“But a wise one, my dear. Ahem!” Hrdlicka glared at the spectators. “I would remind all present that we are engaged in a very serious business! Um. Since our code makes provision for just such cases, we will accept the fact that Counselor Giovannetti offers no formal defense. Well.” The old man leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up on his bald forehead. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, respected counsel, our penal code has left certain matters to our own discretion. After all, a committee of seven laymen—one steward and six passengers of a space liner—none of them skilled in legal problems, could hardly be expected to foresee every contingency. So it’s up to us to establish precedent. Um. Now, our law says every criminal trial must be guided—and in a large sense, resolved—by the analyses of the accused by two officials of the court: the court psychiatrist and the state penologist.” He gestured at Brandt Cardozo and Dr. Malory.
“Both of these officials are present, of course. And this court is bound by their recommendations. But it isn’t clear just when they should offer such recommendations. Now, it seems logical to me that any such, ah, intimate discussions are not in order if an accused person is judged not guilty. Um. That’s the way I see it. How about you, Mr. Blair?”
“I certainly do not believe theoretical evidence should be allowed to affect a verdict.”
“Miss Giovannetti?”
“Isn’t the psychiatric evidence intended to guide the sentence, Your Honor? Not the verdict?”
“Right. How about the experts themselves? What do you think, gentlemen?”
Cardozo and Malory glanced at each other and Malory nodded.
“I think Miss Giovannetti has exactly defined our position, sir,” said Cardozo. “So we think the order you suggest is the proper one:”
“Good.” Hrdlicka scratched his nose. Brandt Cardozo was sure the old boy wanted a cigar very badly. “Well. According to USN law, this would be the time for the judge to charge the jury. But this community, marooned on an unknown planet as we are, cannot consider itself one of the United Solar Nations. We have cut out the closing speeches by prosecution and defense attorneys so our judicial procedures won’t be cluttered up with tear-jerking ran tings about the grand old Solarian flag or the prisoner’s dear old mother.” The jury chuckled at this. “Further, we have expressly limited the scope of the judge’s charge, so no jury will ever be improperly influenced by one man’s opinions or —what’s more likely—the state of one man’s ulcers on one particular day.” This time the jury laughed openly. “Or even by one man’s attempts at humor,” Hrdlicka blandly went on. “Now, much as I’d like to, I can’t set any precedent on these lines, for the evidence presents no problems whatsoever. You’ve heard the testimony of your friends and neighbors, you’ve listened to the men you yourselves have made your protectors, your police. You’ve heard the Citizens’ Defender say her client has refused to help her set up any kind of defense. Um. So, you’ll leave the courtroom now and go and think about all that and reach your verdict. I know you’ll do your duty. That’s all I have to say.”
The jury filed out the small side door, stood around in the afternoon sunshine and had a collective cigarette, filed in, and their foreman solemnly announced that they unanimously found David Tasker guilty of the robbery and murder of Leon Jacoby.
Brandt Cardozo had heard many juries deliver that awful verdict in the courtrooms of several planets. He had never seen anything like this. Now, in this bare room of raw boards that was designed as a Council Hall first and a courtroom second, there wasn’t that long sigh shuddering over the audience as all concerned suddenly knew the tension was eased at last and the struggle for a man’s life had ended in defeat.
There had been no tension. Eager curiosity, of course, for the spectators felt it was just as much their concern as the judge’s, say, to discover how their brand-new laws would work. But there had been nothing to assail their nerves and their emotions, because nothing so tangible as death had been in the offing. Tasker’s life or death had never been debated.
Brandt Cardozo glanced over at Tasker. The defendant leered at the jury. Open resentment of his contempt showed on the faces of some.
Hrdlicka muttered a “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” rustled some papers, cleared his throat, and said, “Um. Well, we’re on our own now. Lot of us had some experience with law—know I have with one kind of corporation code or another—so, up to now, we’ve known what to expect. But now . . . well, when we finally decided we were stuck on this world and had to make our own way, we decided we’d try some new ways of doing things. We’re actually going to use one of those new methods right now. And while I’m not a particularly religious man, I say, ‘God be with us.’ ” He looked musingly down at Tasker. The prisoner twiddled his thumbs. “The jury’s decided the prisoner’s guilty of murder. Only possible verdict, of course. Now, we’re going to use our best brains to decide what to do with him . . . all right, I call on Dr. Pierre Malory.”
