juror Four. “Next?” She looked up, then sat a little straighter in her chair.
“It was clear to me that the prosecution’s entire case was flimsy. They picked up these two because they happened to be on the planet at the time of the accident, and pinned it on them once they realized they had criminal records. Happens all the time, is my understanding.”
“So the system is corrupt, why bother trying to uncover the truth?” asked Eight.
“You said it, not me,” Four replied.
“But look here,” interjected Ten. “What about that little squiggly guy with the accent? He described the same thing with the janitor, only he said it was the janitor trying to get them to stop dancing or whatever, not them attacking the janitor.”
“Hey, man, we’re going in order,” the Foreman warned. He looked over at Juror Five and nodded. “Your turn.”
Five shrugged. “Pass.”
“He can’t pass!” exclaimed Ten.
“It’s his loss,” replied the Foreman. “Next?”
“Well,” Six began slowly. “I was trying to figure out what motive they’d have for, you know, blowing up an entire planet. Near as I can tell, they didn’t have one.”
“Unless you buy that they’re psychotic terrorists who get off on destruction,” put in Ten. “Know what I mean?”
“No one proved they weren’t,” said Eight quietly.
“They didn’t have to!” Ten almost shouted. He placed his hands on the table and leaned across, getting closer to Eight. “The burden of proof is on the prosecution to prove they’re guilty! You heard the judge!”
“Settle down!” the Foreman warned. He looked over at Six. “You done?”
“Yeah, that’s all I was going to say.”
“Ok, Seven?”
Juror Seven took a deep breath. “I uh… I kinda can’t believe none of you have brought up the phony medium.”

***

The room exploded in a burst of voices, all talking at once, excitedly and with some disbelief as they rehashed the events of the trial. The Foreman waited a few moments before trying to bring order back to the jury room.
“Settle down,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t have to shout. It didn’t work, so he shouted. “HEY!” A hush fell over the room and all eyes turned to the Foreman, who looked directly at Seven. “We’ve been instructed to disregard any testimony from the janitor, or whoever that was. So do you have anything else you want to add?”
Seven shrugged. “I agree with what everyone else said.”
“Fine,” the Foreman said, turning to Eight. “Your turn.”
“Oh,” said Eight. “I figured since I started this, I didn’t get a turn. You were all going to convince me that they didn’t do it.”
“Who cares?” asked Ten. “He’s the one who’s keeping us here. Why doesn’t he give us some actual evidence proving they did it?”
Eight shrugged. “Look, the prosecution had two witnesses. Both of them started off saying that they thought these two, this Dixie and Johnny, were making threats. Then the defense got up there and spun ‘em up, so they said that, sure, maybe it could’ve been something else entirely.
“The lady says she doesn’t recognize dancing when she sees it, and the little guy says he might’ve looked away and not actually seen them do anything. Either of those things could be true. But what if the witnesses were right the first time?”
“They more or less admitted that they were wrong, though,” argued Twelve.
“Because the defense attorney planted a seed of doubt.”
“But if they were really right about what they saw, the defense couldn’t have made them doubt their own experience.”
“No one’s ever made you doubt a memory?” Eight asked. Twelve didn’t reply.

***

“What about the last witness?” asked Juror Three.
“He was a defense witness,” replied Eight.
“So? If they were really guilty, the prosecution should have been able to make us doubt him.”
“And you’re saying they didn’t do that?”
“No.”
“Not even when you found out that the defense got the charges against him dropped in exchange for his favorable testimony?”
“From the sounds of it, they were bogus charges,” Five put in. “Always stickin’ it to poor folks.” He shook his head, his wiry hair swinging back and forth gently over his forehead.
“I find it interesting that you’re so willing to believe the word of an interplanetary tramp when you don’t believe the other two witnesses.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you’re more sympathetic to… certain types of beings,” Eight replied. Five was on his feet almost before he’d finished talking, and began to make his way around the table. Twelve reached out and grabbed him as he walked past, hoping to avoid a physical altercation.
“Everyone just take a seat and calm down,” the Foreman warned again. “Or I’m getting the bailiff.” Five stood where he was for a beat, then turned and stalked back to his seat. He sat down, but remained on the edge of the chair, ready to get up and fight if needed.
“I think it’s your turn now,” Two said quietly, gesturing toward Juror Nine. She wasn’t paying attention.
“Look, she doesn’t care,” Three said. “Let’s just talk whenever we want. I want to talk about the laser rifle. The one the guy, Johnny, was swinging around when he was dancing.”
“You mean that he was using to threaten everyone on the GasTron Planet,” said Eight.
“Says you,” Three shot back.
“Yeah, I do say that. You’re right.”
“What about it?” asked Five.
“I don’t see how that little laser rifle was gonna be the thing that set off the destruction of an entire planet. Hell, even if Dixie and Johnny did plan on blowing up the planet, that’s not the way to do it.” Three looked around the table for support. A few other jurors nodded in agreement.
“Because Earth humans are incompetent,” added Five.
“You don’t know that, though,” said Eight. “It was a pretty big rifle.”
“No it wasn’t,” disagreed Three.
“It was.”
“No.”
“Let’s get it in here, then,” Eight suggested. “They said we can request to see the evidence, right?” he looked at the Foreman, who shrugged.
“They did. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I can go and ask the bailiff.”

