The Star Beast Page 6

  The man addressed was the lawyer who had questioned the court’s methods; he identified himself as Alfred Schneider and stated that he was acting both for Western Mutual and for the Bon Marché. “This gentleman beside me is Mr. deGrasse, manager of the store.”

  “Good. Now the next man, please.” Greenberg established that all principals were present, with their attorneys; the roster included, besides himself, Judge O’Farrell, John Thomas, Betty, and Chief Dreiser, the following: Mrs. Donahue and her lawyer Mr. Beanfield, Messrs. Schneider and deGrasse for Bon Marché, Mr. Lombard, city attorney of Westville, the attorney for Mr. Ito’s insurance company and Mr. Ito’s son (acting for his father), Officers Karnes and Mendoza (witnesses), and John Thomas’s mother with the Stuart family lawyer, Mr. Postle.

  Greenberg said to Postle, “I take it you are also acting for Mr. Stuart.”

  Betty interrupted with, “Heavens, no! I’m representing Johnnie.”

  Greenberg raised his eyebrows. “I was about to ask what you were doing here. Uh, you are an attorney?”

  “Well… I’m his counsel.”

  O’Farrell leaned over and whispered, “This is preposterous, Mr. Commissioner. Of course she is not a lawyer. I know the child. I’m rather fond of her…but frankly, I don’t think she is quite bright.” He added severely, “Betty, you have no business here. Get out and quit making a fool of yourself.”

  “Now, see here, Judge…”

  “One moment, young lady,” Greenberg put in. “Do you have any qualifications to act as counsel for Mr. Stuart?”

  “I certainly do. I’m the counsel he wants.”

  “Mmm, a very strong point. Though perhaps not sufficient.” He spoke to John Thomas. “Is that correct?”

  “Uh, yes. sir.”

  Judge O’Farrell whispered, “Don’t do it, son! You’ll be reversed.”

  Greenberg whispered back, “That’s what I am afraid of.” He frowned, then spoke to Mr. Postle. “Are you prepared to act for both mother and son?”

  “Yes.”

  “No!” Betty contradicted.

  “Eh? Wouldn’t Mr. Stuart’s interests be better protected in the hands of an attorney than in yours? No, don’t answer; I want Mr. Stuart to answer.”

  John Thomas turned pink and managed to mutter, “I don’t want him.”

  “Why?”

  John Thomas looked stubborn. Betty said scornfully, “Because his mother doesn’t like Lummox, that’s why. And…”

  “That’s not true!” Mrs. Stuart cut in sharply.

  “It is true…and that old fossil Postle is stringing along with her. They want to get rid of Lummie, both of them!”

  O’Farrell coughed in his handkerchief. Postle turned red. Greenberg said gravely, “Young lady, you will stand and apologize to Mr. Postle.”

  Betty looked at the Commissioner, dropped her eyes and stood up. She said humbly, “Mr. Postle, I’m sorry you’re a fossil. I mean I’m sorry I said you were a fossil.”

  “Sit down,” Greenberg said soberly. “Mind your manners hereafter. Mr. Stuart, no one is required to accept counsel not of his choice. But you place me in a dilemma. Legally you are a minor child; you have chosen as counsel another minor child. It won’t look well in the record.” He pulled at his chin. “Could it be that you…or your counsel…or both of you…are trying to cause a mistrial?”

  “Uh, no, sir.” Betty looked smugly virtuous; it was a possibility she had counted on but had not mentioned to Johnnie.

  “Hmm…”

  “Your honor…”

  “Yes, Mr. Lombard?”

  “This strikes me as ridiculous. This girl has no standing. She is not a member of the bar; obviously she can’t function as an attorney. I dislike finding myself in the position of instructing the court but the obvious thing to do is to put her outside the bar and appoint counsel. May I suggest that the Public Defender is present and prepared?”

  “You may so suggest. Is that all, Mr. City Attorney?”

  “Uh, yes, your honor.”

  “May I say that the court also finds it distasteful for you to instruct the court; you will not do so again.”

  “Er…yes, your honor.”

