“One of the Schimmerhann chimpanzees was on the pinnace that reached Horus. No surviving crew member was conscious at the time, but the miners on Horus saw what had been done to us. They formed their own conclusion as to what must have happened on the ship. And they tried and executed that Schimmerhann chimpanzee, within hours of our arrival.”
There was a gasp and a stirring in the courtroom, but Leon Karst was pressing on. “‘Trial and execution’—you suggest, Captain, that the miners recognized the Shimmy’s humanity.”
“I used the wrong term. They had the Shimmy put down.”
“Then let me ask another question. You lived closely with a group of Shimmies for over a year. You had a chance to observe them. Did you notice much variability in Shimmy intelligence?”
“Your Honor.” Deirdre Walsh moved to stand between Karst and the tribunal. “I hope that this is relevant. We have had testimony ad nauseam concerning the intelligence or lack of it of the Schimmerhann chimpanzees. I don’t see what can be added at this point.”
Judge Williams nodded. “Your comment is noted. Captain Grenville, please answer the question.”
But Grenville was hesitating. “Variability of intelligence. You mean from one Shimmy to another, Mr. Karst?”
“I mean exactly that.”
“Then, yes. Three of them—Pip, Squeak, and Wilfred, the crew called them—were very dumb. Only able to follow the simplest directives. But one of the others, Skip, he was…well…”
“He was more intelligent than the others?”
“He was supposedly much more alert. I would not use the word intelligent. More…If I say that the crew found him more understanding of instructions, I hope I will not be misinterpreted. He was certainly no more responsive, in my opinion, than any well-trained sheepdog.”
“Very well. Could you tell us in a little more detail what the functions of the Shimmies were on your ship?”
“They were various. The Schimmerhann chimpanzees all helped in cleaning and general maintenance. Two of them did simple tasks in the galley. One of them was assigned to help the ship’s physician. One of them assisted in the preparation of samples for mineral assay.” Grenville turned to look at the members of the tribunal. “I want to make it clear that in every case the functions of the Shimmies were controlled and checked by human crew members. I insisted on it.”
“Even if it was not necessary?”
“In my opinion, it was always necessary.”
“Very well. Captain Grenville, you were unconscious when the pinnace reached Horus. Do you happen to know which of the Shimmies was on that ship?”
“I assume I do. I saw his identification band, after he’d been spaced.”
“Spaced?”
“Dumped out of an airlock by the miners. Unless for some reason two of the Shimmies changed IDs, the one that arrived at Horus on the pinnace was Skip.”
“The most intelligent of the Shimmies?”
“Objection. Your Honor, Captain Grenville explicitly stated that the word ‘intelligent’ is inappropriate.”
“I withdraw the question. Let me replace it with this. You mentioned that when the pinnace reached Horus, ‘it’s a miracle that we made it at all, because we were down to our last dregs of power.’ Now, isn’t it possible that your ‘miracle’ happened because Skip, the most alert and responsive of the Shimmies, had a hand in directing the progress of the pinnace toward Horus?”
Grenville shook his head. “Mr. Karst, almost anything is possible. You ought to ask me if it is probable. Then I can assure you that it is most improbable that Skip had any hand in the arrival of the pinnace at Horus.”
“But it is not impossible. Captain, one final question. The mutilation and injuries that you have suffered are dreadful, truly horrifying. It is difficult to imagine beings depraved enough to inflict them. Have you ever heard it suggested that Shimmies, anywhere, might be such fiends?”
“No, sir.” Grenville gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “But I am here. And two of my crew are as badly off as I am. A fiend is only known as a fiend when he behaves like one.”
“But we do not make such an assessment without direct evidence. Thank you, Captain.” Leon Karst nodded to Grenville, turned, and faced the tribunal. “Your Honor, until Friday afternoon we had no idea who the witness would be today. Captain Grenville arrived on Earth just last night. We have no records relevant to his testimony, nor information as to what records even exist. With your permission, I would like to request of the defendant that certain information be made available to me for review. And I would like to defer further cross-examination until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Sally Polk couldn’t understand what was happening. With their own case drifting out of control and Russell Grenville dominating the courtroom, the atmosphere that night in Leon Karst’s offices should have been gloom and despondency. Instead, Karst was crackling with energy and enthusiasm.
