"You ready, Chief?" asked Marietta.
I nodded. "Okay."
"You can handle it, Chief," she said giving me a wink. She turned around and bellowed at the dunes. "Shut your mouth!"
The dunes got real silent real fast. I glanced up at the sky, noticed that the light was entering that deep blue, deceptive, oh-what-a-beautiful-planet-this-is phase. Beneath my sheet I began removing my parka and shirt. It would soon be hell in a hibachi.
I saw one of the women seated behind Bennet stroking her rifle and moving her lips in silent mutterings as she searched the opposite dune for someone. The odds were that she was a former rape victim. What I didn't need right then was an armed mob filled with righteous rage looking for an outlet. It was time for the new rule.
"Okay," I said as I undressed, "Let's stack our rifles neatly right down here." I pointed to the area in front of me. "Emotions run high in certain kinds of situations, and this is one of those kinds. We don't want to turn this thing into a war crimes trial, so everybody who is armed and who wants to stay for the trial, bring your weapons down here. Anyone who doesn't want to give up his or her weapon, get away from here."
The scene before me could have been a painting. Nothing moved. Then Marietta nodded at the crowd and said quietly, "Sun's gettin' hot. Do it soon."
Her request was underscored by Stays, Cap, and Marantha levering fresh rounds into their weapons and lowering their muzzles until they pointed at the crowd. One by one a few spectators left, but most came down and piled up their weapons.
Marietta asked me in a whisper, "What if the Hand attacks in the middle of the trial?"
I shrugged. "We have guards out to warn us. Besides," I added with some sincerity, "the court is not as worried about the Hand attacking it as it is worried about the Razai attacking it."
I noticed with some surprise that Herb Ollick was one of the ones who had come forward to supervise the stacking of the weapons. Ila Toussant came from the rifle stacks and grinned at me as she pulled out her own paper supply.
"Chief, am I still court clerk?"
I nodded. "Yes. Where's your rifle?"
"In the stacks."
"Go get it back. You're an officer of the court and you can't tell when you might have to dot somebody's eye."
While she returned to the stacks, I rolled my parka and shirt into a bundle and contemplated how fearful I was. I was afraid of so many things right then. There was the Hand ready to do whatever it was going to do to us, there were all of the angry faces up on the dunes who hated me for what I was doing and how I was doing it, and all of this was on top of my fear of the planet Tartaros and the Forever Sand. More than that, I was afraid of making a mistake. More than anything else, I was afraid of having another Dick Irish haunt my dreams.
That little pumpkin-colored book was in my parka pocket, and I pulled it out. Once my bundle was rolled and slung, I took my copy of Stays's rules and opened the little book to tuck them inside. The first line on the left page caught my attention.
▫
With a foot in the past, and a foot in the future, all I can do with the present is piss on it.
▫
I closed the book and stuffed it and the rules into my hip pocket as I remembered something Big Dave once said. He had told me, "Right now is when you're alive, Bando. Don't waste now feeling afraid of the future because of what's happened in the past. Do your best, and things will work out."
"All the guns are stacked."
I looked up and noticed Herb Ollick standing in front of me. "Thanks.'
He did a quick sweep of the area with his gaze. "Where's Marantha Silver? She's still in the RC, isn't she?"
"Yes. She's over at the Hand camp."
"Is she all right?"
I gave the question a good shrug. All right. Was anyone on the Forever Sand all right? "Sure. As far as I know. She's making some arrangements for us with them. Don't worry about a thing."
He nodded. "If you need any help, Bando, just let me know."
"Thanks again." The man started to turn away, but I called him back. "Herb?"
"Yeah?"
"If I keep it a secret, will you answer me a question?"
Herb smiled and flashed his ice fingers. "You want to know am I a pezzonovante in the organization, the Capo di Capi of the 'friends', as we say in polite society, true?"
"You got it, Herb. How about it?"
