Strict

Christine stood in the ancient courtroom, which, despite its venerable age, was remarkably well-kept. The polished mahogany wall paneling reflected the florescent lights up above. Even though most buildings had already switched to hex-lighting, the Halls of Justice had stubbornly refused to be drug into modernity.

There’s a weight about this place, she thought. Like it’s been transported out of time.

“They’re ready for you, Ma’am.” The soulless sentinel said, its hollow voice echoing through the antechamber.

Christine nodded and stood. The sentinel led her through a pair of mahogany double doors. It wore a pair of leather gloves so the black-metal that comprised its “skin” wouldn’t gouge the surface. They really did think of everything.

The chamber beyond looked just like a courtroom of old, mahogany everywhere, of course, but also it was laid out with two desks in front of a raised platform where the Judge was seated. She was an elder, likely over 350 years old. Christine thought she looked around 60, not terrible. She must have received arcana-infusions. Probably because she was still necessary.

In the past there might have been “lawyers” posted at either one of these desks. Christine had read about these in school, they did still teach history of a sort. Today, Christine stood alone, if you didn’t count the sentinel.

“All rise.” The sentinel uttered. “The Honorable Judge Eve Gladwell presiding.”

Christine looked around her at the empty chamber.

“But...I’m already standing?” She said, puzzled.

Judge Gladwell slammed a gavel on the desk before her. Christine jumped. Judge Gladwell smiled.

“There’s no need to be jumpy, Ms. Westwood. I know these proceedings will seem odd to you, but the Grand Council insisted you be tried in accordance with the law you have broken. I assure you, there’s nothing to be worried about. Oh and I do so hope you’ll indulge me, I don’t get out much.”

Christine gulped and nodded.

“Now, it says here that you’ve committed a most unusual crime, and that you’ve confessed. Would you please tell the court in your own words what it is you have done?”

“Um. Well, I didn’t realize it was a crime, to be honest.”

“Mmmhmm, please proceed.”

“Okay, so I’ve spent a lot of time on the WyrdWeb. Watching ScryTok dreamsnips, mostly. And well, I got really into Archaeotek. You know, stuff from before the veil tore. Like how does it work? What made it tick? That kind of thing.”

“Mm, yes, I remember.” Judge Gladwell smiled.

“Right, okay, well, I got my hands on a real pristine piece of Archaeotek. A Macbook “Professional”. I don’t know how, but it still works. The man who sold it to me said he’d found it in a sealed coffer in some vault somewhere. To be honest, I didn’t ask too many questions.”

“Mmmhmm, yes. It must have cost you a fortune.”

“I got off easy, all told. Only a few dozen memories and a promise of a favor, bound in blood.”

“A veritable bargain! But that’s not why you’re here.”

“No, ma’am, I suppose it’s because once I got it running and figured out the driving mechanism – Electricity running through tiny wires! Can you believe it? – I decided to see if I could connect it to the WyrdWeb. It took a lot of trial and error, but it worked!”

“...and then?”

“Well, I, um… Kinda figured out it could connect to WyrdRealms that were behind firewalls. Easily. And I kinda sorta poked around in them for a bit. But I didn’t change anything! Or make any copies! Nothing.”

“I know, I know. Had you done so, more modern laws would apply. Honestly, I’m not sure why this one is still on the books. But, you’ve upset some powerful people and they demand you be punished. Legally, of course.” Judge Gladwell’s face turned to a scowl.

Christine braced herself.

“Thus, I hereby find you guilty of Unauthorized access of a computer system under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act of 1986. Your punishment shall be a fine of 5000 dollars and be remanded to the court’s custody for one day.”

Christine cocked her head, a bewilderment creeping across her face.

“For your custody, we’ll be taking a trip across the street to Wyld Wytch Brewery, and we’re going to chat all about this hobby of yours over brews and my favorite lunch.”

Christine blinked and nodded.

“Right!” Judge Gladwell hopped down from behind her bench and whipped off her Judicial robes, reveling a much more casual cardigan-and-jeans combo. “Let’s get going.”

“Um… before that. Could you tell me what a dollar is?” Christine asked.

Judge Gladwell grinned wildly. “Old currency! You can get a five-thousand dollar note from StreamSwap for 2 cold-iron shillings. Plus teleportation costs, of course.”

And with that nasty business done, they marched out of the venerable Halls of Justice with plenty of time still left for happy hour.