Overruled

by Hank Davis

  The 332 who did wish to return, most of whom were borderline psychotics, were shipped home, and Boötes sued Skrrgck for their purchase price, but was turned down by the Galactic Quadrant Court on the theory of, basically, Caveat Emptor—let the buyer beware.

  * * *

  The Court in Sol v. Boötes had held that although adults could not be required to return to Terra, minors under the age of 31 could be, and an additional 569 were returned under this ruling, to the vociferous disgust of the post-puberty members of that group. Since there was apparently some question of certain misrepresentations by Skrrgck as to the ages or family affiliations of some members of this minor group, he agreed to an out-of-court settlement of Boötes’ claim for their purchase price, thus depriving the legal profession of further clarification of the rights of two “good faith” dealers in this peculiar sort of transaction.

  The Terran people, of course, were totally unsatisfied with this result. Led by some demagogues and, to a milder degree, by most of the political opposition to the existing Terran government, and reminded of certain actual examples from Terra’s own history, many became convinced that some form of nefarious “brainwashing” had been exercised upon the “unfortunate” Terran expatriates. Excitement ran high, and there was even some agitation for withdrawal from the Galactic Union.

  Confronted with such unrest, the Terran government made efforts to reach some settlement with Boötes despite the decision of the Court in Sol v. Boötes, and was finally able to gain in the Centaurian Agreement a substantial reparation, it being specifically stipulated in the Agreement that the money was to be paid to the dependents who suffered actual financial loss.

  In a suit against the Terran government by one of the excluded families, to obtain for that family a share of the reparation, the validity of the treaty, as it applied to exclude the suing family and others in like position, was upheld by the United States Supreme Court.

  The suit was begun before the Agreement had been ratified by the General Assembly, and the Court indicated that the plaintiff would have lost on the strength of a long line of cases giving the World President certain inherent powers over the conduct of foreign affairs. Since, however, the matter came up for decision after ratification, the Court said that the “inherent powers” question was moot, and that the Agreement, having been elevated to the status of a treaty by ratification, must be held valid under the “Supremacy of Treaties” section of Article 102 of the United Terran Charter.

  Although this failed to satisfy the Terran people—and their anger may have contributed to the fall of the Solarian Party administration in the following election—the Treaty is generally considered by students of the subject as a triumph of Solarian diplomacy, and an outstanding example of intergalactic good faith on the part of Boötes.

  * * *

  Of course, neither the demagogy nor the anger could hide forever the true facts about how the Boöteans were treating their “slaves,” and when the true facts became known, there was a sudden flood of migration from Terra to Boötes, which threatened to depopulate the Solarian Empire and drown Boötes. The flood was quickly dammed by the Treaty of Deneb restricting migration between the two systems. This treaty was held to be a valid police-powers exception to the “Free Migration” principle of Article 17 of the Galactic Compact in Boleslaw v. Sol and Boötes.

  All this left Skrrgck with liabilities of some forty million credits and practically no assets. Like most Altairians, he was a superb thief but a poor trader. The price he had received for the Merchandise Mart and the “slaves,” while amounting to a tidy personal fortune, was less than half the amount of the claims against him, and due to an unfortunate predilection for slow Aedrils and fast Flowezies, he only had about half of that left.

  Skrrgck, who had by this time apparently developed a love of litigation equal to his love of thievery, used part of what he did have left in a last effort to evade liability by going into bankruptcy, a move which was naturally met with howls of outrage by his creditors and a flood of objections to his petition, a flood which very nearly drowned the Federal District Court in Chicago.

  It would be difficult to imagine a more complex legal battle that might have taken place, nor one more instructive to the legal profession, had the situation been carried to its logical conclusion.

  On the one hand was the age-old policy of both Terran and Galactic bankruptcy law. A man becomes unable to pay his debts. He goes into bankruptcy. Whatever he does have is distributed to his creditors, who must be satisfied with what they can get out of his present assets. They cannot require him to go to work to earn additional funds with which to pay them more. It is precisely to escape this form of mortgage on one’s future that bankruptcy exists.

