"Junius!" Mariano's smoothness was completely gone now.
"Good day, Rear Admiral," Carter said. "You will be informed when your presence is required for a meeting of the Commissioning Board. Until then, I’d be obliged if you would go back to whatever work you have on hand, and let me get on with mine. Now, Pringle—a press release. 'To representatives of all media, from the office of the Chairman of the Commissioning Board, Venturer Twelve. It was announced today that a decision will very soon be made in the matter of filling the one remaining vacancy in the establishment of Venturer Twelve; that of Commander. It was disclosed that the man most likely to fill that post is Lieutenant Commander Thomas Winford Bruce, at present CC System Patrols ...'"
There was a moment of silence, then Pringle, her stylus poised over her notebook, said: "Is that all, sir?"
Carter grinned, hunching his shoulders. "I think that will be enough, don't you Mariano?"
Rear Admiral Sylvano Mariano, his fine Latin nostrils twitching, glared down for a moment at the self- congratulatory, gnomelike figure, then with a smart about turn, he marched out of the office.
Carter chuckled.
"Could I have your attention please, Commander Lindstrom?" said Senior Lieutenant Sharva of the Judge Advocate General's department. "If there are any points of discrepancy, now is the time for us to iron them out."
Helen turned from the window, where she had been gazing out unseeingly at the expanse of the System Patrol spaceport, and faced the big, dark lawyer. "I'm listening," she said, aware that the green eyes of Tom Bruce, who was seated behind his desk, were regarding her watchfully.
"This inquiry is going to be loaded with emotion," said Lieutenant Sharva. "One word, one gesture out of place and the whole thing could blow up in our faces. That is why it is essential that you should both be completely frank with me now."
"You have our statements." Bruce ignited a cigar impatiently. "Do you consider them unsatisfactory?"
"No, not as far as they go," Sharva said.
"There is some dispute about the facts, then?" Bruce said.
Sharva examined his big hands. He was careful, precise without being pedantic. "What I'm talking about are human attitudes, emotional interpretations of the facts."
Tom Bruce mashed the cigar in the ashtray; he was irritated. "Lieutenant Sharva, I'm an officer of Space Corps. If you want emotional interpretation you'd better get yourself an actor."
Sharva's dark eyes appealed to Helen, and she, despite her determination, found herself involved.
"Tom, you've got to appreciate what the lieutenant is implying," she said. "Whether you'll admit it or not, when that inquiry starts, in the eyes of the world we're going to be on trial. We killed five hundred people."
"Lieutenant, I make no apologies for what I did, and I intend to make no apologies in court," Bruce said harshly. "I killed five hundred people, yes. But by doing so I saved the lives of perhaps fifteen million."
He reared up from behind his desk, thrusting his chair away so that it crashed to the floor. "Christ, woman!" he snapped at Helen. "You, of all people, should know, should understand! That decision, once made, had to be beyond question!"
"Even in your own mind?" she said.
"Especially there, if I'm going to go on living and remain sane."
She looked into his face. She knew now the tensions that had etched those deep lines on either side of his jaw, the resolution that made the strong chin jut at that precise angle, the determination that held the hardness in those clear, green eyes. And she was ashamed, ashamed to have imagined that she, or Sarah Baker, had a monopoly of loneliness and suffering.
Sharva met her eyes steadily. "Commander Lindstrom," he said, sternly. "It is essential that we three, at least, are clear on one point. Whatever impression the Corporation lawyers, or the representatives of the colonists, may attempt to give, this is to be an inquiry, not a trial. If you're in any doubt, remember the fact that, had it not been for an act of piracy on the part of the colonists aboard Athena, that ship would have been in hyperspace now, a quarter of the way to Hegenis Three. Now: shall we proceed?"
Carter had called him "the Persian bull." Helen felt a new respect growing in her for this great dark man. He might not have deep space experience, but he understood his own work thoroughly. Tom Bruce seemed to feel the same way. There were no further arguments as they went carefully through the testimony.
