There was no need for the TV cameras to seek dramatic pieces of action and come close to them; every inch of the public gallery was filled with anger and suffering, every member, almost without exception, was baying for blood, for the blood of the man upon whom the blame could be set and from whom vengeance could be exacted. Howling through the hall, overloading microphones and amplifiers, the crescendo of rage and frustration beat against the ears of listeners like blows from a club. Throughout the solar system billions of watchers stared at their screens and shuddered at the terrible, ravening power of human anger.
At the centre of the storm Tom Bruce stood, gazing neither to right nor to left. His refusal to acknowledge the fury that surrounded him served only to further enrage the mob.
Alote Jones rested his arms on the bench in front of him, linked his fingers, and stared with black impassivity at the public gallery where the security men waited for the signal to go to work. The whole area could have been hazed down to somnolence with Pax capsules in less than three minutes. Security men and judiciary expected the judge to signal.
But he did not signal. He sat and listened to the raging while cameras recorded and transmitted the scene, while commentators said nothing because there was nothing their words could add. The only action the security men on the balcony took was the forcible retention of a woman who, streaming with tears and moaning like an injured animal, attempted to throw herself from the edge to the floor below.
Gradually, those who thought they were taking action found that there was no reaction, and with the first frenzy of release past, they began to wonder why. Gradually the sound began to decrease.
Judge Alote Jones waited. At least there was a kind of silence, an ashamed, uneasy hush, broken by small moans and sobbings; the reaction of a hysterical, abominably behaved child, brought to the point of exhaustion by its own tantrums and beginning to be fearful of retribution.
Judge Alote Jones pressed a button on his bench and spoke into a microphone. His voice was audible to the entire court. "Recordist? Play that back to them, at full volume," he ordered.
There were gasps of alarm.
"No one may leave this court," ordered the Judge. "Just stay where you are and listen."
The sound system burst into life, and the occupants of the hall suffered the noise again with all its bestiality and horror. It raged on and on, seemingly without end, and then, at last, it stopped. When it was done, the creators of the disturbance looked down at the floor, or at the ceiling, not ever at one another.
"And now," Judge Jones said calmly, "perhaps we can continue. Commander Bruce?"
"Your Honour." Bruce inclined his head slightly, then told his story, beginning from the moment that Perimeter Station Fifteen notified the appearance of the UFO. The court listened in silence to the cool, emotionless voice, and heard him out.
"Thank you, Commander Bruce," Alote Jones said when the tragic story was concluded. "Do you wish to make any comment on the theories of Professor Bergman?"
Brace's back was ramrod straight, his green eyes unblinking as he stared at the Judge. "Your Honour, I made my decision on the basis of the facts available to me and I took action accordingly."
"And you have had no second thoughts?"
The lines at the corners of Brace's mouth deepened. "Why would I have second thoughts?" he demanded.
Helen Lindstrom, watching his uncompromising face on the monitor screen, raised her palms to her temples. "God, what arrogance! Why can't he bend, just a little?"
"Because he's a Corps officer, and because he's right" said Junius Carter, who was sitting beside her. "Why should he crawl to these damned civilians?"
She looked at the stocky body and the wrinkled, implacable face of Carter. "Because for one thing, it is taxes, levied on those civilians, that maintain the Space Corps. Maybe it's time for the Corps to begin taking lessons in humility."
"To hell with that!" growled Carter. "Pipsqueaks like Morton can yell their heads off all they like. They'll not touch the Corps while we have the President's backing."
Helen said: "But what if something were to happen to him, as it very easily could, at his age? How do you know that the next President would be as sympathetic to the Corps?"
Carter scowled. "It's probably a good thing for us all that you're not the one out there on the witness stand."
Helen met his gaze steadily. They were two of a kind, this man and Tom Bruce. These were the true officers of the Space Corps, the men of whom it could be said, with justification, that they were "All Corps." And with this recognition came the growing certainty that this was a way she could never be.
"I think you're right, Admiral," she said quietly, while inside her head a voice demanded: "Who? What am I?"