“Well,” breathed Malory, “here we go.”
He walked over quickly and seated himself in the witness chair.
“Now, Doctor,” Hrdlicka said, “I feel you should give your material as testimony. That is, subject to question from bench, counsel, or jury. I said, subject to question. Not challenge. Not debate.” He flicked a sidelong glance at Hugo Blair. “No cross-examination. Only time we’ll bother you is when you’re usin’ technical terms the rest of us don’t follow. Now. Let’s have your background. For the record.”
“Yes, sir,” Malory’s voice was quietly purposeful. “I am Pierre Malory, Doctor of Medicine. I was a passenger on the S. & G. liner, the Tonia, when it crashed on this planet. Since I was the only medical man among the survivors, I have served as the community’s physician. Six months ago, we adopted a penal code to take care of problems of law and order. That code called for the services of a psychiatrist and, since we had no better trained man, I was elected to the job.”
“We’ve been lucky to have you, Doctor. Now, you have examined the prisoner, David Tasker?”
“I have.”
“For how long?”
“Since the day of his arrest, six days ago.”
“Know anything about him before that?”
“Not on the ship. He was, I believe, a member of the engine maintenance crew and I, as a passenger, would not come in contact with him. In the year we have been here in the New World, I have had little time to take any note of him. I did treat him once.”
“What for, Doctor?”
“Facial contusions. I believe he had been in a fight.”
“I see. Well, now, suppose you give us the result of your official observations.”
Pierre Malory stretched out his long legs, crossed them, moved his body sideways in his chair.
“It’s going to be a difficult job, sir. For three reasons.”
“Go ahead. Let’s have them.”
“First. I am definitely not what I hope my successors will be: a fully qualified specialist in mental disease. You all know I’m just a general practitioner. Second. I haven’t had the time or the equipment to make any sort of analysis of the emotions, personality, attitudes of David Tasker. Lord! even if I had all the instruments I could possibly want, plus a complete staff of trained personnel, I couldn’t begin an analysis in six days! And thirdly, the prisoner is obviously under the influence of the drug, dakarine.”
“Well, Doctor, as to your first two reasons,” said Hrdlicka, “we all know how little equipment was salvaged. And we all know how many lives you’ve saved with it in the past year. We’re not worried about your qualifications; this court will take what you say as gospel! There’ll be no argument, believe me. But maybe you’d better tell us about this dakarine.”
“Dakarine is, briefly, an alkaloid derived from the dakar plant which was discovered on Centauri III. That plant is now grown under government supervision on all Earth-type planets. When used in minute quantities, dakarine has produced marvelous results in the treatment
of all types of psychic shock. That is, if it is administered to a patient suffering anything from excessive grief to extreme catatonia, the patient’s interest in the world about him is almost immediately restored to normal.
“However, the drug—like so many—has its dangers. It is habitforming. It produces in its addicts a cheerful conviction that everything the addict wants to do is quite all right. Nothing the addict attempts will ever go wrong—is wrong.” Malory straightened in his chair, leaned forward. “The prisoner Tasker is obviously still under the influence of the drug. His lack of interest in his predicament is full proof of that. And I don’t know how long the effects of the dose he took will last, for the effect of a given quantity of the drug varies with the individual. And I don’t know how much dakarine Tasker took or what his personal reaction to it is. I do know that Tasker, being full of dakarine, is a man incapable of any sort of cooperation with a psychiatrist.”
Tasker sat impassive under the concerted gaze of the entire room.
“Just how do you mean?” asked Hrdlicka.
“To appraise the mind, we first evaluate the body. Tasker’s in wretched physical condition. But his symptoms can be nothing more than those of prolonged use of dakarine. They probably are.
