The District Attorney's voice, threaded with sarcasm, broke into his reverie:
"If the Court pleases, I would like to call up the case of People vs. Professor Neustadt."
Walhfred Anderson accepted the file from his aging, nearsighted clerk. He saw that the case had been assigned originally to Department 42. It was the case he had been warned about by the Presiding Judge.
Walhfred Anderson struggled to focus all his attention on the complaint before him. His craggy features, once described as resembling a benign bulldog, grew rigid with concentration. The Judge had a strong sense of honor about dividing his attention in Court. A case was not just a case; it was a human being whose past, present and future were wrapped up in the charge against him.
"Your Honor," the District Attorney broke in, impatiently, "if the Court will permit, I can summarize this case very quickly...."
The tone of his voice implied:
A Cyber judge would speed things up around here. Feed the facts into the proprioceptor, and they'd be stored and correlated instantly.
Perhaps so, Walhfred Anderson thought, suddenly tired, though the morning was still young. At eighty-six you couldn't go on fighting and resisting much longer. Maybe he should resign, and listen to the speeches at a farewell luncheon, and let a Cyber take over. The Cybers were fast. They ruled swiftly and surely on points of law. They separated fact from fallacy. They were not led down side avenues of justice by human frailty. Their vision was not blurred by emotion. And yet ... Judge Anderson looked to Justice Holmes for a clarifying thought, but the Justice's eyes were opaque, inscrutable.
Judge Anderson wearily settled back in his tall chair, bracing the ache in his back against the leather padding.
"You may proceed," he told the District Attorney.