 Psypod Books presents Lone Star Planet by H. B. Piper and John J. McGuire. Read for you by Mark Douglas Nelson. Part 5 of Lone Star Planet by H. B. Piper and John J. McGuire. Read for you by Mark Douglas Nelson. This here LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9 The trial got started the next morning with a minimal amount of objections from Sydney. 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. Sydney 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 it, first, that the late Silas Kumshaw was a practice and 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 had forgotten that. I couldn't let those stipulations stand without protest, and at the same time, if I protested the characterization of Kumshaw as a practicing politician, the trial could easily end right there. So I prayed for a miracle, and Clement Sydney 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 Kumshaw. 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 land owners. Judge Nelson's gavel hit the bench with a crack like a rifle shot. Mr. Sydney, injustice to your clients, I would hate to force them to change lawyers in the middle of their trial, but if I hear another remark like that about the courts of New Texas, that's exactly what will happen, because you'll be in jail for contempt. Is that clear, Mr. Sydney? I settled back with the deep sigh of relief which got me, I noticed, curious stares from my fellow ambassadors. I disregarded the questions in their glances. I had what I wanted. They began calling up the witnesses. First, the doctor who had certified Ambassador Kumshaw's death. He gave a concise description of the wounds which had killed my predecessor. He was trying to make something out of the fact that he was Hickok's family physician, and consuming more time when I got up. Your Honor, I am present here as amicus curiae, because of the obvious interest which the government of the Solar League has in this case. Objection! Sydney yelled. Please state it, Nelson invited. This is a court of the people of the planet of New Texas. This foreign emissary of the Solar League sent here to conspire with the new Texan traitors to the end that New Texas shall be reduced to a supine and ravished satrapy of the all-devouring empire of the galaxy. Judge Nelson wrapped sharply. Friends of the court are defined as persons having a proper interest in the case. As this case arises from the death of the former ambassador of the Solar League, I cannot see how the present ambassador and his staff can be excluded, overruled. He nodded to me. Continue, Mr. Ambassador. As I understand, I have the same rights of cross-examination of witnesses as counsel for the prosecution and defense. Is that correct, Your Honor? It was, so I turned to the witness. I suppose, Doctor, that you have had quite a bit of experience in your practice with gunshot wounds. He chuckled. Mr. Ambassador, it is gunshot wound cases which keep the practice of medicine and surgery alive on this planet. Yes, I definitely have. Now, you say that the deceased was hit by six different projectiles, right shoulder almost completely severed, right lung and right ribs blown out of the chest, spleen and kidney so intermingled as to be practically one, and left leg severed by complete shattering of the left pelvis and hip joint? That's right. I picked up the twenty-millimeter auto-rifle, had weighed a good sixty pounds from the table, and asked him if this weapon could have inflicted such wounds. He agreed that it both could and had. This is the usual type of weapon used in your New Texas political liquidations, I asked. Certainly not. The usual weapons are pistols, sometimes a hunting rifle or a shotgun. I asked the same question when I cross-examined the ballistics witness. Is this the usual type of weapon used in your New Texas political liquidations? No, not at all. That's a very expensive weapon, Mr. Ambassador. It wasn't even manufactured on this planet, made by the Zasroff Star Cluster. A weapon like that sells for five, six hundred pesos. It's used for shooting really big game, Super Mastodon and things like that, and of course for combat. It seems, I remarked, that the defense is overlooking an obvious point here. I doubt if these three defendants ever, in all their lives, had among them the price of such a weapon. That of course brought Sidney to his feet, sputtering objections to this attempt to disparage the honest poverty of his clients, which only helped to call attention to the point. Then the prosecution called in a witness named David Crockett Longfellow. I'd met him at the Hickock Ranch. He was Hickock's butler. He limped from an old injury which had retired him from work on the range. He was sworn in and testified to his name in occupation. Do you know these three defendants? Goodham asked him. Yeah, I even marked one of them for future identification, Longfellow replied. Sidney was up at once, shouting objections. After he was quieted down, Goodham remarked that he'd come to that point later, and began a line of questioning to establish that Longfellow had been on the Hickock Ranch on the day when Silas Cumshaw was killed. Now, Goodham said, will you relate to the court the matters of interest which came to your personal observation on that day? Longfellow began his story. At about 0900 I was dusting up and straightening things in the library while the Colonel was at his desk. All of a sudden he said to me, Davy, suppose you call the solar embassy and see a Mr. Cumshaw is doing anything today. If he isn't, ask him if he wants to come out. I was working right beside