The following is a short story I've written for an online competition about the future of copyright the rules stipulated online publication). If that interests you at all you can check it out at http://www.indiegogo.com/Future-of-Copyright If you chip in some money for the prize you'll receive an ebook with selected texts from the competition. To make this absolutely clear I offer the following text under creative commons license.
“Studio
throwing to you in, 3, 2...” The misshapen lump of ear-pieces,
sweat and sandwich that was the cameraman didn't say the “one,”
instead just pointing at the collection of make-up, shoulder-pads and
failed dreams holding the microphone before the unflinching gaze of
the camera.
“Jim,
the second day of this potentially world-changing case starts in just
few moments. Yesterday was very much a day of formalities with very
little of the meat of the case. Gentech's legal team spent most of
the day presenting the fairly complicated technical information that
they felt the jury needed in order to verify the claims they are
making. Today it's expected that they'll be calling Mr McQuinn to the
stand.” Here she paused for a moment whilst the haircut in the
studio cut across her. “That's right Jim, Mr McQuinn is the man at
the heart of this case. Gentech works at the forefront of what is
still a fairly new industry, there has been talk in legal circles for
sometime about how current copyright law would be applicable to
Gentech's products.” Another pause whilst the studio asked another
inane question. “Yes. Many people within the industry are looking
at keeping a very close eye on this case and, should this case go the
way Gentech is banking it will, we could well see a slew of similar
lawsuits.” She paused for a moment before finishing. “Thanks
Jim.”
Within
seconds her microphone was off and she was strutting away from the
camera, all indignation and muttered dissent.
***
“All
rise for the honourable judge Cubert McLesterson!” the court
officer yelled as the many journalists shuffled into position. An
unnatural hush fell over the court-room as the judge transported an
almost-ungodly amount of black fabric to his seat on his equally
preposterous frame.
“Be
seated.” He motioned for the for the many performers assembled on
his stage to sit with a massive flabby paw. “This court is now in
session.” He punctuated the line with an entirely unnecessary bang
of the gavel. He'd worked hard to get where he was and he'd be damned
if he wasn't going to use every available opportunity to play with
the tiny hammer.
“Counsel,”
he nodded in a dignified fashion towards one of the two suits
representing the plaintiff. “You may begin.”
“Thank
you, your honour,” The Suit replied with a slick half-nod. “We
call the defendant Mr McQuinn to the stand!” There was a slight
murmur from the crowd followed by an entirely needless gavel-bang. As
Mr McQuinn rose from behind the desk he was revealed to be a
dishevelled-looking man, distinctly unsuited to being suited, and as
such he looked decidedly scruffy. As he stepped from behind the desk
he shot a nervous glance and smile towards the voluminous pregnant
woman seated in the front row and slouched unwillingly towards the
stand. A court bailiff solidified out of the ether with a selection
of books for Mr McQuinn to swear in upon. There was a delay as he
perused the stack before finally opting for a copy of Watchmen. After
muttering a few binding words of dubious provenance,
McQuinn returned the book and took his seat.
“Just
confirm you are Mr Alonso McQuinn of 72 'I Can't Believe They Named
This Awful Street That' Gardens.” McQuinn replied with a curt nod
and a brief affirmation. “Can you also confirm for the court that
you are currently employed at Gentech Industries?” Again a curt nod
and a mumble. “And what is your roll at Gentech?”
“I'm
a lead coder,” Mr McQuinn replied.
“Could
you please identify this document for the court Mr McQuinn?” The
Suit flourished a document skyward before thrusting it aggressively
towards the stand.
“Yes.
That is my code,” McQuinn replied with another nervous smile.
“Your
code Mr McQuinn?” The Suit asked accusingly whilst his partner
slithered from behind the desk to distribute copies to the jury. “Can
you confirm that this code has been used as the basis for nearly
every project you've designed whilst at Gentech?” The Suit grasped
a stack of papers from the desk and slammed them down on the stand
with a force that the judge, as an experienced hammer-man, couldn't
help but respect.
“Well...
yes everyone does.” McQuinn adjusted his glasses nervously. “But
it's my code I've had forever, it substantially pre-dates my
employment at Gentech...”