***

While the Foreman was talking to the bailiff, the jurors continued to debate at the table.
“I don’t see what good it’s gonna do, us seeing the rifle again,” Three muttered. “We all saw it already in court.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” Eight replied. “Anyway, doesn’t it bother any of you that they managed to hang on to that rifle throughout the explosion and their rescue? They were clinging to a chunk of the planet when the IRER found them, and holding onto that rifle. It just kinda seems like they must’ve known the explosion was coming.”
“If they’re the terroristic criminal masterminds that you think, why didn’t they let the rifle get blown up along with everything else on the planet?” Four asked. “Seems like it would have been better to get rid of that evidence.”
“She has a point,” said Two, nodding in agreement.
“They said that the explosion lifted them off the ground and blasted them into one of the transmitter towers, and that they just just hung on until they were rescued. I imagine they were just in survival mode and didn’t even realize they were holding onto the rifle,” Twelve said. He was doodling on his juror’s notebook and didn’t look up the entire time he spoke.
“Or, they hung onto it in case they needed to shoot their way out of a jam,” Eight suggested.
“Then why didn’t they? Why let themselves get rescued by the IRER and then taken to the police for questioning? And why just sit there at the police station and let themselves get arrested?” Four asked.
“See?” asked Five. “This is what I mean. Earth humans are way too lazy and incompetent to pull something like this off.”
“Maybe the laziness and incompetence is why they got caught,” Eight mused.
“What do you mean?” Ten demanded.
“Well, maybe Earth humans are, as you keep suggesting, the most inept beings in the universe,” he looked around the table. Several of the less interested jurors were now paying attention. “But what if that just means they knew enough to blow up a planet, but not enough to actually get away with it? Ever think of that?”
“No,” Four admitted slowly. She was clearly turning this over in her head.
“I still don’t think,” Five started, but was interrupted by the door to the jury room opening.
The Foreman and the bailiff entered. The bailiff carried the long, shiny silver laser rifle that Johnny Go had been using as a prop umbrella during his performance of Singin’ in the Rain. The rifle had a small white tag on it marked “Exhibit C”, and a plastic ring through the trigger guard, meant to keep the gun from firing. He placed the rifle on the table.
“The rifle has a safety feature on it, but I urge you all to be cautious and handle it as little as possible. As I’m sure you’re all aware, laser rifles can be dangerous even when not fully charged and primed.” With that, he retreated through the door, mopping the sweat from his forehead as he went.
The jurors stared at the rifle in silence for a few moments, not really sure what to do. While the rifle was long, about three feet, it was slim and simple, a distant cousin to the actual implements of war and destruction currently on the market.
Finally, Juror Eleven spoke. “Doesn’t seem like something that could destroy a whole planet.” Several others nodded in agreement.
“Sure, it’s small,” said Eight. “You have to look at the totality of the circumstances, though. The spark from this rifle, hitting at exactly the right time and place, could trigger an explosion. And on a small planet with a core basically made of different fuel tanks? Not that hard to imagine.”
“I dunno, man,” said Seven. “I’ve seen these little rifles. More suited for target practice than anything else.”
“He’s right,” Twelve added. “We did an ad campaign a while back. It was for Greening, not Chinwester, which I think is what that one is, but they’re competitors, they’re really similar. They’re sport rifles. Target audience for the ads was weekend warriors, salarymen from Ribolt 9, that kind of thing. They’re specifically designed to create as little outward shatter on impact as possible for safety reasons.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Juror Six.
“Means when it hits, it should create a small, clean hole in the target,” Ten said.
“Right,” continued Twelve. “Unlike conventional weapons used in war and whatnot, which are designed to push their force outward to create the maximum amount of damage. The laser in these implodes inward on impact.”
“So if it went through a fuel tank…” Three mused.
“It likely would’ve fizzled out before it hit the fuel, is my guess,” Twelve concluded. Satisfied with his contribution, he returned to doodling.
“What do you have to say to that?” Three asked Eight, who had reached for the rifle and carefully picked it up.
“Well, I appreciate that Mr. Rebber has some knowledge about the workings of laser rifles. I’m certainly familiar with the concept of a sport-only rifle.” He turned the rifle over slowly in his hands, studying the panel where the instrument cluster was housed. He then looked to his right and passed the rifle to Juror Nine. The older woman took the rifle with a panicked look on her face, and held it out awkwardly.
“I also know, though, that these recreational weapons are easily modified,” Eight continued. “Modded laser rifles are the easiest way to actually get your hands on a deadly weapon, should that be something you desire.”
“Now he thinks the Earth humans took the time to mod a laser rifle,” Five snorted.
“They didn’t need to do the mod themselves,” Eight said. “They could just as easily have bought it that way on the black market. Lobak knows that’s easy enough.”
“How do you even know it’s been, what’d you call it? Modded?” asked Seven. He reached his hand across the table, gesturing for Nine to pass the rifle to him. She adjusted her grip in order to hand it over when:

ZZZZZHIP!

The laser rifle discharged, sending a white-purple beam of intense light and heat out across the table. The beam traveled between the heads of Jurors Seven and Eleven, narrowly missing each, before landing with a hiss in the water cooler against the wall. In the next instant, the jug of water sitting atop the cooler imploded like a black hole, and for a split second, the matter that made up the jug and the water was sucked inward, just as Juror Twelve had explained.
But in the next moment, the matter reversed, creating an explosion of water and plastic particles as the jug burst outward, showering the jurors with water and bits of plastic, and causing the base of the water cooler to collapse lopsided onto the floor. The wall behind the cooler bore a huge dent, and one of the ceiling panels fell to the floor.
Their ears rang, and the windows continued to reverberate long after the water had settled, streaming off the table and onto the floor. The jurors closest to the cooler were drenched, while those on the other side of the table seemed to get more of the plastic jug. The air in the room had the familiar smell of ozone mixed with an electrical fire, common in laser weapons.
A moment later, the bailiff burst through the door.

***

After a brief period of chaos, during which guards shouted, alarms sounded, towels were offered, and plastic shrapnel was picked out of hair, clothing, and ears, the jurors were finally settled into their seats in a different jury room. This room, unfortunately, wasn’t any cooler than the previous room, but at least it was dry and didn’t smell like laser residue.
The bailiff again retreated and locked the door. The jurors looked to the Foreman.
“Uh,” he started. “Anyone remember what we were discussing before… all that?”
“We were talking about the laser rifle, and how those kinds of recreational lasers couldn’t do the damage needed to blow up an entire planet,” Juror Eight said. He did his best to appear unphased by what had just occurred. “And I think we’ve just made the case that that’s not necessarily true.” He smirked.
“Oh come on,” Three said quickly. “That doesn’t prove they did it.”
“But it proves they could have,” Eight said. “It proves that they had a weapon on them that could have created an explosion. Do you agree?”
“No I don’t agree!” shouted Three. “Look, you’re not gonna change my mind. You’re not gonna change anyone’s mind.”
But Eight was looking at Five now, who was staring at his hands. “Mr Jugman? Do you agree that it’s at least possible?”
“I…” Five started, then paused for a long, bewildered moment. “I don’t know.”
“Oh come on, man!” Seven wailed. “What do you want from us?”
“I think we should keep going through the evidence,” Nine said quietly. She was still badly shaken from the ordeal. “A family lost their livelihood, after all. Beings died.”
“Oh, so you mishandle a weapon and now you’re suddenly on his side?” Seven demanded, gesturing to Eight. He turned to Five. “You, too, I guess? We’re never getting out of here.” Five shrugged.
“Look, we said we would review the evidence and decide what it proved. Maybe some beings are starting to think that the defense’s case isn’t all that it seems.”
“Unbelievable,” Three shouted. He got to his feet and began pacing. “This guy, he’s some kinda golden-voiced preacher. Open and shut case, we’re all just trying to get home to our families, and here he comes, telling us fairy tales. And we’re listening!”
“Ok, enough yelling,” the Foreman warned.
“Who’s yelling?!” Yelled Three. He continued to pace.
“Please,” Juror Eleven said in a small voice. “I want to say something.” Everyone turned to look at him except Three, who continued to pace. “I believe that all beings are entitled to their opinions, even if they are not smart opinions. That is why I moved here, to the Moidi system. In my home system, it is not-”
“Pal, no one wants to hear the history of whatever shitty planetary system you’re from.” Ten interrupted. “Let’s take another vote, ok? See who believes what.” He glared at the room and an uncomfortable silence fell over the group.
“Maybe we should use ballots this time,” the Foreman suggested. A few others nodded in agreement. The Foreman looked around, but the new jury room didn’t have the supplies set out on the table like the previous room. He headed to the door to ask the bailiff.