the telescreen. So I called the solar league embassy. Mr. Thrombley took the call and I asked him was Mr. Cumshaw around. By this time the Colonel got through with what he was doing at the desk and came over to the screen. I went back to my work but I heard the Colonel asking Mr. Cumshaw could he come out for the day, and Mr. Cumshaw saying yes he could, he'd be out by about 1030. Well, long about 1030 his air car came in and landed on the drive, little single seat job that he drove himself. He landed at about 100 feet from the outside veranda like he usually did and got out. Then this other car came dropping in from out of nowhere. I didn't pay it much attention, thought it might be one of the other ambassadors that Mr. Cumshaw had brung along. But Mr. Cumshaw turned around and looked at it and then he started to run for the veranda. I was standing in the doorway when I seen him starting to run. I jumped out on the porch, quick like, and pulled my gun and then this auto rifle began firing out of the other car. There was only eight or ten shots fired from this car, but most of them hit Mr. Cumshaw. Goodham waited a few moments, Longfellow's voice had choked and there was a twitching about his face as though he were trying to suppress tears. Now, Mr. Longfellow, Goodham said, did you recognize the people who were in the car from which the shots came? Yeah, like I said, I cut a mark on one of them. That one there, Jack High, a bunny. He was handling the gun, and from where I was he had his left side to me. I was trying for his head, but I always overshoot, so I have the habit of holding low. This time I held too low. He looked at Jack High in coldly poisonous hatred. I'll be sorry about that as long as I live. And who else was in the car? The other two currs out of the same litter switched blade and turkey buzzard over there. Further questioning revealed that Longfellow had had no direct knowledge of the pursuit or the siege of the jail in Bonneville. Colonel Hickock had taken personal command of that and had left Longfellow behind to call the Solar League Embassy and the Rangers. He had made no attempt to move the body, but had left it lying in the driveway until the doctor and the Rangers arrived. Goodham went to the middle table and picked up a heavy automatic pistol. I called the court's attention to this pistol. It's an 11-millimeter automatic manufactured by the Colt Firearms Company of New Texas, a licensed subsidiary of the Colt Firearms Company of Terra. He handed it to Longfellow. Do you know this pistol? He asked. Longfellow was almost insulted by the question. Of course he knew his own pistol. He recited the serial number and pointed to the different scars and scratches on the weapon, telling how they had been acquired. The court accepts that Mr. Longfellow knows his own weapon, Nelson said. I assume that this is the weapon with which you claim to have shot Jack High a Bonnie? It was, although Longfellow resented the qualification. That's all, your witness, Mr. Sidney, Goodham said. Sidney began an immediate attack. Questioning Longfellow's eyesight, intelligence, honesty and integrity, he tried to show personal enmity toward the Bonnies. He implied that Longfellow had been conspiring with Cumshaw to bring about the conquest of New Texas by the Solar League. The verbal exchange became so heated that both witness and attorney had to be admonished repeatedly from the bench. But at no point did Sidney shake Longfellow from his one fundamental statement, that the Bonnie brothers had shot Silas Cumshaw and that he had shot Jack High a Bonnie in the shoulder. When he was finished I got up and took over. Mr. Longfellow, you say that Mr. Thrombley answered the screen at the Solar League Embassy, I began. You know Mr. Thrombley? Sure, Mr. Silk, he's been out at the ranch with Mr. Cumshaw a lot of times. Well, beside yourself and Colonel Hickock and Mr. Cumshaw, and possibly Mr. Thrombley, who else knew that Mr. Cumshaw would be at the ranch at ten-thirty on that morning? Nobody, but the air-car had obviously been waiting for Mr. Cumshaw. The Bonnies must have had advanced knowledge. My questions made that point clear despite the obvious, and reluctantly court-sustained, objections from Mr. Sidney. That would be all, Mr. Longfellow. Thank you. Any questions from anybody else? There being none, Longfellow stepped down. It was then a few minutes before noon, so Judge Nelson recessed court for an hour and a half. In the afternoon the surgeon who had treated Jack High a Bonnie's wounded shoulder testified, identifying the bullet which had been extracted from Bonnie's shoulder. A ballistics man from Ranger Crime Lab followed him to the stand and testified that it had been fired from Longfellow's Colt. Then Ranger Captain Nelson took the stand. His testimony was about what he had given me at the Embassy, with the exception that the Bonnie's admission that they had shot Ambassador Cumshaw was ruled out as having been made under duress. However, Captain Nelson's testimony didn't need the confessions. The cover was stripped off the air-car, and a couple of men with a power-dolley dragged it out in front of the bench. The Ranger Captain identified it as the car which he had found at the Bonneville Jail. He went over it with an ultraviolet flashlight and showed where he had written his name and the date on it with fluorescent ink. The effects of the AA fire were plainly evident on it. Then the other shrouded object was unveiled and identified as the gun which had disabled the air-car. Colonel Hickock identified the gun as the one with which he