“I am pleased that the truth has come out. Therefore please free my wrists—”
“Prisoner will be seated,” The Hradil said. The two Proctors slammed Jan back into the chair. It was not over yet.
“Far graver charges have been leveled against the prisoner. He is charged with inciting to riot, with disloyalty, with disloyal actions, with disloyal propaganda, and with the most serious of all. Treason.
“All of these crimes are most grave, the final one the most grave of all. It carries with it the death penalty. Jan Kulozik is guilty of all of these crimes and will be proven so today. His execution will take place within a day of the trial, for that is the law.”
Eighteen
There was shouting from the immense crowd, questions. Angry men pushed forward, Jan’s friends, but stopped when all twelve of the Proctors drew up in a line in front of the platform, weapons ready.
“Keep your distance,” Proctor Scheer called out. “Everyone stay back. These guns are set on maximum discharge.”
The men called out, but did not draw too close to the ready weapons. The Hradil’s amplified voice washed over them.
“There will be no disturbances. Proctor Captain Scheer has orders to shoot if he must. There may be dissident elements in the crowd who will attempt to help the prisoner. They must not be allowed to.”
Jan sat still in the box, realizing now what was happening. Admonished one minute, Proctor Captain the next; Scheer was doing all right. The Hradil had him firmly in her hand. Had Jan as well. He had relaxed his defenses, thought about the crime of murder, never realizing that this charge was just a front for the real charges. There was no way out now; the trial would have to continue. As soon as The Hradil stopped talking he spoke loudly into the microphone.
“I demand that this farce be ended and that I be freed. If there is any treason here, it is on the part of that old woman who wants to see us all dead … .”
He stopped talking when his microphone was cut off. There was no escaping the situation; he only hoped that he could make The Hradil lose her temper. She was possessed with anger—he could tell that by the hiss in her voice when she spoke—but she still kept it under control.
“Yes, we will do as the prisoner suggests. I have consulted with my fellow judges and they agree with me. We will drop all the charges, all except the important one. Treason. We have had enough of this man and his flouting of legitimate authority. We have been lenient because these are dangerous times and some leniency must be allowed to get things done. Perhaps we were in error by allowing the prisoner too much freedom to act against the established ways. This error must be erased. I ask the technical recorder to read from the Book of the Law. The third entry, labeled ‘treason’, under the laws of rule.”
The technician ran his fingers over the keys of his computer, finding the proper section and displaying it on the screen before him. As soon as he had the entry correct he pressed the audio output. In commanding tones the law boomed forth.
“Treason. Whomsoever shall reveal the secrets of the state to others shall be guilty of treason. Whomsoever shall reveal the details of the operations of the authorities shall be guilty of treason. Whomsoever shall flaunt the majesty of the authorities and induce others to go against the authority of the state shall be guilty of treason. The penalty for treason is death and the penalty shall be exacted twenty-four hours, after sentencing.
There was shocked silence as the voice faded away. Then The Hradil spoke.
“You have heard the nature of the crime and its punishment. You will now hear the evidence. I will supply the evidence myself. Before the Families and before the Heads of Families the prisoner mocked the authority of the Heads of Families, the duly constituted authorities here. When he was ordered to cease in his disloyalty and obey orders, he defied them. He ordered that the machines be stopped by some mechanical means known to him, unless a second trip was made to get corn. This trip was made and many died because of him. By acting in this manner and causing others to defy authority in this manner he became guilty of treason. This is the evidence, the judges will now decide.”
“I demand to be heard,” Jan shouted. “How can you try me without my being permitted to speak?”
Although the microphone before him was disconnected, those closest to the platform could hear what he said. There were shouts from his friends, from others, that he be allowed to speak. Not surprisingly there were other cries that he be silenced. The Hradil listened to this in silence, then conferred with the other judges. It was Chun Taekeng, as Senior Elder, who made the announcement.
“We are merciful, and things must be done by the rule of law. The prisoner will be permitted to speak before judgement is passed on him. But I warn him that if he speaks treason again he will be silenced at once.”
Jan looked over at the judges, then rose and turned to the massed crowd. What could he say that would not be called treasonous? If he said one word about the other planets or the Earth he would be cut off. He had to play this by their rules now. There seemed little hope —but he had to try.
“People of Halvmörk. I am being tried today because I did everything in my power to save your lives and save the corn which is sure to be badly needed by the ships when they come. That is all I have done. Some have opposed me and they were in error and it will be proved that they were in error. My only crime, and it is not a crime, was to point out the new and dangerous situation and outline ways to handle it. Things we did have never been done before—but that doesn’t mean that they were wrong. Just new. The old rules did not apply to the new situations. I had to act as strongly as possible or the new things would not have been done. What I did was not treason, but just common sense. I cannot be condemned for that … .”
“That is enough,” The Hradil said, breaking in. His microphone went dead. “The prisoner’s arguments will be considered. The judges will now confer.”