“Now, as to his mind. Naturally, he refused to give me any response to tests. I think I’ve managed to make a pretty fair guess at his IQ—it’s average. About eighty-one Andrews, I should say. Perhaps point eleven Herwig-Dollheim, but that’s just a guess. Right now, his personality is, must be, wholly false. He’s absolutely optimistic, crudely merry—to him everything’s a joke, an obscene joke; he’s completely selfrighteous. He has no approach to problems because for David Tasker there are no problems.”
“It seems to me,” Blair said coldly, “you don’t give us much to go on.”
“That is correct, Counselor. I haven’t much to go on myself.” The jury glanced uneasily at each other. Hugo Blair tapped his table with a pen.
“Well, Doctor,” Hrdlicka said, “what shall we do about it?”
“I don’t think we can do anything until Tasker is completely free from the influence of the drug.”
Blair jumped to his feet.
“I foil to see your reasoning,” he snapped.
Malory was puzzled.
“I don’t follow you,” he said.
“I submit that, since Tasker was not under the influence of any drug when he committed the crime of murder, we have no right to take this business of drug addiction into our present consideration!”
Hrdlicka rapped his desk with his gavel.
“That’s ridiculous, Counselor! The law calls for a thorough analysis of the accused; and even a layman like me can see that no analysis is possible if the accused is under the influence of any drug that affects his faculties. And I would like to point out to the entire court that the problem of murder has been settled. We’re not concerned with that now, we’re concerned with the problem of Tasker. Um. Dr. Malory, I’ll take your suggestion for delay under advisement, unless you want me to act on it now?”
Malory hesitated, glanced quickly at Brandt Cardozo. Cardozo looked at Blair, still on his feet, and his mind raced. After a moment he made his decision. Settle it now, he said to himself, and shook his head very slightly.
“I rather think, Your Honor,” Malory then said, “that you might hear Mr. Cardozo and then make your decision.”
“Very well. Mr. Blair, I see you are still on your feet. Do you wish to address the court?”
“I wish to state that I, both as a citizen of this community and as an officer of this court, consider Dr. Malory’s attempts at diagnosis wholly inadequate for the purposes of this trial!”
Hrdlicka opened his mouth, but Malory raised a hand.
“They are inadequate, sir,” he said to Blair. His tone was gentle. “Perhaps I should give you my own feeling toward this man. My feeling—the feeling of a man who has practiced medicine for over twenty years—is that David Tasker is essentially a very unhappy person. He’s inferior; all drug addicts feel inferior. He’s frightened; all belligerent persons are frightened. I hope someday to learn why he’s unhappy . . . frightened . . . belligerent. I hope to learn that for my good, for your good, as well as for Tasker’s good.”
“I think we understand that,” grunted Hrdlicka. “Anything further, Doctor?”
“I believe not.”
“We’ll call Mr. Cardozo . . . if Mr. Blair will yield the floor.” Scowling, Blair sat down.
“Nice going,” Cardozo whispered as he passed Malory on the way to the witness stand.
“Now, Mr. Cardozo,” said Hrdlicka, “our penologist. Or warden. We don’t have much of a prison for you now, eh? But, as we redevelop the complexities of civilization, I suppose we’ll have plenty such. Um. Now, suppose you tell us just how you follow up Dr. Malory’s work.”
“Essentially, I investigate any accused as a social, rather than a psychiatric, case. And I try to combine Dr. Malory’s findings with the limitations of the situation and set up means for rehabilitation.”
“I see. You’ve an eye to the defendant’s future, rather than to his past?”
“That’s very well put, Your Honor.”
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, for once we have a real expert to help us. Mr. Cardozo was a penologist by profession, associate warden at the maximum-security institution on Pluto. So, while we’ve been going by-guess-and-by-God so far, now we’ve got a gentleman who knows what he’s talking about.”
“Your Honor!” It was Blair again. “Now what is it, Mr. Blair?”
“I’d like to ask the penologist one question.”
“Is it relevant, Mr. Blair?”
“I think it is.”
“All right, all right.” The old man looked very weary.
Blair bustled up to the stand. Even seated, Brandt Cardozo was a head taller than the little man. “You and I were conversing in the bachelor lounge of the Tonia when it crashed,” Blair rapped out. “Did you or did you not say to me at that time that you did not believe in prisons?”