had fired on the air-car. Finally, the ballistics expert was brought back to the stand again to link the two by means of fragments found in the car. Then Goodham brought Kettlebelly's Sam Bonnie to the stand. The mayor of Bonneville was a man of fifty or so, short, partially bald, dressed in faded blue levis, a frayed white shirt and a grief-spotted vest. There was absolutely no mystery about how he had acquired his nickname. He discouraged a cut of tobacco into a spittoon, took the oath with unctuous solemnity, then reloaded himself with another chew and told his version of the attack on the Jail. At about ten-forty-five on the day in question he testified he had been in his office hard at work in the public service, when an air-car partially disabled by gunfire had landed in the street outside and the three defendants had rushed in claiming sanctuary. From then on the story flowed along smoothly, following the lines predicted by Captain Nelson and Peros. Of course he had given the fugitive shelter. They had claimed to have been near to a political assassination and were in fear of their lives. Under Sidney's cross-examination and coaching he poured out the story of Bonneville's wrongs at the hands of the reactionary landowners and the atrocious behavior of the Hickok Goongang. Finally, after extracting the last drop of class-hatred venom out of him, Sidney turned him over to me. How many men were inside the Jail when the three defendants were claiming sanctuary, I asked? He couldn't rightly say, maybe four or five. Closer twenty-five, according to the Rangers, how many of them were prisoners in the Jail? Well, none. The prisoners was all turned out that morning. They was just common drunks, disorderly conduct cases, that kind of thing, were turned them out so as we could make some repairs. You turned them out because you expected to have to defend the Jail, because you knew in advance that these three would be along claiming sanctuary, and that Colonel Hickok's ranch hands would be right on their heels, didn't you, I demanded. It took a good five minutes before Sidney stopped shouting long enough for Judge Nelson to sustain the objection. You knew these young men all their lives, I take it. What did you know about their financial circumstances, for instance? Well, they'd been ground down and kept poor by the big ranchers and the money guys. Then weren't you surprised to see them driving such an expensive air-car? I didn't know as it's such an expensive," he shut his mouth suddenly. You know where they got the money to buy that car, I pressed. Kettlebelly Sam didn't answer. From the man who paid them to murder Ambassador Silas Kumshaw, I kept pressing. Do you know how much they were paid for that job? Do you know where the money came from? Do you know who the go-between was, and how much he got, and how much he kept for himself? Was it the same source that paid for that recent attempt on President Hutchinson's life? I refuse to answer," the witness declared, trying to shove his chest out about half as far as his midriff. Hone the ground that it might incriminate or degrade me. You can't degrade a Bonnie, a voice from the balcony put in. So then, I replied to the voice, what he means is, incriminate," I turned to the witness. That will be all excused. As Bonnie left the stand and was let out the side door, Goodham addressed the bench. Now your honor," he said, I believe that the prosecution has succeeded in definitely establishing that these three defendants actually did fire the shot which, on April 22, 2193, deprived Silas Kumshaw of his life. We will now undertake to prove. Followed a long succession of witnesses, each testifying to some public or private act of philanthropy, some noble trait of character. It was the sort of thing which the defense lawyer in the Waitney case had been so willing to stipulate. Sydney, of course, tried to make it all out to be part of a sinister conspiracy to establish a Solar League Fifth Column on New Texas. Finally, the prosecution rested its case. I entertained Gail and her father at the Embassy that evening. The street outside was crowded with New Texans, all of them on our side, shouting slogans like, Death to the Bonnies, and Vengeance for Kumshaw, and annexation now. Some of it was entirely spontaneous, too. The Hickocks, father and daughter, were given a tremendous ovation when they finally left, and followed to their hotel by cheering crowds. I saw one big banner lettered, Don't Let New Texas Go to the Dogs, and bearing a crude picture of a Zasroff. I seem to recall having seen a couple of our Marines making that banner the evening before in the Embassy patio, but... CHAPTER TEN The next morning, the third of the trial, opened with the defense witnesses, character witnesses for the three killers, and witnesses to the political iniquities of Silas Kumshaw. Neither Goodham nor I bothered to cross-examine the former. I couldn't see how any lawyer as shrewd as Sidney had shown himself to be would even dream of getting such an array of thugs, cut throats, sluts, and slatterns into court as character witnesses for anybody. The latter, on the other hand, we went after unmercifully, kneeling, under their enmity for Kumshaw, a small, hardcore of bigoted xenophobia and selfish fear. Goodham did a beautiful job on that. He seemed able, at a glance, to divine exactly what each witness's motivation was, and able to make him or her betray that motivation in its least admirable terms. Finally, the defense rested, about a quarter hour before noon. I rose and addressed the court. Your Honor, while both the