Admiral Carter grunted and turned his attention back to the screen.
Morton was examining Bruce. His confidence was unshaken.
"Lieutenant Commander Bruce, how long have you been an officer of Space Corps?"
"Fifteen years."
"And I believe that during your three years at Sand- point you were awarded the Star of Honour?"
"That is true."
"Commander Brace, would you explain to the court the nature of this decoration?"
Bruce frowned. "The Star of Honour is a mark of distinction awarded to the officer cadet with the highest grades in all subjects throughout the course."
"A distinction which was gained also by a member of the present judiciary, Rear Admiral Mariano," Morton said, bowing slightly in the direction of the bench.
"That is true."
"In fact, Commander Brace, it could be said that the award of the Star of Honour is usually an indication that the holder is likely to go fast and far in the matter of promotion in the Corps. I cite, once again, the distinguished career of Admiral Mariano, who is, I understand, two years your junior."
"There are other factors ..
"Then you don't find it strange that, in sixteen years of service with the Corps, you have failed to attain a rank higher than Lieutenant Commander?"
"Not really," Bruce said calmly. "Promotion in the Space Corps is not an automatic procedure."
"But an officer of your capability, of your record?"
"I run System Patrol, and the establishment for that job calls for a CO with the rank of Lieutenant Commander."
"Mr. Morton," the Judge said, "be plain."
Morton inclined his head. "Very well, Your Honour. I will be plain." He turned and motioned to his assistant, who rose and walked toward the bench, carrying a sheaf of documents. "I would like to offer these Fax copies of a certain document in evidence."
Admiral Carter hunched forward, glaring at the screen. "What's the clever bastard up to now?" he demanded as Alote Jones examined the document and the court waited.
When the Judge looked up eventually, his dark features were grim. "I have in front of me a document which purports to be a Fax copy of a Space Corps Form D346, referring to Lieutenant Commander Bruce. May I ask where you obtained this document, Mr. Morton?"
"With due respect, Your Honour, I must reserve the right to protect my source of information at this time," Morton said.
"Your Honour!" Admiral Suvorov spoke aloud and clearly for the first time, from his place on the judiciary bench. "If this document is a genuine copy, I object most strongly to its being offered in evidence. Disclosure of classified information can only be against the general interest."
Judge Alote Jones nodded. "I take your point, Admiral Suvorov." He turned his attention to the Excelsior Corporation lawyer. "Mr. Morton, unless you are prepared to submit a detailed testimony as to how you obtained a copy of this confidential, internal Corps document, I cannot allow you to submit it for our consideration."
"That's shot him up his rear jets!" exclaimed Carter, gleefully. The camera zoomed in on the features of Morton.
Far from being perturbed by the Judge's rebuke, the lawyer's thin face held the suggestion of a self-satisfied smile. "Your Honour, c
opies of the document were distributed at my press conference during the midday recess. I understand that some of the earlier editions are already on the streets, carrying the full text."
"Mr. Morton, this is highly irregular!" Alote Jones said.
"Your Honour, I merely seek the complete truth."
Admirals Suvorov and Mariano had both left their seats at the bench and were moving toward the Judge's position. Grim faced, he waved them back. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but if this matter has already been made public there is no point in denying its admission here."
The Admirals stopped and conferred together briefly. Then returned to their seats.
"Very well, Mr. Morton, continue," said Judge Jones.
"Thank you, Your Honour," Morton said. Returning to his table, he picked up a file. "And now, for the benefit of those who are not familiar with Space Corps procedure, I should explain that Form D346 is a standard Record sheet, such as is to be found in the personal file of each and every member of the Corps. On this form are entered the brief details of any charges and punishments incurred by the subject during Ms or her service. The particular Form D346 with which we are concerned here is one referring to the career of Lieutenant Commander Thomas Winford Bruce, the officer who now stands in the witness box. The entry to which I wish to draw the attention of this inquiry reads as follows:
" 'Charged 5/3/56 with exceeding the reasonable execution of his duty and with failing to report an emergency to his Commanding Officer. In that while in charge of a planetary landing party, this officer did wilfully bring about the death of forty-one human colonists by summary execution, in the absence of any specific order from his commanding officer. (Complete details of the charge, and testimony offered to the Court Martial are retained in Maximum Security File PZ6753, under Section 254A of Space Corps Standing Orders.) A Court Martial presided over by Admiral Charles Norman, and held In Camera, found Lieutenant Bruce guilty. He was severely reprimanded and deprived of five years' seniority. Sentence confirmed by Presidential Order dated 23/7/56.' "
The court watched in shocked silence as Morton laid the file back on the table and turned to face the witness, who still stood, ramrod straight at attention.