Hurwitz came in, pink, unruffled, serious of face. With him was World Admiral Hoffner, stepping like an elephant unwilling to break eggs.
"Just for a minute, Joe. No more," said Hurwitz.
Hoffner came to the bed and looked down at the small, aged face of Oharo. "Well," he whispered grudgingly, "he's breathing, anyway."
"You say the damndest things!" Hurwitz was annoyed.
Hoffner grunted. "One thing that keeps nagging at me is that inquiry starting the day after tomorrow, or is it tomorrow?"
Hurwitz said seriously, "If you're expecting some intervention from him, forget it"
"Not intervention ..."
" What then?"
"Bruce talked to the President before he blasted that ship."
"We both know that." Hurwitz showed signs of impatience.
"Yes, but how do we get corroboration of what the President said?"
Hurwitz was slightly bewildered. "Why do you need corroboration of anything? The inquiry will have the word of a senior officer about what took place—isn't that enough?"
"Not for what's going to happen down there," Hoffner said. "They'll question whether he really spoke to the President, and even if the President gave his authority for what happened, they still won't be satisfied, some of 'em." He spoke urgently. "Come out of your white, aseptic nest, Karl, and understand what really goes on. That won't be just Tom Bruce down there on the stand, it will be the whole Corps. I think maybe I'd better have a talk with Henry Fong."
*14*
As far as I am aware, there is not the slightest justification for secret hearings of any kind in the normal civilian practices of justice, and I would be very wary of any special pleading on behalf of police or space corps. There can be few cases where any submission for special consideration in such matters does not indicate a weakness which would be best exposed to public scrutiny!
(His Honour Alote Jones. Extract from speech on his appointment as World Supreme Court Judge.)
The president of the Excelsior Corporation bent his bald head over the document. "Where did you get hold of this?" he demanded, looking up half a minute later.
"Through a certain contact in Space Corps Records," Morton said. "It seems to me to have direct bearing on any decision made by Lieutenant Commander Bruce—don't you agree?"
"You'll be crucifying the man," Elkan Niebohr said quietly.
"Possibly," Alger Morton said confidently. "But I shall make my point." It amused him to see the obvious distaste on the old man's face, because he knew that however much Niebohr tried to maintain the benevolent 'Uncle Elkan' image, deep down he was still tied to the ruthless code that had allowed him to fight his way 112 to the top, and the knowledge that even now he was not high enough to afford the luxury of a conscience.
Helen Lindstrom arrived at the stage door of the Edward Kennedy Ellington Concert Hall shortly after ten. The security man who examined her pass handed her over to a dumpy, mouse-haired PO with JAG department flashes on the sleeves of her uniform.
"Good morning, Commander Lindstrom." The PO saluted stiffly.. "If you'll follow me, please. Lieutenant Sharva is in Monitor Room Fifteen."
"Thank you." Helen acknowledged the salute and fell into step beside the PO. The traffic in the thickly carpeted corridors was heavy; it consisted largely of serious-faced, soberly dressed civilians carrying briefcases.
She wondered if Tom Bruce had arrived yet. She had looked out for him in the dining room at the hotel, both at dinner the previous night and at breakfast that morning, half hoping that they would meet by chance, but she had
not caught sight of him. She had wondered several times whether or not to call his room. But she hadn't called him, partly because she wasn't certain that talk would suffice; and partly, she admitted to herself grudgingly, out of stubborn pride. If he wanted her, then he would have to be the one who called.
"Here we are, Commander," the PO said. She rapped on a cream-colored door, then opened it and stood respectfully to one side. The major part of one wall of the room was taken up by three large TV screens each of which showed a different view of the big auditorium. Beneath this was a videotape console. The other furnishings of the room consisted of half a dozen chairs, a couple of free-standing ashtrays and a water cooler.