prosecution and the defense have done an admirable job in bringing out the essential facts of how my predecessor met his death, there are many features about this case which are far from clear to me. They will be even less clear to my government, which is composed of men who have never set foot on this planet. For this reason I wish to call, or recall, certain witnesses to clarify these points. Sidney, who had begun shouting objections as soon as I had gotten to my feet, finally managed to get himself recognized by the court. This Solar League Ambassador, Your Honor, is simply trying to use the courts of the planet of New Texas as a sounding board for his imperialistic government's propaganda. You may reassure yourself, Mr. Sidney, Judge Nelson said. This court will not allow itself to be improperly used, or improperly swayed, by the ambassador of the Solar League. This court is interested only in determining the facts regarding the case before it. You may call your witnesses, Mr. Ambassador. He glanced at his watch. Court will now recess for an hour and a half. Can you have him here by 1330? I assured him I could, after glancing across the room at Ranger Captain Nelson and catching his nod. My first witness that afternoon was Thrombley. After the formalities of getting his name and connection with the Solar League Embassy on the record, I asked him, Mr. Thrombley, did you, on the morning of April 22nd, receive a call from the Hickok Ranch for Mr. Cumshaw? Yes, indeed, Mr. Ambassador. The call was from Mr. Lung Fellow, Colonel Hickok's butler. He asked if Mr. Cumshaw were available. It happened that Mr. Cumshaw was in the same room with me and he came directly to the screen. Then Colonel Hickok appeared in the screen and inquired if Mr. Cumshaw could come out to the ranch for the day. He said something about super-dub shooting. You heard Mr. Cumshaw tell Colonel Hickok that he would be out at the ranch at about 1030? Thrombley said he had. And to your knowledge, did anybody else at the Embassy hear that? Oh, no, sir, we were in the Ambassador's private office and the screen there is tap-proof. And what other calls did you receive prior to Mr. Cumshaw's death? About fifteen minutes after Mr. Cumshaw had left, the Zisroth Ambassador called, about a personal matter. As he was most anxious to contact Mr. Cumshaw, I told him where he had gone. Then to your knowledge, outside of yourself, Colonel Hickok and his butler, the Zisroth Ambassador was the only person who could have known that Mr. Cumshaw's car would be landing on Colonel Hickok's drive at or about 1030. Is that correct? Yes. Plus, anybody whom the Zisroth Ambassador might have told. Exactly! I pounced. Then I turned and gave the three Bonnie Brothers a sweeping glance. Plus, anybody the Zisroth Ambassador might have told. That's all. Your witness, Mr. Sidney. Sidney got up, started toward the witness stand, and then thought the better of it. No questions, he said. The next witness was a Mr. James Finnegan. He was identified as a cashier of the Crooked Creek National Bank. I asked him if Kettle Belly Sam Bonnie did business at his bank. He said yes. Anything unusual about Mayor Bonnie's account, I asked? Well, it's been unusually active lately. Ordinarily, he carries around two, three thousand pesos. But about the first of April, that took a big jump. Quite a big jump. Two hundred and fifty thousand pesos, all in a lump. When did Kettle Belly Sam deposit this large sum, I asked? He didn't. The money came to us in a cashier's check on the Ranchers Trust Company of New Austin, with an anonymous letter asking that it be deposited to Mayor Bonnie's account. The letter was typed on a sheet of yellow paper, in basic English. Do you have that letter now? I asked. No, I don't. After we'd recorded the new balance, Kettle Belly came storming in, raising hell because we'd recorded it. He told me that if we ever got another deposit like that, we were to turn it over to him in cash. Then he wanted to see the letter, and when I gave it to him, he took it over to a telescreen booth, and drew the curtains. I got a little busy with some other matters, and the next time I looked, Kettle Belly was gone, and some girl was using the booth. That's very interesting, Mr. Finnegan. Was that the last of your unusual business with Mayor Bonnie? Oh, no. Then, about two weeks before Mr. Cumsha was killed, Kettle Belly came in and wanted fifty thousand pesos, in a big hurry, in small bills. I gave it to him, and he grabbed at the money like a starved dog at a bone, and upset a bottle of red perma ink, the sort we used to refill our bank seals. Three of the bills got splashed. I offered to exchange them, but he said, hell with it, I'm in a hurry, and went out. The next day, Switchblade Joe Bonnie came in to make payment on a note we were holding on him. He used those three bills in the payment. Then, about a week ago, there was another cashier's check came in for Kettle Belly. This time there was no letter, just one of our regular deposit slips. No name of depositor. I held the check, and gave it to Kettle Belly. I remember when it came in. I said to one of the clerks, well, I wonder who's going to get bumped off this time, and sure enough— Sidney's yell of—Objection!