  Yet here were over seven thousand creditors claiming that Skrrgck’s debts should not be discharged in bankruptcy, because Skrrgck could be required to steal enough to satisfy them fully.

  Could the creditors require Skrrgck to exert such personal efforts to satisfy their claims? A lawyer would almost certainly say “no,” citing the Bankruptcy Act as sufficient grounds alone, not to mention the anomaly of having Terrans, in a Terran court, ask that Skrrgck, for their benefit, commit an act illegal on Terra and punishable by that Terran court.

  The idea of a Terran court giving judicial sanction to theft is novel, to say the least. Indeed, Judge Griffin, who was presiding, was overheard to remark to a friend on the golf course that he “would throw the whole d—n thing out” for that reason alone.

  Yet, in spite of this undeniable weight of opinion, it is difficult to say just what the final decision would have been had the matter been carried to the Galactic Tribunal, for in the original case of Skrrgck v. Illinois, that august body, it will be remembered, had specifically stated that Skrrgck was liable for the value of the building and its occupants, “even if he must steal to obtain it.”

  Now that hasty and ill-advised phrase was certainly dicta, and was probably intended only as a joke, the opinion having been written by Master Adjudicator Stsssts, a member of that irrepressible race of saurian humorists, the Sirians. But if the case had actually come before them, the Court might have been hoisted on its own petard, so to speak, and been forced to rule in accord with its earlier “joke.”

  Unfortunately for the curiosity of the legal profession, the question was never to be answered, for Skrrgck did a remarkable thing which made the whole controversy irrelevant. What his motives were will probably never be known. His character makes it unlikely that he began the bankruptcy proceedings in good faith and was later moved by conscience. It is possible that the bankruptcy was merely an elaborate piece of misdirection. More probably, however, he simply seized on the unusual opportunity the publicity gave him.

  Whatever the motives, the facts are that Skrrgck used the last of his waning resources to purchase one of the newly developed Terran Motors’ “Timebirds” in which he traveled secretly to Altair. Even this first model of the Timebird, with its primitive meson exchange discoordinator, cut the trip from Sol to Altair from weeks to days, and Skrrgck, landing secretly on his home planet while his bankruptcy action was still in the turmoil stage, was able to accomplish the greatest “coup” in Altairian history. He never could have done it without the publicity of the legal proceedings. In a culture where theft is honorable, the most stringent precautions are taken against its accomplishment, but who could have expected Skrrgck? He was light-years away, trying to go into bankruptcy.

  And so, while all eyes on Altair, as well as throughout the rest of the Galaxy, were amusedly fixed on the legal circus shaping up on Terra, Skrrgck was able to steal the Altairian Crown Jewels, and the Altairian Crown Prince as well, and flee with them to Sol.

  * * *

  The reaction was violent. The Galaxy was gripped by an almost hysterical amusement. Skrrgck’s creditors on Terra were overjoyed. The Altairians made one effort to regain their valuables in the courts, but were promptly turned down by the Galactic Tribunal which held,
wisely, that a society which made a virtue of theft would have to take the consequences of its own culture.

  So Skrrgck’s creditors were paid in full. The jewels alone were more than sufficient for that, containing as they did no less than seven priceless “Wanderstones,” those strange bits of frozen fire found ever so rarely floating in the interstellar voids, utterly impervious to any of the effects of gravitation. Altair paid a fantastic price for the return of the collection, and Skrrgck also demanded, and got, a sizable ransom for the Prince, after threatening to sell him to Boötes, from whence, of course, he would never return. Being a prince in a democratic, constitutional monarchy is not as glamorous as you might think.

  His creditors satisfied, Skrrgck returned to Sknnbt, dragging with him an angry Crown Prince—angry at having lost the chance to go to Boötes, that is. At Altair, Skrrgck was received as a popular hero. He had accomplished something of which every Altairian had dreamed, almost from the moment of his birth, and he was widely and joyously acclaimed. Riding on this wave of popular adulation, he entered politics, ran for the office of Premier, and was elected by an overwhelming majority.

