Sons of Fortune

The judge looked puzzled, as did the attorney general. “I can’t wait to hear your small matter of protocol, Mr. Abrahams.”

“Allow me first to inquire of your honor, if I am correct in thinking that should there be a retrial, the defense team must be announced within fourteen days?”

“That would be the normal practice, Mr. Abrahams.”

“Then may I assist the court by making it clear that should that situation arise, Mr. Davenport and I will continue to represent the defendant.”

“I am obliged for your small point of protocol,” said the judge, no longer puzzled.

“So I must now ask you, Mr. Stamp,” said the judge, turning his attention back to the attorney general, “if it is your intention to apply for a retrial of this case.”

The court’s attention swung to the state’s lawyers, all five of whom were in a huddle, holding an animated conversation. Judge Abernathy made no attempt to hurry them, and it was some time before Mr. Stamp rose from his place. “We do not believe, your honor, that it is in the state’s best interest to reopen this case.”

Cheering broke out in the well of the court as the professor tore a sheet from his yellow pad and pushed it across to his pupil. Fletcher glanced down at it, rose from his place and read it, word for word. “You honor, in the circumstances, I would ask for the immediate release of my client.” He looked down at the professor’s next sentence and continued to read, “And may I say how grateful I am for the gracious and professional manner in which Mr. Stamp and his team have conducted the case for the prosecution.”

The judge nodded, and Mr. Stamp rose again. “May I in turn congratulate the defense counsel and his assistant on their first case before your honor, and wish Mr. Davenport every success in what I feel certain will be a promising career.”

Fletcher beamed at Annie, as Professor Abrahams rose from his place. “Objection, your honor.”

Everyone turned to face the professor. “I wouldn’t have thought it was that certain,” he said. “It is my belief that a lot of work still needs to be done before that promise will be realized.”

“Sustained,” said Judge Abernathy.

“My mother taught me two languages up until the age of nine and by then I was just about ready to be mainstreamed into the Storrs school system.”

“That’s where I started my academic life,” said Susan.

“But I discovered from an early age that I was more at ease with numbers than words.” Michael Cartwright nodded his understanding. “And I was most fortunate to have a math teacher whose hobby was statistics, and who was also fascinated by the role the computer might play in the future.”

“We’re beginning to rely a lot on them in the insurance business,” said Michael as he refilled his pipe.

“How big is your firm’s computer, Mr. Cartwright?” asked Su Ling.

“About the size of this room.”

“The next generation of students will work with computers no larger than the lids of their desks, and the generation after that will be able to hold them in the palm of their hand.”

“Do you really believe that’s possible?” asked Susan, transfixed.

“The technology is moving at such a pace, and the demand will be so high, that the price must fall quickly. Once that happens, computers will become like the phone and the television were in the forties and fifties, as more people purchase them, the cheaper and smaller they will be.”

“But surely some computers will still need to be large?” suggested Michael. “After all, my company has over forty thousand customers.”

“Not necessarily,” said Su Ling. “The computer that sent the first man to the moon was larger than this house, but we will live to see a space capsule land on Mars controlled by a computer no larger than this kitchen table.”

“No larger than the kitchen table?” repeated Susan, trying to grasp the concept.

“In California, Silicon Valley has become the new hotbed of technology. Already IBM and Hewlett Packard are finding that their latest models can be out of date in a matter of months, and once the Japanese are fully up to speed, it might even be weeks.”

“Then how can firms like mine be expected to keep up?” asked Michael.

“You’ll simply have to replace your computer just as often as you change your car, and in the not-too-distant future, you’ll be able to carry in your inside pocket detailed information on every customer you represent.”

“But I repeat,” said Michael, “our company currently has forty-two thousand clients.”

“It won’t matter if you have four hundred thousand, Mr. Cartwright, a handheld computer will still be able to do the same job.”

“But think of the consequences,” said Susan.