All I Have Left 1: The Verdict

His palms were sweaty, his aged and crinkled fingers literally shaking from nervousness. He had always despised being criticised in front of others, despite drawing such responses from many people all the time. He was not wearing his favourite outfit, instead resorting to wearing a suit and tie that on the whole felt far too small for him. He was not surrounded by workmates but instead by disheartened individuals who were here with him for a reason. He sat next to a man he hardly knew, pouring over information in his head that he could barely contemplate. He was here for a reason, but would have given anything to get away from it. His own actions landed him here; his and his alone. He was here as an accused, to be punished for his doings. He had done something accidental, yet terrible. All for the need to see someone get better. The desire to watch someone be happy. The lust for a breakthrough that would benefit humankind. The want of a better man. He saw the judge before him, in his pulpit, powdered wig on head. A middle-aged fellow, around his age but maybe a tad older. When the judge slowly gestured toward his bailiff, a tall thin man of evident Puerto Rican descent and a muscular, tanned body, with his wrinkled hand and parted his lips, every voice fell silent to await the next move. This had gone on for well over two hours. Something had to happen soon. All was said and done. Was there more to do still?

"All patrons on the floor, please rise for the Hon. Judge Blaine Trescothick."

He rose to his feet as did everyone else in the room. Jurors, defendants, family members, even the scribe. The Judge leaned forward a bit. He saw those bespectactled eyes scrutinising him as though reviewing a document, looking for sources of error and areas where he could be tripped up. He in no way felt safe here, not even through his lawyer. He quickly glanced behind him at the small girl who seemed so tiny in the row behind him, her auburn hair tied back into a neat ponytail, her dress long, flowy and ceremonious, her eyes wide with worry. Sapphire eyes. Her mother's eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile, one she tried to return. However, a look of anxiety overpowered any sort of grin she could produce. It didn't matter. To him, she was the only thing in this room that would matter now. Not his barrister, not his supporters (those that turned up) and not even the final judgement. So long as he had her, he was sane. So long as she was by his side, then life was still tolerable for him. He quickly returned his attention to the front again as the man in charge of the proceedings addressed the court.

"My thanks to our last witness. Your testimonials, no matter how brief or how personal, will go toward the final outcome of this rather tragic case; one which I am sure," he eyed the defendant, "was never meant to play out like this. Are there no more who wish to speak? No?" the adjudicator quickly scanned the courtroom, seeing nobody else with an intention to have their say. At last, progress would occur. "Before the jury step outside to deliberate and confirm their verdict, I believe that we can allow the man at the centre of this rather disastrous circumstance to have his say, and pledge his view. I know that, from what we have heard, the events leading to these charges were unplanned and caught everyone totally, tragically, by surprise. Yet, as with every action, there is a reaction. I now ask if you have anything you would like to add to this before the final decision is made?"

The man nodded, his balding head dripping with nervous sweat.

Trescothick beckoned with his hand, "Professor Maximilian Barclay Quintaine, you have the floor."

"Th-thankyou, your honour..." the man stammered, still shaky. He was not looking forward to what the group of twelve unfamiliar faces to his right would say once they re-entered the room after deliberation time, "Uh.... f-first of all, I would like to say that.... to all those who knew Robert Fidgeon, I am utterly devastated by your loss. I cannot begin to imagine what you all must feel regarding his sudden death, nor can I gauge the degree of anger and hatred that you must all no doubt feel toward me. All I can say is... I am sorry. I know that I am facing enormous charges and that I am not trying to clear my name. I am here to receive my sentence and, perhaps, let you understand as to why I went through with the procedure that killed Mr Fidgeon unexpectedly. As you know, Atomiser Surgery was and still is an experimental process, which uses a finely concentrated burst of ions to break apart and disperse clustered organic matter. It had been, at one stage, considered and hailed as the most likely cure for cancer. But upon operation of Mr Fidgeon, a miscalculation that I believe I am responsible for sent the ionic beam through an incorrect section of Mr Fidgeon's lungs, causing a rupture that led to unstoppable internal bleeding. Despite our attempts to rid him of his lung cancer, which itself is an incredibly deadly ailment, we instead killed him faster. On behalf of the Megaville Lifetime Benefits Research Institute, I... uh... express my condolences and my utmost sympathy during the time of this unforseen tragedy." his eyes scanned the room, seeing the disappointed and hateful looks on the people who had loved and cherished the ill man who had lost his life in this botched surgery. The Institute's first and only lethal case to date. It was a facility dedicated to genetic breakthroughs and research into transhumanism: the science of improving mankind. But when something that should have been so rudimentary had instead cost the life of a man who would have otherwise died a more painful death, it was his head, as the director, that was on the chopping block. Quintaine still hated the perils of responsibility to this day. But seeing that little girl's face in his mind reminded him of what a brilliant thing responsibility over someone could be. If only her mother were still here... how proud she'd be of him for taking such good care of their little angel.

