Eli Rogan swelters on the balcony of his motel room overlooking the Carolina bay. His parents could never have imagined that he and the Atlantic Ocean would eventually visit the foothills of the Appalachians. He sips on a cold Cloudburst, the beer from Old Antilla that provides some relief from the heat. New Antilla where he is staying is technically a dry town but the law was rarely enforced. He is on his lunch break from the air-conditioning repair shop. They tried to get what extra-life they could from the remaining units that survived, but mostly he spent a lot of time fabricating small parts for attic fans. It wasn’t bad work after he learned to always wear gloves to avoid the inevitable metal splinters. He had done far worse work before.
The knock on the door surprises Eli. No one visits in the middle of the day.. He drops the beer in the empty plant pot and walks barefoot across the geometrically patterned carpet to open it. He is surprised to see Sheriff Deputy Banks and his assistant Sergeant Merrill. Eli recently replaced the attic fan in Merrill’s home. Merrill looks embarrassed. Maybe he had broke it again already.
Banks looks angry. “Eli. I hate to do this to a working man but you have been called to testify before the TRECO. I especially hate to do it because they say you are a climate killer. I don’t see how, but that is what they say.”
In an old life, officers of the law were trying to arrest Eli all the time. In this new life, it never happened. TRECO was the Truth and Reconciliation for the Environment Committee. Last time he checked, they didn’t have much teeth. They just moaned about the fact we had collectively fucked things up and asked people to confess their sins.
“Well Banks. They got me. I killed the climate.” Eli jokes. Merrill chuckles, but Banks still looks angry.
“They found some old data Eli and the worst offenders are being forced to repay their sins. It is a mob but it has the Governor’s ear. Why don’t you come with Merrill and I to meet your lawyer.” Banks makes it plain there was no choice. Eli scans the apartment. There is nothing of value, nothing from the old life, and nothing but the seeds of a new life that were planted but never watered.
Jonas Medford is agitated by how calm his client is. He doesn’t seem to understand. They sit across from each other at a vintage maple desk that Jonas had inherited from his grandmother. She had been an accountant and the scratch marks here and there would occasionally hint at a challenging sum.
“Eli. According to the recovered Delta records, you flew 2 million miles in your life. The last person TRECO tried had only flown 400,000 miles and they sentenced her to 30 years of restoring coral. 2 million miles will be” Jonas checks his fingers and figures “ 150 years.”
His client looks at his hands. Jonas notes all the scars along the thumbs and index fingers. “I have done worse work than resetting coral. 150 years seems excessive for being a formerly successful salesman.”
“Damn right it’s excessive. Do you have any mitigating circumstances? What did your company do?”
Eli’s eyes scan the ceiling while listening to the clanking and grinding fan. “I sold HVACs to data centers.”
“Are you kidding me? HVAC? Data centers? “ Jonas lets out a long sigh. “I will try to think of something. Banks! We are done here take Eli home.”
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Eli is not thrilled about being in this cement block cell. There is a metal toilet and a thin cot. He hasn’t been in a cell since he was arrested protesting the Saudi war. At least this cell was private. Banks had left him some ice to put on his face. When they arrived at the jail a welcome committee had pelted Eli with whatever was handy.
“Climate killer!”
“Thanks for flying us all into the water, Asshole!”
“Burn like the planet burned”
“Fuck TRECO! Give him to us Banks! We’ll reconcile his ass.”
Banks and Merrill pushed most of the mob out of the way and also took a couple hits from the stones. Merrill fired his weapon into the ground and scared off most of the mob. Right when Eli felt safe, he felt the rock smash into his cheek. Now he lies on the well-worn mattress in his new light orange pajamas with a bag of ice on his cheeks. The new organic dyes didn’t have the same flash as the old petrol based synthetic dies.
No fan. No beer. Just a wet heat pouring in through the tiny barred window.
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The prosecution starts by calling Sergeant Merrill to the stand. The TRECO Tribunal consists of a grandmother who had lost her grandchildren to Hurricane Xiaodi, a crystal healer with an impressive set of dreadlocks pulled into a topknot, and a professor of zoology. Technically, a former professor as universities had lost their prestige. The professor is the Tribunal head having the most experience commanding a room.
The courthouse is a repurposed greenhouse, the side doors are opened for ventilation, and in summer canvas bags cover the roof and walls to provide some shade. The tribunal sits on a wooden platform in a box with curtains that can be pulled for the most sensitive discussions. Also on the platform is a small box for the witness stand where Sergeant Merrill is wiping the sweat off his forehead with a new purple handkerchief. The defense and prosecution sit below the platform separated from the audience by a thin wooden fence with a gate.
The prosecutor stands in front of the platform. He is a wispy, pale bald-headed man in a tie-dyed robe. The natural colors have already faded to soft pastels.
“Sergeant Merrill. Can you confirm the man sitting here is Eli Rogan?” the prosecutor gently waves his hand and wizard-like sleeve towards the defendant.
“Yes. That man is Eli Rogan.” Merrill says timidly while shifting in his seat.
“And Sergeant, how do you know Mr. Rogan?”