He sat facing Sally across a heap of transcripts, tapes, and photographs, a fat Dutch cigar unlit in his mouth. Deirdre Walsh, anticipating Karst’s request for information, had delivered a mountain of data at five o’clock, as late as the court permitted, and now they were taking their first skim through it.
“We have to look at all this before tomorrow morning, every bit,” said Karst cheerfully. “And we’re going to do it. But the index to what they’ve given us is missing at least one thing I may need. What’s the signal travel time to the Horns mining colony?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Nor have I. Find out. If it’s less than a few hours, send a message asking Horus to transmit through a video link anything they have that shows the actual trial and execution of the Shimmy. Sound and picture. We’ll pay all costs. I’ll notify the tribunal and the defendant that we’re making the request, and we’ll ask the court’s permission to use what we get as evidence.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Try to get some courtroom sympathy for the Shimmies. In the manifest they’re identified only by number, but Grenville’s crew helped us a lot by giving them names. If we’re lucky, the court will witness the death of poor, helpless Skip, not some anonymous monkey. And the other thing we have to do is somehow cast doubt on Grenville’s version of what happened. He’s too damned charismatic.”
Sally stood up. “Leon, didn’t you tell me that the first rule of cross-examination is to ask questions that allow the witness only to give a yes or no answer?”
“I certainly did.”
“But today you asked Captain Grenville questions that allowed him to say all sorts of things.”
“Sure. Circumstances alter cases. They damn well altered this case. On Friday afternoon, we had it won. By noon today, we had lost.”
But Leon Karst did not have the look of a man who had just lost a big case.
“So I had to go on a fishing expedition,” he went on. “I told you that you win cases on direct testimony, not on cross-examination. But the introduction of Grenville changed the rules—for all of us. Don’t think that Deirdre is resting easy tonight. She’s sweating her way through this material, as much as we are. A lot of it will have arrived with Grenville on Sunday, and she doesn’t know what’s in there any more than I do. It’s like a game of poker. When one of the players throws in a wild card, everybody starts biting their fingernails.”
As Sally went out, she realized something that ought to have been obvious long ago. Leon Karst didn’t care about the Shimmies. All he cared about was the case. He would have worked just as hard for the defendant if his legal firm had been approached by them.
And yet the Shimmies were intelligent! Sally was absolutely convinced of it, after her meetings with them. They deserved protection and rights. So what did Leon really mean, when he said he did not want too much exposure to the Shimmies? That he did not want justice—real justice—to interfere with his fighting of the case! And Deirdre Walsh, almost certainly, was just the same. They were both obsessed with the lega
l battle and unconcerned with issues and ethics. Was that “true human” behavior?
Sally wondered how much she really wanted to be a partner in a leading law firm.
The change in less than twenty-four hours could not be missed. Yesterday the tribunal members had greeted Leon Karst and his team warmly, while remaining just a little cool toward Deirdre Walsh.
Today, Judge Williams was as unreadable as ever; but Laurel Garver, seated as usual on the judge’s right, was avoiding even looking in Sally and Leon Karst’s direction. Instead, she was smiling at Russell Grenville and Deirdre Walsh. And since the tribunal members would have dined together the previous evening, thought Sally, Garver’s attitude surely reflected the tenor of those dinner discussions.
The members of the public did not try to disguise their views. Leon was hissed as he stood up to continue cross-examination. Order was restored quickly enough by Judge Williams, but the overwhelming sympathy felt for Russell Grenville showed on every face.
The captain himself looked different today, pale and tired. His head nodded forward, resting his chin on a torso that now seemed shrunken and pathetic on its cushioned support.
“Good morning, Captain.”