He held up an ice-cluttered hand and whispered into my ear. "I am Herbert Ollick from Dayton, Ohio. In a certain sense, I am an illusionist. However, the court chose to call my illusions embezzlement, fraud, criminal conspiracy, and a few other things. I give people's eyes and ears what they want to see and hear."
I looked at his smiling face. "No mob?"
He shook his head. "No mob, although I did do a bit of newspaper writing years ago. I did an inside info column for a financial paper and made a bundle selling worthless stock tips prior to publication."
"What about the diamonds?"
He flashed his rocks. "Phony."
"But back in the yard once I saw you scratch glass with them."
His eyebrows rose as he said, "Quartz scratches glass too, didn't you know?" He reached into his ration bag and pulled out a roll of papers. "Here's something I've written that you might enjoy. When you're finished with it, make sure it gets back to me."
"Okay. Thanks."
He smiled and headed back to his dune. I felt a little disappointed. After all, it had been something of a minor brag point to be in the same pit as a genuine goomba big-shot. To find out he was just a fat little con artist from Dayton was kind of a let down.
The faces quieted down as the now weaponless sharks returned to their respective dunes. The air was very still as I thought about Big Dave and how I wished I could wrap this whole thing up and dump it in his lap.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nance seat herself among the spectators. Silently I nodded to myself, remembering what Nance had said about her lover's death. Nance certainly had an interest in how this one came out.
I stuffed Herb's papers into my ration bag and turned toward Ila Toussant. "Let's begin." I thought for a moment and then said, "This is the seventh day."
A strange look came over Ila's face. "On the seventh day," she said, "God rested."
"Yeah. But he wasn't chief of the Razai Cops. Maybe this is a case of eternal vigilance is the price of freedom."
One of her eyebrows went up. "I was thinking more along the lines of no rest for the wicked."
As tired as I was, that joke hit just a little close to the bone. I held up my hands and waited until something resembling silence was achieved. I looked left and right at the crowd seated on the dunes, and began to speak. "Here, justice is everybody getting exactly what they deserve as fast as possible. All of us who are here, that is our purpose. Anyone here who interferes with that purpose will pull down the maximum payback this investigation will consider, whatever happens to Victor Myerson."
I looked at Jason Pendril. "Let's have your charge."
Bennet's cockroach got to his feet and stood between the dunes. I noticed that his hair was blond and very thin. His rug was not in evidence. Probably making fishing flies with it.
"Before we get started," Pendril held out his hands and asked, "what do I call you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Should I call you 'judge,' 'your honor,' 'officer,' 'inspector,' 'investigator,' 'generalissimo,' or what?"
All of the selections, with the possible exception of generalissimo, really bit it. "Just call me Bando."
"Very well, Bando. Before we can get started, there is a bit of housekeeping we have to do. It has to do with the payback for rape according to the Razai."
"Excuse me."
At the foot of the dune to my right, a well-padded fellow with an olive complexion and wavy black hair stood up. This had to be Lane Rossiter, roach-at-law.
Next to where Rossiter had been sitting on the dune was a large man who joked with a
couple of nearby buddies. Victor Myerson was strong-looking, but he didn't look like he had done much iron time with the yard monsters. He was just naturally big. His hair was cut short, and he had a substantial beer gut.
I raised my eyebrows at Rossiter. "What is it?"
"Couldn't we put off the matter of penalties until such time as we determine that a crime has been committed? Tying the noose before we determine that there is a neck that should be in it seems to go against the presumption of innocence."
"No one is presumed innocent here," I answered, "and no one who ever was dragged in front of a court ever was presumed innocent." I looked at Pendril. "Did you have something to throw into this?"
Bennet's roach nodded. "Bando, rules twenty-four and twenty-five inflicting the max payback on jurors for bad calls, as well as rule thirty-two, inflicting the max on false witnesses, make it necessary to know right now what that max will be. Are we talking about a slap on the wrist or death? A witness who might be willing to perjure himself if he only risks a trivial penalty, might not be willing to lie if, by lying, he risks death."