“Mr. Rogan installed an attic fan for our home.” Turning quickly to the Tribunal Merrill adds “It is a solar-powered attic fan, your Honors.”
“Is it true that Mr. Rogan was drinking alcohol when you arrested him?”
“Yes. We found a half empty bottle of beer on the balcony.”
“So Mr. Rogan was both a criminal to the local law and the laws of our Mother Earth!”
The prosecutor softly turns an accusatory palm towards the defendant.
“Objection, your Honors. Drinking is a question for the local magistrate not this court.” Jonas Medford stands up. He wears the same old gray jacket that he always wears in court despite the temperature. The texture is soft, but the color is reminiscent of granite. He has forgone his usual navy and gold tie given the lack of air-conditioning in this courthouse. His defendant Eli continues to watch the fans circling overhead, only occasionally sending a sympathetic nod to Merrill, who does seem more nervous than the defendant.
“The Defense is correct Prosecutor. TRECO does not care about the peculiarities of ordinances with limited geographic support.” The Professor blurts out. Technically, she should have conferred with the rest of the tribunal but from their nods of support, it was clearly unnecessary. The rumor was that the three had been riding circuit together.
The prosecutor clasps his hand and bows to the Tribunal. “The prosecution is finished with this witness.”
Jonas stretches himself out of his chair. His sweaty pants sticking to the lacquered wood.
“Merrill. Has Eli committed any crimes against the Earth in the time that you have known him?”
“No, sir. He has not.” Merrill stated looking straight at Eli.
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The second witness is a disaster for the defense. Abigail Center has brought with her a bound copy of all the frequent flyers for Delta Airlines. Near the top of the most valued customer list is one Eli Rogan, a 2 Million Miler. She is wearing the hand-woven hemp dresses that were currently popular for those who could afford other people to do the hand-weaving. The light brown color of the dress is remarkably similar to her hair that had not yet silvered.
“Ms. Center. Thanks very much for bringing this information. Can you remind us the verdict for Climate Killer Katherine de Castro who flew 400,000 miles?”
“I am pleased to say that the Tribunal sentenced Ms. de Castro to 30 years of reef repair. May her work repair our Mother and earn her Karma for the next life.”
“Does it not stand to reason that Mr. Rogan deserves a sentence 5 times that of 150 years?” the prosecutor spreads his five bony figures over his head for the crowd to see.
“Objection. It is the Tribunal that sets the sentence.” Medford reflexively mutters. He barely looked up from his notes.
The Tribunal turns to each other and has a brief and private discussion. It is clear that they had made the decision before. The crystal healer spoke. His dreaded top-knot bobbing along in measure with his words.
“The Tribunal agrees with the objection. We have decided the sentence will be death. A 150 year sentence is death, but at an additional cost of wasting precious resources and generating pollution for an unworthy soul. In addition, TRECO recognizes that mental suffering is equally as bad as physical suffering and the emotional toil of a 150 year sentence is cruel and unusual. A quick death reduces mental suffering and quickens the return of the soul to Mother Earth to be reborn for a chance and give the guilt another chance to live a righteous life.”
The courtroom erupts into cheers. Medford scans the audience and the only wet eyes he sees are Eli’s and Sergeant Merrill’s. Sheriff Deputy Banks works to settle down the crowd. The prosecutor smiles widely and says “It is the Tribunal’s decision. Your witness Mr. Medford.”
Jonas Medford starts with his only reasonable line of defense. “Ms. Center, do you happen to have a similar book accounting for the frequent fliers of American Airlines?”
“I do not sir, but I wish to Mother Earth that I did!” She raises her voice defiantly and the crowd claps in approval. Banks tries as best he can to prevent another mob by making calming motions and occasionally resting his hand on his pistol.
“Why not?” Jonas enquired
“What do you mean why not? No one has found the database yet. That is why not.”
“So what you are saying is that my client, Mr. Rogan, is forced to stand trial here because he happened to choose an airline that did a better job of backing up its data. That did a better job of not having all their servers in a flood plain. And that because in the Old World, he chose a product with better service, his life is in danger while Mr. American Airlines, Mr. 5 Million Miler, is allowed to live freely. The law should not be so capricious.” Jonas’s plea has quieted the crowd as they consider which one of them is the 5 Million Miler. Sergeant Merrill wonders if it was Medford himself.
“Objection. Clearly we should execute every killer who is a provable murderer. If we cannot find evidence for every murder, does that mean we should let the other killers go free” the prosecutor states plainly. Jonas cannot help but think of the man as a spider.
The Professor responded. “Objection accepted. Strike Mr. Medford’s last comment from the record.”
Jonas Medford had no choice but to try the unreasonable strategy.
“Ms. Center. Did you yourself print this document from the server?”
“No, Sir. I do not use technology that pulls resources away from Mother Earth and her people.”
“Then please tell me how you received it.”
“I was given to hold it by Ranger Repentance.” The crowd nodded in approval. Ranger Repentance was a law-enforcement official in the Old World, who had dedicated his life to finding justice for the planet in the New World. Some said that he was making up for his past planetary crimes, some said that he just realized which laws were most important.