—was all his previous objections gathered into one. You say the letter accompanying the first deposit, the one in basic English, was apparently taken away by Kettle Belly's Sam Bonnie. If you saw another letter of the same sort, would you be able to say whether or not it might be like the one you mentioned? Sidney vociferating more objections. I was trying to get expert testimony without previous qualification. But at all, Mr. Sidney, Judge Nelson ruled, Mr. Seelke has merely asked if Mr. Finnegan could say whether one document bore any resemblance to another. I asked permission to have another witness sworn in while Finnegan was still on the stand, and called in a Mr. Boone, the cashier of the Packers and Brokers Trust Company of New Austin. He had with him a letter, typed on yellow paper, which he said had accompanied an anonymous deposit of 200,000 pesos. Mr. Finnegan said that it was exactly like the one he had received, in typing, grammar, and wording, all but the name of the person to whose account the money was to be deposited. And whose account received this anonymous benefaction, Mr. Boone, I asked? The account, Boone replied, of Mr. Clement, Sidney. I was surprised that Judge Nelson didn't break the handle of his gavel after that. Finally, after a couple of threats to clear the court, order was restored. Mr. Sidney had no questions to ask this time, either. The bailiff looked at the next slip of paper I gave him, frowned over it, and finally asked the court for assistance. Ah! Can't pronounce this here thing at all, he complained. One of the judges finally got out a mouthful of growls and yaps, and gave it to the clerk of the court to copy into the record. The next witness was a Zasroff, and in the new Texas garb he was wearing, he was something to open my eyes, even after years on the hooligan diplomats. After he took the stand, the clerk of the court looked at him blankly for a moment. Then he turned to Judge Nelson. Your Honor, how am I going to go about swearing him in? he asked. What does a Zasroff swear by that's binding? The President Judge frowned for a moment. Does anybody here know basic well enough to translate the oath? He asked. I think I can, I offered. I spent a great many years in our consular service before I was sent here. We use basic with a great many alien peoples. Administer the oath then, Nelson told me. Put up right hand, I told the Zasroff. Do you truly say, in front of a great one who made all worlds, who has knowledge of what is in the hearts of all persons, that what you will say here will be true, all true, and not anything that is not true, and will you so say again at a time when all worlds end? Do you so truly say? Yes, I so truly say. Say your name. Pobomega kovotomek chichichi. What is your business? I put things made of cloth into this world, and I take meat out of this world. Where do you have your house? Here in New Austin, over my house of business on Coronado Street. What people do you see in this place that you have made business with? Pobomega kovotomek chichichi pointed a three-fingered hand at the Bonnie Brothers. What business did you make with them? I gave them money for a machine which goes on the ground and goes in the air very fast to take persons and things about. Is that the thing you gave them for money, I asked, pointing at the exhibit air-car? Yes, but it was new then. It has been made broken by things from guns now. What money did they give you for the machine? One hundred pesos. That started another uproar. There wasn't a soul in that courtroom who didn't know that five thousand pesos would have been a give-away bargain price for that car. Mr. Ambassador, one of the associate judges interrupted, I used to be in the used car business. Am I expected to believe that this, this being, sold that air-car for a hundred pesos? There's a notarized copy of the Bill of Sale from the Office of the Vehicles Registration Bureau, I said. I introduce it as evidence. There was a disturbance at the back of the room, and then there's a SROF Ambassador, Guglalfur Distapitan Vuvuvu came stalking down the aisle, followed by a couple of rangers and two of his attachés. He came forward and addressed the court. May you be happy, sir, but I am in here so quickly, not because I have desire to make noise, but because it is only short time since it got in my knowledge that one of my persons is in this place. I am here to be of help to him that he not get in trouble, and to be of help to you. The name for what I am to do in this place is not part of my knowledge. Please say it for me. You are a friend of the court, Judge Nelson told him, and Amicus Curia. You make me happy. Please go on. I have no desire to put stop to what you do in this place. From what person did you get this machine that you gave to these persons for one hundred pesos, I asked? Gugloufer immediately began barking and snarling and yelping at my witness. The dry-goods importer looked startled, and Judge Nelson banged with his gavel. That's enough of that. There'll be nothing spoken in this court but English, except through an interpreter. Yow! I am sad that what I did was not right, does this roff ambassador replied contritely. But my person here has not as part of his knowledge that you will make him say what made put him in trouble. Nelson nodded in agreement. You are right. This person who is here has no need to make answer to any question if it may put him in trouble or make him seem less than he is. I will not make answer, the witness said. No further questions. I turned to Goodham and then to Sydney. They had no questions either. I handed another slip of paper to the bailiff, and another zasroff, named Babark Joñekyag Kikiki, took the stand. He put into this world things for small persons to make amusement with. He took out of this world meat and leather. He had his house of business in New Austin, and he pointed out the three bonnies as persons in this place that