Lane Rossiter clasped his hands behind his back and said, "My brother seems bent on achieving a capital penalty for a non-capital offense. Rape, if such a crime has indeed been committed, did not take the life of the alleged victim. If how we define justice is to have a meaning other than hysterical vengeance, there must be a difference between the paybacks for crimes which leave live victims and those that leave dead ones."
I took my bundled parka, dropped it on the sand, and sat on it. I didn't have any answers, so I guessed I needed more input. I looked at the roaches and nodded. "Thanks." I looked up at the dunes.
"Abe Lyles?"
A man seated at the foot of the dune to the right stood up, walked until he stood between the dunes, and faced me. "I'm Abe Lyles." He was a slender, pleasant-looking man with brown hair and blue eyes. He was tall and stooped a little as if to apologize for his height.
"Abe," I began, "I was told that you think what we're talking about here is a disease, not a crime."
An uncomfortably angry sound rose from the dunes. As it quieted, Abe looked down and selected his words with care. "I am a recovering compulsive rapist—a sex addict." There was laughter and a batch of cat calls from the crowd. There were also a few muttered threats that almost caused me to invoke rule thirteen.
I stood up and shouted. "This isn't a football game!" The dunes quieted down and I continued. "You are not here to root for your side. You have the right to observe. You have the right to volunteer as a juror. You have the right to testify as a witness. But your purpose here is the same as ours. Your purpose is to see that everyone here gets exactly what's coming to them, as quickly as possible. Again, anyone who obstructs justice, that is, anyone who interferes with these people getting what they deserve as quickly as possible, will suffer the max, whatever happens to the guy charged. That means if you slow things down with these demonstrations and otherwise continue acting like assholes, you will catch the max."
I pointed around at the crowd. "So listen and pay attention. Now, shut your blowholes and let this man say his piece."
I sat down again and Abe Lyles rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for the emotional echoes of my speech to die. Whatever he was there for, I had to admit the guy had a pair. Maybe a third of the men and probably three quarters of the women in that crowd had been victims of rape, and here was Abe Lyles standing in front of them all, not only identifying himself as a rapist, but preparing to support the position that rape wasn't a crime but was, instead, the symptom of a disease. Gutsy. Or crazy.
On both sides of the witness, the cockroaches were crouched, ready to pounce in an attempt at forcing Abe's testimony to serve their own ends.
"I remind both Jason Pendril and Lane Rossiter of rule twenty-nine that allows this witness to say his piece his way and in his own words. When he's finished, I'll allow you to question him if anything needs to be cleared up."
I looked around at the crowd. "Do we all understand why we're here?" I accepted the ensuing silence as an affirmative response. I nodded at Abe. "Sorry for interrupting."
It became very quiet.
││││
││││
││││
▫
The Price of Rape
▫
"I'm not sure why I'm here," Abe began, "except that I've had some experience with this, and there's something we all ought to know about rape." He put his hands in his pockets, looked around at the crowd, and finished by looking at me. "There's something we ought to know about rapists, too." He looked down and his voice grew quieter, but stronger.
"I am a rapist. Some of you know my record. For those who don't, I was dropped in the Crotch on my third rape conviction with no hope of parole. The record doesn't even begin to say what I really was. I don't know how many women I've raped, there were that many. I don't even remember them all, although as part of my recovery I have tried to remember."
He looked up at the spectators and said, "I'm not here to tell you that I'm proud of what I did. I'm here to tell you that I was insane with an addiction that caused me to hurt a lot of people. It's a clawing obsession that, once I translated it into action, became a compulsion that I couldn't stop by myself." He shook his head slightly.
"Not only couldn't I stop it, I really didn't think I had a problem. I denied the whole thing to myself, through two trials, and to I don't know how many head shrinkers.