Grenville nodded minimally at Karst’s greeting, but he scarcely glanced at the smiling lawyer. Like Sally, Leon Karst had slept for less than two hours. Unlike Sally, he seemed to thrive on it. His hair was neatly combed, his white shirt pressed, his modest pearl tie clip exactly centered. He had told Sally his strategy over breakfast. Since the known facts about Grenville’s mutilation were so damning to their case, it was time to take a blind leap. Karst’s Rule: Conservatism is only right if you’re winning.
“Captain Grenville,” he began. “I would like to return to something that you told this court yesterday. One of your crew members had developed a method of converting the Shimmies’ sign language to sounds. Is that correct?”
“Quite correct.”
“And those sounds can then be interpreted?”
“By someone familiar with them. Not by anyone. The sounds are in a short of sonic shorthand.”
“You were familiar with them, yourself?”
“Moderately so. Less than two of my other crew members, who are now dead.”
Leon took a small recording disk from the table in front of him, and showed it to the judge. “Your Honor, I request that this be admitted to the case as Exhibit 27. It constitutes a copy of a recording disk found on the pinnace carrying Captain Grenville and his crew members when they arrived at Horus.”
Sally saw a quick look pass between Deirdre Walsh and her two assistants. Had they been able to review the disk last night with Grenville? Leon was betting that they had not, since the captain had been taken away for medical examinations.
“Captain, do you recognize this disk?”
“All the data disks on the Poseidon were identical in appearance. But I certainly recognize its type as one carried on the ship.”
“But you have not listened to this disk yourself?”
“How can I say, without knowing its contents?”
“Captain, we are not sure ourselves of the contents of this disk. We would like to play it to you now through earphones. You will be able to activate the on/off switch, simply by moving your head backward. Would you listen, and interpret what you hear?”
“I could certainly try.”
Deirdre Walsh half rose from her seat, glanced at the judge, and subsided.
This is it, said Sally to herself. I hope I’m right, but if I’m wrong, then boy, am I wrong! It will be all over.
She had spent five hours during the night, sweating over the disk, trying to convert a strange form of oral shorthand to full meaning. She had finally been able to convince Leon—but was she convinced herself?
“I should explain to you,” Leon Karst was saying, to the general audience as much as to the tribunal, “that this disk carries on it the time and date of its own recording. The time will of course be confirmed by independent sources, but I can tell you it was made three and a half days before the arrival of the Poseidon’s pinnace at Horus—and just three hours after the last routine transmission from Captain Grenville’s ship.”
His voice was matter-of-fact, but Sally could not take her eyes off Russell Grenville’s expression. Leon was going to throw the man back into a terrible time, perhaps the very time when his mutilation had occurred. And yet Grenville looked totally stoical. A superhero. When someone had already been through so many shattering experiences in his life, maybe nothing could ever break him.
And perhaps no one could discredit him.
The earphones had been adjusted, while the witness sat there with eyes closed. The sounds he was hearing from the disk were broadcast at low volume through the courtroom, a series of slow, harsh monosyllables. Sally had been forced to write them out, one by one, and then try to string them together to make sense. But he had had a year of practice, he would do it on the fly.
“Chest hurt,” said Grenville after a few moments. “Chest bad.” (So she had been right, on at least the first item! Sally’s flood of relief was so intense that she almost missed the next sentence.)
Grenville’s head had jerked back to stop the recording. His eyes flickered open. He turned to give Deirdre Walsh one startled look, then his head moved compulsively forward.
“Ship die—breaking,” he said. “Five man die, three Shimmies die. Three man sleep, three Shimmies wake. Ship dying, breaking.”
Again the bearded head jerked back. Grenville stared at Leon Karst. “Is this genuine—a recording truly found in the pinnace?” His voice was hoarse.
“According to the counsel for the defendants, it is. They gave it to us.” Leon Karst nodded toward Deirdre Walsh and smiled at her. But you didn’t listen to it, did you, sweetheart? And the captain is hearing this for the first time.