She was arrogant in her power. There was no conferring. She simply wrote on a piece of paper and passed it to the next judge. He wrote and passed it along. They all wrote quickly; it was obvious what the word was. The paper was passed in the end to Chun Taekeng who barely glanced at it before he spoke.
“Guilty. The prisoner is found guilty. He will die by garroting in twenty-four hours. Garroting is the punishment for treason.”
There had never been an execution on this planet before, not in the lifetime of any of those present. They had never even heard of the means of punishment. They shouted to each other, calling out questions to the judges. Hyzo Santos pushed through the crowd, to the edge, and his voice could be heard over the others.
“That’s not treason, what Jan did. He’s the only sane man here. If what he did was treason then the rest of us are guilty of treason as well—”
Proctor Captain Scheer raised his gun, at point blank range, and fired. The flame wrapped Hyzo’s body, charring him in an instant, turning the shocked horror on his face to a black mask. He was dead before he fell.
There were screams as those nearby pushed back, moans of pain from those burnt by the edges of the blast. The Hradil spoke.
“A man has been executed. He shouted aloud that he was guilty of treason. Are there any more who wish to cry out they are guilty of treason. Come forward, speak plainly, you will be heard.”
She purred the words, hoping for a response. Those closest pushed back, on the verge of panic. None came forward. Jan looked at the body of his friend and felt a strange numbness. Dead. Killed because of him. Perhaps the charges were right and he did bring chaos and death. He stirred when Scheer stepped behind him and grabbed him by the arms so he could not move. Jan understood why when he saw The Hradil coming slowly towards him.
“Do you see where your folly has led you, Kulozik?” she said. “I warned you not to defy me, but you would not listen. You had to preach treason. Men have died because of you, the last but moments ago. But that is at an end now because you are at an end. We will soon be finished with you. Alzbeta wi
ll be finished with you … .”
“Don’t soil her name by speaking it with your putrid lips!”
Jan had not meant to speak, but she goaded him to it.
“Alzbeta will no longer be married to you when you are dead, will she? That is the only way to terminate a marriage, and this one will be terminated. And your child will be raised by another man, will call another man father.”
“What are you talking about, hag?”
“Oh, didn’t she tell you? Perhaps she forgot. Perhaps she thought you might find the idea of her married to another repugnant. She will have a child, your child—”
She stopped, gaping, when Jan burst into loud laughter, shaking in Scheer’s hard grip.
“Do not laugh, it is true,” she cried.
“Take me from her, take my to my cell,” Jan called out, turning away, still laughing. Her news had had the opposite effect from that she had wished for. This was such good news. He said that to Alzbeta when she came to see him in his cell after he had been locked away.
“You should have told me,” he said. “You must have known better than that scruffy old bitch how I would react.”
“I wasn’t sure. It was such wonderful news, just a short while ago. The doctor must have told her, I didn’t know she knew. I just didn’t want to bother you.”
“Bother? A little good news goes a long way in these bitter times. The baby itself is what counts. I could be killed at any time—but you will still have our child. To me, that is the important thing. You should have seen that monster’s face when I started to laugh. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was the best thing I could have done. She is so evil she can’t appreciate that others can have any wholesome or decent thoughts.”
Alzbeta nodded. “I used to be hurt when you talked like that about her, it bothered me so. After all, she is The Hradil. But you are right. She is all those things and more … .”
“Don’t talk like that, not here.”
“Because of the recordings being made? I know about that now, one of your friends told me. But I want her to hear, I want to tell her these things myself. She worked so hard to keep us apart.”
And in the end she is going to succeed, Jan thought, blackly. She has won. The sight of Alzbeta so near yet so untouchable was too much at the moment.
“Go now, please,” he told her. “But come back later, do you promise?”
“Of course.”
He fell onto the bed, his back to the window, not wishing to see her leave. Then it was all over. Hyzo was the only one who might have done something to help him. But Hyzo was dead, angered by her as she must have planned. Killed by her as she had carefully planned as well. No one else could organize any help in the short time left. He had friends, many of them, but they were helpless. And enemies as well, everyone who hated change and blamed him for everything. Probably the majority of people on this world. Well he had done what he could for them. Not very much. Though if the ships came now they would have the corn waiting. Not that the people here would avail themselves of the advantage. They would bow like the peasants they were and go back to the fields and servitude, and slave their lives away for no reward, no future. Nothing. He had had the brief time with Alzbeta; that was worth a lot to him. Better to have had something than nothing. And she would have their son, hopefully a son. Or better, a daughter. A son of his might have too many of his father’s characteristics. A daughter would be better. The meek did not inherit the earth here, but perhaps they lived a bit longer with a little more happiness. All of which would be academic if the ships never came. They might be able to get most of the people through to the north just one more time with the decaying equipment. Probably not even that, if he were not there to put things back together.
