The Star Beast Page 5
“Oh. I guess not, sir. Lummox is…well, he’s just a member of our family.”
“Precisely.” The Commissioner spoke to Judge O’Farrell. “May I consult you a moment, Judge? Privately?”
“Certainly, sir.”
The men moved, away; Betty joined John Thomas. “It’s a cinch,” she whispered, “if you can keep from making more breaks.”
“What did I do?” he protested. “And what makes you think it’s going to be easy?”
“It’s obvious. He likes you, he likes Lummox.”
“I don’t see how that pays for the ground floor of the Bon Marché. Or all those lamp posts.”
“Just keep your blood pressure down and follow my lead. Before we are through, they’ll be paying us. You’ll see.”
A short distance away Mr. Greenberg was saying to Judge O’Farrell, “Judge, from what I have learned it seems to me that the Department of Spatial Affairs should withdraw from this case.”
“Eh? I don’t follow you, sir.”
“Let me explain. What I would like to do is to postpone the hearing twenty-four hours while I have my conclusions checked by the department. Then I can withdraw and let the local authorities handle it. Meaning you, of course.”
Judge O’Farrell pursed his lips. “I don’t like last-minute postponements, Mr. Commissioner. It has always seemed unfair to me to order busy people to gather together, to their expense and personal inconvenience, then tell them to come back another day. It doesn’t have the flavor of justice.”
Greenberg frowned. “True. Let me see if we can arrive at it another way. From what young Stuart tells me I am certain that this ease is not one calling for intervention under the Federation’s xenic policies, even though the center of interest is extra-terrestrial and therefore a legal cause for intervention if needed. Although the department has the power, that power is exercised only when necessary to avoid trouble with governments of other planets. Earth has hundreds of thousands of e.-t. animals; it has better than thirty thousand non-human xenians, either residents or visitors, having legal status under treaties as ‘human’ even though they are obviously non-human. Xenophobia being what it is, particularly in our cultural backwaters…no, I wasn’t referring to Westville! Human nature-being what it is, each of those foreigners is a potential source of trouble in our foreign relations.
“Forgive me for saying what you already know; it is a necessary foundation. The department can’t go around wiping the noses of all our xenic visitors…even those that have noses. We haven’t the personnel and certainly not the inclination. If one of them gets into trouble, it is usually sufficient to advise the local magistrate of our treaty obligations to the xenian’s home planet. In rare cases the department intervenes. This, in my opinion, is not such a case. In the first place it seems that our friend Lummox here is an ‘animal’ under the law and…”
“Was there doubt?” the judge asked in astonishment.
“There might have been. That’s why I am here. But, despite his limited ability to talk, his other limitations would keep such a breed from rising to a level where we could accept it as civilized; therefore he is an animal. Therefore he has only the usual rights of animals under our humane laws. Therefore the department need not concern itself.”
“I see. Well, no one is going to be cruel to him, not in my court.”
“Certainly. But for another quite sufficient reason the department is not interested. Let us suppose that this creature is ‘human’ in the sense that law and custom and treaty have attached to that word since we first made contact with the Great Race of Mars. He is not, but suppose it.”
“Stipulated.” agreed Judge O’Farrell.
“We stipulate it. Nevertheless he cannot be a concern of the department because… Judge, do you know the history of the Trail Blazer?”
“Vaguely, from grammar school days. I’m not a student of spatial exploration. Our own Earth is confusing enough.”
“Isn’t it, though? Well, the Trail Blazer made three of the first interspatial transition flights, when such flights were as reckless as the voyage Columbus attempted. They did not know where they were going and they had only hazy notions about how to get back…in fact the Trail Blazer never came back from her third trip.”
“Yes, yes. I remember.”
“The point is, young Stuart—I can’t call him by his full name; it doesn’t seem right—Stuart tells me that this loutish creature with the silly smile is a souvenir of the Trail Blazer’s second cruise. That’s all I need to know. We have no treaties with any of the planets she visited, no trade, no intercourse of any sort. Legally they don’t exist. Therefore the only laws that apply to Lummox are our own domestic laws; therefore the department should not intervene—and even if it did, a special master such as myself would be obliged to rule entirely by domestic law. Which you are better qualified to do than I.”
