“I would like to call Odysseus Packard to the armchair of justice!” The nameless lawyer proclaimed, for the sake of the entire human race. Except you.
Odysseus used his ears to hear said lawyer; and fulfilled the man’s desire, submitting to his exclamation mark’s authority.
“Would you please describe the events of 2:47, February 11, 2113, Mr. Packard?” The man who only wished he could be named Mr. Packard asked.
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Odysseus confirmed. “Yes, well I took a single bite from a stalk of celery; promptly after which I spied with my very left eye a man-yes, a man-walking. I turned my head to see another man, a replacement man; but truly only a little silhouetto of a man, for he seemed to be evading taxes. I shouted ‘You’re not the man you once were my friend, but only a faded silhouette.’ He turned to me and said ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there’; then he made a triangle around his ear with his fingers. I, yes, I, fired off a few dozen warning shots via gun; and he, yes, he, ran; but not before dropping his birth certificate. I picked it up, put it in my left pocket, and then 2:47 was over.”
“Thank you, Mr. Packard, I know this is hard for you.” The lawyer said, violating his probation by closing his mouth, concealing the firearm he stored within. “I have no more questions.”
Twelve-Anne Stradivari nodded to Dawson Filter, and strolled to the armchair of justice, as though it were possible to simply stroll to the armchair of justice.
“Mr. Packard,” She began “Did you get a decent look at the offender’s face?”
“We will never look back, look back at the faded silhouette.” Odysseus replied, cryptically as the day is long.
“What was the race of the man you saw?”
“Caucasian, with some gold plates about his arms, torso, and legs.”
“And would you care to state the race of my defendant?”
“I refuse allow ethnicity to influence the verdict of this case!”
“Can you confirm that he is of a different race than Caucasian?”
“He is everything a Caucasian is and more!”
Seeing that this line of questioning was somehow yielding no results, Twelve-Anne decided to try to convince the jury that time travel was a thing, so that they would have an easier time believing that Dawson Filter et al. were time travelers.
“Do you see this thumbtack?” She said, pulling a thumbtack from her right pocket.
“Yes.” Odysseus replied, predictably.
“Do you know the make of this thumbtack?”
“This is an Interwell Lp04, my good man, my father used to work at the company. I found it by a vending machine in 2016. According to my research, they stopped making these in 2037; they said the young generation didn’t deserve the superior quality that only an Interwell can provide. Tell me: do you see any rust defiling its flawless surface?”
“No, I do not.” Odysseus Packard replied.
“Would it therefore be safe to say that this thumbtack traveled through time?” Twelve-Anne prodded.
“As safe as it is to say that I can say whatever I want to with no consequences, if not more so.”
“Then is it not also reasonable to say that my defendant, with whom this thumbtack and I were found, is a time traveler, and did not exist at the time of the offence?”
“Yes, I suppose that yes, him being a time traveler is reasonable enough; but even then, there’s no reason under the sun why he couldn’t’ve committed tax evasio-”
“No further questions.” Twelve-Anne interjected, turning to sit back down on the good bench.
The members of the Quest Committee who were already seated on the bench clenched their fists, and pointed their thumbs up for Twelve-Anne; using the common hitchhiker’s symbol to congratulate the weary traveler on a job well done.