Everything You Know Is Wrong

Chapter 13 - The Last (official) Trial of Humanity

Inside of a hollowed-out asteroid, using the last energy left in the universe, the Omega Court was rendering final judgement against those who transgressed against time.

The Mother Computer, the most advanced computer system possible in this late energy-starved stage of the universe, took up the majority of the space inside the asteroid. Its vacuum tubes, metal pistons and gears, and other large and jagged moving pieces formed the walls of the one tiny room. The constant rumble of computations was inescapable. It was hot, claustrophobic and loud, not necessarily in that order.

The troupe of extra-dimensional police crabs stepped into empty space, deposited Felix unceremoniously onto the floor, snatched his time machine, then walked off into nothingness without a trace.

A middle-aged pseudo-mammalian humanoid wearing pointed glasses and a severe haircut sat at a desk, the only piece of furniture in the room. Across from her stood what looked like a greasy rail-thin skeleton made of stick-insects. It wore a collar identical to the one Felix wore.

Felix got up off the floor. He was glad enough to be rid of the crabs or whatever they were. He supposed he was going to have to talk to this woman at the desk, she was the only obvious thing in the room, but there seemed to be someone ahead of him in line.

The printer on the side of Mother Computer clicked and scraped as it slowly spat out a ream of paper. The clerk grabbed it with one stubby hand and tore it off along the serrated edge.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said, in mock sympathy, "it says guilty. Sentence is death."

"But- but I didn't mean to! I didn't know!" stammered the stick-alien. "I never intended to time travel!"

"Only except it says here on the print out guilty so..."

"No, please," begged the alien.

"...I have to go by the print out."

"Please-" begged the alien.

"Yeah, no," replied the woman. She pressed a button on her desk.

The stick-alien's collar lit up. It screamed and pulled at it but within a few seconds its head started to collapse in on itself. There was a sickening popcorn noise and then it fell to the ground, headless.

"Next please," said the clerk. She pressed another button and a tube descended from the ceiling.

The headless body, fluids and all, was sucked up into the tube and ejected into empty space.

"Next please," repeated the clerk.

Felix looked around, hoping someone else was next.

"Next please," said the clerk. "Mr. Um, Felix?"

Felix sighed.

"That's almost certainly me," he admitted, walking over to the desk.

"Just give me a moment and I'll have a verdict for you," said the clerk.

"For what?" asked Felix.

"For your trial," said the woman, stifling a yawn. "For all your unspeakable crimes against reality."

"Don't I get to argue my side?" asked Felix.

"This is an assessment in writing. The Mother Computer can only consider written submissions."

"Well then how do I make a written submission?"

"The limitation period for written submissions has expired," said the clerk, feigning sympathy again.

"But I didn't get a chance to make any!" whined Felix.

"You had the same opportunity as everyone else, which was to make written submissions within the limitation period."

"I didn't know any of this. Do I get a lawyer?" asked Felix.

"You do," said the clerk, cheerily. "The best possible lawyer. Mother Computer will perform of mathematically perfect advocacy of your case based on all your written submissions as part of her decision making process."

"But I didn't have a chance to make any written submissions!" insisted Felix.

"Sir, it's the end of time. You had all of history to make written submissions," replied the clerk.

"Can I have my time machine back so I can travel back in time and make written submissions then?"

"You're not permitted to time travel while you're accused of a time offense. You're skating on thin time ice."

"What can I do to advocate for my case?"

"As I already explained this is an assessment in writing," said the clerk. "You can only make written submissions."

"But you said it's too late to make written submissions."

"That is correct."

"Can I at least appeal the decision?" asked Felix.

"This is the end of time, sir," said the clerk. "There are no appeals. All decisions of the Mother Computer are final and binding."

"So you just do whatever the computer says without question?"

"That's all there is left to do. That and answer stupid questions. Do you have any more?"

"Yeah this isn't how the far future was the last time I was here," said Felix. "Where are all the colored faces?"

"This is the end of time, sir," said the clerk. "Your far future is the distant past that nobody remembers or care about."

"If nobody remembers or cares about my period of history why am I even here?" asked Felix.

"Nobody is above the law, sir," said the clerk. "Anything else?"

"Are you a human?" asked Felix. "You look like a human."

"I'm worried my disdainful sarcasm isn't coming through," said the clerk. "When I say 'anything else' I'm really saying 'stop asking me questions'."

"Sure but are you?" asked Felix.

The clerk stared at him over her glasses, her expression melting into one of anger.

"Am I a human? Really? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," replied the clerk. "Have you never heard of convergent evolution? Do you have any idea how many times abiogenesis occurred, all life in the universe wiped itself out, only for abiogenesis to occur again for the cycle to begin anew between your time and now?"

"Sorry I asked," said Felix, raising his hands in surrender.

"My species happens to by known as the Eumons, a proud people with over then thousand solar revolutions of unbroken civilization before we invented time travel and wiped ourselves out."

"I didn't mean to offend you," said Felix.

"Well you did," she said.

The two stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"So there's nothing-" began Felix.

"Even if there was," interrupted the clerk, "I wouldn't tell you."

So they went back to waiting.

The printer on the side of Mother Computer began to click and scrape again and out a new ream of paper. The clerk grabbed it and tore it off with a flourish.

"Oh nooo," she said, renewing the false sympathy in her voice, "it says here guilty. Sentence is death. I'm so sorry for you. Death it is then."

"Wait!" shouted Felix.

"Yeah, no," said the clerk. "Print out says death."

She pressed a button on her desk and Felix's collar lit up. He screamed, grabbed hold of it, and his head imploded.