  As soon as he took office, he took steps, in accordance with Altairian custom, to wipe out the “stain” on his honor incurred by allowing the Chicago police sergeant to fool him with the now famous License to Steal.

  He instituted suit against the sergeant for the expenses of his defense to the original theft charge.

  The case was carried all the way to the Galactic Tribunal, which by this time was heartily sick of the whole mess. Feeling apparently that the sergeant was the original cause of said mess, the Court overruled his plea that he had merely been joking.

  The Court cited an ancient case from West Virginia, U.S.A.—Plate v. Durst, 42 W. Va. 63, 24 SE 580, 32 L.R.A. 404. (Note: The date of this case is invariably given as 1896, which is most confusing, since the present date is only 1691. The 1896, however, refers to the eighteen hundred and ninety-sixth year of the pre-atomic era, which we, of course, style A.A.—Ante Atomica. Since the present era begins with the first atomic explosion, the case actually occurred in approximately the year 54 A.A.)

  The Court quoted the opinion in this ancient case as follows: “Jokes are sometimes taken seriously by…the inexperienced…and if such is the case, and the person thereby deceived is led to (incur expenses) in the full belief and expectation that the joker is in earnest, the law will also take the joker at his word, and give him good reason to smile.”

  Accordingly, the sergeant was charged with a very large judgment. Although the City of Chicago paid this judgment, the sergeant had become the laughingstock of the planet, so he applied for, and was granted, a hardship exception to the Treaty of Deneb and migrated to Boötes.

  There, regarded as the real savior of the Boötean race, and a chosen instrument of the God of Boötes, he was received as a saint. He died in 1689, surrounded by his 22 children and 47 grandchildren, having made himself wealthy by becoming the leader of a most excessive fertility cult, which is only now being forcibly suppressed by the Boötean Government.

  In 1635 P.A., someone on Earth remembered the kidnapping indictments still outstanding against Skrrgck and attempted to prosecute them. By this time, however, Skrrgck was Premier, the chief executive officer of Altair, and all extradition matters were within his sole discretion. In the exercise of this power, he refused to extradite himself, and the prosecutor on Earth, whose constituents were beginning to laugh at him, had the indictments quashed “in the interest of interstellar harmony.”

  The story has an interesting sequel. During Skrrgck’s unprecedented six consecutive terms as Premier (no one else had ever served less than seven), he was able, by dint of unremitting political maneuvering, to have theft outlawed in the Altairian system. It was, he said, “a cultural trait that is more trouble than it is worth.”

  •

  Not much is known about Louis Newman. As we said, it’s possible he was a one-story author back in the day, but it’s also possible he was a pseudonym for someone else. If anyone reading this has information on the writer, kindly reach out!

  WITH THE KNIGHT MALE

  Apologies to Rudyard Kipling

  Charles Sheffield

  Time for your garrulous editor to step into the wings and let Dr. Sheffield introduce his own story: “In the late 1970s when I was just starting to write fiction, my young children (young back then, grown-ups now) ordered me to produce stories about every funny or disgusting thing in the world. They made the list for me. It had on it items of comic low appeal to them—sewage, visits to the dentist, mushrooms, fat aunts, opera singers, flatulence (I think they used a different word), comic Germans and Italians, fad diets, pigs, morticians, and head lice. Not an easy assignment, but I did my best. Over the years I have published ten politically incorrect stories tackling one or more of the listed topics…Together they form what I think of as my ‘sewage’ series. They feature my two favorite lawyers, Henry Carver and Waldo Burmeister, and they are depressingly easy to write.” Sewage and lawyers—who else would have thought to put those two, ah, archetypes together? It was a dirty job, but world-class mathematician and physicist (and punster, as shown in the story titles) Charles Sheffield was up to the challenge. And the results are anything but depressing.

  •

  I received the final payment this morning. To: Burmeister and Carver, Attorneys. Payable by: Joustin’ Time.

