"Your Honor, my client has a clean record."

"Your client has no record at all," said Ziegler, "which is hardly the same thing. For all we know, he’s a notorious criminal on his home world. That starship could have been deporting dangerous offenders — sending them off into space to fend for themselves."

"Really, counselor," said Dale, his low voice filling the courtroom. "There’s absolutely no basis for any of that. Presumption of innocence surely extends to the accused’s background in the absence of direct evidence to the contrary, and—"

"Enough, Mr. Rice," said Judge Dyck. "We’re satisfied that you’ve made your point."

"The People still oppose bail, Your Honor."

"On what grounds, Ms. Ziegler?"

"Flight risk."

"Oh, please!" said Dale. "A Tosok would be recognized anywhere."

"Granted," said Ziegler. "But there are many jurisdictions that might deny our extradition request."

Dale spread his giant arms. "My client has assured me of his intention to stand trial."

"Your Honor, the accused has access to a spaceship. That’s a clear flight risk."

"The Court is cognizant of the larger issues in this case," said Dyck. We’re inclined to grant bail, in part to demonstrate to the Tosoks the reasonable nature of American justice."

"In that case, Your Honor, the People urge a high bail figure."

"Your Honor, my client has no money — absolutely none."

"Then how is he paying you?" asked Dyck.

"I’ve, ah, taken an interest in potential Tosok business dealings. My recompense shall be deferred until some time in the future. They really do have no money, and so bail of even a token amount will be a significant concern for Hask."

"We don’t doubt that there are resources that can be made available to your client, Mr. Rice. Bail is set in the amount of two million dollars; ten-percent cash bond required." Dyck rapped his gavel.

Dale turned and looked at Frank Nobilio, who was seated in the gallery directly behind the defense table. Frank’s eyes were wide; he clearly didn’t know where the money would come from. But Dale simply reached into the jacket pocket of his Armani suit, pulled out his check-book, and began to write.

After the arraignment, Dale and Frank took Hask back to Valcour Hall, where he was clearly delighted to be reunited with the other Tosoks. The two humans then returned to the offices of Rice and Associates, on the twenty-seventh floor of a Bauhaus high-rise in downtown L.A.

Dale sat behind his wide desk; Frank felt lost in a massive easy chair that faced the desk. Two of Dale’s office walls were covered with oak bookshelves. The shelves were high quality — even in the middle, even supporting massive books of statutes and case law, they didn’t sag. The third wall had the door in it. Mounted on it were Rice’s law-school diploma (from Columbia), several award citations, and pictures of Dale with such notables as Colin Powell, Jimmy Carter, and Walter Cronkite. There were also several pieces of framed art on that wall. Frank at first took some of the pictures to be very odd indeed — one was a giant, juicy cheeseburger; another seemed to be nothing more than a pile of pink satin ribbons. But as he’d moved close to examine one he discovered they were actually completed jigsaw puzzles, each made of thousands of pieces cut into almost identical shapes. On a large antique table across the room sat a partially finished puzzle, its border all filled in.

"We’ll need to hire a jury consultant, of course," said Dale, looking over steepled fingers.

Frank frowned. "Oh."

"You don’t sound enthusiastic."

"I— no, we’ve got to do whatever is necessary. It’s just that tailoring a jury to favor our side… well, it seems to undermine the whole concept of a fair, impartial jury."

"That’s right."

Frank’s eyebrows went up. "You agree with me?"

"Certainly. You ever read To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"No. Saw the movie, though."

Dale nodded. "One of the few really good film adaptations of a novel. In both the book and the movie, Atticus Finch gives a speech to the jury about how the jury system isn’t just an abstract ideal. ‘I’m no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of the courts and our jury system — that is n ideal to me, it is a living, working reality.’ Well, you know what appened in To Kill a Mockingbird: the all-white, all-male jury convicted a black man of a crime he was physically incapable of committing. I’ve been checking up on you, Frank; you’re an idealist, an Atticus Finch. But I’m afraid a lifetime in this nation’s courts has taken the rose tint out of my eyeglasses; I don’t believe in the integrity of the courts or the jury system. If you put an innocent person in front of the wrong jury, they’ll find him guilty. Still, it’s the system we’re stuck with, and we owe it to Hask to try to sculpt a jury that will at least give him a chance."

"Still…" said Frank.

"You can be certain the prosecution is going to be trying to shape the jury to favor their side. Believe me, Frank, in a major case, it’s tantamount to malpractice not to use a jury consultant." Dale paused for a moment. "In fact, there’s an old joke lawyers tell. In England, the trial begins once jury selection is over. Here in the States, once jury selection over, so’s the trial."

"Okay, okay. So, what do we look for?"

"That, son, is indeed the question. There are many rules of thumb." He rose from his chair, which seemed to sigh in relief as he got off it, and moved over to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. He searched for a moment, then plucked a book off the shelf. Frank could see its title: The Art of Selecting a Jury. Dale flipped it open, and read a passage, apparently at random. " ‘Women are often prejudiced against other women they envy, for example those who are more attractive.’ "

Frank rolled his eyes. "Good grief! How old is that book?"

Dale turned to the copyright page. "Not very. It was published in 1988 — and the author is a superior-court judge right here in L.A. County. But you’re correct: it’s all prejudice and stereotypes." He closed the book and looked at Frank. "For instance, prosecutors love northern Europeans — Germans, Brits, and especially Scandinavians. Real law-and-order types, see? The defense normally desires blacks, Hispanics, Natives, southern Europeans — cultures that are less likely to believe the authorities are always right. If you’ve got nothing else to go on, the prosecution will select jurors who are wearing gray — conservative, see? And the defense will select jurors who are wearing red — liberals."

"Okay, but — wait a minute! Wait a minute! Isn’t Hask entitled to a jury of his peers? Obviously, his peers are Tosoks, and there are no disinterested Tosoks available — so maybe we can get this whole silliness set aside right now."

Dale smiled indulgently. "Although many Americans think they’re entitled to a jury of peers, that’s simply not true; that’s a provision of British common law, not the U.S. Constitution. The Sixth Amendment simply provides for ‘an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed.’ It doesn’t say a blessed thing about peers. In fact, consider the Simpson trial again: O.J.’s peers would be award-winning athletes, or perhaps mediocre actors, or commercial pitchmen, or millionaires, or those in interracial marriages — but every single person who fit any of those categories was excluded from sitting on the Simpson jury.

No, Hask must face a human jury — a jury of beings as alien to him as he is to us. Still, as his defense counsel, I owe it to him to try to craft a jury that will be sympathetic to his case."

Frank sighed. "All right, all right. How much does a jury consultant cost?"

"The average fee is a hundred and fifty dollars per hour — although I tend to use people who charge at the high end of the scale. Total fees in a big case like this one can range from around ten grand to a quarter of a mil."