A woman with greying blonde hair raised her hand, sitting in a rather ladylike manner with a handbag draped over one shoulder and scrupulous, pursed lips, raised her hand, "If I may... what was it that prompted you to set up the Institute in the first place?"

"The court will hear the inquiry's answer." the magister ruled.

Quintaine nodded, uneasily. He was a thin man, in his early fifties, with balding grey hair that had once been chestnut-brown. A few age spots had appeared here and there, but he held himself with the same youthful composure as a man half his age. Except, of course, when in situations like this. Another glance at the girl, who this time smiled up at him in reassurance. 'You can do it.', that look told him. So he did. He explained, "Since I was a child, I... I always wanted to see how far mankind could go, how much it would prosper and just how amazing each of us had the potential to be. My father was a geneticist and my mother was a vet, so I grew up in an extensive medically-based family. I used to watch old science-fictions about the future and what we'd be like by that time. No wars, no famines, no diseases. And no death. I always wanted to break the binds that were placed upon our mortal bodies, to discover the key to immortality and share it with everyone who wanted it. We are the superior creatures on this world. Imagine the extent that superiority could go to. Incredible when you think about it, no?"

He sighed a little. The judge and his bailiff were keenly interested, whilst the scribe frantically tapped away at her old-school typewriter, the kind you'd sooner find in a museum, "I met my wife when we were both 23, an age I felt was just the beginning of life, where nobody was expected to have done it all and accomplished everything. A real go-age. But I decided to 'go' a little too much, and before I knew it we were both in our mid-thirties before we even considered our marriage. And then, with my work setting up the institute with a group of my work colleagues and starting out as a mere one-stop firm down in Megaville Plaza (back when the city had only just begun to sprout), I had lost another few years. When we married, I was approaching my 40th birthday. When my Katelyn announced to me that she was pregnant, we were 42. In my rush to live, I had already let a good part of my life slip away. I realised that, at our age, we would probably never have another child. So when our first and only came to us... she became our everything." he sent another quick glance down at the girl who had stood behind him, her red-brown hair shiny in the room-light, her cheeks red and shy. "When I lost my wife 8 years ago in a car accident... I realised just what I had left. I had an institute, one-of-a-kind research and about fifty trillion different concepts of breaking into the human genome and unlocking some ancient secret of life. But none of that seemed to matter. Not compared to her. If I lose my job, my life's work, then I would still have that which matters most. She is what I have left. And nothing can take that away." he wanted to hug her. He saw tears in those eyes, now, "My Bethany. Bethany Katelyn Juni Quintaine. One of a kind." He wished she had brought along that violet orchid she used to wear in her hair. The sight of that beautiful purple flower tucked into those gentle copper locks, along with those wide blue orbs of playful youth... his wife must have been an angel, for she had given birth to one.

The judge seemed fond of her, too, "How old is Bethany?"

"She turned 10 two months ago."

"I see." the judge muttered, "Does she have regular foster care in times when you are not at home?"

"My sister and her family often babysit her, yes-"

"Caretakers!" came a chirpy voice. Bethany looked slightly offended, "They're caretakers! Not babysitters!"

Quintaine nodded, smiling in recollection, "Of course. Yes, she's a big girl. Has been for a while now. Soon she won't need me at all."

"And, uh... has the untimely passing of her mother affected her in any way?"

Quintaine found it an odd question, but not answering it seemed wrong, "Your honour, she was only two when her mother passed away. She has only ever seen photo-album images of her, and old home videos. She wishes she were alive, yes, but if you mean to ask whether she is depressed or upset in any way, the answer is no."

The judge nodded slowly, "I see. I see.... now, the jury will need to be made aware of the conditions that Mr Quintaine's family are in. Sole source of income, single parent, raising child. I hope your decision, whatever it may be, takes into consideration these factors and thus determines your response accordingly." he picked up his little hammer, "Thankyou for sharing that with us, Mr Quintaine. Jury will now take their time to deliberate. I announce a 10 minute recess whilst they do so." WHACK "Court adjourned."