“Mr
McQuinn, at some point or another every single piece of this original
code appears in products you developed for Gentech.” The Suit
purposefully strutted back to his desk seized another document, again
he flourished it needlessly towards the ceiling before holding it an
inch from McQuinn's face. “Do you recognise this document?”
McQuinn adjusted his glasses took the paper from The Suit's claw,
moved it further away from his face and pushed the lawyers
still-stationary hand to one side to allow him to see the document.
“This
is the employee agreement that I signed when I first started working
for Gentech,” McQuinn offered.
“And
could you, please read the hi-lighted section... Mr... McQuinn?”
The Suit asked, flashing a predators grin.
“I,
the under-signed, here after referred to as Minion, agree that any
and all works produced pertaining to the realm of genetic
construction and modification whilst employed at Gentech, and any
derivative works, are the sole copyright of Gentech and it's parent
companies; Morally Questionable Developments, Shady Weapons
Development and Large & Soulless Multinational...” At this
point McQuinn stopped and looked up from the paper. “Look, this
document is designed to stop me from packing up my office, jumping
ship and giving our competitors all of our information, not...”
“The
court will be the judge of what this document is meant for, Mr
McQuinn,” The Suit snapped, snatching the document away and placing
it in front of the judge whilst the second suit once again slunk out
to supply copies of the document to the jurors.
“But
it's my DNA! It's really hard to write an entire genome, so we cheat
by using our own and tweaking and adapting it to get the desired
results. Gentech can't own my DNA!” McQuinn exclaimed rising to his
feet. He'd gotten no further than halfway out of his chair when he
was deflated by the judge's most emphatic gavel-bang of the day.
“You
will compose yourself Mr McQuinn, or you'll find yourself in contempt
of court,” he said with a satisfied smile that dared McQuinn to
challenge him.
“I'm
sorry your honour but it's not fair,” McQuinn moaned as he dropped
back into his seat.
“This
is about protecting peoples livelihoods Mr McQuinn. You can't just
choose to use someone else's copyrighted materials for your own
profit.” The Suit smirked with all the compassion of a shark.
“Mr
McQuinn, could you please identify for the court, Mrs McQuinn.”
McQuinn pointed with a trembling hand towards his pregnant wife,
sitting in the front row of the court-room. “Let the record show
that Mr McQuinn indicated the pregnant lady in the front row. Is she
pregnant with your child Mr McQuinn?”
“What
the hell are you trying to imply?” Mr McQuinn asked angrily. “Of
course it's my child.”
“From
the defendants own mouth!” The Suit pointed at the jury, taking two
strident paces to stand before them. “Half of that child's DNA is
the copyrighted material of Gentech Industries. By any definition
that is a derivative work. Yet Mr McQuinn embarked upon its
development without even attempting to gain the permission of his
employers.” Here the lawyer reached to his table and held up
another document. “This is an e-mail Mr McQuinn sent to a colleague
using his employers e-mail system. It includes this line: 'Rosemary
and I are trying for a baby.' This child was not an accident, but a
deliberate attempt to use copyrighted material for your own gain Mr
McQuinn.”
***
“I'm
not going to lie to you. We're getting battered in there,” the
cut-price lawyer, the best the McQuinns could afford, said, exuding
an air of nervousness that was only matched by his odour.
“We've
not done anything wrong,” Rosemary replied angrily striking fear
into both the lawyer and her husband as only a pregnant woman can.
“Mrs
McQuinn. This isn't about right or wrong it's about the law,”
Cut-price replied, but he at least had the decency to look sheepish
as he said it.
“He's
right.” The three of them looked down the corridor to see The Suit
standing a small way down the corridor. “I'm betting that
settlement we offered you looks pretty good right now. And before you
ask; No. My clients have made it very clear to me that getting a
court decision on this is much more important than getting the money
out of you two.” With that he turned on his heel and walked away
with a whistle on his lips and a song in his - for want of a better
word - heart.
“I
wish I was heartless bastard like that,” Cut-price muttered whilst
staring wistfully at his opponent's retreating back, showing once and
for all where the true priorities of the legal profession lie. “We've
got to focus on damage control here. We need to go in and argue not
on the whether or not you are in breach of copyright, but on the
profitability of your child.”