Judge O’Farrell nodded. “Well, I have no objection to resuming jurisdiction. Shall we go in?”
“Just a moment. I suggested a delay because this case has curious features. I wanted to refer back to the department to make sure that my theory is correct and that I have not missed some important precedent or law. But I am willing to withdraw at once if you can assure me of one thing. This creature… I understand that, despite its mild appearance, it turned out to be destructive, even dangerous?”
O’Farrell nodded. “So I understand…unofficially of course.”
“Well, has there been any demand that it be destroyed?”
“Well,” the judge answered slowly, “again unofficially, I know that such a demand will be made. It has come to my attention privately that our chief of police intends to ask the court to order the animal’s destruction as a public safety measure. I anticipate prayers from private sources as well.”
Mr. Greenberg looked worried. “As bad as that? Well, Judge, what is your attitude? If you try the case, are you going to let the animal be destroyed?”
Judge O’Farrell retorted, “Sir, that is an improper question.”
Greenberg turned red. “I beg your pardon. But I must get at it in some fashion. You realize that this specimen is unique? Regardless of what it has done, or how dangerous it may be (though I’m switched if I’m convinced of that), nevertheless its interest to science is such that it should be preserved. Can’t you assure me that you will not order it destroyed?”
“Young man, you are urging me to prejudge a case, or a portion of a case. Your attitude is most improper!”
Chief Dreiser chose this bad time to come hurrying up. “Judge, rye been looking all over for you. Is this hearing going to take place? I’ve got seven men who…”
O’Farrell interrupted him. “Chief, this is Mr. Commissioner Greenberg. Mr. Commissioner, our Chief of Safety.”
“Honored, Chief.”
“Howdy, Mr. Commissioner. Gentlemen, about this hearing. I’d like to know…”
“Chief,” the judge interrupted brusquely, “just tell my bailiff to hold things in readiness. Now leave us in private, if you please.”
“But…” The chief shut up and backed away, while muttering something excusable in a harassed policeman. O’Farrell turned back to Greenberg.
The Commissioner had had time during the interruption to recall that he was supposed to be without personal emotions. He said smoothly, “I withdraw the question, Judge. I had no intention of committing an impropriety.” He grinned. “Under other circumstances I might have found myself slapped for contempt, eh?”
O’Farrell grudged a smile. “It is possible.”
“Do you have a nice jail? I have over seven months leave saved up and no chance to take it.”
“You shouldn’t overwork, young man. I always find time to fish, no matter how full the docket. ‘Allah does not subtract from man’s allotted time those hours spent in fishing.’”
“That’s a good sentiment. But I still have a problem. You know that I could insist on postponement while I consult the department?”
“Certainly. Perhaps you should. Your decision should not be affected by my opinions.”
“No. But I agree with you; last-minute postponements are vexations.” He was thinking that to refer to the department, in this odd case, meant to consult Mr. Kiku…and he could hear the Under Secretary making disgusted remarks about “initiative” and “responsibility” and “for heaven’s sake, couldn’t anyone else around this madhouse make a simple decision?” Greenberg made up his mind. “I think it is best for the department to continue intervention. I’ll take it, at least through a preliminary hearing.”
O’Farrell smiled broadly. “I had hoped that you would. I’m looking forward to hearing you. I understand that you gentlemen from the Department of Spatial Affairs sometimes hand out an unusual brand of law.”
“Really? I hope not. I mean to be a credit to Harvard Law.”
“Harvard? Why, so am I! Do they still shout for Reinhardt?”
“They did when I was there.”
“Well, well, it’s a small world! I hate to wish this case on a schoolmate; I’m afraid it is going to be a hot potato.”