And he was not going to be there, because in a few short hours more he would be dead. He hung heavily from the bars of the tiny window and looked out at the perpetual gray of the sky. The garrote. No one here had ever heard of it. Revived by the rulers of Earth for the worst offenders. He had been forced to witness an execution of this kind once. The prisoner seated on the specially built chair with the high back. The hole behind his neck. The loop of thick cord passed around his neck with the ends through the hole. The handle attached to the cord that turned and tightened and shortened it until the prisoner was throttled, painfully, and dead. There had to be a sadist to tighten the cord. No shortage of them. Surely Scheer would volunteer for the job.
“Someone to see you,” the guard called in.
“No visitors. I want to see no one else other than Alzbeta. Respect a man’s last wishes. And get me some food and beer. Plenty of beer.”
He drank, but he had no appetite for the food. Alzbeta came once again and they talked quietly, closely, as close as they could get. She was there when the Proctors came for him and they ordered her away.
“No surprise to see you, Scheer,” Jan said. “Are they going to be nice and let you turn the handle on the machine?”
Jan could tell by the man’s sudden pallor and silence that his guess had been right. “But maybe I’ll kill you first,” he said and raised his fist.
Scheer lurched back, scrambling for his gun, a coward. Jan did not smile at the spectacle. He was tired of them, tired of them all, tired of this stupid peasant world, almost ready to welcome oblivion.
Nineteen
It was the same platform that had been used for the trial; the same public address system still set up. Nothing was wasted; everything was carefully planned. But the chairs and tables placed there for the trial had been removed and a single item put in their place. The high-backed chair of the garrote. Carefully made, Jan noticed in a cold and distant way, not done in a day. All well prepared. He had stopped, unconsciously, at the sight of it, his guard of Proctors stopping too.
This was a moment suspended in time, as though no one was sure just what to do next. The five judges, mute witnesses to their decision, stood on the platform. The crowd watched. Men, women, children, every inhabitant of the planet well enough to walk must have stood there, jammed in the Central Way. Silent as death itself, waiting for death. The perpetually overcast sky pressed down like a mourning blanket against the silence.
Broken suddenly by Chun Taekeng, never patient, always angry, immune to the emotions that gripped the others.
“Bring him over, don’t just stand there. Let us get on with this.”
The momentary spell ended. The Proctors pushed Jan forward suddenly so that he stumbled against the lowest step and almost fell. It angered him; he did not want to be thought a coward at this moment. He pushed back hard against them, shrugging their hands from his arms. Free for the instant, he started up the steps by himself so that they had to hurry after him. The crowd saw this and responded with a gentle murmur, almost a sigh.
“Come forward. Sit there,” Chun Taekeng ordered.
“Don’t I get to speak any last words?”
“What? Of course not! It is not ordered that way. Sit!”
Jan strode towards the chair of the garrote, arms firmly gripped again by the Proctors. He saw only Chun Taekeng, The Hradil, the other judges, and an immense loathing welled up within him, forcing out the words.
“How I hate you all, with your stupid little criminal minds. How you destroy people’s lives, waste them, subjugate them. You should be dying, not me … .”
“Kill him!” The Hradil ordered, raw hatred in her face for the first time. “Kill him now, I want to see him die.”
The Proctors pulled at Jan, forcing him towards the garrote, while he pulled back, trying to get to the judges, to somehow break free and wreak vengeance upon them. Every eye was upon this silent struggle.
No one noticed the man in the dark uniform who pushed through the crowd. They made way for him, closed ranks behind him, staring at the platform. He struggled through the jammed front ranks and climbed the steps, until he was standing on the platform itself.
“Release that man,” he said. “This affair is now conclud
ed.”
He walked slowly across the platform and took the microphone from Chun Taekeng’s limp fingers and repeated the words so that everyone could hear them.
No one moved. There was absolute silence.
The man was a stranger. They had never seen him before.
The fact was an impossibility. On a planet where no one arrived, where no one left, every person was known by sight, if not by name. There could be no strangers. Yet this man was a stranger.
Whether he meant to fire or not, Proctor Captain Scheer started to raise his gun. The newcomer saw the motion and turned toward him, a small and sinister weapon ready in his hand.
“If you don’t drop that gun I will kill you instantly,” he said. There was cold resolve in his voice and Scheers’s fingers opened and the gun dropped. “You others as well. Put your weapons down.” They did as ordered. Only when the guns were safely out of their reach did he raise the microphone and speak into it again.
“You other Proctors out there. I want you to know that there are men on all sides aiming weapons at you. If you attempt to resist you will be killed at once. Turn and see.”
They did, everyone in the crowd, as well as the Proctors, noticing for the first time the armed men who silently appeared on the tops of the buildings along the Central Way. They held long and deadly weapons equipped with telescopic sights, aimed downward. There was no doubt that they would use them efficiently and quickly.
“Proctors, bring your weapons up here,” the echoing voice ordered.
Jan stepped forward and looked at the man, at the two other armed strangers who joined him on the platform, and felt an immense relief surge through him. Just for an instant. His execution might only have been postponed.
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