Pirate Cinema (42 page)

I nodded and waved my phone at him. "I don't have a printer at home, but I've got it here. News clippings, too, just like you asked."

He said, "Fine, we'll go to a client room and use a printer there. Got to have paper, so the clerk can then scan it all in again." He clucked his tongue and hustled away, while we followed in his wake. It was wonderful to see him in his element -- it gave me real confidence in his skill as a barrister. At home, Roshan was just 26's step father, kindly, funny, a little vague sometimes. But here, he was well switched on, radiating competence and cleverness. I was damn glad to have him on my side.

I followed the networking instructions on a curling piece of paper taped to the printer and got my phone hooked up to it and my papers printed seconds before a bailiff gave a thump on the door-frame and said, "You're up, Mr. Dutta," before hurrying off to another errand. I realized that the business with the old printer had completely taken my mind off the upcoming hearing and calmed me right down. I pushed away the anxiety that wanted to come back now that it was on my mind again, and took a deep breath as I stepped into the courtroom.

There was already a hearing in progress, something about a dispute between a landlord and a motorcycle courier firm that had been evicted from a building. The landlord had kidnapped all the company's effects and that and changed the locks. The judge asked each barrister a few pointed questions, shut them up when they tried to blather on about stuff he hadn't asked about, and then told the landlord to let the couriers come get their stuff, then ordered the couriers to pay their rent owing or they'd have to answer to him. He was ginger haired beneath his wig -- I could tell by the eyebrows and freckles -- and about fifty. He had big droopy bags under his eyes, like a sad cartoon dog, and a long straight nose that he wiggled around when he talked. I decided I liked him.

Then it was our turn. Roshan got to his feet, and said basically the same thing we'd discussed before: it was unfair and prejudicial to my case to bar me from using the net, and it would dramatically curtail my ability to campaign for the repeal of a law that had given a great commercial advantage to the claimants -- just what I thought he'd say. The judge listened intently, made a few notes, then settled his chin in his hand and listened some more. At one point, he looked me up and down and up again, and I felt like he was wearing X-ray specs. It was all I could do not to squirm under the gaze of his big, watery eyes, but I held still and met his stare and gave him a little smile. That seemed to satisfy him, because he went back to staring at 26's stepdad.

Then it was the other side's turn. Their lawyer made a big deal out of the number of legal claims that had been laid against me and called me a "compulsive thief" who "could not seem to stop downloading, no matter what the stakes." It was for this reason that he wanted the judge to shut me down, because unless I was cut off from the Internet, I'd carry on with my single-handed epidemic of downloading and copying. If I hadn't felt enough of a villain before, now I felt too much of one. They made me sound like a maniac who pirated everything and anything. It would have been funny if it didn't make me want to crap my pants with terror.

I kept my face neutral, but Roshan scowled with theatric ferocity as the studios' lawyer maligned me at great length. When it was his turn to rebut, he climbed to his feet and shook his head slowly.

"That was some performance," Roshan said. "And it was a rather fine example of the flights of fancy for which my learned friend's clients are so justly famed. But it had as much to do with reality, or, indeed, the law, as a courtroom drama. My client is a young man who stands accused of
selectively
downloading short clips for the purpose of making acclaimed transformational works that act as commentary and parody, and which constitute rather impressive creative works in their own rights. He is, fundamentally, a
competitor
of the claimants. They may paint him as an uncontrollable menace to society, but what business magnate would characterize his competition any differently? Indeed, my client has voluntarily suspended all of his filmmaking activities for the duration of this proceeding, which means a court order would be redundant in any event -- and only serve to cut my client off from activities that are unequivocally lawful, such as lobbying (rather effectively) for the repeal of legislation that is particularly favorable to the claimants. I believe it is improper for the claimants to ask this court to remove their legislative opponents from the field by means of hysterical and stilted characterizations of his activities."

