Illegal Alien

The intercom on his desk buzzed. He pushed the talk button with a sausagelike finger. "Yes?" he said, his voice low and deep.

"Dale," said a woman, "there’s a man here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but…"

"Yes, Karen?"

"He’s shown me some ID. He works for the president of the United States."

The dark eyebrows rose toward the white cloud of hair. "Send him in."

A thin white man came into the room. He was wearing gold wire-frame glasses and a gray suit that looked much less expensive than Dale’s. "Mr. Rice," he said, in a slightly nasal voice, "my name is Francis Nobilio. I’m the science advisor to the president."

Dale sat looking out at Frank over his own half glasses. Dale was a man of few movements, and he did not offer his hand. He indicated one of the empty chairs facing his desk not with a gesture, but simply with glance of his old, tired eyes. "I’ve seen you on TV," he said. "You’re part of the entourage living with those aliens."

"That’s correct, sir. And that’s why I’m here. One of the Tosoks has been arrested for murder."

Dale nodded. "I was at the county courthouse today. Everyone was talking about it. The victim was that gentleman from PBS, right?"

"Cletus Calhoun, yes."

"And you want me to defend the Tosok?"

"Yes."’

"Why me?"

Frank shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Your track record."

"There are lots of good lawyers in this town."

"True. But, well…" He paused, apparently not sure what to say next. "Look, it’s not exactly a civil-rights case, but…"

"But I’m black."

Frank looked away. "There’s that."

"And many of my most prominent cases have involved black defendents."

"Yes."

"Including a number of blacks accused of murdering whites."

Frank shifted in his chair. "Well, yes."

"So you figured I’m an expert at defending individuals that the court might be inclined to view as second-class citizens."

"I, ah, I wouldn’t put it that way."

"But that’s the issue, isn’t it? You’re afraid the jury will consider the Tosok to be something less than human." Dale had a James Earl Jones voice; his every syllable was as a pronouncement from on high.

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes."

Dale’s eyes were unflinching. "Would you have come to me if the deceased man had been black?"

"I— I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that."

"Black stiff, alien killer — not quite the same issue, is it? A jury is less likely to be enraged over the death of a black man."

"I’d like to think that the color of the victim makes no difference."

Dale’s eyes continued to bore into Frank’s skull for a few moments. "But it does," he said simply.

"Look, I’ve got to find someone to represent Hask today. I called Janet Reno, and Janet says you’re the best there is. But if you don’t want the job—"

"I didn’t say that. I just want to make sure that it’s the right case for me — and that your expectations are realistic. I’m offered a hundred cases a day; I turn almost all of them down."

"I know. You were asked to be a part of the Dream Team for the O.J.

Simpson criminal trial."

"True. And I passed."

"Why?"

Dale thought for a moment about whether he wanted to answer this.

Finally, he said, "Too many chiefs. Too many egos. I don’t work that way.

You hire me, you get me — me, and one of my associates as second chair.

Half the reason the Simpson trial lasted so long was that each of the gentlemen sitting at the defense table had to get his time in the spotlight."

"You would be lead counsel. The rest of the team would be up to you."

Dale considered. "You mentioned Simpson, Dr. Nobilio. Let me ask you a question. Why was he found not guilty in the criminal trial?"

Frank tucked his lower lip behind his teeth. He seemed to be trying to think of a politic answer. Finally, he shrugged. "Slick lawyering."

"You think he did it? Think he killed Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman?"

"Well, yes."

"Was justice done in that trial?"

Frank shook his head.

"You need a different lawyer. My secretary will suggest some names to you." Dale heaved his massive bulk up from his leather chair, and this time he did extend a beefy hand.

Frank didn’t get up. "Don’t brush me off, Mr. Rice. I need you. If you think my opinion is incorrect, tell me why."

Dale knew his own natural expression was a frown; he now let Frank see what his real frown looked like. But then he lowered himself back down, the chair creaking as it took his weight again. "The Simpson criminal jury only deliberated for four hours," Dale said. "You know why? Because it was an open-and-shut case."

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Open-and-shut!"

"Certainly. The jury was asked a single question: was there a reasonable doubt about O.J. Simpson’s guilt? And the answer was simple: of course there was. You and most of white America wanted the question to be: did Simpson do it? But no jury is ever asked to decide that. Instead, they’re asked, is there a reasonable doubt? And there absolutely was, on a dozen different grounds. The clear proof that Mark Fuhrman had perjured himself on the witness stand, the suggestion that he might have planted evidence, the EDTA preservative in the Simpson blood specimens, the possibility of DNA contamination, the gloves that didn’t fit, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. That’s reasonable doubt."

Frank said nothing.

"Since there was reasonable doubt, he was entitled to go free. Slick lawyering had nothing to do with it."

Frank sounded dubious. "Oh."

"Joh

"Pardon?"

"Is there any reasonable doubt about whether your alien did it?"

Dale could see the surprise on Frank’s face. "Of course there is. Hask wouldn’t have committed murder."

"How do you know that?"

"I— well, I mean, he’s an alien, and…"

"I saw you on Nightline a couple of weeks ago," said Dale. "You said something about since the Tosoks are obviously technologically superior to us, they must also be morally superior. They’d faced all the demons of technological adolescence and come through it."

"I did say that, yes. And nothing has changed my opinion."

"Monty Ajax wouldn’t have laid charges unless he thought he had an exceptional case," said Dale.

"I— I suppose," said Frank. It was clear from his expression that he hadn’t considered the possibility that Hask might be guilty.

"If your alien is guilty, he will likely be found guilty," said Dale. "This isn’t Perry Mason’s Los Angeles. The DA in this town wins ninety percent of the time."

Surprise moved across Nobilio’s face. "I— I thought it would be more like half the time."

"We elect our district attorneys, Doctor. You think the voters would keep voting in someone if he didn’t usually win? If I take this case, you must have realistic expectations. If your alien did it, and if he premeditated the crime, then he will quite likely be found guilty of murder one."

"No. We need for him to go free."

"I can’t guarantee that. And if he’s guilty, and if the police did not violate his rights — hardly a given, I grant you — there is no reason he should go free."

"There’s more at stake here than the simple issue of who killed Cletus Calhoun. This is our first contact with aliens, for God’s sake. The repercussions of this going bad are beyond imagination. Look, you caught me off guard a moment ago. I did not come to you just because you’re black. I came here because of the career you’ve had. You take cases in which larger issues are involved all the time — civil-rights cases, test cases against unjust laws. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I want you."