***
“Mr
McQuinn, both Gentech and yourself have had a look at your son's DNA.
Is there anything in there that indicates that the child will have
any aptitude for high income professions? Medicine, Sport, Financial
Speculation?”
“No.
There's nothing in his DNA to indicate any of that,” Mr McQuinn
replied to the court-room at large.
“So
there's no reason to assume that this child will be anything other
than a massive financial drain,” Cut-price asked with a smile.
“Well,
I wouldn't say that, but from a purely financial stand-point, no. I
don't think there is any reason to assume that he'll wind a up being
a millionaire,” McQuinn replied.
“Objection,
your honour,” The Suit cried from behind his desk. “Mr McQuinn
has no way of predicting the future. Just because his child is
genetically unremarkable it doesn't mean it won't go on to become a
profitable individual... have you seen Jersey Shore? Those people
have no talent and are still incredibly wealthy. This child has
already become the centre of a media circus. The very idea that
someone isn't already getting ready to approach the McQuinn's about a
potential reality TV show is, frankly, ludicrous.” The Suit dropped
back into his seat.
“Sustained,
Mr McQuinn has no way of knowing how much this child will ultimately
be worth and every incentive to misjudge the possibilities,” the
judge replied, several of his chins wobbling as he did so. McQuinn
and his lawyer exchanged forlorn glances.
“No
further questions your honour.”
***
There
was a palpable sense of tension in the court-room as the jury
returned from their deliberations. It seemed as if every piranha in
the state had swarmed on the case and were waiting to pick clean the
corpse of the McQuinn's lives, they weren't alone though. Several Guy
Fawkes were scattered conspicuously among the watchers, as well as
multiple representatives of the various other online communities that
had taken an interest in this case. Of all these various groups that
had descended on the scene that day, the only ones not resting on the
edge of their seat were the McQuinns and their legal team, who were
instead drowning in a sea of perpetual gloom. A door to one side of
the court swung open and the jury traipsed back from whatever
hinterland they were confined to for the duration of their musings.
There was a slight susurration from among the watchers. The judge
responded to this with an unreasonably fast gavel slam that might
have been entirely unrelated to the murmur. There were a few moments
of shuffling from among the jurors themselves before all but the
foreman had taken a seat. He passed a piece of paper to a bailiff who
nobly fought the overwhelming urge to take a peek before passing it
to the judge, who took a glance and passed it back.
“Have
you reached a verdict with which you are all happy?” The Judge
asked.
“Juror
Six found out her cat had passed away last night so she's not that
happy at the moment but we have all agreed to find in favour of the
plaintiff,” he said before dropping quickly back to his seat.
The
was an audible groan from Rosemary McQuinn. The judge managed to
surprise everyone by exercising enough self-control to keep his gavel
had still for a moment. The rest of the court seized this moment to
start chattering like a gaggle of school girls, resulting in the
judge banging his hammer not once but twice. He waited for silence
before he spoke.
“Mr
McQuinn, under normal circumstances I'd award Gentech the royalties
you'd earned from this endeavour, unfortunately that doesn't seem to
be applicable in this case. As such I'm awarding Gentech Industries
75% of the earnings of your child. To be garnished from it's earnings
directly to Gentech. I'd suggest you get a reality-show locked in as
quickly as possible Mr McQuinn. Court Adjourned.” There was another
hearty slap of wood on wood and the court began to disperse.
***
“We
are pleased with the verdict, obviously,” The Suit stated smilingly
out on the steps of the court-house. “It is our hope that this
ruling has now provided a clarification of the laws pertaining to DNA
copyright and will allow companies such as Gentech to avoid the
unnecessary expense of court cases such as this in future. Now
there's a precedent, it will be much easier to explore out of court
settlement options.” There was a question from one of the reporters
that was hard to hear over the clamour. “Well, the civil liberties
discussion is really something for our political leaders to talk
about but they've sided with rights-holders nearly every time the
debate has happened in the past.” He gave a smirk and sauntered off
to his car as the media circus moved on to engulf the unfortunate
couple behind him.
In Session by Daniel Edwards is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.eddieshtb.blogspot.com.
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