Quintaine sat down, flustered. His lawyer was beaming, as though they'd already won. What was his name again? Parsons? "Really heartfelt, what you said. Thankyou."

"Yes..." Quintaine brushed aside. He felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around his neck, and he turned just as a small cheek nuzzled his own, "Did I tell you that you look stunning?"

Parsons shrugged, "I do dress to impress, sir."

"Not you!" Quintaine retorted. His daughter's smooth flesh was so tender against his own, time-worn skin. He felt he needed to shave again, but that didn't stop the girl from snuggling against him.

"That's the sixth time, Daddy." she beamed.

"Really? I wasn't counting. Just hoping you know, that's all."

"Well and truly!" she giggled.

Not worried by what he would face when the team of twelve returned to deliver the verdict, Quintaine scooped the girl up in his arms, her ankle-long dress flowing silkily around her body. She was an athletic girl at school, not fat yet not bone-thin either. And eventually she'd be too heavy for him. Since Katelyn died, he knew to count every day as precious. He hoped he would have many more to come with this little nymphet. He had others to speak to as well, such as those few from his position at the Institute who had turned out in support. He did not expect miracles. Perhaps there would be just a hefty fine that he could pay off gradually. He didn't want to give up what he loved. Then again... the thing he loved most he wasn't getting paid for. "C'mon, chicky, let's get out of here for a bit. We have time. We'll go to the cafeteria if you like."

"They've got ice cream!" Bethany squealed in joy.

Quintaine found himself grinning along with her, "Yeah," he agreed, "Ice-cream sounds good."



How time seemed to fly when you were awaiting a harsh penalty. Quintaine really wished ice cream never melted, never got smaller when you ate it. Bethany was the only thing taking his mind off what he was about to face. But man, oh man, did she do a brilliant job. He spoke to her, told her stories, listened to her giggle in that voice that reminded him so much of her mother. She would always stare into his eyes as he captivated her, being the man she thought was the best person in the world. He was forever glad to be. But at times like this, he felt he didn't deserve the little 10 year old. One day she'd be a grown lady, living her own life, having her own family. Then he'd be alone, again. As it was when he started out, so too would it end up. He hated that his baby was growing older every day, smarter, more independent. If she was to leave him one day, move out and get on with her life, then he would want her life to be perfect. The best in his life deserved the best. If he, for whatever inexplicable reason, managed to keep his job, he would do everything he could to ensure that he provided for her. But that would have to be dealt with later. As he stepped back inside the courtroom as it gradually filled back up, holding his child's hand, a chill of dread washed over him. He knew this suit would need a dry-clean as he felt sweat collecting on his collar, a disgusting feeling. He felt her squeeze his hand in reassurance before moving into the pew behind him. The judge was already seated back in his overlook, fiddling with documents in his hands. Quintaine scanned the room. Yep, everyone was here. Everyone except...

"Mister Colon, please show the jury in." The judge ordered his bailiff. The guard nodded and silently moved to the far door, grasping the knob and turning to open. Quintaine feared the looks he'd get from every one of those twelve pairs of eyes that were about to enter the tribunal. So instead he stared straight forward. He wanted his baby's touch again, to feel her little fingers laced with his. Two people, worlds apart in age and appearance, linked together by their genetics. The most complex code in the universe. His passion for such a thing had landed him here. Even if his business life was about to end, he'd never give up that passion. A childhood dream that matured into an adult reality. They wanted to take that away, all because of a mistake his employees made. As the boss, he was ultimately responsible. Thus, in this case, he was getting the chop. Out of the corner of his eyes, the last member of the jury found their place, all of them standing.

The Bailiff in his Latino voice asked the crowd to "All rise." In moments, everyone was on their feet.

The judge tipped his glasses forward a bit, getting straight to business, "Has the jury reached their verdict?"

