Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  Nicole saw a second group of people, men and women, coming from the visiting-team tunnel. As she sat next to Clayne, they filed past and sat on the back row of chairs on the platform.

  “Who are they?” she whispered.

  “That’s the jury. The first jury to hear a criminal case in the history of Shalev.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please rise?”

  The Major spoke into a microphone in front of the risers as Travis escorted Clifford Cameron and his attorney to the first small table on the platform, then joined another man at the second table. Nicole assumed the man next to Travis was the prosecuting attorney. Behind them, the jury sat quiet and soberfaced.

  Slowly, reluctantly, almost rebelliously, twenty thousand people came to their feet in response to the Major’s command. If he noticed their reticence, he gave no sign. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Honorable Judge Lorenzo R. Bradford, who will be presiding at these proceedings.”

  From the row in front of Nicole a man stood, clothed in long black robes, and moved to take his seat at the center table on the platform.

  “You may be seated.”

  The sound of the crowd settling back onto their seats was a soft rustle, but no other noise could be heard—no talking, no laughter, no cheering, no cries of disappointment—none of the sounds that were so typical of this stadium. As Nicole peered upward at the people, then dropped her eyes to study the Major and those on the stand, she felt a sudden bitterness. This isn’t a trial. Cliff was right. Before it had ever begun, he had known. It was a show. A well-staged, manipulated event.

  And then as she scanned the sullen faces of the crowd, she understood, and knew the Major understood as well. It was a show, and the show was for them—for every one of them who had asked himself the question, “What will I do if Eric Lloyd and his men ask me to join them?” Television coverage alone was not sufficient to answer that question. Only a live demonstration, where the shock and reality would be undiluted, would suffice. And then the Major spoke and pulled her thoughts away from the crowd.

  “Citizens of Shalev.” His voice gave the impression of one caught in sudden mourning. “For the first time in our eighteenyear history, we begin a trial—not the first civil trial, for we are still human and have had to work out our differences with the aid of the courts and counselors and legal processes—no, for the first time, we convene to conduct a criminal trial. And I cannot fully express the inner feelings that tear at me now. How many times in all of history has mankind gone eighteen years without a single criminal action? How many times have they gone two decades without crime, violence, or unrestrained passion?”

  He half turned so that he could see Dr. Clifford Cameron. “Now, for the first time we have had violence, we have had killing, we have had treason. One of the men responsible for that breach of history is here now. He must answer for robbing us of our chance to extend that remarkable, unequalled record of peace and security and harmony to three decades, or four. Or even a century. That was my dream.”

  The two men locked gazes, the Major’s expression a mixture of sadness and anger, Dr. Cameron’s one of curious amusement.

  The Major turned back. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will now proceed with the case of the Alliance of Four Cities versus Dr. Clifford C. Cameron.”

  Judge Lorenzo R. Bradford smacked his gavel against the table and leaned forward into the microphone in front of him. “Will the defendant and his counsel rise and approach the bench?”

  Cliff and his attorney stood and came around to stand before him. Travis also stood, unhooked the microphone on his table, and handed it to Cliff’s attorney.

  “None of us have a lot of precedence for conducting a trial of this nature,” the judge continued, “so we shall proceed as best we know how.”

  He picked up a long sheet of paper before him. “Dr. Clifford C. Cameron, you stand here today accused of the following charges: eight counts of high treason through the illegal removal of the implantations of citizens of the Alliance of Four Cities; six counts of aggravated assault; six counts of illegal manufacture, possession, and use of high explosives; three counts of illegal possession and use of dangerous weapons; four counts of conspiracy to commit treason; and one count of being an accessory to forcible abduction and kidnapping.”

  He leaned back in his chair, his face grave. “Those are the charges. Do you understand them?”

  Nicole saw Cliff nod, but heard no answer. “I’m sorry, Dr. Cameron, but would you speak into the microphone. Would you repeat your answer, please?”