Grenville could not resist. His head was moving forward again, his eyes closing in concentration as the slurred sounds began again.
“Little ship. Little ship fly. One man yes, two man yes, three man no. But need Shimmy. Three man sleep, three man small, two Shimmy die, one Shimmy fly. Sad, sorry. Only answer.”
The sounds from the disk continued, but Grenville was opening his eyes. “It goes on, but the message is repeating.”
“And did you understand it, Captain?”
“I understood the words, not the meaning. It’s gibberish.”
“Then would you allow me to offer you an interpretation, and see if you agree with it?”
But Deirdre Walsh was on her feet. “Your Honor, do we have to waste the time of this court on a stream of what is rightly described as gibberish? Captain Grenville has said he does not understand it, and he is the expert. What purpose is served by listening to the plaintiff’s imaginings?”
“Mr. Karst?” Judge Williams was staring at Leon with eyebrows raised.
“A most important purpose, your Honor. If you will permit me five minutes, no more, I believe we will be able to cast a new light on Captain Grenville’s arrival at Horus.”
“Then proceed.” The judge held up his open hand. “Five minutes.”
“Thank you, your Honor. Captain Grenville, let me ask you one preliminary question. The single most basic fact taught to any Shimmy is that the life of a normal human is sacred—far more so than the Shimmy’s own life. Have you heard that?”
“Many times. But that does not make it true.”
“We shall see. Let me propose a sequence of events aboard your ship. You were on the way to Horus when some major catastrophe took place. Perhaps it was an internal ship malfunction, perhaps it was an impact with some other body. You were knocked unconscious. Is that possible?”
Grenville gave a dismissive shrug. “If I was unconscious, you can suppose anything.”
“You and two other crew members, in the forepart of the ship, were rendered senseless. The rest of the crew were killed outright. Three of the Shimmies were killed also, while the other three—incl
uding Skip—were unharmed. But the ship was disintegrating, losing air. ‘Chest hurt,’ as one Shimmy told us, ‘Ship die—breaking. Five man die, three Shimmies die. Three man sleep, three Shimmies wake. Ship dying, breaking.’ That is a clear statement of the situation. It was left to the three Shimmies—intelligent or not, we won’t argue that point now—to save themselves and the three unconscious humans.
“Skip and the others must have tried, but unfortunately it couldn’t be done. The ship was doomed, and although the pinnace was intact—‘Little ship, little ship fly,’ as Skip told us—it didn’t have enough fuel and power. Not for three men and three Shimmies. It could just carry the mass of two men and no Shimmies, or one man and one Shimmy, and squeak through to Horus. But no more. The Shimmies could have stuffed two humans into the pinnace and stayed behind themselves, but that wouldn’t solve anything, because the men were all unconscious and they couldn’t fly it. Again, Skip told us the whole thing: ‘One man yes, two man yes, three man no. But need Shimmy. Three man sleep, three man small, two Shimmy die, one Shimmy fly. Sad, sorry. Only answer.’
“In other words, the pinnace could carry one Shimmy, to fly it, with three men—but three men small—three unconscious men whose mass had been surgically reduced as far as possible, to the approximate total mass of one man. ‘Sad, sorry. Only answer,’ said Skip. Not a nice answer, but to the three Shimmies, the only answer. They could not bear the thought of killing a human, of allowing a human to die who might somehow be saved. So they performed that awful surgery, on Captain Grenville and the other two crew members. Then two Shimmies stayed behind, to die on the ship. The other Shimmy—Skip, the most able of them all—piloted the pinnace, and just made it to Horus with, to quote the captain, the ‘last dregs of power.’ The three human passengers survived.”
Leon Karst allowed his eyes to roam slowly over the hushed but restive courtroom. “That, my friends, is the true story behind the loss of the ship, the mutilation of the crew, and Captain Grenville’s improbable survival. The Shimmies were not murderers. They were saviors, who gave their own lives so that three humans—”
Georgia On My Mind and Other Places Page 22
