Short Fiction · Lone Star Planet (10/11) (2/2)

“Speaking for my government, I must deny that these men should have been tried in this court for the murder of Silas Cumshaw. To do otherwise would establish the principle and precedent that our Ambassador, or any other Ambassador here, is a practicing politician under⁠—mark that well, Your Honor⁠—under the laws and government of New Texas. This would not only make of any Ambassador a permissable target for any marksman who happened to disapprove of the policies of another government, but more serious, it would place the Ambassador and his government in a subordinate position relative to the government of New Texas. This the government of the Solar League simply cannot tolerate, for reasons which it would be insulting to the intelligence of this court to enumerate.”

“Mr. Silk,” Judge Nelson said gravely. “This court takes full cognizance of the force of your arguments. However, I’d like to know why you permitted this trial to run to this length before entering this objection. Surely you could have made clear the position of your government at the beginning of this trial.”

“Your Honor,” I said, “had I done so, these defendants would have been released, and the facts behind their crime would have never come to light. I grant that the important function of this court is to determine questions of relative guilt and innocence. We must not lose sight, however, of the fact that the primary function of any court is to determine the truth, and only by the process of the trial of these depraved murderers-for-hire could the real author of the crime be uncovered.

“This was important, both for the government of the Solar League and the government of New Texas. My government now knows who procured the death of Silas Cumshaw, and we will take appropriate action. The government of New Texas has now had spelled out, in letters anyone can read, the fact that this beautiful planet is in truth a battleground. Awareness of this may save New Texas from being the scene of a larger and more destructive battle. New Texas also knows who are its enemies, and who can be counted upon to stand as its friends.”

“Yes, Mr. Silk. Mr. Vuvuvu, I haven’t heard any comment from you.⁠ ⁠… No comment? Well, we’ll have to close the court, to consider this phase of the question.”

The black screen slid up, for the second time during the trial. There was silence for a moment, and then the room became a bubbling pot of sound. At least six fights broke out among the spectators within three minutes; the Rangers and court bailiffs were busy restoring order.

Gail Hickock, who had been sitting on the front row of the spectators’ seats, came running up while I was still receiving the congratulations of my fellow diplomats.

“Stephen! How could you?” she demanded. “You know what you’ve done? You’ve gotten those murdering snakes turned loose!”

Andrew Jackson Hickock left the prosecution table and approached.

“Mr. Silk! You’ve just secured the freedom of three men who murdered one of my best friends!”

“Colonel Hickock, I believe I knew Silas Cumshaw before you did. He was one of my instructors at Dumbarton Oaks, and I have always had the deepest respect and admiration for him. But he taught me one thing, which you seem to have forgotten since you expatriated yourself⁠—that in the Diplomatic Service, personal feelings don’t count. The only thing of importance is the advancement of the policies of the Solar League.”

“Silas and I were attachés together, at the old Embassy at Drammool, on Altair II,” Colonel Hickock said. What else he might have said was lost in the sudden exclamation as the black screen slid down. In front of Judge Nelson, I saw, there were three pistol-belts, and three pairs of automatics.

“Switchblade Joe Bonney, Jack-High Abe Bonney, Turkey-Buzzard Tom Bonney, together with your counsel, approach the court and hear the verdict,” Judge Nelson said.

The three defendants and their lawyer rose. The Bonneys were swaggering and laughing, but for a lawyer whose clients had just emerged from the shadow of the gallows, Sidney was looking remarkably unhappy. He probably had imagination enough to see what would be waiting for him outside.

“It pains me inexpressibly,” Judge Nelson said, “to inform you three that this court cannot convict you of the cowardly murder of that learned and honorable old man, Silas Cumshaw, nor can you be brought to trial in any other court on New Texas again for that dastardly crime. Here are your weapons, which must be returned to you. Sort them out yourselves, because I won’t dirty my fingers on them. And may you regret and feel shame for your despicable act as long as you live, which I hope won’t be more than a few hours.”

With that, he used the end of his gavel to push the three belts off the bench and onto the floor at the Bonneys’ feet. They stood laughing at him for a few moments, then stopped, picked the belts up, drew the pistols to check magazines and chambers, and then began slapping each others’ backs and shouting jubilant congratulations at one another. Sidney’s two assistants and some of his friends came up and began pumping Sidney’s hands.

“There!” Gail flung at me. “Now look at your masterpiece! Why don’t you go up and congratulate him, too?”

And with that, she slapped me across the face. It hurt like the devil; she was a lot stronger than I’d expected.

“In about two minutes,” I told her, “you can apologize to me for that, or weep over my corpse. Right now, though, you’d better be getting behind something solid.”