  As his attorney held the microphone up to him, Cliff’s voice boomed out over the speakers in the stadium. “Yes, your Honor, I understand the charges.”

  “And how do you plead?”

  “To these particular charges?”

  “Of course.”

  “Guilty.”

  Nicole’s head jerked up as a gasp of surprise swept the stadium. “No,” she whispered.

  “What was that again?” the judge said, leaning forward in his chair.

  “I said guilty. I plead guilty to the charges read.”

  Cliff’s attorney stepped forward and took the microphone. “Your Honor, may I speak?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your Honor—” He paused, evidently as stunned as everyone else. “I don’t think my client fully understands the implications of what he’s saying. He doesn’t—”

  Cliff gently took the microphone back. “Your Honor, I appreciate Mr. Wingate’s concern, but I do fully understand what I am doing. The Major, in his opening address, charged me with trying to overthrow peace, introduce violence, foster crime. Now if those were the charges, I would plead not guilty and defend myself vigorously. But you said I am charged with operating on people and taking out their implantations, with using weapons and explosives,” he shot Nicole a quick glance, “in aiding and abetting in a kidnapping. To those charges I must plead guilty.”

  “Well…” The judge gave the Major a searching look, pleading for help.

  Cliff continued, his voice amiable and friendly. “Does there have to be a trial now? I mean, do we still need to call witnesses, argue the case, all of that?”

  “Well, I—no, I mean, I guess not. If you refuse to deny your guilt, I guess we just—sentence you.”

  Again the judge glanced at the Major, who nodded curtly.

  “Good.” Cliff turned and surveyed the crowd, then looked up at the sky. “Well then, your Honor, Major Denison was kind enough to give all these good people half a day off from work. It’s a hot day. Instead of sitting here sweltering in the sun, why don’t you hurry and pronounce sentence and leave them some time to catch a swim or take a picnic to the lake or something.”

  As a startled wave of laughter swept through the crowd, punctuated with shouts of approval and a smattering of applause, Nicole stared at Cliff Cameron, and suddenly her eyes were swimming.

  “What do you say, your Honor?”

  Totally bewildered, the judge again turned to the Major for support, and again Nicole saw the almost imperceptible nod of the head.

  He cleared his throat quickly. “Well, then. Since the defendant pleads guilty to all charges—uh—I guess we’re ready to pass sentence. Would the defendant please—oh, yes, you’re already standing.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Dr. Clifford C. Cameron, as the judge over these proceedings, I hereby sentence you to be remanded into the custody of the Guardians. Stage Three implantation is hereby declared permanent.”

  Clayne whispered into Nicole’s ear, “They knew what the sentence would be before this ever happened.” The disgust in his voice was evident.

  “And also,” the judge intoned, “you are to be placed in a confinement cell for the rest of your natural life.”

  Once again the sudden intake of twenty thousand pairs of lungs caused a rippling of sound across the stadium. Nicole felt the tears well over and trickle down her cheeks as Cliff Cameron nodded.

  “That concludes this trial,” the
judge said, banging his gavel. “Court is adjourned.” Cliff nodded again, then turned and walked back to his seat, leaving his attorney staring at him.

  In an instant the Major was up and to the microphone in front of the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please.” The babble of noise quickly died, and the people sank back into their seats. “We want to express our thanks to Judge Lorenzo R. Bradford and to the jury members, who, fortunately, were not needed today.” His voice was tinged with a hardness Nicole had heard only once or twice before.

  “The accused now becomes the convicted, by his own confession.” He turned to look at Dr. Cameron. His hand came up and covered the microphone, and Nicole heard his savage whisper. “Travis!”

  Even as Travis came off the platform to join him, the Major was back at the microphone. “Dr. Cameron has graciously suggested that we cut these proceedings short. We shall do that, only delaying you a moment or so longer.”

