Lone Star Planet
"Mr. Ambassador! I'm sure that you have some excellent reasons for that
remarkable statement, but I must say--"
"It was a really colossal error on somebody's part," I said, "that this
case was allowed to get into the Court of Political Justice. It never
should have. And if we take a part in the prosecution, or allow those
men to be convicted, we will establish a precedent to support the
principle that a foreign Ambassador is, on this planet, defined as a
practicing local politician.
"I will invite you to digest that for a moment."
A moment was all they needed. Thrombley was horrified and dithered
incoherently. Stonehenge frowned and fidgeted with some papers in front
of him. I could see several thoughts gathering behind his eyes,
including, I was sure, a new view of his instructions from Klueng.
Even Hoddy got at least part of it. "Why, that means that anybody can
bump off any diplomat he doesn't like...." he began.
"That is only part of it, Mr. Ringo," Thrombley told him. "It also means
that a diplomat, instead of being regarded as the representative of his
own government, becomes, in effect, a functionary of the government of
New Texas. Why, all sorts of complications could arise...."
"It certainly would impair, shall we say, the principle of
extraterritoriality of Embassies," Stonehenge picked it up. "And it
would practically destroy the principle of diplomatic immunity."
"Migawd!" Hoddy looked around nervously, as though he could already hear
an army of New Texas Rangers, each with a warrant for Hoddy Ringo,
battering at the gates.
"We'll have to do something!" Gomez, the Secretary of the Embassy, said.
"I don't know what," Stonehenge said. "The obvious solution would be, of
course, to bring charges against those Bonney Boys on simple
first-degree murder, which would be tried in an ordinary criminal court.
But it's too late for that now. We wouldn't have time to prevent their
being arraigned in this Political Justice court, and once a defendant is
brought into court, on this planet, he cannot be brought into court
again for the same act. Not the same _crime_, the same _act_."
I had been thinking about this and I was ready. "Look, we must bring
those Bonney brothers to trial. It's the only effective way of
demonstrating to the public the simple fact that Ambassador Cumshaw was
murdered at the instigation of the z'Srauff. We dare not allow them to
be convicted in the Court of Political Justice, for the reasons already
stated. And to maintain the prestige of the Solar League, we dare not
allow them to go unpunished."
"We can have it one way," Parros said, "and maybe we can have it two
ways. But I'm damned if I can see how we can have it all three ways."
I wasn't surprised that he didn't see it; he hadn't had the same urgency
goading him which had forced me to find the answer. It wasn't an answer
that I liked, but I was in the position where I had no choice.
"Well, here's what we have to do, gentlemen," I began, and from the
respectful way they regarded me, from the attention they were giving my
words, I got a sudden thrill of pride. For the first time since my
scrambled arrival, I was really _Ambassador_ Stephen Silk.
CHAPTER VIII
A couple of New Texas Ranger tanks met the Embassy car four blocks from
the Statehouse and convoyed us into the central plaza, where the
barbecue had been held on the Friday afternoon that I had arrived on New
Texas. There was almost as dense a crowd as the last time I had seen the
place; but they were quieter, to the extent that there were no bands,
and no shooting, no cowbells or whistles. The barbecue pits were going
again, however, and hawkers were pushing or propelling their little
wagons about, vending sandwiches. I saw a half a dozen big twenty-foot
teleview screens, apparently wired from the courtroom.
As soon as the Embassy car and its escorting tanks reached the plaza, an
ovation broke out. I was cheered, with the high-pitched _yipeee!_ of New
Texans and adjured and implored not to let them so-and-sos get away with
it.
There was a veritable army of Rangers on guard at the doors of the
courtroom. The only spectators being admitted to the courtroom seemed to
be prominent citizens with enough pull to secure passes.
Inside, some of the spectators' benches had been removed to clear the
front of the room. In the cleared space, there was one bulky shape
under a cloth cover that seemed to be the air-car and another
cloth-covered shape that looked like a fifty-mm dual-purpose gun.
Smaller exhibits, including a twenty-mm auto-rifle, were piled on the
friends-of-the-court table. The prosecution table was already
occupied--Colonel Hickock, who waved a greeting to me, three or four men
who looked like well-to-do ranchers, and a delegation of lawyers.
"Samuel Goodham," Parros, beside me, whispered, indicating a big,
heavy-set man with white hair, dressed in a dark suit of the cut that
had been fashionable on Terra seventy-five years ago. "Best criminal
lawyer on the planet. Hickock must have hired him."
There was quite a swarm at the center table, too. Some of them were
ranchers, a couple in aggressively shabby workclothes, and there were
several members of the Diplomatic Corps. I shook hands with them and
gathered that they, like myself, were worried about the precedent that
might be established by this trial. While I was introducing Hoddy Ringo
as my attache extraordinary, which was no less than the truth, the
defense party came in.
There were only three lawyers--a little, rodent-faced fellow, whom
Parros pointed out as Clement Sidney, and two assistants. And, guarded
by a Ranger and a couple of court-bailiffs, the three defendants,
Switchblade Joe, Jack-High Abe and Turkey-Buzzard Tom Bonney. There was
probably a year or so age different from one to another, but they
certainly had a common parentage. They all had pale eyes and narrow,
loose-lipped faces. Subnormal and probably psychopathic, I thought.