he saw that he had seen before. And what business did you make with them? I asked. I gave them for money, a gun which sends out things of twenty millimetres very fast to make death or hurt come to men and animals and does destruction to machines and things. Is this the gun? I showed it to him. It could be. The gun was made in my world. Many guns like it are made there. I am certain that this is the very gun. I had a notarized copy of a customs-house bill in which the gun was described and specified by serial number. I introduced it as evidence. How much money did these three persons give you for this gun? I asked. Five pesos. The customs appraisal on this gun is six hundred pesos, I mentioned. Immediately Ambassador Vuvuvu was on his feet. My person here has not part of his knowledge that he may put himself in trouble by what he says to answer these questions. That put a stop to that. Barak Jonyakyeg Kokiki immediately took refuge and refused to answer on grounds of self-incrimination. That is all, Your Honor, I said. And now, I continued, when the witness had left the stand, I have something further to present to the court, something both as amicus curiae and as ambassador of the Solar League. This court cannot convict the three men who are here on trial. These men should have never been brought to trial in this court. It has no jurisdiction over this case. This was a simple case of first-degree murder by hired assassins committed against the ambassador of one government at the instigation of another, not an act of political protest within the meaning of New Texan law. There was a brief silence. Both the court and the spectators were stunned, and most stunned of all were the three Bonnie Brothers, who had been watching, fears sick, while I had been putting a rope around their necks. The uproar from the rear of the courtroom gave Judge Nelson a needed minute or so to collect his thoughts. After he had gotten order restored, he turned to me grim-faced. Ambassador Silk, will you please elaborate on the extraordinary statement you have just made? He invited, as though every word had sharp corners that were sticking in his throat. Gladly, Your Honor, my words, too, were gouging and scraping my throat as they came out. I could feel my knees getting absurdly weak, and my mouth tasted as though I had an old copper penny in it. As I understand it, the laws of New Texas do not extend their ordinary protection to persons engaged in the practice of politics. An act of personal injury against a politician is considered criminal only to the extent that the politician injured has not, by his public acts, deserved the degree of severity with which he has been injured, and the court of political justice is established for the purpose of determining whether or not there has been such an excess of severity in the treatment meted out by the accused to the injured or deceased politician. This gives rise, of course, to some interesting practices. For instance, what is at law, a trial of the accused, is, in substance, a trial of his victim. But in any case tried in this court, the accused must be a person who has injured or killed a man who is definable as a practicing politician under the government of New Texas. Speaking for my government, I must deny that these men should have been tried in this court for the murder of Silas Kumsha. To do otherwise would establish the principle and precedent that our ambassador, or any other ambassador here, is a practicing politician under, mark that well, Your Honor, under the laws and government of New Texas. This would not only make of any ambassador a permissible target for any marksmen who happen to disapprove of the policies of another government, but more serious, it would place the ambassador and his government in a subordinate position relative to the government of New Texas. This the government of the Solar League simply cannot tolerate, for reasons which it would be insulting to the intelligence of this court to enumerate. Mr. Silk, Judge Nelson said gravely, this court takes full cognizance of the force of your arguments. However, I'd like to know why you permitted this trial to run to this length before entering this objection. Surely you could have made clear the position of your government at the beginning of this trial. Your Honor, I said, had I done so, these defendants would have been released, and the facts behind their crime would have never come to light. I grant that the important function of this court is to determine questions of relative guilt and innocence. We must not lose sight, however, of the fact that the primary function of any court is to determine the truth, and only by the processes of the trial of these depraved murderers for hire could the real author of the crime be uncovered. This was important, both for the government of the Solar League and the government of New Texas. My government now knows who procured the death of Silas Kumshaw, and we will take appropriate action. The government of New Texas has now had spelled out, in letters anyone can read, the fact that this beautiful planet is in truth a battleground. Awareness of this may save New Texas from being the scene of a larger and more destructive battle. New Texas also knows who are its enemies, and who can be counted upon to stand as its friends. Yes, Mr. Selk, Mr. Vuvuvu, I haven't heard any comment from you. No comment? Well, we'll have to close the court to consider this phase of the question. The black screen slid up for the second time during the trial. There was silence for a moment, and then the room became a bubbling