  Again his hand came over the mike, and Nicole leaned forward, straining to hear what he said as a low murmur of disappointment rippled through the crowd. “Travis, get on your radio and patch us in to Central Control. I want a direct radio link with the Monitoring Room.”

  The Monitoring Room! Nicole stared, the first glimmer of horror pushing against her stomach.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the Major said smoothly, even as Travis, obviously caught off guard, unhooked his radio and began speaking into it. “It appears that while Dr. Cameron has confessed his guilt, he has exhibited no real remorse. And it may even be that some of you are thinking that his punishment is not all that bad. Confinement for life is a depressing thought, but considering that he tried to overthrow our entire society, the magnitude of the crime seems to demand a more severe punishment.”

  He glanced over at Travis, who nodded. Up came the hand, and once again the microphone was covered so the crowd did not hear the exchange. But Nicole and those around her heard it clearly. “Tell them to stand by on Dr. Cameron’s frequency. I want them prepared to give me ten percent increments of his Punishment Mode on my signal.”

  Several members of the press corps and the television crew audibly gasped, and next to her, Clayne Robertson started in his chair. Nicole stared numbly, knowing better than any of them what the Major was up to.

  “Travis! That’s an order!” The Major’s voice snapped out like a rifle shot, and Travis flinched. Then slowly, he lifted the radio to his mouth.

  “Under no circumstances are they to exceed eighty percent of the maximum. I don’t want him killed. Tell them that!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The Major swung back to the microphone, and his eyes scanned the rows of faces staring down at him. “Some of you may think that Dr. Cameron has gotten off easily, but that is only because you do not fully understand what Stage Three implantation entails. Few people in Shalev have it, and so relatively few of you have seen its effects. Perhaps a demonstration is in order. Travis, if you’d hand me the radio, please.”

  The walkie-talkie changed hands slowly. “Now, will you go up and stand by Dr. Cameron. Hold the microphone for him. I wish the people to hear whatever he has to say.”

  As Travis moved back onto the platform, Cliff stood up slowly. He licked his lips once, then straightened and squared his shoulders. His right hand came up slowly until it touched his forehead, and with dignity he saluted the crowd.

  “Ten percent!” the Major said quickly into the radio.

  Cliff gave an involuntary gasp, and his arm jerked away from his forehead, but he forced it back, biting his lip to stop the violent trembling of his upper body.

  “Twenty!”

  A sharp cry was torn from Cliff’s lips as he dropped to his knees and grabbed his head with both hands.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, what you are now witnessing is only twenty percent of the Punishment Mode under Stage Three implantation.” He turned and looked at the trembling figure. “Dr. Cameron, are you ready to express regret for your crimes?”

  “No.” The word was barely audible, but Travis had lowered the microphone to the kneeling figure so that it was touching Cliffs lips, and his answer went booming out over the speakers.

  “Thirty percent!” the Major commanded.

  Cliff screamed in agony as Nicole clamped her eyes shut, her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palms.

  “Fifty!” The Major’s voice was an angry bellow. “Now, Dr. Cameron, now are you ready to speak to us?”

  “Yes! Yes, oh help me! Yes! Please, yes!”

  “Cut the power,” the Major said quickly, nodding in satisfaction.

  A great sob of relief echoed out of the body that suddenly collapsed and went limp.

  “Travis,” the Major said, now fully composed again, “will you help Dr. Cameron up? I believe he is ready to make a statement now.”

  Travis’s arm went around Cliffs waist. He was trembling so violently that he could not stand alone. Travis helped him to his feet, heavily supporting him. Cliffs eyes were bulging and he was gasping for breath as Travis held the microphone to his lips.

  For a long moment the only sound in the air was the tortured rasping of his breath. Then suddenly his head came up. “Eric!”

  It was a cry of such anguish that it tore through Nicole and went bouncing off the grandstands in echoes that would haunt her forever. “Eric, don’t give up! Help free this people!”

