Attendants pushing an ambulance cot wheeled what was left of murdered Fannie Bork into the center of the courtroom. The body was covered with a white sheet, except for the long, slim feet which were sticking out. Her toenails were painted red. Forty-year-old John Bork listened while the prosecutor read the indictment against him: "—and the same John Bork did on the twelfth day of March, 1986, fire a pistol at his wife, having then and there a long preconceived desire to kill her, and then and there did achieve his felonious intent, and did murder the same Fannie Bork."
"John Bork, you have heard the indictment," stated the judge formally. "How do you wish to plead: Not guilty, no contest, or wait and see?"
"I'll wait and see, your honor."
"I thought you would," sighed the judge. "We haven't had a straight not-guilty plea in ages. Proceed, Mr. Prosecutor."
"Roll in the Very Complicated Monstrous Proximilator machine," commanded the prosecutor. Two burly laborers, panting, rolled the machine on its creaky casters across the court room floor to Fannie's head. The machine was six feet tall, three feet wide, and twelve inches deep; on its face were forty-three meters and an on/off switch.
The laborers plugged the machine's line cord into an outlet and got out of the way.
The prosecutor flipped the switch from off to on. Then he folded his arms and waited until all the forty-three meters ceased their dancing and went back to zero. That done, he turned to the jury.
"In this machine rests the proof of the crime charged against the defendant," he said dramatically, patting the smooth gray side of the machine. "This machine will tell you all you need to know about the murder. Oh, to be sure, I shall show you the corpus delicti presently; but why and how this crime was committed shall be revealed only by this machine's stimulation of the deceased's brain. She will herself relate who her killer was!"
There was a shocked gasp from the jurors and the spectators in the court room when the prosecutor pulled back the sheet from the body, uncovering her head and chest. "The jury will note that the government has removed her skull down to her eyebrows so that we could contact her brain's recordings with the machine's probe. The jury will also note the four bullet holes in the deceased's chest, which we intend to prove were put there by John Bork."
"I missed twice," said John Bork, nodding.
"Silence!" shouted the suddenly enraged judge. "This court depends entirely on the Very Complicated Monstrous Proximilator machine for its evidence." He turned to the jury, still seething. "The jury will completely disregard the defendant's utterly uncalled-for admission. Proceed, Mr. Prosecutor."
The prosecutor fastened the ground cable of the machine to Fannie's big toe by means of an immense alligator clamp. Then taking the bulbous radio-frequency probe in his hand he said portentously, "Now we shall search for the memory-recording of Fannie Bork's moment of death!"
He touched her brain lightly with the probe.
Those seeing it for the first time were chilled by the dead body's sudden animation.
"Oh, Winston!" cooed dead Fannie Bork, her aims raising from the cot to embrace an invisible something. She kissed. "You tastes good!"
The prosecutor moved the probe.
"George?" called Fannie, her slim arms searching at the side of her cot. "I didn't hear you leave, George." She relaxed. "Oh, I hope he found his shoes."
"He didn't though," contributed John Bork.
The prosecutor moved the probe, hurrying on by emotion-stirred quavers: Angelo, Moose, Maudie, Deacon and Quasimodo.
"Speed, darlin', what's your hurry?" asked Fannie in her plaintive, metallic voice as she held out her hands beseechingly.
"I never got to know him very well," interjected John Bork. "His visits were all so short."
The prosecutor moved his probe.
"Bork! Bork!"
"Ah," said the prosecutor. "Now we are getting down to cases. I shall try that spot ............