Hrdlicka leaned over his desk so suddenly his glasses slid down over his nose again.
“Counselor!” he roared. “A conversation out of the past has nothing to do with this trial! You know that! Now, sit down before I order you to leave the court!”
“Your honor,” said Brandt Cardozo. “I’ve no objection to answering that question. . . if Mr. Blair will let me finish my sentence, this time.” He gazed tranquilly at the flushed counsel. “When you interrupted me back on the Tonia, sir, I recollect that I was about to say this: I do not approve of prisons as institutions for punishment. I most firmly believe in them as a means toward rehabilitation—if they are so devised.”
“That’s enough,” rumbled Hrdlicka. “Mr. Blair knows the thinking behind our law and what’s more, he knows you’re a leading exponent of that thinking.”
“Yes,” sneered Blair, “we all know how bitterly Mr. Cardozo was opposed to capital punishment.” There are your fangs, thought Cardozo, bared at last.
“Sit down, Mr. Blair.” Hrdlicka’s voice was suddenly quiet.
Blair sat down, a smirk on his gnome’s face.
“Now,” Hrdlicka was not his usual rumbling self, “what’s your advice to this court, Mr. Cardozo?” Brandt Cardozo sat relaxed in his chair, a rangy, big-shouldered man with a boyishly cheerful face.
“Sometime, sir,” he said, “we’ll have a large staff of penal experts. It will be a fairly simple job for the penologist to take the psychiatrist’s findings, correlate them with those of his own staff, and be able to make a very accurate recommendation to the court. The penologist can set up a long-range program for the prisoner, defining exactly what is needed in the way of special training or treatment, medical care, minimum security confinement, maximum security . . .”
“Your Honor, I must ask your indulgence once more.” Blair rushed on before Hrdlicka could stop him. “Mr. Cardozo, you used the expression ‘maximum secur
ity.’ Are we to presume you admit the need for such an institution?”
“Certainly. I’m afraid we’ll need one for Tasker. For a while, at least. Any penologist, or criminologist if you prefer, will admit that we can’t rehabilitate certain men and women. In other words, they’re incurable. We get to them too late to help. To protect ourselves we must keep those persons locked up. And watch them pretty closely. Of course, we must try to make their confinement useful—useful to them and to society.”
“Thank you,” said Blair.
“Go on, Mr. Cardozo,” said Hrdlicka.
“Your Honor, I can’t get any help from Tasker either. I have talked to survivors of the crew about him. Of course, I must regard much of their talk as gossip. They think Tasker’s papers were forged; they say he was lazy, a careless worker, a troublemaker. They think Tasker has a criminal record. I’d say he probably has. At any rate, I’m going to regard him as such until both Dr. Malory and I can accumulate more detailed and accurate information about the man.”
“Um. So what do we do with him?”
Brandt Cardozo felt the uneasy gaze of the audience on his back. He looked at the jury. They were frowning, worried.
“Well, sir, here’s where we, as a society, meet our first challenge. A well-liked and most useful member of our community has been killed by a man whose worth to us is pretty dubious.” Brandt Cardozo straightened his big shoulders. “We have decided we won’t take the easy answer to such a problem—we won’t shrug off the burden by killing the killer. Let’s meet the challenge, then. First of all, hospitalize Tasker, under guard, of course, until Dr. Malory is satisfied Tasker’s free of all dakarine effects. Then, let Dr. Malory work on him; I’m confident the doctor can very soon—once the man is his normal self—decide how to order his confinement so Tasker will have every chance for readjustment. There was a method of sentencing the mentally irresponsible in the System; such persons were detained during the pleasure of the court.
“I think you can do the same. Simply order David Tasker to be detained during the pleasure of this court—in the custody of the proper authorities. I would further suggest that you provide for periodic examinations of the prisoner by yourself, assisted by such citizens as you deem necessary—Mr. Blair, Miss Giovannetti—to determine any future disposal of his case. Eventually we can decide whether we can hope for rehabilitation or settle for perpetual confinement.”
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