“Aren’t they all? Well, let’s start the fireworks. Why don’t we sit en banc? You’ll probably have to finish.”
They started back to the courthouse. Chief Dreiser, who had been fuming some distance away, saw that Judge O’Farrell had forgotten him. He started to follow, then noted that the Stuart boy and Betty Sorenson were still on the other side of Lummox’s cage. They had their heads together and did not notice that the two magistrates were leaving. Dreiser strode over to them.
“Hey! Inside with you, Johnnie Stuart! You were supposed to be in court twenty minutes ago.”
John Thomas looked startled. “But I thought…” he began, then noticed that the judge and Mr. Greenberg had gone. “Oh! Just a minute, Mr. Dreiser… I’ve got something to say to Lummox.”
“You’ve got nothing to say to that beast now. Come along.”
“But, Chief…”
Mr. Dreiser grabbed his arm and started to move away. Since he outweighed John Thomas by nearly one hundred pounds Johnnie moved with him. Betty interrupted with, “Deacon Dreiser! What a nasty way to behave!”
“That’ll be enough out of you, young lady,” Dreiser answered. He continued toward the courthouse with John Thomas in tow. Betty shut up and followed. She considered tripping the police chief, but decided not to.
John Thomas gave in to the inevitable. He had intended to impress on Lummox, at the very last minute, the necessity of remaining quiet, staying put, and not eating the steel bars. But Mr. Dreiser would not listen. It seemed to John that most of the older people in the world spent much of their time not listening.
Lummox had not missed their exit. He stood up, filling the enclosed space, and stared after John Thomas, while wondering what to do. The bars creaked as he brushed against them. Betty looked back and said, “Lummox! You wait there! We’ll be back.”
Lummox remained standing, staring after them and thinking about it. An order from Betty wasn’t really an order. Or was it? There were precedents in the past to think over.
Presently he lay down again.
CHAPTER IV
The Prisoner at the Bars
AS O’Farrell and Greenberg entered the room the bailiff shouted, “Order in the court!” The babble died down and spectators tried to find seats. A young man wearing a hat and hung about with paraphernalia stepped into the path of the two officials. “Hold it!” he said and photographed them. “One more…and give us a smile, Judge, like the Commissioner had just said something funny.”
“One is enough. And take off that hat.” O’Farrell brushed past him. The man shrugged but did not take off his hat.
The clerk of the court looked up as they approached. His face was red and sweaty, and he had his tools spread out on the justice’s bench. “Sorry, Judge,” he said. “Half a moment.” He bent over a microphone and intoned, “Testing…one, two, three, four… Cincinnati…sixty-six.” He looked up. “I’ve had more grief with this recording system today.”
“You should have checked it earlier.”
“So help me, Judge, if you can find anybody… Never mind. I did check it, it was running sweet. Then when I switched it on at ten minutes to ten, a transistor quit and it’s been an endless job to locate the trouble.”
“All right,” O’Farrell answered testily, annoyed that it should happen in the presence of a distinguished visitor. “Get my bench clear of your implements, will you?”
Greenberg said hastily, “If it’s all the same to you, I won’t use the bench. We’ll gather around a big table, court-martial style. I find it speeds things up.”
O’Farrell looked unhappy. “I have always maintained the ancient formalities in this court. I find it worthwhile.”
“Very likely. I suppose that those of us who have to try cases anywhere and everywhere get into sloppy habits. But we can’t help it. Take Minatare for example; suppose you attempted, out of politeness, to conform to their customs in trying a case. They don’t think a judge is worth a hoot unless he undergoes a cleansing fast before he mounts the judge’s sphere…then he has to stay up there without food or drink until he reaches a decision. Frankly, I couldn’t take it. Could you?”
Judge O’Farrell felt annoyed that this glib young man should imply that there could be a parallel between the seemly rituals of his court and such heathen practices. He recalled uneasily the three stacks of wheat cakes, adorned with sausage and eggs, with which he had started the day. “Well…‘other times, other customs,’” he said grudgingly.