***

After the bailiff had returned with a box of pens and pencils, and a couple of fresh notebooks, the Foreman set about tearing new strips of paper to make ballots, then passed them around the table.
The group took a few minutes to mark their ballots, then folded them up and tossed them into a pile in the center of the table. The Foreman collected the pile and began to count.
“Not guilty,” he read, flattening the paper upside down in front of them. “Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, guilty.” There was a collective intake of breath in the room and all eyes looked to Eight, who remained still and expressionless at the table. The Foreman continued counting.
“Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, not guilty, not guilty…” he paused as he opened the next ballot. “Guilty.”
“WHAT?” shouted Ten. The Foreman ignored him and unfolded the last ballot.
“Not guilty.”
“Who the fuck was it!?” Ten demanded, pounding his large mechanics hands on the table. He clenched his teeth and looked at each juror in turn.
“That was a secret ballot,” Eight remarked. “You don’t need to know who it was.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ten said, turning to Eight angrily. “I know who it was anyway.” He got up from his seat then and stalked over to where Juror Five was seated and towered over him menacingly. Five looked up at him, trying his best to appear unintimidated. “What made you change your vote?” he demanded.
“He didn’t,” said Nine. “I did.” The older lady still looked shaken, but now also bore a look of determination. “Would you like me to tell you why?”
“The lady who doesn’t give a shit if we have to sit here all night suddenly cares about the proceedings,” Seven muttered. “No one cares why you changed your vote, lady. Point is that you fucked us.”
“I’d like to tell you all anyway,” she insisted, looking over at the Foreman, who nodded in support. “It took a lot of courage to stand against the majority in this room. This man did it,” she gestured to Juror Eight. “So I wondered, what exactly was it that had him so convinced. I still don’t think I see it, but I want to know more. I want us to keep talking.”
“Yeah, great speech, lady. Can we move on? Some of us still want to get out of here today.” Juror Three crossed his arms impatiently.
“I want to talk about motive,” Six said. “I just didn’t buy it when the prosecution said they blew up the planet for no reason besides just wanting to commit an act of violence and destruction. I mean, we all know Earth humans are violent, but that’s a bit much even for them.”
“Just because something seems unlikely to us, doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” Eight said. “Besides, short of the defendants admitting it, there’s no real way to prove their motive one way or the other.”
“But what did they get out of it?” Four asked.
“Just the satisfaction of watching a planet get destroyed, I guess.”
“Then why not plan it so they were off the planet by the time it actually blew up? Surely they knew they’d get caught, and if they got caught, they’d get questioned, right? On accounta all their other crimes.”
“Maybe they wanted to, but the explosion happened too fast and they couldn't make it off in time,” Eight said.
“But then couldn’t the whole thing have been an accident?” asked Nine.
“Two known criminals are on a planet, acting foolishly and swinging a modded laser rifle around, then immediately after that, the planet just happens to explode, and the reason is because it was an accident?”
Nine looked down at the table and sighed. “I know it sounds unlikely.”
“It sounds impossible,” Five said. “When you put it that way.”
“Oh come on!” moaned Ten, slumping backward in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “They had no reason to blow up the planet!”
“Let me ask you something,” Eight said, turning to Ten. “You always have a reason for everything you do?”
Juror Ten shrugged. “Sure.”
“Is that right?” Eight looked around the table. His gaze fell on Twelve, who was doodling away in a slightly damp notebook. “How about you, Rebber? You have a reason every time you do something?”
“I like to think I act pretty deliberately,” Twelve replied. He kept drawing.
“What are you drawing?”
“Me?” Twelve asked. “Just a Markham E7 Flashcruiser.”
“How come you’re drawing that?” Eight asked. The other jurors followed the conversation with rapt attention, their heads turning from one to the other as they spoke.
“No reason, really,” Twelve said. “I just like…” He stopped. He was about to open his mouth and speak again when Eight moved on.
“Miss Earshall? Any particular reason you just checked your reflection in that little compact?”
“I guess I just…” she trailed off.
“So,” Eight addressed the room again. “I think we can all agree that as beings, we don’t always have reasons for the things we do.”
“Checking your reflection or drawing in a notebook is not the same thing as blowing up a planet for kicks!” Three exclaimed.
“It’s not,” Eleven said slowly. “But it does make me wonder. Perhaps they didn’t go to the GasTron intending to blow it up, but once they got there, they decided to do it, what’s the word? Spontaneously.”
“But how would they even know that they could do it if they didn’t plan it in advance?” Ten asked, the frustration evident in his voice.
“Maybe they didn’t know whether they could do it. Maybe they decided to start shooting stuff or whatever and it just… happened?” Nine said, nodding.
“This is all such a stretch,” complained Seven.
“But you have to admit, there are beings out there who just can’t stay out of trouble. We all know them, right?” Eight asked.
“Yeah, but-” Just as Juror Six had started speaking, the loud wail of a siren interrupted him. It was shrill and piercing. Several of the jurors covered their ear holes.
“Now what?” Ten demanded. The Foreman got up and headed to the door just as the bailiff unlocked it and entered.
“Sorry folks,” he said, holding the door open. “Fire alarm. Not sure if it’s for real, or just a malfunction, but we’re gonna need to evacuate the building just in case. I need everyone to gather their things and follow me.” He looked at the Foreman. “I’ll lead the group to the emergency exit, you take up the rear to make sure everyone makes it out.”

