She was waiting for them just inside the door. Sally recognized her, even without the identifying color-coded waistband. The Shimmies saw no point in wearing clothes, but many of them found it convenient to hang a carrying pouch on their belt.
“Hello again,” Skeeter signed, slowly, knowing the limits of Sally’s mastery of sign language. “Say hello Mr. Karst from me. How case going?”
Skeeter was all chimp, except for the expression in her brown eyes. That expression, to Sally, made her all human.
“It went well last week.” She spoke very slowly and clearly, though in Skeeter’s case that was hardly necessary. “But tomorrow the other side begins their case. We do not know what they will say.”
“Wish I there.” She gave the sign for humor. “Be witness.”
Sally smiled back, and turned to Leon Karst. “Skeeter says she wishes she could appear in court, too, and be a witness for us.”
“Sure. Tell her—” Leon paused and shook his head. He smiled at the Shimmy. “Sorry, Skeeter. I forget that you understand. I wish you could be a witness, too. It is a flaw in our legal system—a bad piece of our system. Until you have human rights, you cannot be used for a witness, even though your testimony is just what we need to guarantee you those rights.”
“Say, I understand.” Skeeter signed to Sally. “Mr. Karst not comfortable here, right? Tell him, we all thank his work. Know he win for us. Take him now, keep his thinking happy for tomorrow.”
And if that isn’t human (or superhuman) sensitivity, thought Sally, then I don’t know what is. “We have to go upstairs first, Skeeter, and talk to general counsel—”
“Who ‘General Counsel’?” Skeeter spelled the words out, syllable by syllable.
“General counsel is top lawyer for the Animal Rights League. He’ll want to know what to expect tomorrow.”
“Me, too. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” Sally returned the sign for “Good luck”—one of the few dozen she could make with confidence, and led Leon toward the elevator.
And since we don’t know what to expect tomorrow, she thought, we need all the luck we can get.
Leon Karst had been right on almost all his predictions. Neither Sally nor anyone else in the office had been able to learn more about Russell Grenville’s mission to the Egyptian Cluster, or its outcome. A check at the Wallops Island spaceport on Sunday evening revealed only that Grenville was expected there about midnight, and would be driven to the tribunal in time for the Monday hearings. Deirdre Walsh did not call at any time during the weekend, to propose settlement negotiations or for any other reason.
But on two points, Leon Karst proved dead wrong. First, Captain Russell Grenville did not stand up in court on Monday morning. He could not.
The courtroom was full to capacity by eight-thirty. Judge Williams and the other two tribunal members were in their seats by eight fifty-five. At one minute to nine, the doors to the chambers occupied by representatives of the Attarian Corporation and their legal counsel opened. Two men entered. They were carrying a flat padded table between them. On that table, upright, was Captain Russell Grenville. He was held by a harness at chest and midriff. He was armless and legless.
The broad head and the full beard were unmistakable. But the heavy shoulders no longer supported well-muscled arms, and the long, strong legs had been removed at the hips.
And contrary to Leon Karst’s prediction, Russell Grenville did not begin his testimony at nine o’clock. The screams, shouts, and general chaos that erupted at Grenville’s entry took fifteen minutes to subside. One woman and one man fainted, and had to be carried out; another three were forcibly ejected, shouting unintelligible slogans. Sally could not tell which side of the case they were on.
In the middle of the confusion, Leon Karst leaned over to her. “That’s the way you do it, if you’re Deirdre Walsh.” He spoke in a low voice, but he could have shouted without drawing attention. “You see, it doesn’t matter what Grenville says now. He has the sympathy of everyone in the courtroom, even the tribunal members. They’ll try to be objective, but they’re human, too. Bang goes our case.”
His eyes were gleaming—with admiration, not emotion. (Sally remembered what she had been told when she first came to work. “Leon leaves his emotions outside the courtroom. He has a guiding principle there: ‘What counts in legal practice is honesty, decency, and sincerity. As soon as you learn to fake those, you have it made.’”)
“What can we do, Leon?”
He shrugged. “Lie low. Listen, watch, think. But we may be dead in the water. Unless something new comes up, I’m not a big enough fool to cross-examine Grenville.”
Sally realized just how carefully Grenville’s appearance and testimony were being managed when order was finally restored and it was time to swear in the witness.
Deirdre Walsh turned to the judge and said simply, “Your Honor, Captain Grenville has never told anything other than the truth. I hope that is enough.” She left it to the audience (and the tribunal) to realize that the usual practice of the witness raising his right hand for swearing-in was here impossible.
Russell Grenville held his torso upright on the cushions. If what had happened to him had affected his mind, it was impossible to tell that from his face.
“Captain Grenville.” Deirdre Walsh began quietly, speaking so softly that the courtroom stilled to hear her. “Let me first ask you to confirm certain details of your personal history.”
She began to list his accomplishments, the same ones that Sally had read two nights before. It took many minutes. Russell Grenville said no more than “That’s right,” or “That is so,” as he was asked for confirmation of an event or an award. But at the end, there was not even a whisper in the courtroom.
