Authors: Robert A Heinlein
“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 gentlemen 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 over 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…”
Buzzzzzzz!
“Shall we go over that again, Mrs. Donahue?”
“Well…anyhow, I rushed at it and began to beat it on the head. It snapped at me. Those great teeth…”
Buzzzzz!
“Then what happened, Mrs. Donahue?”
“Well, it turned away, the cowardly thing, and ran out of my yard. I don’t know where it went. But there was my lovely garden, just
ruined
.” The needle quivered but the buzzer did not sound.
Greenberg turned to the lawyer. “Mr. Beanfield, have you examined the damage to Mrs. Donahue’s garden?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Will you tell us the extent of the damage?”
Mr. Beanfield decided that he would rather lose a client than be buzzed in open court by that confounded toy. “Five bushes were eaten, your honor, in whole or in part. There was minor damage to the lawn and a hole made in an ornamental fence.”
“Financial damage?”
Mr. Beanfield said carefully, “The amount we are suing for is before you, your honor.”
“That is not responsive, Mr. Beanfield.”
Mr. Beanfield shrugged mentally and struck Mrs. Donahue off his list of paying properties. “Oh, around a couple of hundred, your honor, in property damage. But the court should allow for inconvenience and mental anguish.”
Mrs. Donahue yelped. “That’s preposterous! My
prize
roses.”
The needle jumped and fell back too quickly to work the buzzer. Greenberg said wearily, “What prizes, Mrs. Donahue?”
Her lawyer cut in, “They were right next to Mrs. Donahue’s well-known champion plants. Her courageous action saved the more valuable bushes, I am happy to say.”
“Is there more to add?”
“I think not. I have photographs, marked and identified, to offer.”
“Very well.”
Mrs. Donahue glared at her lawyer. “Well! I have something to add. There is one thing I insist on, absolutely
insist
on, and that is that that dangerous, blood-thirsty beast be
destroyed!
”
Greenberg turned to Beanfield. “Is that a formal prayer, counsellor? Or may we regard it as rhetoric?”
Beanfield looked uncomfortable. “We have such a petition, your honor.”
“The court will receive it.”