***

Once outside, the bailiff took the jurors a short distance from the courthouse where they waited, along with a growing number of other beings. There appeared to be at least three other sets of jurors standing there among the gorbecannon trees.
The bailiff instructed them to remain there, and went off to talk to the various authorities also assembled outside. In the distance, a group of Moidi sectoral fire abatement vehicles could be seen, lights flashing, scanners pointed at the courthouse looking for hot spots. Firefighters took gear from the trucks and headed into the building.
Juror Seven looked at his watch and sighed. “I guess I’m gonna miss the game.”
“Eh, they were probably gonna lose anyway,” Two replied, as if this was any consolation. “The Pogs were favored three to one.”
“You think it’s an actual fire?” Five wondered.
“Ordinarily I’d say yes, it’d have to be if the alarm went off. But the state of this courthouse and its tech, I don’t have a lot of confidence,” Four said. She began to fan herself with her notebook. Nine looked over at her.
“Hard to tell whether it’s hotter out here or in there.”
“Y’got that right,” Ten agreed.
They were outside for more than an hour before they finally saw the firefighters return to their vehicles. The jurors, most of whom had taken seats on the ground by this time, started to get to their feet.
“Hopefully we’ll be cleared to go back in soon,” said Two.
“I didn’t really think I’d want to go back in,” said Three, “But even that horrible room is better than sitting out here on the ground.”
“Here comes our bailiff,” Four said, gesturing to the uniformed being crossing the courtyard. When he reached them, he stopped and took a quick headcount.
“Alright everyone,” he said. “We’re cleared to go back inside. There was no structural damage to the building, so we can finish up the day’s deliberations. Jurors are to go back inside first.” He nodded to the Foreman, who once again assumed his position at the back of the group. The bailiff set out across the courtyard.
He led the group into the building and ushered them toward a large elevator. He pressed the call button and waited, looking again at the group to ensure they were all there. When the elevator arrived, the bailiff held the door open and waited for all the jurors to enter.
The door slid closed silently, and the bailiff pushed the button for their floor. The elevator began to ascend. All the jurors stared silently at the number panel for a moment before Juror Three spoke.
“So it was actually a fire, then?” he asked the bailiff.
“Yeah,” the bailiff replied, nodding. “I know what you’re thinking, what with the age of the building and the malfunctioning atmospheric system and all, seems like it could have been a false alarm. And a lot of times it is. But this one was an actual fire.”
The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. The bailiff led them down the hallway toward the jury room.
“They know what it was?” Ten asked as they walked. The bailiff looked over his shoulder and smirked.
“You’re not gonna believe it,” he said. “It was your case.”
“How do you mean?” asked Five.
“The defendants in your case. They started a fire in their holding cell.”

