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IN THE MATTER OF THE ASSASSIN MEREFIRSThe law is an instrument that some men play more deftly than others.KEN W. PURDYThe judge enters the courtroom. Think of him as a man of middle age: a hundred and twenty-five or so. Being a judge, he has no name. See him going into the bench. (Nothing in the law is more fascinating than its persistence in looking backward; indeed, is not the law in its entirety based on backward-looking, the search for precedent? So we still call it the bench, although it is only a cube of flexibo big enough for one man, and judges wear around their necks a scrap of black, relic of the robes of ancient times. Such is the nature of things.) So, he enters, he sits, the bench rises soundlessly halfway to the ceiling, he stares down upon us, implacable, merciless, and he speaks."The matter before this court," he says, "is the trial of the assassin Merefirs. The gavel has fallen."The persecutor is Dafton, flat-faced as a door, reedy, impalpable, a century of mediocrity behind him. His assignment is a doom-cry for Merefirs: Dafton draws only certainties, and has for years, since a boy barely sixty, a year out of law school, pinned him to the wall in an easy and insignificant first-degree mopery case. Well, legally insignificant, but alas for poor Dafton, a son of the then Regent was a principal, and Dafton's career was forever blighted. Such is the nature of things."If the court will but indulge us," Dafton says, "the state will briefly review the crime for which the abominable Merefirs is to be put to maceration."Azulno, or perhaps I should say, as all who were living on that tragic day know, the Regional Eminence Fallet was, while in the performance of his public duty, namely and twit, the dedication of the 101st National Euthenic Unit, in this mega, made dead by the assassin Merefirs. Of the commission of the crime, azulno, there is no shred of question: the affidavits of 246,744 actual witnesses have been deposited with this court, and I may say that I myself did see, before the said affidavits were put under seal, a convincing sampling of them. There can be no doubt that they are genuine affidavits in every particular. Further, the Media Communicative Authority has verified that on that day, indeed at the relevant millisecond, 196,593,017 citizens, and a lesser but still weightily significant number of humans, and rather more than a million sub-humans, in the categories of slaves, servants, sexers and so on, experienced the tragedy on the telfee. The assassin Merefirs is guilty beyond all question, and it is a mark of the mercy of the present Eminence that the state requires that his punishment be merely the mild one of six-hour maceration. Fibular disintegration would be a more fitting punishment, if I may intrude a personal view, and . . ."The judge clears his throat, a sound for all the world like the death rattle of a foggus."You may intrude nothing, fool," he says. "You should yourself have been macerated decades since. Proceed."(Here we see the clear thread of modern jurisprudential connection with the ancient Anglo-Saxon law: the judge as impartial arbiter, friend of no one, no one's foe.)"If it please," Dafton says, "I most humbly agree. The state rests." The judge speaks."We will hear, briefly," he says, "the attorney for the despicable Merefirs."This is Terravan, the legendary Terravan, savior of lost causes, snatcher from the brink, whose tongue, they say, is gold?and all the rest of him, too. Merefirs, a mere civil servant, could not afford the price of a nod from Terravan, much less a five-minute appointment with him. Terravan has taken the case without fee and out of sheer bravado because no one else in this mega, or any other, would have the temerity. It is a hopeless case, and not only that . . . the assassination of a Regional Eminence? Any other lawyer would well know that if by wild chance he won an acquittal, exsanguination within twenty-four hours would be the very best he could expect. Terravan is beyond all that, being famous, rich, and deeply knowledgeable, as we say, as to where the bodies are buried. Such is the nature of things.So Terravan rises, a short, heavy, feral-looking man, barely a century old, full of fire and ferocity."If it please," he says, "I will not contest the statement of Persecutor, uh, hm-m-m, Persecutor, ah, yes, Dafter, Dafton. My client, the assassin Merefirs, did in fact kill, or make dead, the Eminence Fallett. Of course he did, and with premeditation, with every intention. His sole purpose in attending the dedication was to strike down the Regional Eminence, and he did strike him down."But that is not the point, as I shall make clear. I call to witness the assassin Merefirs."Two men in the ruby-red uniform of warders wheel him in, strapped nude to the witness-stretcher. From