pot of sound. At least six fights broke out among the spectators within three minutes. The Rangers and court bailiffs were busy restoring order. Gale Hickok, who had been sitting on the front row of the spectator seats, came running up while I was still receiving the congratulations of my fellow diplomats. Stephen, how could you, she demanded. You know what you've done. You've gotten those murdering snakes turned loose!" Andrew Jackson Hickok left the prosecution table and approached. Mr. Selk, you've just secured the freedom of three men who murdered one of my best friends. Colonel Hickok, I believe I knew Scyla's come-shaw before you did. He was one of my instructors at Dumbarton Oaks, and I have always had the deepest respect and admiration for him. But he taught me one thing, which you seem to have forgotten since you expatriated yourself, that in the diplomatic service personal feelings don't count. The only thing of importance is the advancement of the policies of the Solar League. Scyla's and I were attachés together at the old embassy at Dramoul on Altair II. Colonel Hickok said, What else he might have said was lost in the sudden exclamation as the black screen slid down. In front of Judge Nelson I saw there were three pistol belts and three pairs of automatics. Switchplay, Joe Bonney, Jack Haie Bonney, Turkey buzzer, Tom Bonney, together with your counsel, approached the court and hear the verdict. Judge Nelson said, The three defendants and their lawyer rose. Bonney's were swaggering and laughing. But for a lawyer whose clients had just emerged from the shadow of the gallows, Sidney was looking remarkably unhappy. He probably had imagination enough to see what would be waiting for him outside. It pains me inexpressibly, Judge Nelson said, To inform you that this court cannot convict you of the cowardly murder of the learned and honorable old man Scyla's comeshaw, nor can you be brought to trial in any other court a new Texas again for that dastardly crime. Here are your weapons, which must be returned to you. Sort them out yourselves, because I won't dirty my fingers on them. And you may regret and feel shame for your despicable act as long as you live, which, I hope, won't be more than a few hours. With that he used the end of his gavel to push the three belts off the bench and onto the floor at the Bonney's feet. They stood laughing at him for a few moments, then stopped, picked the belts up, drew the pistols to check magazines and chambers, and then began slapping each other's backs and shouting jubilant congratulations at one another. Sidney's two assistants and some of his friends came up and began pumping Sidney's hands. There, Gale flung at me. Now look at your master pace. Why don't you go up and congratulate him, too? And with that she slapped me across the face. It hurt like the devil. She was a lot stronger than I'd expected. In about two minutes I told her, you can apologize to me for that, or weep over my corpse. Right now, though, you'd better be getting behind something solid. CHAPTER XI. I turned and stepped forward to confront the Bonney's, simply thanking Gale. Up until she'd slapped me, I'd been weak-knead and dry-mouthed with what I had to do. Now I was just plain angry, and I found that I was thinking a lot more clearly. Jack Bonney's wounded left shoulder I knew wouldn't keep him from using his gun-hand, but his shoulder muscles would be stiff enough to slow his draw. I'd intended saving him until I'd dealt with his brothers. Now I remembered how he'd gotten that wound in the first place. He'd been the one who'd used the auto-rifle out at the Hickok Ranch. So I changed my plans and moved him up to top priority. HOLD IT, I yelled at them. You've been cleared of killing a politician, but you still have killing a Solar League ambassador to answer for. Now get your hands full of guns if you don't want to die with them empty. The crowd of sympathizers and felicitators simply exploded away from the Bonney brothers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sydney and a fat blousy woman with brass-colored hair as they both tried to dive under the friends of the court-table at the same place. The Bonney brothers simply stood and stared at me, for an instant, unbelievingly, as I got my thumbs on the release studs of my belt. Orange Nelson's gavel was hammering and he was shouting, "'Cord of political justice, Confederate continent of New Texas, is here with adjourned reconvene 0900 tomorrow. Hit the floor!' "'Damn! He mains it!' Switchplay Joe Bonney exclaimed. Then they all reached for their guns. They were still reaching when I pressed the studs and the crop-tottas popped into my hands and I swung up my right-hand gun and shot Jack High through the head. After that I just let my subconscious take over. I saw gun-flames jump out at me from the Bonney's weapons and I felt my own pistols leap and rive in my hands but I don't believe I was aware of hearing the shots, not even for my own weapons. The whole thing probably lasted five seconds but it seemed like twenty minutes to me. Then there was nobody shooting at me and nobody for me to shoot at. The big room was silent and I was aware that Judge Nelson and his eight associates were rising cautiously from behind the bench. I holstered my left-hand gun, removed and replaced the magazine of the right-hand gun, then holstered it and reloaded the other one. Hottie Ringo and Francisco Perros and Commander Stonehenge were on their feet, their pistols drawn, covering the spectator's seats. Colonel Hickock had also drawn a pistol and he was covering Sydney