***

“I still don’t understand,” Juror Six said. “Did they think they could escape?”
“You heard the bailiff,” replied Nine. “When they asked them why they did it, they just shrugged and said they didn’t know.”
“Which sounds an awful lot like your theory, Honda,” Ten said, pointing to Eight.
“I don’t really have a theory,” Eight admitted. “I just found the idea that them being there was a coincidence about as unlikely as you all found the possibility of them actually committing the crime. They didn’t come across as particularly stable to me during the trial, regardless of how bad the prosecution's case against them was.”
“Well, I’m starting to think you might be right about them being unstable,” said Two. “They set fire to their own clothing!”
“If you’d do that, what wouldn’t you do?” questioned Twelve with a sad shake of his head.
“Look, being locked up can make a person do weird things,” Ten said. “Just because they set their own clothes on fire, doesn’t mean they planned to blow up a service station planet.”
“No,” agreed Four. “But I think the argument as to them having no motive is out the window. It really seems like these two are impulsive and irrational.”
“Should we put this to a vote again?” asked the Foreman. For once, he was met with no protests. He passed out more paper, and the jurors wrote down their vote.
A moment later when the Foreman counted the ballots, it was ten to two in favor of conviction.

***

“If no one else has any ideas, I might have a cutie,” said Twelve. Jurors Four and Two looked at one another.
“A cutie?” Four whispered. Two shrugged.
“Sure,” said the Foreman. “Go ahead.”
“Ok, look, I’m still kinda puzzling over it, but I figured, lemme throw it out on the stoop and see if the cat licks it up.” Two and Four looked at each other again. Two rolled his eyes and Four suppressed a laugh. “I’ve been thinking about the last witness. The tramp.”
“What about him?” asked Three.
“Well, he’s a guy who maybe hasn’t had an easy life,” Twelve said.
“Bullshit,” spat Ten. “He’s homeless by choice. Any hardships he has, he’s got ‘em because he didn’t want to just settle down and live an easy life like the rest of us.”
“Will you let him finish?” Eight said, annoyed. “Go on.”
“Well, look, I think he might’ve felt a certain… compulsion to protect this Dixie and Johnny.”
“You think he lied on the stand?” asked Three. “Why?”
“Because they were nice to him.” At this, Juror Eleven’s eyes went wide and he nodded his head vigorously.
“Yes, they treated him as an equal.”
“This is outrageous, all this excuse making. Who gives a shit?” Ten asked.
Across the table, Three crossed his arms and sat back. “I agree with Eggley. What the hell does this have to do with anything?”
“He’s a societal outcast,” Twelve said. “He lives on the fringes. And before you say it,” he looked at Ten, “yes, he chose this willingly. And I’d wager that most of the time, that doesn’t bother him because he’s probably just out there on his own, in the wilds. But when he has to travel around, interact with the general population, that’s when he probably feels it.”
“Feels what?”
“The way people treat him. I bet sometimes he gets treated with downright hostility, maybe even abuse and violence. But even when he doesn’t, he can probably still sense that beings treat him as an other.”
“Spare us the oh woe is the homeless guy business and get to the point,” Three said. “What does this have to do with the case?”
“Well, it was clear from the testimony that when the witness met the defendants in the service plaza, not only did they buy him a bunch of drinks and snacks, they treated him as an absolute equal. He’d be on their side no matter what. If they told him they didn’t do it, he’d believe them, no questions asked. Just because they saw him not as a tramp or a bum, but as a being worthy of their friendship.” He paused then, and let the statement hang in the hot, stuffy air.
“He doesn’t care what they did,” Three muttered.
“Exactly,” Twelve said. Across the table, Ten glared at Three, sensing that his remaining alliance was crumbling.
“I don’t understand you beings!” Ten cried. “All these picky little things you keep coming up with, trying to rationalize your way into believing that two lousy Earth humans could ever accomplish anything, let alone something like this.
“You saw those two just like I did! They could barely keep themselves together just to sit there in court. You’re gonna tell me you believe the prosecution that these two are cold blooded killers? They’re humans! From Earth! It’s a miracle they even made it this far out of their own solar system. Usually they just get drunk and lay around.”
“Well, by all counts, it seems like they were pretty drunk,” Four put in.
“Exactly my point! Too drunk to pull off a stunt like this. You ever see that planet of theirs? It’s a mess. Nothing works right, the atmosphere is on the fritz, they throw their garbage everywhere. Everything about it is inferior. Some of ‘em are ok. I’ve known one or two Earth humans who were actually smart and capable.
“Not these two, though. You can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em that they’re useless. A drain on society. And you beings want to put ‘em in one of our jails, make us pay for them to eat, pay for their medical care. And you know Earth humans are sick all the time. They’re weak! That’s why there’s no way they could’ve done this!
“But sure, the two of ‘em just up and blasted outta their system, into ours, and decided sure, we’ll blow this little planet up for kicks. I’ll tell ya, not one of ‘em is smart enough for that.” Ten finally stopped and took a breath. Every juror in the room was staring at him in silence. He looked around.
“I’m only tryin’ to tell you…” he trailed off. Juror Eight stood up.
“It’s hard to keep our prejudices out of something like this,” Eight said quietly.
“Every single thing that came out in that courtroom said these are two useless trash excuses for beings who couldn’t even sit still through a trial. They’re not criminal masterminds!”
“They set a fire while we were in here deliberating! I’m not sure how much more proof of their competence you need,” Four said.
They faced off, Jurors Ten and Four, and for a moment it looked like Ten was going to pummel her. Several other jurors stood up and came around behind her. They continued to stare in silence.
“Well?” Ten demanded. “Someone say something.” No one said anything. Ten slumped into his chair, defeated. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Guilty.”
The Foreman went to the door and knocked for the bailiff.