  “This court will, make its own mistakes in its own way. Under the customs by which this court is convened it is not necessary that a counsel be qualified formally…in your idiom, be a ‘member of the bar,’ a licensed lawyer. If you find that rule unusual, let me assure you that the hereditary lawyer-priests of Deflai find it much more astonishing. But it is the only rule which can be applied everywhere. Nevertheless I thank you for your suggestion. Will the Public Defender stand up?”

  “Here, your honor. Cyrus Andrews.”

  “Thank you. Are you prepared to act?”

  “Yes. I’ll need a recess to consult with my principal.”

  “Naturally. Well, Mr. Stuart? Shall the court appoint Mr. Andrews as your counsel? Or associate counsel?”

  “No!” Again Betty answered.

  “I was addressing Mr. Stuart, Miss Sorenson. Well?”

  John Thomas glanced at Betty. “No, your honor.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll answer that,” Betty put in. “I talk faster than he does; that’s why I’m counsel. We won’t take Mr. Andrews because the City Attorney is against us on one of these silly things they’ve got about Lummox…and the City Attorney and Mr. Andrews are law partners when they are not fighting sham battles in court!”

  Greenberg turned to Andrews. “Is that correct, sir?”

  “Why, yes, we’re law partners, your honor. You will understand that, in a town this size…”

  “I quite understand. I also understand Miss Sorenson’s objection. Thank you, Mr. Andrews. Stand down.”

  “Mr. Greenberg?”

  “What is it now, young lady?”

  “I can get you part way off the spot. You see, I had a dirty hunch that some busybody would try to keep me out of it. So we fixed it up ahead of time. I’m half owner.”

  “Half owner?”

  “Of Lummox. See?” She took a paper from her bag and offered it. “A bill of sale, all legal and proper. At least it ought to be, I coped it out of the book.”

  Greenberg studied it. “The form appears correct. The date is yesterday…which would make you voluntarily liable to the extent of your interest, from a civil standpoint. It would not affect criminal matters of earlier date.”

  “Oh, pooh! There aren’t any criminal matters.”

  “That remains to be determined. And don’t say ‘pooh’; it is not a legal term The question here is whether or not the signer can vend this interest. Who owns Lummox?”

  “Why, Johnnie does! It was in his father’s will.”

  “So? Is that stipulated, Mr. Postle?”

  Mr. Postle whispered with Mrs. Stuart, then answered, “So stipulated, your honor. This creature called ‘Lummox’ is a chattel of John Thomas Stuart, a minor child. Mrs. Stuart’s interest is through her son.”

  “Very well.” Greenberg handed the bill of sale to the clerk. “Read it into the record.”

  Betty settled back. “All right, your honor…appoint anybody you want to. Just as long as I can have my say.”

  Greenberg sighed. “Would it make any difference if I did?”

  “Not much, I guess.”

  “Let the record show that you two, having been duly warned and advised, persist in acting as your own counsel. The court regretfully assumes the burden of protecting your rights and advising you as to the law.”

  “Oh, don’t feel bad, Mr. Greenberg. We trust you.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” he said dryly. “But let’s move on. That gentleman down at the end…who are you?”

  “Me, Judge? I’m the Galactic Press stringer around here. Name of Hovey.”

  “So? The clerk will supply a transcript for the press. I’ll be available for the usual interview later, if anyone wants it. No pictures of me with this creature Lummox, however. Are there any more gentlem
en of the press?”

  Two others stood up. “The bailiff will place chairs for you just beyond the rail.”

  “Yes, Judge. But first…”

  “Outside the rail, please.” Greenberg looked around. “I think that’s all…no, that gentleman down there. Your name, sir?”

  The man addressed stood up. He was dressed in formal jacket and striped gray shorts and held himself with self-conscious dignity. “May it please the court, my name, sir, is T. Omar Esklund, Doctor of Philosophy.”

  “It neither pleases nor displeases the court, Doctor. Are you a party to any of these issues?”

  “I am, sir. I appear here as amicus curiae, a friend of the court.”

  Greenberg frowned. “This court insists on choosing its own friends. State your business, Doctor.”

