What They See Is What I Will Be

“Quack!” The sound rang out from the back of the courtroom, sending a chill up Qasdan’s spine to meet the throbbing tension knot at the base of his skull. Do not flinch…do not flinch, he thought to himself. Repeating this mantra in his mind. And then, he heard the words, he believed he would never hear.

“… finds you Not Guilty,” said the judge, who then proceeded to thank the jury for their service to the court and dismissed them. The judge ordered the gallery removed, as the proceedings have been concluded.

Amidst additional utterances of “quack” and audible sighs from the gallery, the judge leans a little forward in his chair. In deliberate words, almost biting them back, he says. “Qasdan Urimides Argosin Colhkin Kelkinnon, you have been found not guilty. To expedite your release, please remain here with your counselor and the prosecution while the courtroom is cleared. We can then complete the process for your release.”

Stunned by the words, Qasdan remained standing, immobile. He then felt the right hand of his counselor and best friend, Seftineo, pressed into his in congratulations, while he felt his right shoulder pushing down to ease him back into his seat.

Qasdan, a professor of Magic and Technology at Absalom University, whose simple and successful academic life has been turned upside down with the indictment and trial for the murder of a university colleague and academic rival. An android named Karugaval Krawdur. It seemed simple at least. In the beginning , Qasdan and his young non-tenured colleagues would often meet, and bounce around ideas for new research and teaching techniques. A cadre of academics starting to make their mark in the academic world, collaborating and trusting in each other. Btu, as their individual reputations grew, so did many of the egos in the group and the cadre devolved into a bitter battleground to achieve the holy grail of academia, tenure.

Qasdan wanted none of it, and withdrew from the gatherings. Formerly helpful discussions turned to outright battles over intellectual property and jealousy. Instead, he turned more to collaborations with his friend Seftineo Wistig Aprello Nugfider, A university colleague, who specialized in law, and the implications of magic upon the law and society.

The success of these collaborations between Qasdan and Seftineo, only served to fuel the fire amongst Qasdan’s academic colleagues, who openly turned into rivals. Publicly attempting to shame Qasdan for not collaborating with his departmental colleagues, name calling, and general bullying. His whole life bullied for one reason or another. For being Ysoki. For being a Ysoki pursuing academia instead of practical application of technology. And finally for becoming a successful academic researcher and university teacher growing closer to achieving tenure before or in place of his colleagues.

“Crack!” sang the judge’s gavel, stirring Qasdan from his current bout of reverie. The puzzled look on Qasdan’s face, was met with Seftineo’s explanation that his release is complete. Qasdan could barely manage a smile and a nod of acceptance. Seftineo, then deftly moved them out of the courthouse and quickly past the waiting reporters. Continuing shouts of protester’s with duck quacks and cries of “Murderer” ringing in their ears.

Seftineo had a plan and was able to get both of them away from the crowds and to a particularly favored pub where the two had often shared meals and drinks. But the news travelled fast and as the two entered a rented backroom, they could both see the story breaking on the vid screens. Seftineo hoped the patrons were too busy with their Happy Hour cocktails to notice their entrance, and he was correct.

The two enjoyed a couple of drinks and a meal fit for a king. Oddly, Qasdan, realized he was hungry, and ate everything in sight, but Seftineo grazed through the courses the concern for his friend’s future showing on his face.

After the meal was cleared, and the coffee served, Seftineo wondered how to broach the next topic, and Qasdan dreaded the forthcoming question, What next?

The silence was broken when the two spoke simultaneously. Each realizing they were on the same topic of the future for Qasdan, Seftineo deferred partway through his sentence.

“With the trial behind me,” Qasdan said, while he thought as far behind me as it can be, which won’t be much, “my next step should be to petition the university to lift my suspension and resume teaching and writing. I know, there will be continuing battles to fight. I doubt my colleagues will rally to my side, based on this trials results.”