"I was in a constant state of hating myself. I had terrible and vast needs, and the only way I knew to meet those needs was with sex, and the only sex I knew was forced and violent." He looked at the sharks and pointed. "You junkies know what I'm saying. Just to stay alive, just to keep from screaming, you had to have your stuff. You don't have your stuff right now, and look at you. But I bet most of you are still telling yourselves that you don't have a problem.
"That was the way it was with me. But for over six years, now—five of them on the outside—I haven't had to act out any of my rape fantasies. I got help, and the same help is available to anyone who needs it, even here on the sand. It's a disease that made me do terrible things. But it's a disease that can be halted."
He rubbed his chin, shrugged, and said, "I guess the only thing I have left to say is that there's no way to recover from this disease if you're dead." He looked at me. "That's all."
Both of the cockroaches were practically pawing the sand. They were that eager to get at Abe. I was about to call on Pendril when a shout came from the dune on my left.
"I want to say something!"
I recognized the voice. It was Alna. I nodded and pointed to where Abe Lyles had stood. "Go ahead." I looked toward Ila. "Her name's Alna Moah." I turned back to see Alna. She returned my look with nails. She appeared like she was back to hating all men again.
Her eyes were narrowed, her hands clenched into fists, as she spoke. Her voice trembled with pain and anger. "Bando, I can't believe you had that man speak! Are you saying that rape's just a disease, nothing but a head cold?"
The rumbles from the crowd got loud and then eased quickly. "I'm not saying anything, Alna," I answered. "Right now I'm only listening. We're you going to say something?"
She faced Myerson and pointed her finger at him. "I was raped by a husband, I was raped by four different guards, even a sister tried to rape me, and now she's done past for it."
She lowered her hand and looked around at the crowd. "But I'm just going to tell you about one time—the first time I was raped. We're looking for the payback for rape. To know that we need to know what was taken from the victim. For murder, life is taken from the victim, so max payback is to take the life from the murderer." She faced me. "Like Dick Irish."
She glanced once at Victor Myerson, and back at me. "When I was fifteen years old someone whose face I never saw dragged me into an alley, raped me, then beat me with a length of pipe and left me for dead. When I came to in the hospital, I couldn't rem
ember what'd happened. I couldn't bear to think about it, so I just didn't think about anything. I was numb. I was trapped in my horror like that for months. So the first thing he took from me was my freedom."
She looked up at the brassy orange sky, the tears on her cheeks. "Once I started thinking about it, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I just relived the nightmare over and over again. I couldn't eat, I couldn't do anything, I couldn't sleep. All I could do was cry, rage, curse, cry and rage some more. So the next thing he took from me was my sanity."
Her voice grew quiet. "Everyone began treating me like I was different—something less. They treated me like I was spoiled goods, like somehow getting raped had been my fault." She placed her hand over her heart. "I started to believe that it was my fault. Sometimes I used to stand naked in front of a mirror and scratch myself bloody with my fingernails. I didn't know why, and I couldn't stop. So the next thing he took from me was my self-respect."
She lowered her hand as she looked at me. "He took many things from me. Since that night I can't trust, I'm afraid to love, I'm afraid to be loved. And in a world where this horrible thing could happen to a young, innocent girl, there could be no god. That faceless bastard took that from me, too. If he had only taken my life—if he had just killed me—he would have done me a favor."
She dried the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand and looked at Abe Lyles. "I don't know about any damned disease. Maybe Dick Irish was just sick and had to kill Freddy, but that won't warm Freddy's body up any. Maybe you are recovering, and if you are, I can be happy for you. But I'm not one of the women you raped. If I was, I'd probably be hoping for what I hope for the monster who raped me. I'd probably pray that you burn in Hell forever." She folded her arms and kept looking at Abe Lyles.
"Right now I am thinking that if they had thinned you after the first time you were caught and convicted of rape, there would be a lot fewer raped women in the universe." She looked at me. "Rape demands a bigger payback than murder. Death is nowhere near enough of a payback for rape, but it's all we can get."
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