I'm posting the chapters of Resolution 786. I'll post each successive chapter roughly every 3 or 4 days. Here's Chapter 33:
“Very well,” began Torquemada. “Let us proceed with the inquisition.” Torquemada gave Martin a quiet nod, anointing him to lead the proceedings for Count One. The Inquisitor General cleared his throat and instructed the prosecutor. “Dr. Hueghlomm, proceed with Count One.”
Hueghlomm stood, his crisp, pressed suit fitted perfectly. He held the indictment before him. “Your Honor, Count One is Mass Infanticide. The prosecution calls the defendant to the stand.”
The Lord rolled his eyes, remaining in place at the defendant’s table. The bailiff placed a large hand onto the Lord’s shoulder. The Lord refused to budge.
“Sir, it is essential that you take the stand and defend yourself,” said Martin. “The Fathers of the Inquisition have gone to great lengths to create a process that insures ample opportunities for a defendant to state his or her case.” Martin’s demeanor was gentle, effeminate, encouraging. “Please follow procedure,” he continued. “That is the only way for us to establish fairness, legitimacy, morality, and respect for the law.”
“Don’t mistake ritual for morality,” said the Lord.
“I don’t understand.” Martin held both hands in front of himself, fingers spread, palms facing each other. “I’m giving you a chance to state your case, but you answer in riddles and sarcasm.”
“Why are you surprised? You believe that I made requests for emancipation by hurling frogs and locusts at slave-masters. Now you’re surprised that I’m using riddles and sarcasm in your contrived court of law?”
“Sir, please take the stand,” said Martin, gentle, a high voice.
The Lord smirked, rolled his eyes again and walked to the witness stand. He plumped down angrily, like a child being sat in the corner for bad behavior.
“Happy?” he asked.
No one replied.
Hueghlomm hesitated a moment, confused, lost in a sense of deja vu. Something seemed wrong in the East Room, but he didn’t know what. He quickly composed himself and walked toward the Lord, brisk, determined, his immaculately shined, black dress shoes moving across the marble tiles in sharp, sure clicks. “Sir, what were you doing in 1250 B.C.?”
“B.C.? What’s that?” the Lord seemed genuinely confused.
The Lord clucked with laughter, his torso tilting this way and that in the witness stand.
“Sir, please answer the question,” said Hueghlomm, his propriety solid.
“What do you mean, ‘Before Christ?’” the Lord chuckled.
Hueghlomm looked to Martin, asking for guidance with his eyes. Martin replied with his eyes — he had none. Torquemada noticed their quandary and interjected his authority. “The witness shall answer the question with an answer, not a question.”
“Sometimes the answer is a question.” The Lord darted a glance at Torquemada.
Hueghlomm wanted to put the proceedings on track. “Sir, we have to establish a timeline of events to determine culpability,” he told the Lord.
“Timeline!” blurted the Lord. “Another one of your grand fallacies.”
“Sir, please don’t be difficult,” said Hueghlomm. “We have to get to the core of the issues.”
“Core of the issues? You’re going to deduce the core of Truth by using a series of fallacious artificialities?”
“Sir, where were you in 1250 B.C.?”
“I don’t know,” the Lord insisted.
“Why not?” said Hueghlomm.
“Where were you?” said the Lord.
“I wasn’t born yet.”
“How do you know? Do you even remember being born this time?”
Hueghlomm fell quiet, thinking.
“You revere the ridiculous,” the Lord said. “You’re so busy B.C.ing me, you’ve lost the calm ability to seek and find Truth.”
Hueghlomm wanted to focus on his indictment. He began to read from it. “Written records indicate, in relevant part…”
“Records!” the Lord interrupted him, shouting. “Go back and apply your reverence for linear time and logic to your written records. You say I created the sun on the fourth day. How do you propose I measured the beginnings and ends of the first, second and third days?”
“What’s your point?” asked Hueghlomm.
“Logic and linear time have no basis in your ponderings of me.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Oh, Lord,” muttered the Lord. “He’s willing to die for free will, but he also wants to be told what to do.” The Lord laughed, clucking, eyes squinted. He moved his hands to his stomach, resting them gently over each other, enjoying his own humor.
Martin wanted the proceedings to progress. “Sir, please.” He lingered on “please” a little longer than before. “Answer the prosecution’s question.”
“Fine.” The Lord stopped laughing and straightened himself up in the witness stand, quickly adjusting the front tuck of his shirt. “You asked what I want you to do. This is it: don’t eat meat on Friday; use only your left hand when cleaning up after the bathroom; chop the front tip off of every baby boy’s genitals; and face in a specific direction when you pray, otherwise it doesn’t count.”
Torquemada, Martin, Morilla and Hueghlomm stared at the Lord in bowed silence.
“Happy?” the Lord asked them.