  Logically, Waldo should have signed the transfer slip. He deserves the money far more than I do. But given his contusions, fractures, lacerations, and multiple body casts, he is in no position to sign anything. In fact, all the negotiations, arguments, offers, and counteroffers to Joustin’ Time had perforce to come from me. But if Waldo learns anything from his experience—doubtful, given his history—my extra effort on his behalf will be well worthwhile.

  I ought to have been suspicious at the outset, when Waldo drifted into my office from his next-door one, preened, and said, “Got us a client.”

  “That’s nice. Who is he?”

  “She. It’s a lady, Helga Svensen.”

  I ought to have stopped it right there. Every man is entitled to his little weakness, but Waldo’s track record with women clients has been, to put it mildly, unfortunate.

  On the other hand, although the love of money is widely acknowledged to be the root of all evil, the lack of money isn’t too good either. The legal firm of Burmeister and Carver—Waldo and me—was at the time utterly broke.

  I said, “What does this Helga Svensen want us to do?”

  “Nothing difficult. Seems she’s a major player in the pre-Renaissance tournaments that have been so big recently. There’s a royal games next week at the Paladindrome on Vesta, and she wants our help with her performance contract. She also asked me to check out one of the accessories. Wants to know if it can be shipped legally interplanet before she commits to anything.”

  I nodded. World-to-world tariff laws were a nightmare—or, seen from another point of view, a boon for hungry attorneys.

  “What is it this time?” I said. “Bows, swords, tankards? Antique suits of armor? Jousting equipment?”

  “None of them.” Waldo helped himself to a handful of chocolate malt balls sitting in a jar on my desk. “Mainly, she’s interested—mm—in the—mm—blagon.”

  “The flagons?”

  “Naw.” He had spoken with his mouth full, and was forced to pause and swallow before he could say, “The dragon. Apparently it’s a different model from what they’ve been using before. I’m going to meet Helga Svensen over at Chimera Labs tomorrow morning and we’re going to check it out together. Want to come?”

  I did not. The mindless rush of the biolabs to create, through fancy DNA splicing, everything from centaurs to basilisks to gryphons has never made sense to me. On the other hand, there is such a thing as due diligence. If we were going to object to—or press for—import/export restrictions on a dragon, I needed to take a look at one.


  “What time?” I said.

  “Nine o’clock. Nine o’clock sharp.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  But I wasn’t. An unpleasant conversation with our landlord concerning past-due office rental delayed me and I did not reach the offices of Chimera Labs until nine-thirty. The aged derelict on duty at the desk wore a uniform as wrinkled and faded as he was. He cast one bleary-eyed look at me as I came in and said, “Mister Carver? You’re expected. First room on the left. The brute’s in there.”

  “The dragon?”

  He stared at me gloomily. “Nah. The dragon’s straight ahead, but you can’t see it. You’re to go into the room on the left.”

  In twenty years of legal practice I had heard Waldo called many names, but “brute” was not one of them. Puzzled, I opened the indicated door.

  The voice that greeted me was not Waldo’s. It was a pleasant, musical baritone, half an octave deeper than his. That was fair enough, because its owner was over two meters tall and topped Waldo by a full half-head.

  She ignored my arrival and went on reading aloud. “‘Article Twelve: Should a competitor fail to appear at the allocated time for his/her/its designated heat, semifinal, or final, he/she/it will lose the right to compete further in the tournament, and will in addition forfeit prior cumulative earnings and/or prize money, unless a claim of force majeure can be substantiated before an arbitration board approved by the tournament officials’—you see, it’s this sort of blather that ties my head in knots—‘in advance of the participation of said competitor in any tournament event.’ Now what the devil does that mean?”

  Waldo offered a lawyer’s nod of approbation. “Nice. It means that if you don’t show up for an event, you lose everything unless you can prove to them in advance that you couldn’t possibly show up. Which is, practically speaking, impossible.” He had noticed my arrival, and turned to me. “Henry, this is Helga Svensen. Helga, this is my partner, Henry Carver. Henry is an absolute master at reading the fine print of a contract. If anyone can beat the written terms by using the contract’s own words, he can.”