“And why should I believe that?” The crowd gasped. Banks even turned around from watching the crowd to look at Jonas.
“Because I am the Documentarian for this Province and the book itself is signed with Ranger Repentance’s personal seal.” Ms. Center held the book up to show the circled double R mark of the Ranger inked onto the back cardboard cover.
“A Documentarian who wants to be remembered as a lover of Mother Earth and is willing to fake a list of frequent flyers and the seal of our Beloved Ranger. Who chooses a list of names to get revenge on those who wronged her in the Old World.”
“That is a lie.” Abigail Center stands in the witness box revealing not only a fashionable hemp dress but a fashionable belt of seashells on a string. Again the work of poorer fingers.
Jonas Medford looks at the Tribunal. “The Ranger Repentance has a simple, well-known seal. It is so simple that anyone can forge it. I cannot accept this evidence without the word of the Ranger himself and I believe that you should not when a man’s life is on the line.”
The Tribunal again pulls together and confers. They even close the curtains to make sure that the audience only sees a united from. When the curtains open, the grandmother reveals the verdict.
“Every life is precious. That is our highest law. We will call for the Ranger, but your lies and misdirection are not helping your client, Mr. Medford.”
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Eli is in Medford’s office. Banks and Merrill are outside guarding the door. The Ranger will arrive in two weeks and the town is grateful that they will get a chance to see their hero. It has reduced the need for Banks and Merrill to stop those trying to bring justice early.
Eli is standing on Medford’s grandmother’s desk fixing the fan. He shouldn’t be allowed the tools that he is holding but Medford is not worried about it. Medford calls it attorney-client privilege. He won’t tell the cops about the tools, if Eli won’t tell the cops about the moonshine he is drinking.
“Eli. I appreciate your offer to fix this fan but you know they are going to kill you. What can we give them? You worked in the HVAC Computer Center industry, you could maybe point to a bigger climate killer? Offer to help them find the Southwest Airlines data center?”
Eli pinpoints that the motor itself is broken beyond repair. There is nothing to do. He tucks the screwdriver into the waistband of his prison pajamas.
“Jonas. I can’t fix your fan. It needs a new motor. I won’t offer others to this court. I don’t know any others. “
“Eli. You can’t give up.” He points him to the desk. “Tell me what parts you need for the fan and I will pick them up.”
Jonas Medford presses a finger to his lips and pulls out a legal pad from the desk. He sketches a plan that he has been working on with Merrill to help Eli escape. After the hearing is over and the guilty verdict is given, Merrill is supposed to transfer custody to TRECO guardians. The guardians will take Eli to the Governor’s office, the only office empowered to execute criminals. There is an opening during the transfer, but how to pull it off in a way that lets Merrill keep his job complicates the plan.
Eli takes up a pen and writes ’’Banks?” on the paper Jonas can only shrug.
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They have removed many of the canvas bags shading the side of the courthouse to make up for the increased spectators. It seems like all of New Antilla and half of Old Antilla have come to get a glimpse of Ranger Repentance. It also makes the greenhouse unbearably warm. Everyone inside has brought a hand fan or improvised in some way. Everyone on the outside is pressing themselves as close to the glass as possible.
“Your Honors, the Prosecution is pleased to call the Ranger Jason Rogers.” The prosecutor lovingly extends his arm to the far end of the green house. A stocky man with a cane, a silver buzzcut, and khaki pants begins his march up the makeshift aisle. On his back is a holstered shotgun with the circled double R that has been known to deliver justice and keep the peace. He is slow but his pace is resolute and the people bow in his honor as he passes.
Banks opens the door in the barrier that separates the court from the crowd and the Ranger Repentance removes his shotgun from the holster and hands it to Merrill. The Ranger steps towards the Tribunal, he turns to his left and nods to the prosecutor and Ms. Center. The prosecutor clasps his palms together and reverently bows. He turns to his right and sees Nathan Medford’s son sitting beside his old enemy. It startles him.
“Tribunal. I came here today to verify that I gave the record of Climate Killers to Ms. Center with my own hand. That is true despite the lies of the defense. Jonas, your father would not be proud.” Ms. Center who is seated next to the prosecutor flashes a smile of complete satisfaction.
“I must reveal another lie of the defense. That man is innocent of this crime. He is not Eli Rogan. He is the terrorist Mark Sidle. A man whose organization I hunted for years in the Old World. He never flew even one mile because he was on every no fly list. Mark Sidle was a failure who tried to warn the Old World of the risks to the environment, but whose despicable tactics of assassinating oil executives did nothing to slow or counter the real problem. He was a failure that chose a terrible alias to evade the law.”
Eli hears his old name like a serially rescued and renamed pitbull, whose fourth owner has chosen the same name as the owner who first abandoned her. The Ranger was right. He is a failure.
The professor spoke, “Ranger Rogers, thank you for these truths. It is only through Truth that our New World can be restored. Mark, you may still pay for your old crimes but TRECO brings justice for the New World not for the Old World. This Tribunal is over. The defendant is free.“