Meanwhile...

“I can’t believe you two just did that,” muttered Attorney Trowling, glaring at his clients. The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks sat in a holding cell at the courthouse, singed from where the fire they’d set had burned their clothes and hair away, and wet from where they’d been hit with fire extinguishers and bottles of water.
“Oh come on,” Johnny complained. “No one on the jury is gonna know it was us.”
“Probably not,” Trowling admitted. “But you never know. You guys had this buttoned up. You should have just sat here and done nothing until they reached the verdict. Why’d you do that, anyway?” He fixed Dixie with a pointed stare. She shrugged.
“I’unno. Felt like it, I guess.”
Trowling stood up and paced across the room which contained the holding cells. It was an obvious effort to suppress the rage he was feeling. He reached the far wall when the door to the cell area opened and Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan entered.
“It took us ages to get back in here,” Sweaty said. “They’re only now letting the people who’d been in the gallery back into the courthouse.” Trowling walked back toward them.
“What’s the word out there? Does anyone know who it was that set the fire?”
“I didn’t hear anyone say anything specifically,” Chichay said. “But I did notice that that guard who was posted outside of this cell area was talking to a group of other guards.”
“Great. That’s just great,” Trowling growled.
“You think he’s telling people it was Dixie and Johnny who set the fire?” Sweaty asked.
“I guarantee that’s what he’s doing. The only question is when the rumor’s gonna make it back to the jury.” Trowling dropped into one of the visitor chairs in front of Dixie and Johnny’s cell. “Shoulda made a deal,” he muttered. Chichay looked up.
“Did they offer a deal?” she asked.
“They gave me the opportunity to make one. I didn’t have anything particularly tantalizing to offer, since, despite it all, I still really believe they didn’t do it. So best I could have done is just a reduced sentence in exchange for a guilty plea and skipping the trail. In light of all this, though, that would have been preferable.”
Chichay and Sweaty looked at one another for a moment, then looked at Dixie and Johnny, who were now shackled more closely, and with their hands uncomfortably behind their backs. Dixie had some kind of protective mitts on her hands.
“I bet you guys have something to trade,” Chichay said.
“Yeah,” added Sweaty. “The amount of shit you get into, there’s gotta be-”
“I don’t want to hear about any other crimes!” Trowling shouted, covering his ear holes. “You two have done enough damage to my reputation already.”
“He’s probably right,” Chichay sighed. “Most of the other stuff they’ve done is more serious crimes than this.”
“What are you talking about?” Dixie asked, innocently. “We haven’t done any crimes.”
“Yeah, we’re just a coupla innocents,” Johnny added.
“You guys blew up a mountain in Utah,” Sweaty said.
“But that belonged to us,” Dixie said. “The Becoller told us.”
“Uh huh,” said Chichay. “There was also the jaywalking.”
“Who cares?!” Dixie and Johnny shrieked in unison.
“I mean, the Provo police care, obviously,” Sweaty said. He turned to Trowling. “They did eleven months for that, and for resisting arrest because - wait for it - they lit their clothes on fire in the back of the police car.”
Trowling groaned. “I told you I didn’t want to hear this.”
“We already did our time for that, though,” Johnny pointed out. “But we did try to kill that Rat Pack guy in Vegas.”
“Please don’t-”
“I pushed that church guy into the tiger pit, too,” Dixie said, getting in on it.
“Don’t forget the time you guys tried to run a funeral home out of our restaurant.”
“That’s not illegal.”
“It most certainly is.”
“They owe a shit ton of money to the Trout Mob,” Sweaty said. He stopped. “I guess that’s why they were in the courtroom.”
“I thought I told you to pay them?” Chichay demanded.
“We tried!” Dixie said. “We won all the money we needed at that Cantina, but it got blown up when the GasTron Planet exploded.”
“You were at The Cantina?” Trowling asked. “When was that? It just burned down.” Dixie and Johnny didn’t reply, and instead sat there grinning. “Oh for Lobak’s sake.”
“Speaking of the Trout Mob, though,” Chichay said. “They’re an intergalactic menace, right? What if we had some intel on them?”
“What intel do we have on them?” Johnny asked.
“Well, whatever it is that caused you to rack up four million in debt to them would be one place to start,” Chichay said coolly. Trowling sat up, interested in spite of himself. “Or maybe you can tell Mr. Trowling here about your little ride on that Chinese space station?”
Dixie and Johnny looked at one another and nodded. “How’d you know that was us?” Dixie asked. Chichay shot them a look.
“Ok,” Johnny said. “First, there’s the scam they’re running with pizza rolls…”