"She recognized the expression on Tom Brace's face the moment she entered the room. The green eyes narrowed, the chin jutting out at an arrogant angle, and the muscular body tensed forward; the combination was as clear as a gale warning. He and Sharva stood facing each other like two well-matched gladiators.
"Good morning, Commander Lindstrom," Sharva said, half turning toward her and smiling briefly.
Bruce acknowledged her presence with a curt nod and plunged back into the argument that her appearance had interrupted. He waved one hand in the direction of the TV screen.
"I don't give a damn what you say, Sharva! My place, and that of Commander Lindstrom, is down there, in the body of the court, where we can hear what is being said and see everything that goes on."
Sharva's voice was low pitched, carefully modulated, patient. "At the present stage of the proceedings, the presence of either or both of you in the courtroom can be of little assistance. As you know, the press and the TV networks have not been idle; and a large number of the people down there in the courtroom will have already prejudged the issue."
"Then what possible chance have we of a fair hearing?" Helen said.
"A good question." Sharva grinned, showing an oversized but perfect set of white teeth. "Let me put it to you this way: His Honour, Judge Alote Jones, will make use of the first day, at least, to put on such a calculated display of the majesty and pomp of the law as to make even the hotheads pause and reconsider their position. Keeping the proceedings as nearly as possible on an impersonal level, he will make it his business systematically to scare the hell out of anyone who comes here with the intention of making a three- ring circus out of his inquiry. I know the way Alote Jones works."
"That sounds reasonable, Tom," Helen said.
"That's only one way of looking at it," Bruce said, scowling. "The other interpretation—and one which won't be slow in finding followers—is that we're afraid to show our faces."
"There will be plenty of opportunity for that later," Sharva said. "Judge Jones agreed that, in the first instance, the interests of the inquiry will best be served by using the recording rather than personal testimony. Bear this in mind; if you were to give your testimony in person at this stage, Morton would be perfectly within his rights to request an immediate cross-examination."
Tom Brace's face darkened. "So—what the hell? I've got nothing to hide. I'd welcome the chance of meeting that snake face to face after the way he's been shooting his mouth off on TV and in the press."
"That," said Sharva, calmly, "is precisely my point Morton is an expert in the business of goading witnesses. Five minutes on the stand with you and he'd have you blowing your top, with the whole world looking on. On the other hand, if your testimony is confined to the recording, he can do nothing more than comment briefly on your report."
"But if we're right..." Tom Bruce began.
"The longer I can delay calling you to the stand, the longer I shall have to observe Morton in action and to analyze his method of attack. Make no mistake about it, attack he will."
"You make it sound like a game of chess, Sharva."
"It is a deadly game." The big Persian glanced at the wall-screen. "And now if you'll excuse me? I'll join you again during the first recess."
For all his bulk, the dark man moved gracefully. Helen watched appreciatively as he walked out of the room.
"Damned . . . lawyer," growled Tom Bruce.
"Damned good lawyer, is my guess," Helen said. "I think we'll do well to take notice of what he says."
"You may be right, but I never was one for sitting back in an observation post when there's some action in progress."
"You'll get your action before this thing's over," Helen said. She turned her attention to the TV. The screens in Monitor Room Fifteen showed the pictures being put out by the three main TV networks, each available with its own commentary.
Helen turned up the volume and found herself a chair, one removed from Bruce's.
"... choice of this great concert hall was something of a surprise," said the commentator as the camera panned the interior of the building. "It had originally been expected that the inquiry would be held in the Palace of Justice main courtroom. However, it is Judge Alote Jones' stated policy in this matter that the close relatives of the deceased colonists have an inalienable right to attend the inquiry in person, and there would certainly not have been room for such a large body of people at the Palace of Justice.. Here, on the other hand, it has been possible to reserve the entire first balcony for them ..."
"From which they will no doubt spend most of their time howling for our blood," Tom Bruce said.
"Not with Alote Jones presiding," Helen replied. "Everybody will get a hearing, but he won't stand for any nonsense."