A young lady stepped forward, wearing a pink outfit that seemed reminiscent of a secretary. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, and she seemed to radiate professionalism. She had an icy gaze that would break down walls and a posture like a renaissance model. Quintaine almost wished he hadn't looked. Bethany made a soft grumbling noise. She simply didn't like that woman. "Yes, we have, your honour." Her voice was emotionless than her gaze. Did this woman do this sort of job regularly? She seemed hardly the stay-at-home type. Receiving a nod from the judge, she continued, "It is the finding of this jury that, given the evidence presented to us, the statements made and the witnesses brought forward, that despite not being physically part of the experiment that cost the life of Mr Fidgeon, he - as head of the institute - is legally and morally responsible for the events that occurred. As was stated my Mr Wilheim, Professor Quintaine's close assosciate, there was no binding written contract signed by Mr Fidgeon that stated that the institute took no responsibility for any injuries or long-term damaged potentially suffered by the patient and that it was performed under the patient's own free will. Without this contract, there is no way to clear the institute and, indeed, Professor Quintaine, of his obligation. An obligation that cost the life of a man. He may have been dying, yes," she turned her eyes to Quintaine, piercing him as though staring at an enemy of the state, "but what the Professor is responsible for in this case was nothing short of manslaughter. We, the Jury, find Professor Quintaine," 'Here it comes...' Quintaine thought. He turned to Bethany, behind him, whose eyes were scrunched shut as though ingnoring the lady altogether, still at that stage in her life when her imagination was her best friend, and she believed that if she didn't hear something, it never happened. "Guilty of all charges." the woman finished. Bethany's unhearing facade fell apart, and she slumped back onto her seat. Quintaine felt something sink to his feet inside him. The verdict was 'guilty'. So what did that mean for him? Bethany could not possibly know the trouble her daddy was in. But nevertheless, she looked devastated. His lawyer's hands found his face, covering it and rubbing the temples in bitter defeat. The woman sat down again. Quintaine wanted to hate her but knew she was doing a job here. She was impartial. An unbiased third party. But damn, did she seem like a bitch right now.

"All be seated, apart from the accused." the Bailiff ordered. Everyone took their seats but Quintaine remained standing. Like a child scolded by the teacher in front of the class, he felt shameful and exposed, almost naked. The iron-like glare of the judge fell upon him, and at last he brought the procedings to a close.

"Mr Quintaine... I understand your frustration right now." Trescothick uttered. 'Like hell you do...' Quintaine said only to himself. "However, I regret to admit that I am in complete agreement with our jury. You are involved in a risky business, one that deals with life and death as though they are trivial circumstances. I may not be a man of science as opposed to a man of law, but I can still see how such tasks may be... stressful and complex." Quintaine was bristling. Relating all this to a mere case of stress and complexity? A man was killed, not by his own hand but by one of his staff, due to a simple error in a trial surgery that, if successful, may well have destroyed the buildup of cancer in his lungs and killed off the reproducing cells that threatened his life. Instead, more damage was caused. Simple as that. There was nothing here to do with stress. Was this guy buying time? Frustrated, he clenched his withered fists, veins thick like carvings in stone. He had come to expect this sort of ruling. But ignoring the blatantly obvious in front of him was simply wrong. "We all want a safer future, Mr Quintaine. One where humanity can be better and can live longer and be free of disease and deformity. But to many, that is just science fiction at play, and we may never reach such a standard by science means. Humankind must be allowed to progress on its own. Superiority comes with time. Not with tampering. You may consider yourself a hero... but Megaville, like so many other cities worldwide, already has a group of heroes. Our job is to live our lives as we were meant to live them. To go outside our boundaries is playing god. And playing god is arrogance. Your experiments have lead to this charge of manslaughter for which you have been found guilty. Intentions of philanthropy or otherwise, there is nothing I can do to help you. Professor Quintaine, as of this date you will be stripped of your title and your job at the institute discontinued. Further penalties shall be applied once we consult with the necessary heads of research to determine what the appropriate discipline in your case may be."

Quintaine's face fell and he wiped his forehead slowly. Everything he had worked for... everything he had ever dreamed of doing... gone. His only way of supporting his little girl, dead in an instant.

"However, Mr Quintaine, I am willing to review the penalties and perhaps instate a less astringent reprimand should it be proven that this case was an accident that could be fixed in future. I want nothing to do with your potential doomsday projects, but I am willing to review my decision if it can be shown that such a procedure is truly of benefit. You may even get your job back. I respect your work, and I respect you. Whilst I am ever-cynical about what such experiments do to a person, I still hold hope for them. You will receive a message from the courts within the next to weeks informing you of the date of your appeal case. You have until then to produce an adequate result. Until such time as the decision is finalised, however, you are out of a job. I know it's hard upon you and your family, but I am afraid there's no easier way out of this. I don't want to send a single father to prison. I look forward to seeing the final outcome of this case. For now, it is on hold, pending evaluation." he raised his hammer and struck it against its raised wooden coaster, "That is all."

