by Frank Riley
geometric patterns, anautomaton that tried to treat a woman like a punched holrith card! Hewas no more a man than this...." She brought her elbow up so sharplythat the paunchy Bailiff was toppled off balance and nearly fell. Helooked frightened.
"Ye admit to the killing, then?" demanded the Chief Justice.
"I'm proud of it!"
"And ye claim no special circumstances?"
"How would you understand them?"
The crowd exploded into a frantic, unintelligible babble, and the ChiefJustice slammed down his gavel. He turned to his fellow judges. Two werestaring at the prisoner with an indignation that exceeded his own. Theother two, both very old men, sat with heads bowed and hands fumblingwith their robes.
Jacques felt his pulse leap with a hope that had seemed impossible.Could it be that after all...? Ann turned toward him, faltering for thefirst time, and they stared into each other's eyes.
At a curt nod from the Chief Justice, the Bailiff, still trembling,began to poll the Court.
The first two judges angrily raised their hands to signify that theywere voting to uphold the death sentence of the lower court. The thirdjudge hesitated, then held out both hands, palms down.
This brought an outburst of applause from the stands. The firstpalms-down vote always evoked such a demonstration, for a one-sidedexecution was a comparatively dull affair.
But the applause was choked off as the fourth judge slowly extended bothhands, palms down. A scattering of boos and catcalls started. An uglyundercurrent rippled close to the surface. Was this woman going to win areversal, in spite of all her insolence? If she did, the whole holidaywould be spoiled, since there were no other executions on the docket.Better to have stayed home and watched films of old executions on theFBIT's nightly vidcast!
Jacques looked away from Ann to watch the Chief Justice. The lines inJacques' face were like gouges in a metal casting.
Acutely aware of his role, the Chief Justice stood up and drew his robeabout him with great dignity, taking care to face toward the TV camerason the north tower.
And as the Bailiff called for his deciding vote, the Chief Justicesolemnly raised his right hand.
Three to two for death! A hundred thousand spectators leaped to theirfeet, hysterically waving their arms. Three shots for the Lord HighExecutioner! Two for Lady Ann! What a day this was going to be afterall! Here was a truly great joute a l'outrance! Ann swayed a little,then smiled. Jacques closed his eyes.
Ritual and habit took over where Jacques' will could not function. Hissquire stepped forward, opened the silver box and offered the Pistoletsdu Mort to the Bailiff. The weapons sparkled in the sunlight. They werea modern adaptation of an ancient design, and had become official deathweapons after earlier experiments had convinced the FBIT that few 22ndcentury men were strong enough to handle the swords and lances ofchivalry. The Bailiff loaded one gun with two shells, the other withthree. Then he replaced both in the silver box, closed the lid and putthe box on the bench in front of the Chief Justice.
Already the judicial platform was wheeled to one side of the arena; thetwin pedestals were being rolled to position in the execution circle.They were thirty inches high, and were positioned precisely sixty feetapart, each on a line with the open ends of the stands so that wildshots would not strike a spectator.
Next came the Ceremony of Confrontation, intended to symbolize that theLord High Executioner was acting only under the compulsion of duty,without malice or any base motive.
Moving mechanically, Jacques stepped toward Ann. The jailers crossedtheir staffs two paces in front of her. It was the closest Jacques wouldbe permitted to approach until the Ceremony of the Spirit, when he wouldkneel beside her shattered body in the dust of the arena. He also wassupposed to kneel now, and silently speak a prayer for both their souls.He knelt, but could not bow his head. Ann looked down at him, and thefaint, unfathomable smile returned to her lips.
"It's all right," she said softly. "You don't have to speak to me withwords."
The natural, warm scent of her body came through the fragrance of theoils with which she had been anointed in her death cell. It was aremembered scent that once again drove Jacques to the brink of madness.
Her voice, husky and steadying, came down to him:
"For two like us there is no other way, Jacques. Don't fail me again."
He rose stiffly, backing away, staring into the mystery of the lightsand shadows in her wide eyes, groping for the meaning of her words.