Seftineo satisfied that his friend was his next steps, and reassuring him that he will counsel Qasdan through it, they took a private car to head home. As the car pulled up, to Qasdan’s home first, they could both see that Qasdan’s detractors had already been at work, covering his home and yard with graffiti in various languages and terms, such as “Liar, murderer, and android-hater.”

Together they checked out the house, and noted it had not been breached. Qasdan insisted that he was fine, and sent Seftineo away to his own home and family, with an agreement that they meet at Seftineo’s law office at 10AM.

Qasdan was exhausted, having filled his body with food and drink, now the beckoning of a sound nights sleep clanged in his head. His sleep was deep and dream filled, but also disturbing. The one dream that Qasdan could not shake out of his head upon awakening was “If Dr. Quack is what they see, then Dr. Quack I will be.”

He awoke to the sound of birds chirping mightily, and as he took a deep breath, realized for the first time since Krawdur’s murder, he felt rested and the knot at the base of his skull was gone. It was early morning, too early to head to Seftineo’s office, so he lingered over morning coffee, reviewing the months old notes of his latest research and let his mind wander a bit to consider where it might lead. As Qasdan left his home, he was reminded of the graffiti, and made a call to the contractor who had on previous occasions cleaned up and repaired after events such as this. For the first time in many months, no news crew awaited, and no protestors lined the street as he made his way to Seftineo’s office.

Upon Qasdan’s arrival a fidgety looking Seftineo greeted his friend and quickly brushed him into his office. Several vid screens were on, and Seftineo was speaking rapidly and almost incoherently. Qasdan, slowly realized that something was wrong. Dimly aware of the sensory overload of the vid screens and Seftineo’s voice, and the return of the bass drum throb at the top of his neck. With a horrified look on his face, and almost shouting, Seftineo asked Qasdan, “What happened after I left you last night? Where did you go?”

“I went straight to bed. No tea, no research, just bed. That meal and wine, put my lights out for sure, “ answered Qasdan. “Why, what is happening? I don’t understanding this…”

“What did you do this morning and what time did you awake?” Seftineo interrupted.

“Why, I had coffee, and some light review of my latest work, hoping to return to it as quickly as possible.”

“No witnesses? To prove you were alone.”

“Surprisingly, no news crews nor protestors outside the house this morning, either. What is happening?” Qasdan asked again.

“There has been another murder at the university. A graduate student, named Samuel Lafroix, mentored by Kradur, he happens to be an android, has been found dead,” replied Seftineo.

Slowly Qasdan realized that he was familiar with this student. He was a trouble maker, having disrupted Qasdan’s classes many times in support of Krawdur before the murder and even more publicly in accusation of Qasdan. Lafroix appeared as a witness for the prosecution, despite offering no evidence, he had a platform from which to preach his hatred for 
Qasdan until throttled back by the judge and Seftineo’s multiple objections. The hate-monger’s attitude carrying more weight to public through the media, and not having any real effect on the jury.

“The police are investigating and are refusing to identify any potential suspects,” continued Seftineo.

“The media is spinning maniacally on the trial results and this new murder, reporting that the the two are related, though publicly unconfirmed by the police. You must prepare yourself that you will be questioned about it very soon.”

Qasdan swore. He believed that he could move on quickly from recent events and return to a quiet life in academia. That dream, now crumbling quickly before him.

Steeling himself in preparation for any rebuke from Seftineo, Qasdan quietly said “Let us begin as though this news is of no consequence at the moment. We should prepare my petition to the university board. Once that is complete, then we can focus on preparations for what, I agree, will likely be another long campaign to fight any new allegations.”

“Will you still be at my side?” Qasdan asked.

“I have been your friend many years, and will continue at your side, but I grow concerned that the negative attention will drive you away from who I know you to be,” replied Seftineo.

Qasdan listened to his friend, but words from the dream last night rang through his head. “If Dr. Quack is what they see, then Dr. Quack I will be.”