Jack-High Abe had his left arm in a sling and his left shoulder in a
plaster cast. The buzz of conversation among the spectators altered its
tone subtly and took on a note of hostility as they entered and seated
themselves.
The balcony seemed to be crowded with press representatives. Several
telecast cameras and sound pickups had been rigged to cover the front of
the room from various angles, a feature that had been missing from the
trial I had seen with Gail on Friday.
Then the judges entered from a door behind the bench, which must have
opened from a passageway under the plaza, and the court was called to
order.
The President Judge was the same Nelson who had presided at the Whately
trial and the first thing on the agenda seemed to be the selection of a
new board of associate judges. Parros explained in a whisper that the
board which had served on the previous trial would sit until that could
be done.
A slip of paper was drawn from a box and a name was called. A man
sitting on one of the front rows of spectators' seats got up and came
forward. One of Sidney's assistants rummaged through a card file he had
in front of him and handed a card to the chief of the defense. At once,
Sidney was on his feet.
"Challenged, for cause!" he called out. "This man is known to have
declared, in conversation at the bar of the Silver Peso Saloon, here in
New Austin, that these three boys, my clients, ought all to be hanged
higher than Haman."
"Yes, I said that!" the venireman declared. "I'll repeat it right here:
all three of these murdering skunks ought to be hanged higher than--"
"Your Honor!" Sidney almost screamed. "If, after hearing this man's
brazen declaration of bigoted class hatred against my clients, he is
allowed to sit on that bench--"
Judge Nelson pounded with his gavel. "You don't have to instruct me in
my judicial duties, Counselor," he said. "The venireman has obviously
disqualified himself by giving evidence of prejudice. Next name."
The next man was challenged: he was a retired packing-house operator in
New Austin, and had once expressed the opinion that Bonneyville and
everybody in it ought to be H-bombed off the face of New Texas.
This Sidney seemed to have gotten the name of everybody likely to be
called for court duty and had something on each one of them, because he
went on like that all morning.
"You know what I think," Stonehenge whispered to me, leaning over behind
Parros. "I think he's just stalling to keep the court in session until
the z'Srauff fleet gets here. I wish we could get hold of one of those
wrist watches."
"I can get you one, before evening," Hoddy offered, "if you don't care
what happens to the mutt that's wearin' it."
"Better not," I decided. "Might tip them off to what we suspect. And we
don't really need one: Sir Rodney will have patrols out far enough to
get warning in time."
We took an hour, at noon, for lunch, and then it began again. By 1647,
fifteen minutes before court should be adjourned, Judge Nelson ordered
the bailiff to turn the clock back to 1300. The clock was turned back
again when it reached 1645. By this time, Clement Sidney was probably
the most unpopular man on New Texas.
Finally, Colonel Andrew J. Hickock rose to his feet.
"Your Honor: the present court is not obliged to retire from the bench
until another court has been chosen as they are now sitting as a court
in being. I propose that the trial begin, with the present court on the
bench."
Sidney began yelling protests. Hoddy Ringo pulled his neckerchief around
under his left ear and held the ends above his head. Nanadabadian, the
Ambassador from Beta Cephus IV, drew his biggest knife and began trying
the edge on a sheet of paper.
"Well, Your Honor, I certainly do not wish to act in an obstructionist
manner. The defense agrees to accept the present court," Sidney decided.
"Prosecution agrees to accept the present court," Goodham parroted.
"The present court will continue on the bench, to try the case of the
Friends of Silas Cumshaw, deceased, versus Switchblade Joe Bonney,
Jack-High Abe Bonney, Turkey-Buzzard Tom Bonney, et als." Judge Nelson
rapped with his gavel. "Court is herewith adjourned until 0900
tomorrow."
CHAPTER IX
The trial got started the next morning with a minimum amount of
objections from Sidney. The charges and specifications were duly read,
the three defendants pleaded not guilty, and then Goodham advanced with
a paper in his hand to address the court. Sidney scampered up to take
his position beside him.
"Your Honor, the prosecution wishes, subject to agreement of the
defense, to enter the following stipulations, to wit: First, that the
late Silas Cumshaw was a practicing politician within the meaning of the
law. Second, that he is now dead, and came to his death in the manner
attested to by the coroner of Sam Houston Continent. Third, that he came
to his death at the hands of the defendants here present."
In all my planning, I'd forgotten that. I couldn't let those
stipulations stand without protest, and at the same time, if I protested
the characterization of Cumshaw as a practicing politician, the trial
could easily end right there. So I prayed for a miracle, and Clement
Sidney promptly obliged me.
"Defense won't stipulate anything!" he barked. "My clients, here, are
victims of a monstrous conspiracy, a conspiracy to conceal the true
facts of the death of Silas Cumshaw. They ought never to have been
arrested or brought here, and if the prosecution wants to establish
anything, they can do it by testimony, in the regular and lawful way.
This practice of free-wheeling stipulation is only one of the many
devices by which the courts of this planet are being perverted to serve
the corrupt and unjust ends of a gang of reactionary landowners!"