“Very well,” said Deirdre Walsh at last. “Now I would like to ask you certain questions about your most recent expedition. Would you agree, Captain Grenville, that this was not supposed to be a particularly dangerous mission? That perhaps the participants of that mission were rather more worried about possible boredom than about catastrophe?”
“Solar System exploration always has an element of danger.” Grenville’s voice was calm and rational, and yet its utterance from deep within his chest somehow made the listener more aware of the truncated body around it. “However, I would agree that I did not see peril as the major element of the mission.”
“And for the reason, you permitted a group of Schimmerhann chimpanzees to be included in your ship’s crew?”
“I did.”
“But it would be fair to say, would it not, that you objected to their presence?”
(“She’s leading him!” whispered Sally.
“She sure is,” replied Leon Karst, just as softly. “But there’s times you object, and there’s times you don’t. For the moment, we keep quiet.”)
“I objected very much. Orally, and in writing.” For the first time, there was an element of feeling in Grenville’s voice.
“Would you mind explaining to the court the basis for your objections?”
“I would not mind at all. The ship that I was commanding, the Poseidon of the Hecuba series, calls for eight crew members and a central command computer. That is ample to permit efficient operation of the vessel. There is plenty of space, but ideally that should be reserved for cargo. I was asked to add to the usual complement of crew six Schimmerhann chimpanzees, and to evaluate their possible use in the space environment. I stated, orally and in writing, that it was my task to undertake a serious mission, with serious objectives. I had no interest in managing a spaceborne zoo, whether of Shimmies or anything else.”
While the courtroom buzzed with excited reaction, Leon Karst turned to Sally and shook his head. “I know,” he said softly. “We could object to the implication that Shimmies belong in a zoo. But this isn’t the time for it.”
“You allowed the wishes of your superiors to override your better judgment?” went on Deirdre Walsh, as the hubbub died down.
; “I am a member of the Space Navy. As such I believe that we are all better served by the obeying of orders, rather than the following of individual whim. Any naval officer who feels otherwise ought to resign his or her commission.”
In other words, said Sally to herself, I did it because it was my duty—not because I thought that it was a good idea. The packed courtroom was again dead silent.
“Tell us now, if you will, about the trip to the Egyptian Cluster. The six Schimmerhann chimpanzees were with you for over a year. Did you learn to work with them during that time?”
Grenville hesitated for a moment. “Yes, we did. I personally, and several of my crew. But not in the way that we had expected before the trip began. The crew resented the idea that they ought to learn Shimmy sign language. I did not feel it was my task to insist that they should. The Shimmies understood verbal commands—”
“Simple verbal commands?”
“Simple verbal commands, exactly.” (That’s right, Grenville, said Leon Karst, just loud enough for Sally to hear. Stick to the script.) “Enough to carry out simple shipboard duties. And one of my crew members devised a system using a video camera and the ship’s main computer that allowed sign language gestures to be translated into audible form.”
Judge Williams leaned forward. “Excuse me, Captain.” His voice was friendly, almost deferential. “Do you mean that, by a Shimmy making gestures into the camera, some sort of dictionary of gestures was stored in the computer and used to generate spoken language equivalents?”
“Exactly, your Honor. I should point out that this called for considerable changes to the standard Shimmy sign language, in order for the computer translation to work. But there was plenty of time to work on that. By the time that we had been in space for nine months, the system had reached a satisfactory form. I could use it, though I was not our expert.”
“And by that time, what were you doing?”
“We had reached the outlying members of the Egyptian Cluster, and we were busy with assay work. A number of the smaller bodies contain high-grade deposits of valuable minerals, but they had never been inventoried. We spent the next two months on that work.”
“And the Schimmerhann chimpanzees”—as always, the counsel for the Attarian Corporation emphasized the last word. She never referred to them as Shimmies—“were they used in this assay work?”
“By no means. That work calls for scientific training. I would entrust it only to my crew.” Grenville hesitated, then added: “However, occasionally one or two of the Schimmerhann chimpanzees would accompany crew members in the pinnace. That is the small free-flying exploration module that was housed in the main ship—”
“But the Schimmerhann chimpanzees had no active role to play, did they?” interrupted Deirdre Walsh. Sally had the feeling that Grenville had been moving onto unrehearsed ground. She made a note for later discussion with Leon Karst.
“Not in the assay operation. Nor in the operation of the pinnace. They were there, if you like, as supercargo.”
“Very well. Now, Captain Grenville.” Deirdre Walsh dropped her voice a tone. “Now we must come to something that I know will be a very painful memory to you. Would you please describe to this court the final terrible hours aboard your ship, just as you remember them.”
“Very well.” Grenville cleared his throat. When he continued his voice was perfectly steady, but nonetheless a shiver of anticipation ran through the courtroom.
“We had examined a small fragment co-orbiting with Bast—that’s one of the bigger Cluster members, eleven kilometers in mean diameter. We were ready to head for Atmu, and on the way I was proposing to pay a visit to Horus and drop off medical supplies to the mining colony there. It was early in our working day. I and three of my crew members were in the forward part of the ship. The other crew bunked aft. The Schimmerhann chimpanzees were all midships, in a modified cargo compartment. I was initiating the control sequence for an in-space attitude change, ready to direct us on a low-thrust approach path to Horus, and as I was leaning over the control board I was struck a violent blow on the back of the head.”