  “Sir, if you will permit me. I am state executive secretary of the Keep Earth Human League.” Greenberg suppressed a groan but Esklund did not notice as he had looked down to pick up a large manuscript. “As is well known, ever since the inception of the ungodly practice of space travel, our native Earth, given to us by Divine law, has been increasingly overrun by creatures…‘beasts’ rather let us say…of dubious origin. The pestilential consequences of this unholy traffic are seen on every…”

  “Doctor Esklund!”

  “Sir?”

  “What is your business with this court? Are you a principal to any of the issues before it?”

  “Well, not in so many words, your honor. In a broader sense, I am advocate for all mankind. The society of which I have the honor…”

  “Do you have any business? A petition, perhaps?”

  “Yes,” Esklund answered sullenly, “I have a petition.”

  “Produce it.”

  Esklund fumbled among his papers, drew out one; it was passed to Greenberg, who did not look at it. “Now state briefly, for the record, the nature of your petition. Speak clearly and toward the nearest microphone.”

  “Well…may it please the court: the society of which I have the honor of being an officer…a league, if I may so say, embracing all mankind, prays…nay, demands that this unearthly beast which has already ravaged this fair community be destroyed. Such destruction is sanctioned and, yes, commanded by those sacred—”

  “Is that your petition? You want this court to order the destruction of the e.-t. known as Lummox?”

  “Yes, but more than that, I have here a careful documentation of the arguments…unanswerable arguments I may say, to…”

  “Just a moment. That word ‘demands’ which you used; does it appear in the petition?”

  “No, your honor, that came from my heart, from the fullness of…”

  “Your heart has just led you into contempt. Do you wish to rephrase it?”

  Esklund stared, then said grudgingly, “I withdraw the word. No contempt was intended.”

  “Very well. The petition is received; the clerk will record it. Decision later. Now as to that speech you wished to make: from the size of your manuscript I surmise that you will require about two hours?”

  “I believe that will be ample, your honor,” Esklund answered, somewhat mollified.

  “Good. Bailiff!”

  “Your honor?”

  “Can you dig up a soap box?”

  “Why, I believe so, sir.”

  “Excellent. Place it on the lawn outside. Doctor Esklund, everyone of us enjoys free speech…so enjoy yourself. That soap box is yours for the next two hours.”

  Dr. Esklund turned the color of eggplant. “You’ll hear from us!”

  “No doubt.”

  “We know your sort! Traitors to mankind. Renegades! Trifling with…”

  “Remove him.”

  The bailiff did so, grinning. One of the reporters followed them out. Greenberg said gently, “We seem to have trimmed it down to indispensables now. We have several issues before us, but they have in common the same sheaf of facts. Unless there is objection, we will hear testimony for all issues together, then pass on the issues one at a time. Objection?”

  The lawyers looked at each other. Finally Mr. Ito’s attorney said, “Your honor, it would seem to me to be fairer to try them one at a time.”

  “Possibly. But if we do, we’ll be here until Christmas. I dislike to make so many busy people go over the same ground repeatedly. But a separate trial of the facts to a jury is your privilege…bearing in mind, if you lose, your principal will have to bear the added costs alone.”

  Mr. Ito’s son tugged at the sleeve of the lawyer and whispered to him. The lawyer nodded and said, “We’ll go along with a joint hearing…as to facts.”

  “Very well. Further objection?” There was none. Greenberg turned to O’Farrell. “Judge, is this room equipped with truth meters?”

  “Eh? Why, yes. I hardly ever use them.”

  “I like them.” He turned to the others. “Truth meters will be hooked up. No one is required to use one, but anyone choosing not to will be sworn. This court, as is its privilege, will take judicial notice of and will comment on the fact if anyone refuses the use of a truth meter.”

  John Thomas whispered to Betty, “Watch your step, Slugger.”

  She whispered back, “I will, smarty! You watch yours.”

  Judge O’Farrell said to Greenberg, “It will take some time to rig them. Hadn’t we better break for lunch?”

  “Oh yes, lunch. Attention, everyone…this court does not recess for lunch. I’ll ask the bailiff to take orders for coffee and sandwiches or whatever you like while the clerk is rigging the meters. We will eat here at the table. In the meantime…” Greenberg fumbled for cigarettes, fumbled again. “…has anybody got a match?”