the bright life-support box at the head of it the usual wires and tubes lead into him and out of him, serous fluid pump, heart-actuator, oxygen supply, renal filter, waste-exhaust, and so on. When they have him in place at the foot of the bench, they switch the litter to upright, and there he stands, more or less, clamped. The spectators spontaneously applaud, and I must say I myself join in. From head to toe, Merefirs is spectacularly multicolored, and the pattern of the bruises, from the merest blush of pink through mauve and yellow to deep purple, clearly shows, as if he had been signed, the work of the famous chief warder Toddi. Toddi's preliminary witness-beatings are the despair of his competitors, and well they may be. Aesthetics aside, however, Merefirs does not look well. As a human person, he does not look well. He is by no means whole, various parts of him are missing, his head is notably lumpy?he simply does not look well, although I must say I have seen witnesses in much less important cases, matters of mere civic accident, for example, who were worse off. But, to be sure, they had been in hands other than Toddi's. And I knew even before he spoke into the microphone that his voice would be strong and firm. Toddi can spend a day and a night at his work, and yet, the witness will always be able to speak clearly. It's a kind of art, I suppose. But I mustn't digress.Terravan puts his client through the standard preliminaries, age, birth lab, citizen class, and all that."Now then, assassin," he says, "when you made dead the Eminence Fallett, your weapon was not a dessicator, a defbro, a B-kel or any other common killing device, is that true?""That is true," Merefirs says. The judge speaks."Terravan," he says, "every idiot in the planetis knows he did not use a common weapon. You are wasting my time. I will remind you?once?that my patience is not unlimited.""I humbly thank you," Terravan says. "And if no common weapon, assassin, what did you use?""I used a crossbow," Merefirs says. "Describe it.""The crossbow was a weapon of the ancients of the planet Earth," Merefirs says, "a sophistication of the plain bow, which was a piece of wood?a fibrous material that once grew wild?bent by a cord, throwing a second piece of wood called an arrow. The crossbow came to its full flower in the Sixteenth Century, Earth Reckoning, so there are few who know of it now.""Why, assassin, did you choose this obscure weapon?""Because I could be almost sure that no one would recognize it as a weapon. Therefore, I could freely carry it, and easily approach the Regional Eminence.""Tell me," Terravan says, "how could you be sure that this primitive device would be effective in your foul purpose?""A crossbow of the ancient Earthians," Merefirs says, "would throw an arrow through a thick piece of strong wood and through a man behind it. Also, it would hit an object as small as the palm of a man's hand at a long distance, say a hundred tontas. It seemed in every way suitable for my purpose, and so I built a crossbow on the patterns of the ancients, known to me through study."The judge interrupts."So you admit, wretch, that you read, you studied, as you say, outside the curricula prescribed for Class II citizens?""Yes."Terravan waits for the judge to speak again. He will not."So you made ready your weapon, you approached to within twenty-five tontas of the Eminence and you killed him," Terravan says. "Why?""Because he was a heretic," Merefirs says.A gasp, a rustling of whispers runs through the courtroom."Animal!" the judge says. "It is not enough that you assassinated the Regional Eminence, you now defame his memory. This trial is over. The sentence imposed by the persecution is now confirmed. The gavel has . . .""If the court please!" Terravan shouts. His voice booms through the room. Clever man! And quick! If the judge had pronounced the word "fallen" the trial would in fact have been over, and no appeal would have been possible."I most humbly beg the pardon of the court," Terravan says. "I throw myself upon your mercy, O Judge. But I must, in fulfillment of my obligation as defender of this despicable criminal, say to you that the question of the Regent's orthodoxy or the lack of it does in fact go to the heart of the matter, and I pray leave to develop it. I can cite ample precedent.""Terravan," the judge says, "one day, you will outrage this court past tolerance. You are a proceduralist. Your obsession with the rights of the accused, as against the rights of the persecution, will eventually, and properly, bring you to the macerator.""I humbly agree with the court," Terravan says, not being an idiot."Against my will, and against all reason," the judge says, "I will be generous. You may attempt to ... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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