with it, occasionally moving the muzzle to the left to include the Zasroff Ambassador and his two attachés. By this time Nelson and the other eight judges were in their seats, trying to look calm and judicial. Your Honor, I said, I fully realize that no judge like to have his court turned into a shooting gallery. I can assure you, however, that my action here was not the result of any lack of respect for this court. It was pure necessity. Your Honor, concede that. My government could not permit this crime against its ambassador to pass unpunished. Judge Nelson nodded solemnly. Court was adjourned when this little incident happened, Mr. Silk, he said. He leaned forward and looked to where the three Bonnie Brothers were making a mess of blood on the floor. I trust that nobody will construe my unofficial and personal comments here as establishing any legal precedent, and I wouldn't like to see this sort of thing becoming customary. But you did that all by yourself with those little bean shooters? Not bad! Not bad at all, Mr. Silk. I thanked him, then turned to the Zasroff Ambassador. I didn't bother putting my remarks into basic. He understood, as well as I did, what I was saying. Silk Fido, I told him. My government is quite well aware of the source from which the orders for the murder of my predecessor came. These men I just killed were only the tools. We're going to get the brains behind them, if we have to send every warship we own into the Zasroff Star Cluster and devastate every planet in it. We don't let dogs snap at us, and when they do, we don't kick them, we shoot them. That, of course, was not exactly Striped Pants' diplomatic language. I wondered, for a moment, what Norman Gazarian, the protocol man, would think if he heard an ambassador calling another ambassador Fido. But it seemed to be the kind of language that Mr. Vuvuvu understood. He skinned back his upper lip at me and began snarling and growling. Then he turned on his hind paws and padded angrily down the aisle away from the front of the courtroom. The spectators around him and above him began barking, baying, yelping at him, tie a can to his tail, get for home, Bruno. Then somebody yelled, hey, look, even his wristwatch is blushing. That was perfectly true. Mr. Glaffer de Spaten Vuvuvu's watch face, normally white, was now glowing a bright ruby red. I looked at Stonehenge and found him looking at me. It would be full dark in four or five hours. There ought to be something spectacular to see in the cloudless skies of Capella IV to-night. Fleet Admiral Sir Rodney Trigascus would see to that. From report of Space Commander Stonehenge to Secretary of Aggression Klung. So the measures considered by yourself and Secretary of State Gopal Singh and Security Coordinator Natalenko, as transmitted to me by Mr. Haudy Ringo, were not, I am glad to say, needed. Ambassador Silk, alive, handled the thing much better than Ambassador Silk dead could possibly have. To confirm Sir Rodney Trigascus' report from the tales of the few survivors, the Zasraf attack came as the Ambassador had expected. They dropped out of hyperspace about seventy light minutes outside the Capella system, apparently in complete ignorance of the presence of our fleet. Have learned the entire fleet consisted of about three hundred spaceships and reports reaching here indicate that no more than twenty got back to Zasraf cluster. Naturally, the whole affair has had a profound influence and influence to the benefit of the Solar League on all shades of public opinion. As you properly assumed, Mr. Haudy Ringo is no longer with us. When it became apparent that the Palm Silk annexation treaty would be ratified here, Mr. Ringo immediately saw that his status of diplomatic immunity would automatically terminate. Accordingly he left this system embarking from New Austin for Alder Baron Nine, mentioning, as he shook hands with me, something about a widow. By a curious coincidence the richest branch bank in the city was held up by a lone bandit about a half an hour before he boarded the spaceship. Final message of the last solar ambassador to New Texas, Stephen Silk. Copies of the treaty of annexation duly ratified by the New Texas legislature herewith. Please note that the guarantees of non-interference in local political institutions are the very minimum which are acceptable to the people of New Texas. They are especially adamant that there be no change in their peculiar methods of ensuring that their elected and appointed public officials shall be responsible to the electorate. Department Addendum. After the ratification of the Palm Silk treaty Mr. Silk remained on New Texas, married the daughter of a local rancher there, see file on First Ambassador Colonel Andrew Jackson Hickok, and is still active in politics on that planet, often in opposition to Solar League treaties, which he seems to anticipate with an almost uncanny prescience. Nadelenko re-read the Addendum, pursed his thick lips and sighed. There were so many ways he could be using Mr. Stephen Silk. For example, he looked at the TrID Star Map, both usefully and beautifully decorating his walls. Over there, where Hottie Ringo had gone, near Alder Baron Nine. Those were twin planets, one apparently settled by the equivalent descendants of the Edwards, and the other inhabited by the children of a Juke's Calacac Union. Even the Solar League ambassadors there had taken the viewpoints of the planets to whom they were accredited, instead of the all-embracing view which their training should have given them. Curious problem, and how would Stephen Silk have handled it?