  Out on the lawn, Lummox, having considered the difficult question of Betty’s right to give orders, had come to the conclusion that she possibly had a special status. Each of the John Thomases had introduced into his life a person equivalent to Betty; each had insisted that the person in question must be humored in every whim. This John Thomas had already begun the process with Betty; therefore, it was best to go along with what she wanted as long as it was not too much trouble. He lay down and went to sleep, leaving his watchman eye on guard.

  He slept restlessly, disturbed by the tantalizing odor of steel. After a time he woke up and stretched, causing the cage to bulge. It seemed to him that John Thomas had been gone an unnecessarily long time. On second thought, he had not liked the way that man had taken John Thomas away…no, he hadn’t liked it a bit. He wondered what he should do, if anything? What would John Thomas say, if he were here?

  The problem was too complex. He lay down and tasted the bars of his cage. He refrained from eating them; he merely tried them for flavor. A bit grucky, he decided, but good.

  Inside, Chief Dreiser had completed his testimony and had been followed by Karnes and Mendoza. No argument had developed and the truth meters had stayed steady; Mr. deGrasse had insisted on amplifying parts of the testimony. Mr. Ito’s lawyer stipulated that Mr. Ito had fired at Lummox; Mr. Ito’s son was allowed to describe and show photographs of the consequences. Only Mrs. Donahue’s testimony was needed to complete the story of L-day.

  Greenberg turned to her lawyer. “Mr. Beanfield, will you examine your client, or shall the court continue?”

  “Go ahead, your honor. I may add a question or two.”

  “Your privilege. Mrs. Donahue, tell us what happened.”

  “I certainly shall. Your honor, friends, distinguished visitors, unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, nevertheless, in my modest way, I believe I am…”

  “Never mind that, Mrs. Donahue. Just the facts. Last Monday afternoon.”

  “But I was!”

  “Very well, go ahead. Keep it simple.”

  She sniffed. “Well! I was lying down, trying to snatch a few minutes rest… I have so many responsibilities, clubs and charitable committees and things…”

  Greenberg was watching the truth meter over her head. The needle wobbled restlessly, but did not kick ov
er into the red enough to set off the warning buzzer. He decided that it was not worth while to caution her.

  “…when suddenly I was overcome with a nameless dread.”

  The needle swung far into the red, a ruby light flashed and the buzzer gave out a loud rude noise. Somebody started to giggle; Greenberg said hastily, “Order in the court. The bailiff is instructed to remove any spectator making a disturbance.”

  Mrs. Donahue broke off suddenly when the buzzer sounded. Mr. Beanfield, looking grim, touched her sleeve and said, “Never mind that, dear lady. Just tell the court about the noise you heard and what you saw and what you did.”

  “He’s leading the witness,” objected Betty.

  “Never mind,” said Greenberg. “Somebody has to.”

  “But…”

  “Objection overruled. Witness will continue.”

  “Well! Uh…well, I heard this noise and I wondered what in the world it was. I peeked out and there was this great ravening beast charging back and forth and…”

  The buzzer sounded again; a dozen spectators laughed. Mrs. Donahue said angrily, “Will somebody shut that silly thing off? How anyone can be expected to testify with that going on is more than I can see.”

  “Order!” called Greenberg. “If there is more demonstration, the court will find it necessary to hold someone in contempt.” He went on to Mrs. Donahue: “Once a witness has accepted the use of the truth meter the decision cannot be changed. But the data supplied by it is instructive merely; the court is not bound by it. Continue.”

  “Well, I should hope so. I never told a lie in my life?”

  The buzzer remained silent; Greenberg reflected that she must believe it. “I mean,” he added, “that the court makes up its own mind. It does not allow a machine to do so for it.”

  “My father always said that gadgets like that were spawn of the devil. He said that an honest business man should not…”

  “Please, Mrs. Donahue”

  Mr. Beanfield whispered to her. Mrs. Donahue went on more quietly, “Well, there was that thing, that enormous beast kept by that boy next door. It was eating my rose bushes.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I grabbed the first thing at hand…a broom, it was…and rushed out doors. The beast came charging at me and…”