  For a split second the Major stared, his mouth open in stunned surprise. Then his hand flew up, jamming the radio to his mouth. “Eighty percent!” he screamed hoarsely. “Eighty percent capacity! Now!”

  Cliff’s body jerked so violently that he was torn out of Travis’s grip, as though hit at point-blank range with a high-powered rifle. One long scream rent the summer air before Cliff collapsed into a crumpled heap at Travis Oakes’s feet.

  For a full ten seconds there was not a sound in the stadium. Every eye was riveted on the still form on the platform in the center of the field. Then suddenly, high up in the center bleachers, a man leaped to his feet. In the stillness his voice echoed like a pistol shot, the sarcasm twisting it into a mocking cry. “Let’s hear it for Major Denison and the Guardians,” he shouted, “keepers of the peace, protectors of our freedom.”

  And then he began to clap his hands. Almost instantly someone else leaped up, and then another. Like gasoline vapors ignited by sparks from a torch, twenty thousand people exploded, leaping to their feet. There was no open anger, for years of instantaneous punishment had long ago flattened such responses. But they were up, pounding their hands, many of the women with tears streaming down their cheeks, paying tribute to the crumpled figure on the stand, and, as openly as they dared, rejecting the man who had put him there. The sound rolled down out of the stands in a smashing wave, engulfing the small group of people standing in the center of the soccer field. Nicole stared straight ahead, seeing nothing because of the burning in her eyes.

  Chapter 27

  Nicole set down her book and unfolded her legs as the soft chime of the door bell echoed through the house. She stopped briefly to look at herself in the small entryway mirror, then pulled the door open.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello, Travis.” He gave her a quick kiss, which she accepted absently. Then she stepped aside so he could enter the living room.

  “Did you get unpacked?”

  “Yes, I was nearly done when you called.”

  “And how was Mount Pleasant?”

  “Beautiful. It’s such a lovely place there.”

  “Yes, it is. And how’s your aunt?”

  Nicole smiled. Outwardly Travis seemed his usual confident self, but these were exactly the same questions he had asked her on the phone. “She’s fine. Lonely since Uncle Arthur died, but doing quite well. Please, sit down.”

  Though she sat on the couch, he chose the easy chair opposite her. He really is unsure of himself tonight, she thought. For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence. Then he turned and looked down the
hallway where the shattered door frame to her bedroom could be seen. “Now that you’re back, we’ll have to get that fixed.”

  “Yes, I’ll have to do that.” Before I sell the house, she nearly added, but caught herself. Finally she asked, “How’s Dr. Cameron?”

  He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “About the same. The doctor says that it’s as if he had a massive stroke. At this point they can’t tell whether the paralysis is permanent or whether it’s just a temporary shock to his nervous system.”

  “And still no sign of Eric?”

  “None. We expected a real blow-up after the trial, but there’s been nothing. I can’t believe he’s given up or been scared off.”

  Nicole nodded. Except for the ticking of the mantel clock, the living room was filled with silence. Finally Travis drew a deep breath. “Nicole?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been thinking about us, and…”

  His inward nervousness had finally surfaced. His hands were up, fingertips to fingertips, and he was tapping them.

  “Yes?”

  “And…well, I’ve decided I’ve been a fool about our marriage, saying we ought to wait until next summer. If you want a Christmas wedding, that’s fine with me. Or we can even do it sooner than that if you want.”

  Do it? What a peculiar choice of words. As though it were a task to be gotten out of the way. But she showed no response. She had known this was coming sooner or later, had even told herself she welcomed it so she could stop agonizing over what she would say. But now that it had come, her courage wavered. Just two weeks ago—was it only that long ago?—what she would have given to hear those words.

  Travis was watching her closely, the drumming of his fingers increasing in tempo. “I mean,” he added, “it’s clear to me now just how flimsy my excuses were. Since you’ve been gone, first with Eric, now with your aunt, I realize just how much you mean to me. And I—”