The Bailiff stepped forward, "All may rise and be dismissed."

Quintaine sunk back into the seat behind his allocated bench, feeling his hands trembling. What kind of sentence was that? Dismissed, pending evaluation, with a basic punishment already instated? Not even a chance to say goodbye to his colleagues? He felt robbed. Cheated. Favoured against. But he had been given an ultimatum - find a way to prove the worth of his experiments. If he did that, he'd not only be cleared but be up for an award of recognition. But how would he manage that if he couldn't even call into work?

His lawyer sighed, "That was a fizzler..." he muttered, "I'm sorry, Max, I really am. I'll be in touch for your appeal."

"Alright..." Quintaine murmured. His lawyer packed his briefcase, stood up, gave a hesitant look at his client, and then turned to leave, walking briskly up the courtroom's centre aisle. The judge stepped down from his podium and through a door at his end of the room, as though hasty to make his exit, not even glancing at Quintaine as he went.

He felt something brush his shoulder, so benign and compassionate to touch that he at first hardly noticed it. Then he turned his head. His daughter's beryl eyes were glistening, looking utterly dejected. She was not sad about what might happen to her. Bethany was sad about what had happened and what was still to happen to her father. The man who meant everything to her. A great part of his life had been stripped from him, and she was doing her best to share his pain and be with him through this hardship. But Quintaine didn't want his girl suffering on his behalf. Not when it wasn't her place to get involved. If only her mother were still here. He was certain she'd do a better job at raising their baby angel than he ever would do. He held her little face in his hands, softly, and shook his head in resignation. "Does... does this mean you can stay at home more?"

Quintaine hung his head, keeping back his tears. How beautifully frank and curious was the mind of a child. His child. His everything. All he had left. He nodded, and whispered to her after a laboured inhale, "Yeah... yes, I think I will be."

She brought her hands up, placing her tiny palms atop his knuckles. Her hands felt warm whereas his, along with the rest of his body, to him felt like ice. A tear trickled down her cheek, splashing onto her lilac-coloured dress. She tried to smile, "So that... that meants I can spend more time with you. And we can always be together! See? I-It's not so bad..."

Quintaine hunched a little and picked his daughter up again. He was a strong man by nature, although he hardly needed to work out, as he was the kind that found it difficult to put on weight. His strength came from his mother's side of the family, as her father had been of brawny Irish descent. He wouldn't mind going to the nearest pub and getting drunk off his face, right now, as was the typical stereotype about that people. But Bethany was more comfort than any sort of inebriation. He hugged her close, turning to exit the room, "Yeah... I guess it could be worse, eh?"

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise you'll look after me? Promise you won't let anything happen to me?"

Quintaine quickly wiped the lone tear from his bony face, glad that his girl was looking over his shoulder and unable to see it. Kids thought adults, particularly men, weren't allowed to cry. He didn't want to break her heart as well, just because his own had been smashed to pieces. She still held hope. She still saw the bright side. How he wished to be ten again and not have to worry about the stresses of adult life, and have every day as just another day without a care, making friends, telling jokes and laughing about the stupidest of things. It was her time to go through that. But when she got older, he hoped she'd never go through all the turmoil he had. Building up to something that would be cut short like this. A good thirty years of his life had just been wasted. But now his time was for her. Only for her. "Yes, Beth... I promise and I shall always keep that."

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my... oh Bethany..." he hugged her tight, "Don't be silly. Dad'd never break his word. I love you too much." he told her. Her body was like a warm latern against his frozen body, the only source of heat, the sun of his life long-ago burnt out. He wanted to add that everything would be alright. He wanted to tell her that things were all going to sort themselves out and be ok. But he didn't want to lie to her.

"I love you, Daddy." she whispered.

Leaving the courtroom behind him, the final resting place of his career, he carried his daughter with him, heading for the carpark to find their vehicle and head home together. No personal tragedy would tear them apart. If anything ever happened to Bethany, he'd lose all will to live. She was his legacy. He needed to be there, for her. "I love you too, my baby... and I promise nothing will happen to you. I've messed up enough stuff in my life. I can't afford to do that to you again. Never again. Just you and me... together.... yeah..." he stepped into the sunlight, carrying his silently-weeping daughter in his arms as she wrapped her own tiny arms around his neck and rested on his shoulder, "It's not that bad... not really...."

To Be Continued.