“Exactly. And thanks for indulging me.” Greenberg motioned to the bailiff; the two started shoving attorneys’ tables together to make one big one before O’Farrell could make clear that he had quoted the old saw for the purpose of rebutting it. Shortly, about fifteen people were seated around the composite table and Greenberg had sent the bailiff out to find ash trays. He turned to the clerk, who was now at his control desk, wearing earphones and crouching over his instruments in the awkward pose of all electronics technicians. “Is your equipment working now?”
The clerk pressed a thumb and forefinger together. “Rolling.”
“Very well. Court’s in session.”
The clerk spoke into his mike, announcing time, date, place, nature and jurisdiction of the court, and the name and title of the special master presiding, reading the last and mispronouncing Sergei Greenberg’s first name; Greenberg did not correct him. The bailiff came in, his hands full of ash trays, and said hastily, “Oyez! Oyez! Let all who have business before this court gather nigh and…”
“Never mind,” Greenberg interrupted. “Thanks anyhow. This court will now hold a preliminary hearing on any and all issues relating to the actions last Monday of an extra-terrestrial creature locally resident and known as ‘Lummox.’ I refer to that big brute in a cage outside this building. Bailiff, go get a picture of him, please, and insert it in the record.”
“Right away, your honor.”
“The court wishes to announce that this hearing may be converted to a final determination on any or all issues at any time, if the court so announces and subject to objection and ruling at the time. In other words, don’t hold your fire; this may be your only day in court. Oh yes…the court will receive petitions relating to this extra-terrestrial as well as hear issues.”
“Question, your honor.”
“Yes?”
“May it please the court: my client and I have no objection if all that we are engaged in is a preliminary inquiry. But will we return to accepted procedures if we go on to terminer?”
“This court, being convened by the Federation and acting in accordance with the body of law called ‘Customs of Civilizations’ in brief and consisting of agreements, treaties, precedents, et cetera, between two or more planets of the Federation, or with other civilizations with which member planets of the Federation have diplomatic relations, is not bound by local procedures. It is t
he purpose of this court to arrive at the truth and, from there, to reach equity…equity under the Law. The court will not trample on local law and custom except where they are hopelessly opposed to superior law. But where local custom is merely ritualistic, this court will ignore formality and get on with its business. Understand me?”
“Er, I believe so, sir. I may take exception later.” The small, middle-aged man who spoke seemed embarrassed.
“Any one may object at any time for any reason and be heard. Also you may appeal from my decisions. However…” Greenberg grinned warmly.“… I doubt if it will do you much good. So far I have been pretty lucky in having my decisions upheld.”
“I did not intend to imply,” the man answered stiffly, “that the court was not properly…”
“Sure, sure! Let’s get on with it.” Greenberg picked up a stack of papers. “Here is a civil action. ‘Bon Marché Merchandising Corporation versus ‘Lummox,’ John Thomas Stuart XI…” (“That name still bothers me,” he said in an aside to Judge O’Farrell.) “…Marie Brandley Stuart, et al., and another one like it for the Western Mutual Assurance Company, insurers of Bon Marché. Here is another, same defendants, brought by K. Ito and his insurance company, um, New World Casualty, Ltd., and one from the City of Westville, same defendants again…and still another brought by Mrs. Isabelle Donahue. Also some criminal matters…one is for harboring a dangerous animal, one for felonious harboring of same, another for negligence and another for maintaining a public nuisance.”
John Thomas had been steadily turning white. Greenberg glanced at him and said, “They haven’t skipped much, have they, son? Cheer up…the condemned man always eats a hearty breakfast.” John Thomas managed a sickly grin. Betty found his knee under the table and patted it.
There was another paper in the stack; Greenberg shuffled it in with the others without reading it into the record. It was a petition signed by the Chief-of-Safety on behalf of the City of Westville praying the court to order the destruction of a dangerous animal known as “Lummox” and further identified as, etc. Instead Greenberg looked up and said, “Now who’s who? You, sir?”