He sat down. I wanted to cheer, but I knew better. But he'd been brilliant, and I could tell that the judge thought so, too -- he was controlling his grin, but you could see the tightness in the corners of his eyes and mouth where he was holding it in.

But the prosecution lawyer was grinning, too, and as he got to his feet, I could see that he wasn't the least bit worried, which suggested that he was still confident. He said, "Your honor, can you please ask the court clerk to retrieve a video file I have just attached to the docket?"

Roshan shot to his feet. "Excuse me," he said firmly. "Your honor, as my learned friend has not seen fit to make this evidence available prior to this proceeding --"

The prosecution lawyer nodded. "Terribly sorry," he said, "but it couldn't be helped. Only just came into our possession, you see. It's quite germane, as I think you'll see."

The judge cocked his head, then nodded at a woman sitting to one side and below him, in her own little wooden box. She moused around a bit, and a flat-panel screen beside the bench lit up and began to play a video.

My video.

The Scot video I'd made but not released, the piss-take on the anti-piracy warnings at the start of the films. The video I'd only given to one person: Dr Katarina McGregor-Colford. The video I wasn't supposed to have made at all. The video, in fact, that my legal team had specifically instructed me not to make.

It played through and ended with two and a half seconds of credits, prominently ascribing authorship to Cecil B. DeVil.

All the blood in my upper torso had plunged into my stomach, and all the blood below there had filled my feet, rooting me to the spot, leaving me swaying lightly like an inflatable clown punching bag. Roshan and Gregory were both staring at me, one on either side. I couldn't meet their stares, so I looked straight ahead at the judge, who wasn't even bothering to hide his snigger. He dabbed at his eyes with the billowing black sleeves of his robe and composed himself.

"Did you make this, young man?"

It was the first remark anyone in the courtroom had directed at me. I cleared my throat and croaked, "Yes, your honor."

He nodded. "When did you make it?"

"I finished that cut about ten days ago, your honor."

The judge consulted the papers before him. "That was, well, two weeks after you were served with notice of this suit?"

"Yes, your honor."

"I see." He drummed his fingers. "Could we see that again, please?"

A giggle rippled through the courtroom, and turned into a little cheer. The judge raised a finger once without looking away from the screen, and there was instant silence. The clerk clicked her mouse and the video ran once more. This time, there was audible laughter from the observers in the court. I snuck a look at the studios' barrister and saw his sour expression, like he'd just bit into something rotten. He clearly didn't see the humor.

The video finished and the judge put his chin back in his hand for a moment. Then he straightened up. "Mr. Dutta?"

"Your honor, I would like a moment to confer with my client, if you would be so kind."

"I expect you would. Go on, then."

Roshan leaned in and whispered to me, "What is this, Cecil?" He sounded mad.

"I didn't release it," I said. "It leaked. It was just something I was working on in private." I shrugged. It sounded stupid and reckless when I said it aloud. I shut my mouth before I said anything stupider.

The judge studied his notes for a good long while, as the moments oozed past and my blood hammered at my eardrums. Then he nodded, and said, "Right, well, I suppose that about says it all, doesn't it? Young man, I don't mind telling you that I believe you to be a very talented film-maker. It also sounds to me like you've got a legitimate grievance with this Theft of Intellectual Property Act, and you and your colleagues are certainly doing a good job of pressing your case."

I almost jumped on the spot. He was going to let me off. He
had
to let me off.

"Nevertheless, the existence of this video and your own admissions relating to the timeline of its creation are a clear indication that the claimants aren't simply going for dramatic effect when they characterize your somewhat compulsive relationship with their copyrights. In light of that, I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to life without the Internet until this case has been heard in detail. This court orders you to abstain from use of the Internet for any purpose for a period of two weeks, or until your suits are ruled upon, whichever comes first."

Roshan put his hand up. "Your honor?"

"Yes?"

"May I bring to your attention the fact that most mobile phone calls, chip-and-PIN purchases, and public transit ticket sales make use of the Internet? A prohibition on using the Internet for any purpose amounts to house arrest. Was that the court's intention?"

