To be Frank

The wail of the sirens keeps growing. Frank estimates he has about sixty seconds left to enjoy the most worthy crime of all time. The crisp air of dawn stings his cheeks, he has no other desire than to stay in that moment as long as possible and just feel.

He threads a paint splattered hand through his silver hair and takes in the mural that stretches along the last wall standing of what had once been the largest library in the country. The golden yellow of a sunrise laid over an inky black summer night sky, the blush pink of a tender kiss carefully rendered next to a copper line, a perfect picture of his mother’s curls. Frank lingers in the memory of his mother. How can an abstract painting evoke such an intense emotion, even separated from that by a lifetime?

A thousand new emotions sweep through his body. Furious joy at the beauty of his memories, overwhelming grief for all the lost lives that have been completely forgotten. Pure anger at those arrogant enough to kill so many without a drop of remorse; guilt for being a survivor, sadness for a life spent in numbness.

“Freeze!” a shout echoes through the ruins. “Hands in the air.”

Frank has no intention of ending his life right now. It’s not why he unlocked himself. He drops the paintbrush he still holds in one hand and shoves his arms in the air. There’s a rush of arms, pushing and pulling him. Shoving him hard against a police car. Frank counts at least twenty red laser dots dancing over his chest. A burst of fear rushes through his spine. He suddenly craves to be pitied, to be understood, to be saved. Frank chances a glance at the many members of the force, expecting the usual vacant, cold stares but all eyes are drawn up. All looking curiously at the mural.

Yes, thought Frank. Let them see.

*

The gavel strikes three times before the voice of the judge hammers through the courtroom. “As established in clause six point one, article nine of The Reformed Constitution, we are calling the case of the Department of Objective Justice versus Frank Waller, in the presence of a locked jury, a locked prosecutor, a locked public defender, and an unlocked defendant….”

Gasps and murmurs fill the room, and the eyes of everyone present turn on Frank. All mirroring the same process: first confusion, followed shortly by the one prevailing emotion available for the locked - the only one useful for a science oriented species - curiosity.

Frank has to work hard to smother the smirk fighting to surface. Instead, he turns his own gaze on the Judge. Judge Gideon lives up to his reputation in every way: perfectly straight nose, harsh slant to his eyebrows and an impeccably pressed black robe designating him as a member of the most exclusive echelon of the law. Rumor has it, he was the first human to be locked. “Law’s only pursuit should be absolute objectivity,” are the Judge’s most famous words.

With the expediency of an objective truther, he machines through his opening, knowing time is his most valuable resource. Frank loses the battle and bows his head to hide his amusement. Of course he has always known the robes looked like those of the catholic priests of the past. It was simply that the irony of it all had been lost on him. Until now.

Judge Gideon re-establishes himself as the center of Frank’s attention with a booming voice. “... Mr. Waller’s testimony will only be taken into consideration should he voluntarily re-lock himself, in accordance with the corresponding clauses of article six of the 2127 Uniformity Law.” Frank’s smirk is wiped from his face, meanwhile the Judge makes a small pause to sip his water before droning one, “the subject’s refusal to re-lock will render his entire testimony invalid as it will be corroded by emotions as demonstrated by the 2042 Fincher-Wesley study, making any and all judgements subjective and, necessarily, invalid in a court of objective law. Please, be seated.”

Frank's jaw tightens and his fists clench. Nobody catches this disturbing show of anger in the hustle of following orders. Feeling very exposed, he wonders how many years it would take to master his reactions to all that he feels.

A skinnier, paler version of the Judge stands from the prosecutor’s table to address the jury. The voidness in his eyes makes something stir in Frank’s chest. He wants to jump over the desk and grab him by the shoulders, shake until something, anything flashes in those eyes. But he knows that while they all remain locked there is no point. Their locked status protects them all from the immeasurable abundance of meaninglessness that surrounds him.

“Honorable Judge Gideon, and objective minds of the court,” the prosecutor begins. “The success of the Restoration has been built upon the removal of human impulses as the driving force for society’s evolution. As demonstrated by evidence presented, the lock-malfunction claim from the defense, has a human origin that can be solely attributed to Mr. Waller’s curiosity. Let this case serve objectivists’ case against the corrosion of available emotions, including curiosity, for-”

“It is your very curiosity that seems to be clouding your mind, Dr. Wirtz,” the judge interrupts without flinching. “The objectivists' case is irrelevant in this courtroom. Proceed with your statement, and be sure to make it relevant.”

Gideon’s ability to bend ideas to fit his overpowering ego impresses Frank. There’s no way he doesn't enjoy sitting on that chair inside those robes.

“Right, as always, your honor,” Dr. Wirtz says. “Even if a lock malfunction did indeed lead to radical emotions taking over the defendant's mind, his refusal to re-lock himself speaks to the inability of a subjective mind to find reason and make decisions that benefit the whole. This notion is backed by the very study on which our entire system is built. It appears to be self evident that the defendant should be locked by force or face the death penalty.”