A friar moved up to take his place, and the jailers dropped theirstaffs. But Ann dismissed the friar with a quick shake of her head.
The Code now called for Jacques to leave the platform and walk withmeasured steps around the arena before mounting his pedestal in theexecution circle. A signal from the trumpets started him on his waybefore he was aware of what he was doing. The habits of a thousandexecutions demanded obedience.
Women in the front rows leaned far over the railing. Some reached theirhands down to him, offering flowers and kerchiefs, hoarsely begging himto wear their favors during the execution. Others sat still, transfixed,lips parted and moist. The men beside them shrank back in their seats,looking at him as a sparrow would look at a coiled snake. Vendors ofribbands and souvenirs, cakes and drink, stood silent as he passedbefore them. The flutes, citterns and cymbals, the melodic voices of theminstrels, picked up the brooding death chanson:
"Farewell my friends, the tyde abideth no man, I am departed from hence, and so shall ye; But in this passage the best songe that I can Is requiem eternam...."
The walk around the arena was an eternity, and then it was over and donewith, and he had mounted his pedestal.
* * * * *
A low crescendo, like the roll of faraway surf, swept across the stands.Ann was at the edge of the platform. She stepped out of her slippers,unfastened the velvet robe, handed it to one of the jailers. Thecrescendo grew, matching the surge of blood in Jacques' temples. Abreeze swept the translucent death gown tight against her bare body, andshe walked steadily down the steps, across the arena. Her feet stirredlittle puffs of grey dust that twisted and whirled away. The friarfollowed a few paces behind. At the pedestal, he offered her his hand.She refused it, stepped up without assistance. Bowing his head, thefriar walked back to the judge's platform.
Jacques' squire and a page boy appeared almost immediately. They walkedpart way across the arena together. Each bore one of the pistols on ablack satin pillow. At the edge of the execution circle, their pathsforked toward each of the pedestals. The trembling page offered Ann herpistol first.
"Do ye remember your instructions?" he asked in a quavering voice thatwas picked up for the vidcast by the microphone hung under his frock.
"Yes, thank you."
Ann held the pistol loosely at her side, and looked toward Jacques,across the abyss of sixty feet.
With frozen fingers, Jacques accepted the other pistol from his squire,and knew that he was out beyond the point of no returning.
But he did not, could not, know what he would do once the signal for theexecution was given. "Do not fail me again," Ann had pleaded. But whathad she meant? Even at this final moment her smile was as enigmatic asever.
The page and the squire retreated to their stations at the side of thearena, this time moving hastily.
The Bailiff raised his black staff and pennant, held it poised until theChief Justice nodded, then lowered it with a flourish. A trumpet soundedone high, clear note.
The signal had been given.
Jacques remained motionless, waiting for a sign from Ann. But she, too,waited, her chin slightly lifted. What was she waiting for? What did sheexpect from him?
In the stands, the breathing of a hundred thousand people was a raspingsound.
And then Ann moved, so quickly that the surprise was complete. Herpistol flashed up, fired while still in its arc. The bullet blasted theair beside Jacques' ear, so close that for a fraction of a second hethought he had been hit.
Ann's voice drifted across to him, across the stunned silence, and itcontained both a taunt and a plea:
"I won't miss next time, Jacques!"
And he knew she would not. He had seen too many guns fired not torecognize technique. If she had learned to shoot that well, there was nodoubt she could have hit him the first time.
Jacques still couldn't fathom her motive, but there was no longer anychance to consider it. His conscious mind wanted to let her fire again,to put an end to this terrible dream. But the instinct ofself-preservation was too strong; the lessons at the FBIT academy hadbeen taught too well. Numbness went out of him, and he watched her eyesfor the telltale flicker that would give a split-second warning of hernext move.
The warning came, and he was ahead of it. His shot struck Ann high onthe right shoulder. Her second and last bullet ploughed into the dustmidway between them. She twisted around from the force of the impact,and half slipped, half fell from the