The judge snorted. "Fine, fine. This court orders you to abstain from
directly
using the Internet for the purposes of browsing the World Wide Web, making a non-telephonic voice or video call, partaking in an e-mail, instant message, or social network exchange, playing a networked game, or substantively similar purposes." He made a little "so there" nod and said, "I'm not a complete Luddite, you know. I'll have you know I once played Counterstrike for England on the national team." The court spectators buzzed with excitement. The judge stared at them until they fell silent. "For your benefit, young sir, I'll explain that Counterstrike was a paleolithic video game that we oldsters played before we got wiped out by MMOs and Xbox Live. I'm not unsympathetic to your plight, but the law is the law, and you'll need to find a way to change it that doesn't violate it."

He wiped his glasses, then said, "Ms. Murdstone, if you wouldn't mind running that video one more time?" It rolled along for ninety seconds, and even in my horrified state, I took in the fact that the judge was really enjoying it, and that the studio lawyers were furious to have it shown three times. When it was done, he murmured, "Hilarious," and raised his finger again.

My lawyers each took an elbow and steered me out of the courthouse, my wooden legs thumping ahead of me lifelessly as I contemplated spending the next two weeks without the Internet without losing my mind or the fight. I was also trying to work out what role Katarina had played in all this. If she'd wanted to get me in trouble, there were lots more direct ways than by leaking my video. She was Scot Colford's granddaughter, for god's sake. And what about all that footage she'd given me? I'd been cataloging it nonstop since I'd got it, thinking about how I could fit it into my ongoing projects. Was it some kind of trap?

Roshan and Gregory were sad and angry with me, I could tell. We sat down in a cafe across from the courthouse and Gregory brought us cups of milky tea and the two stared at me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know I was an idiot. I didn't think it'd get out. I only showed it to one person." I didn't mention who that person was, because I was sure they'd never believe that Scot Colford's granddaughter was on my side; they'd think I was a naive kid who'd got suckered.

Roshan shook his head at me (I could tell I was in for a lot of head-shaking) and said, "I'd kick you up the bum about this, but you're the one who's going to suffer the most for your mistake. And it could be worse. By capping the ban to two weeks, the judge was telling the other side that they'd better not try a bunch of expensive delaying tactics to get the case put off and off and leave you in limbo forever. But I hope you've learned that we're on your side, and when we tell you to do something, we mean it."

I nodded miserably.

Roshan said, "All right, go on then. 26 is sitting her last exam this morning and I expect she'll be wanting to see you this afternoon, yeah?"

I nodded again, and headed for the bus stop.

At this stage in the novel, it might be a good idea to take a break and stretch your legs. You know, there's very likely an
independent bookseller
nearby who'll provide you with a hardcopy of this book. Visualize that with me for a moment -- the hiss of the gas-lift in the door, the smell of paper and ink, the low murmur of literary conversation blended with the sound of pages being turned by ardent browsers. Imagine the clientele and the clerks. A good-looking bunch, right? Comrades in literacy, each one. Perhaps you'll strike up a conversation with one (or more) of them. Perhaps you'll make a friend.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps you have all the friends you need. Perhaps you are tired, or lazy, or bedridden. In that case, you may wish to tootle a ways along the much-vaunted Information Superhighway, cruise a few of its megamalls, the Amazons and Googles of the networked world of the 21st century. Therein, you will find a nigh-infinite variety of distractions and delights, and commercial offerings. Below, there are some starting points for your journey:

USA:

Amazon Kindle
(DRM-free)
Barnes and Noble Nook
(DRM-free)
Google Books
(DRM-free)
Apple iBooks
(DRM-free)
Kobo
(DRM-free)
Amazon
Booksense
(will locate a store near you!)
Barnes and Noble
Powells
Booksamillion

Canada:

Amazon Kindle
(DRM-free)
Kobo
(DRM-free)
Chapters/Indigo
Amazon.ca

Audiobook:

DRM-free download