Inequitable Justice, Part II

[Tachyon 0]

“Travelling into the Deep”

Inequitable Justice, Part II

Lieutenant Dave Grey

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The glass of water on the table in front of me . . . is it half empty, or half full? Does it really matter? I mean, can it be both or is the state of being empty or full merely an illusion perpetuated upon us by our senses?

 

You look at me like I’m crazy, or at least quite eccentric. Maybe you’re right. You see, I’m going through a rough period of my life, enduring events that no person should have to endure. Some people—whose actions I daresay are less charitable than mine—go through life without having to ever make the sort of decision I need to make. Everyone reaches a crucible, but mine is particularly unpalatable. My sister, you see, is dying.

 

Oh no! you say, surely is there nothing you can do for her? And I, staring calmly at the glass of half empty or half full water, respond in a level voice, no, there is nothing I can do. She is dying and I am powerless to stop her gradual deterioration. Worse, as her twin, I can feel her anguish and pain. And once she is gone, I will be alone.

 

Am I without family or friends? you ask next, probing deeper into my life and poking it open until I can be read like a book. No, I respond again, I have much family, but Harriet has always been closer to me than anyone else. We did everything together in childhood, and although we parted ways when we became adults, this has not reduced our affection for each other.

 

Now . . . now I must make a choice no sane man should have to make, but I do not have the courage to delve into the insanity required to protect me. I have to choose to purposely put my sister into a coma, one from which she might never awake, or to continue watching her die without a hope of saving her. The choice is a difficult one. Parts of me argue, and an inner struggle consumes my energy.

 

Leave her, some say. To put her in this coma would just prolong her suffering! There may be a chance, but it is a small one. Allow her to die now, without prolonging the inevitable. These voices urge me to give up and turn around, abandoning the road I now walk. Tempting.

 

Save her, others encourage. Time may yet yield a cure! She is as good as dead right now, a coma will not increase her pain. Take all the steps you must. These voices urge me to plummet down an abyss of no return, making a choice that, for me, is a terrible burden.

 

I have always been quite indecisive. Even now, as you watch me babble on about choices and voices, you notice I have not made any judgement on the issue of the glass. It is not my nature, I think, to be decisive, although I consider it a character flaw. I’ve always found it difficult to make decisions, even little ones, and continuously delegate the duty to someone else.

 

Only this time, there is no one else. My family has delegated it to me, and I cannot abandon its responsibility. I can’t help but think that Harriet’s fate rests entirely on my shoulders, and I wonder what I can do to stave off her inexorable expiration. If the best medicine we possess will not save her, what use am I?

 

A facetious and scientific person would quite possibly tell you that a glass can never be half empty nor half full, whatever part is not filled by liquid is filled by air. Depending on the listener, this could be met with belligerence, stony silence, or even amusement. But is a glass of air really as pleasing as one of water?

 

I’ve not yet made my goodbye. Somewhere, deep down inside of me, the sliver of hope persists like a caged animal attempting to break free of its Pandora’s Box. And that, ultimately, is the deciding factor, is it not? Your expression changes as I let loose a rueful laugh. It’s so simple! I exclaim. If I put her in the coma, she is either cured or she dies. If I don’t put her in the coma, she dies. What is there to decide?

 

You are still staring at that glass of water. Go on, drink it. It’s just water. That’s it, it’s refreshing and cool. It’s life. So precious, and so we depend upon it . . . just as we depend upon life itself. But you’ve also proven something else: now the glass is most definitively empty.

 

Oh, would you like some more? I would be most happy to refill your glass from this pitcher here—it’s chilled with ice. But you see, it won’t be quite the same. No glass of water is ever quite the same as the last, wouldn’t you agree? You can replenish the water after it is gone, but it is not the same water. The atoms are different, the temperature might be a little off, maybe there are a few more or less impurities than the last water.

 

Here you go, now your glass is full again. I should probably have one myself, to keep me hydrated, but truthfully I’m not at all thirsty. And, in fact, I’m late. I need to get back to Challenger, as we’ll be leaving soon. But before I go, I really should ask . . . what would you do?

 

The dog looked at Grey calmly with sombre brown eyes for several moments. Then it nudged the pitcher of water with its nose, pushing it far enough that it knocked it over onto the floor. The water pitcher shattered into fragments, its contents sloshing onto the carpet.

 

“No matter,” remarked Grey, standing up and looking around. “This isn’t even my house anyway.”