The courtroom is rendered completely mute and Frank suddenly has to fight to bring air into his lungs.

“Your honor, what happens when the next one unlocks? What if it’s a soldier? A doctor? A judge?”

The Judge seems to need nothing more from this empty man, silencing him with a perfunctory nod. “The defendant’s rights will be observed and we will finalize this trial before re-locking him or recusing him from existence.”

A sentence before the sentence, truth is so self-evident that it arrives before bureaucracy is done with Frank.

“Your honor, I would like to submit the logs for Frank Waller’s lock,” says John Delaney, Frank’s unlucky defense attorney. Mr. Delaney walks to the bench and delivers a stack of papers. Judge Gideon rifles through them, scanning the pages methodically. “The logs span a little over two months, starting from August second, the day of the lock's first malfunction.” Disregarding Mr. Delaney, Judge Gideon launches an inquisitive look at the defendant.

Frank remembers that day in vivid detail. It had been a day like the thousands before it. Frank had woken up, grabbed breakfast at the colony’s mess hall, then quietly shuffled his way to his desk at a local TechTock. Two boxes stacked on top of each other, full to the brim with things recovered from another raid, most of it junk. Technologies rendered obsolete decades ago. The most useful thing had been a red metal lunchbox, dented, but full of copper wire. He was making plans to notify the engineering crew when he found it. At the bottom of the lunchbox, a heart-shaped locket. A cheaply made trinket, yellowed with time and dust and oblivion. Frank, ever a practical man, should have thrown it away but was unable to take his eyes off of it. He lifted it carefully by its rusted chain, and watched it swing lazily. A long buried memory of his father tying a similar locket to his mother’s slender neck resurfaced. It must have been a special occasion, perhaps a holiday, because the memory shone with the warmth of a hundred tiny white lights. Frank must have been around seven. His mother had twirled around flouncing her bouncy copper curls and flowy dress and flashed a beautiful smile.

See, Frank had thought about that memory and others like it over the course of his sixty three years. But what was strange was that he had never really remembered any of the details. If asked before, he would have only been able to offer a simple, “my father gave my mother a gift.” Now, something truly odd was happening. His heart was squeezing in his chest and he found his eyes a little wet. He panicked as he thought he was perhaps having a heart attack. Then, the most interesting thought occurred to him. If asked to describe the memory now, he would have said something like this: “They were truly in love, my mother and father. Even at the end, when things started getting difficult, he would find little ways to make her smile. Because her smile was the most beautiful thing. We were happy.”

Frank fell to his knees, gasping for air, sobs wracking his body, pain flooding him everywhere. Grief, his mind supplied. They died. They died. They died.

And you loved them so.

“So, as your honor can see. My client is innocent. We ask the case be dismissed and a lock be reinstated immediately,” pronounces John Delaney.

“No!” screams Frank and everyone in the courtroom startles. “I will never submit to a lock. It’s nothing but a half life.”

“Silence!” booms Judge Gideon while striking his gavel.

Frank stares into Judge Gideon’s eyes, fully aware that you can’t argue the value of life with the numb. He desperately casts for a way to make him see but knows it’s futile. “To be frank, your honor, you have no idea how blind you are to the truth,” Frank mutters dejectedly.

The two police officers standing in the corner are suddenly clamping down on each of his arms. For a second the Judge looks affronted but swiftly moves to finalizing the proceedings and giving a verdict. Frank only needs to hear the last words out of Gideon’s mouth, “I find the defendant: not guilty. I order Frank Waller to be re-locked immediately.”

Frank can only muster enough will to meet the judge’s eyes and say, “you’ve killed me either way.”

*

Why did he unlock?

It’s close to midnight and Judge Gideon cannot find sleep. He hasn’t been able to find it in four months. His mind inexplicably insists on going over Mr. Waller’s case. He is haunted. There’s something that bothers him about it, a lack of logic. It’s like finding a red hexagonal tile in the middle of a black and white checkered floor.

Why did he unlock?

The logs showed the third time Frank unlocked was voluntary - there was no malfunction. He kept going over his necessary omission during the trial. What prompts a locked man to unlock himself? Why Frank? What was the variable? Why hasn’t Frank unlocked again by now?

Judge Gideon has taken some time each week to visit Frank at the local TechTock. Why did you unlock? Bored with Mr. Waller’s dull schedule, the Judge’s curiosity has turned to the oddest part of the case.

Why did he unlock?

His eager mind has him out of bed and walking through the city. His feet automatically take him to what has become his nightly haunt. Frank Waller’s mural. He can’t single out the hidden variable, but he is sure it’s in those paint strokes. He knows it. He can almost feel it.

Why did he unlock?

The anomaly is in the painting. It has to be.

Why did he unlock?

Gideon breathes in and breathes out in counts of three.

He nods.

He has to know.

He unlocks.