The voice of the commentator continued: "As you will see, half the body of the hall has been cleared of seats to make room for the various legal representatives, their staff and equipment. The judiciary will be seated on the apron stage, which is fitted over the broad orchestral pit. The evidence programmer is installed in a special booth to their right, from which he will control the pictures to be projected on the giant screen at the back of the stage.
"The legal representatives are now in their places, and I understand that the doors have just been opened at the first balcony entrance ..."
The picture zoomed in on the first balcony. Eighteen stern-faced men came in and took up separate places, distributing themselves in accordance with some prearranged plan.
"See what I mean?" Helen said. "Alote Jones isn't taking any chances."
More people were flooding onto the balcony now. There were faces from Greenland, from Indonesia, from Africa, from India, from every part of Earth. Many were shabbily dressed and ill nourished. Helen reflected that, despite his achievements, there was still some conquering for Man to do, right here on his home planet.
The camera picked out individual faces. Most of them had one thing in common—an aggrieved greyness, a sullen quality which showed that they had been hit, hurt and bitterly deprived. They had come to see justice done before they flooded in their claims for compensation.
The commentator continued: "Now the court is assembled, except for the presiding judge and his assistants ..."
An usher called for silence. "His Honour, World Supreme Court Judge Alote Jones." The court rose, all faces turned toward the stage.
Judge Alote Jones, a big man, impressive in his purple robes, appeared from the wings and walked to the centre. He paused for a moment, looking up toward the first balcony, then took his seat. There was a rustling and a slight murmur as the court followed suit.
The camera was close in on the solemn dark face of
Alote Jones as he outlined his aims in an unhesitating deep voice. "Our purpose here is to arrive at the true facts in what has become known as the Athena Affair. And this, I repeat, is our only purpose.
"If there is any attempt made to hide that truth, be assured that I shall take strong measures against whomsoever may be responsible. Moreover, I charge all news services not to colour, emphasize, or reslant any evidence that may be given here. The whole proceedings of the inquiry will be broadcast live, and selection of any kind is forbidden. Commentators may summarize for the benefit of their viewers, but they will not interpret or opinionate. To this
end, I would publicly remind all media that all information transmitted on this inquiry is being monitored by officials of World Judiciary."
Alote Jones paused and looked round the packed hall. His audience was silent; the only sound was the whirring of electronic gear. "Are there any questions?"
In the near silence, one sound contributed materially to the rising tension, the sound of a woman sobbing.
"Very well," the judge said, at length. "It is now my duty to appoint the members of the bench who will assist me in this inquiry." He consulted a list. "I have nominated the following: Spyros Venizelos, President of North American Electronics."
A tall, greying man came forward, bowed to the judge, and sat down.
"Sergei Rubashov, Chief Circuit Judge, Eastern Asia." A thickset, bald man, wearing robes similar to those of Judge Jones, bowed and took his place.
"Eric Akersson, Chairman of the World Union of Space Technicians." A lean, blond man in his late thirties appeared, nodded to the judge and sat down.
"And Elena Marx, Professor of Physics at the University of Paris." Professor Marx was small, gray and tiny. She walked slowly with the help of two arthritic's tripod sticks.
"Representing the Space Corps, I have selected two able officers of high reputation, Admiral Samuel Lincoln Suvorov and Rear-Admiral Sylvano Mariano."
"Mariano!" Tom Bruce, watching the monitor screen, snorted his disgust. "Only two Space Corps members on the judiciary, and Jones has to pick that damned finagler!"
"Finagler, perhaps, but in a situation like this, he's all Corps," Helen said.
"I wish I had your faith," Bruce said dourly. He ground out his cigar.
*15*
... Do not count stars;
They are as grains of sand.
Do not be deluded
That here Is love, and faith,
And everlasting truth;
Do not be suborned, and think you hear
A Thunder Of Stars Page 10