***

Trowling marched through the upper level of the courthouse toward the wing that housed the offices of the prosecutors. When he reached Ms. Benjerpot’s office, he paused at the open door and knocked softly. She looked up from her desk, initially startled that anyone had come to see her, then confused that it was Trowling.
“Counselor? Can I help you?”
“I’ve come to see about a deal.”
“A deal? We’re done with the trial, Trowling. The jury is deliberating. The craft has sailed on a deal.”
Trowling crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe. “After that dismal showing in court today, I’d think you’d be eager to hear me out,” he said. “Unless you’re just really looking forward to adding another loss to your record.” Benjerpot’s pale skin burned several shades darker, but she said nothing. Trowling shrugged and turned to leave.
“Ok then,” he said. “I tried.” He took a few steps down away from the office.
“Fine,” she said. “What’ve you got?” He smiled and turned back to her.
“A chance to be a hero.”
“Come in and close the door.”

***

An hour later, Dixie and Johnny sat with Trowling in the judge's chambers along with Ms. Benjerpot and several others from the Regional Attorney’s office, each ranking higher than the last. Some members of the organized crime task force were present, as well, and two Moidi Marshalls sat quietly in one corner.
A clerk bustled in with two huge stacks of paper, which she placed on the judge’s desk. He passed one each to Benjerpot and Trowling, who took a few minutes to review. When they were through, they passed the papers back to the judge, who looked up at Dixie and Johnny.
“I know you’ve already conferred with your attorney on the terms of your deal, so I’ll just go over it briefly before you sign. After that, you’re to go with Agents Neptune and Redshaft, who will brief you on the terms of your witness protection agreement and give you your new identities.”

***

Twelve angry and exhausted beings sat impatiently in the jury room. It had been two hours since they’d called the bailiff and informed him that they’d reached a verdict. They’d expected to be taken immediately to the courtroom to deliver it, but here they were, still waiting in the same stuffy, overheated room. They’d long since stopped musing about what the problem might be. They were tired and they just wanted to get home to their families.
The Foreman got to his feet and was about to try knocking on the door for the bailiff again when the door opened. The bailiff entered, followed by the judge.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the judge began, looking around the room. “Your service today has been invaluable, and I want to just personally thank you for all the time and, no doubt, emotion that you put into your deliberation.
“The parties in this case have reached an agreement, and therefore your verdict will not be needed. You are hereby dismissed.”