Grenville lifted his face to the ceiling, and rolled his head back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. Sally Polk felt that what Grenville really wanted to do was rub at the back of his skull with one vanished hand.
“I began to turn, but before I could get more than halfway round I was hit again, even harder. That knocked me cold.”
“What else do you remember of events inside the ship?”
“Inside the ship? I remember nothing. My next memory is of waking in the emergency medical facility on Horus. Two of my crew were with me. We were all—like this.” Grenville turned his head, to look at the empty jacket sleeves.
“Where are those crew members now?”
“They are still on Horus. In due course they ought to be brought to Earth. We will all be fitted with prosthetics. I am told that these days they can do wonderful things with prosthetics.”
“The other two are expected to survive?”
“Oh, yes. We will all survive. Unfortunately.”
The impact was in his words, not in his calm tone. Sally felt sick. A few weeks ago Russell Grenville had been a complete man, healthy and powerful. Now…
“What happened to the other crew members?” said Deirdre Walsh gently. “And to the Schimmerhann chimpanzees?”
“I am not sure. This can be only a conjecture.” Grenville nodded at Leon Karst, forestalling any possible objection. “But it is, sir, a conjecture based on good evidence. First, we arrived at Horus in our little pinnace, not in the ship. It’s a miracle that we made it at all, because we were down to our last dregs of power. The main ship itself has not been found, although a search is being made for it throughout the Egyptian Cluster.”
“So could the other crew members perhaps be alive on that ship?”
“Absolutely not. We each wore life-support beacons, transmitting on selected frequencies and with coded identification signals. They function as long as their wearer is alive, and they have enough power for years of operation. The other crew members are dead.”
“And the Schimmerhann chimpanzees. Did they also wear beacons?”
“It was not considered necessary. Or appropriate.”
“So the Schimmerhann chimpanzees might still be alive?” Deirdre Walsh glanced across at Leon Karst. “Before my honored colleague can object to that question as leading or conjectural, let me ask Captain Grenville to comment in his own way.”
“Thank you, Counsel,” said Judge Williams. But the reproof in his tone was mild.
“They might certainly be alive,” said Grenville. “But it’s my bet they are all dead. One of them certainly is. We had been having some discipline problems with all of them for a week or two. They didn’t like some of their assignments, and they were doing a sloppier and sloppier job. I think they became angry when they were chastised, and so they attacked without warning. I feel sure they put my crew out of action and gained the run of the whole ship. They killed some, and then did—what they did—” he drew in a long, controlled breath “—to the rest of us. Then they stuck us in the pinnace, and let us fly off to die. But they were stuck, too, because running the ship was way beyond them. They could be gibbering on their way to Sirius by now, with no idea how to turn off the drive.”
“And what would you say, Captain Grenville, if you were asked again to lead a ship with Schimmerhann chimpanzees as part of the crew?”
Grenville smiled wearily, and took plenty of time to look all around the courtroom. “Don’t you think that is rather an improbable request, Counsel, given my present condition? But I’ll answer you. I would say, no. I would say, definitely no. I would say, never. I would say, not under penalty of court martial, or any other penalty you care to name. I will never again permit myself to be in a situation in which a Schimmerhann chimpanzee is in a position to do me harm.”
Deirdre Walsh moved forward to stand directly in front of him. “So based on you
r experience, you would say that the Schimmerhann chimpanzees are no more than animals—and murderous, unreliable animals at that?” And then, before Leon Karst could voice his objection: “I withdraw that question. Thank you, Captain Grenville. You are a true hero. No further questions, your Honor.”
“Thank you, Counsel.” Judge Williams consulted his watch. “Captain Grenville, we have several more hours available today. But I know that you arrived recently on Earth, and this recollection of events must have been dreadfully taxing to you. I want to express the appreciation of this court for your testimony. And I want to ask if you need a rest, before we permit cross-examination. I must add that, because of the unusual circumstances of your appearance here, counsel for the plaintiff has the right to defer cross-examination until tomorrow.”
“I would prefer to continue now,” said Grenville. “If plaintiff’s counsel is willing.”
Every head in court turned toward Karst. He gave Sally Polk one quick glance out of the corner of his eye (Screwed—I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t) and rose to his feet.
“Thank you, Captain. I have just a few questions. And thank you, your Honor, for noting plaintiff’s right to hold over some cross-examination for tomorrow.”
He moved to stand in front of Grenville, blocking the captain’s view of Deirdre Walsh.
“Captain, I was perplexed by one point of your testimony. If I am quoting you correctly, you stated concerning the probable dead state of the Shimmies on board your ship: ‘One of them certainly is.’ And you mentioned this in connection with discipline problems on board. Am I to infer that a Shimmy was put to death on the ship?”
“Certainly not.” Grenville’s reply came without hesitation. “I put no Shimmy to death. However, I would certainly claim my right to do so to save a crew member.”
“So what was the basis for your comment?”
Georgia On My Mind and Other Places Page 21