"Lieutenant Commander Bruce, do you deny that this is a true extract from your personal file?" Morton said.
"I do not," replied Bruce.
"In that case, Commander, would you care to comment?"
"I am not at liberty to do so," Bruce said. He faced his questioner without apparent emotion.
"In that case, I will attempt an interpretation," Morton said with some relish. "We are not supplied with the name of the planet upon which these events took place, but it was quite clearly a colonial one. We are all aware that there have been, from time to time, certain differences between the Space Corps and the inhabitants of developing colonies. I cite, for instance, the uprising on Mafti Three, where there was a dispute between the local Space Corps commander and the democratically elected government of the colony."
Alote Jones intervened. "The Mafti Three case was heard before the Supreme Court five years ago and the findings of the court were in favour of the Space Corps action, which was taken to curb undesirable political developments in the administration of the colony."
Morton bowed his head in the direction of the judiciary. "Quite so, Your Honour. I was not suggesting that the planet referred to in this document is Mafti Three, but merely making a general observation that there have been a number of recorded instances of conflict between the Space Corps and colonists."
"Your Honour, I must protest!" Admiral Suvorov rose to his feet. "It is well known that in addition to its exploration and survey functions, the Corps is entrusted with police duties."
"The gallant Admiral's point is well taken," Morton said smoothly. "Perhaps he would like to tell us about this police action? Why were the details of this incident not made public at the time? Is this, perhaps, another example of the well-known solidarity of the Space Corps?" He pitched his voice higher. "I ask again, why were these people killed?"
The spectators maintained their uneasy silence.
Suvorov looked around the court, then back to the Judge. "Your Honour, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this matter."
"Then when will be the time and where the place?" Morton's voice climbed in volume and pitch, dominating a growing murmuring from the public galleries. He turned, with a calculatedly histrionic gesture, and pointed to Bruce. "This man, at the time a mere junior officer of the Corps, took it upon himself to execute forty-one—I repeat, forty-one—human beings, without even bothering to consult his commanding officer. Why was this action taken? Was it perhaps in order to quell some revolt similar to the Mafti Three affair? Were these people massacred, to quote an ancient and barbaric precedent, to encourage the others'? If so, I say that this was nothing less than bloody, mass murder! And for this, lieutenant Bruce was reprimanded?" He spat out the four syllables of the last word in an echoing blast
"Murdering swine!" The shout from the gallery cut in on Morton's words, the scream of a damned soul in torment. Simultaneously a needle gun flashed and a sliver of metal whipped from behind the witness stand, three inches from Commander Bruce's head. He remained unmoving, standing to attention, as for the second time that afternoon pandemonium reigned in the courtroom. Now, more even than before, the mob, deliberately inflamed by Morton, was howling for his blood.
Somewhere in the centre of the gallery a knot of security men closed in on the man with the needle gun, Pax gas pistols in their hands. The man, shouting in Italian, backed away to the very edge of the gallery, waving his gun, but unwilling to fire again in the face of such odds. People, screaming and shouting, scattered away from him; and then a well-placed gas pellet dropped him where he stood.
His fall was a signal for even further uproar, and from the judge's bench a scuffling was visible at the back of the hall as a posse of wild-eyed, desperate men fought to get past the uniformed guards, with the obvious intention of dragging Bruce from the witness stand.
"Get Commander Bruce off the stand!" Alote Jones used the full power of the PA system. "Guards! Emergency A orders are now in operation! Clear the court. This inquiry stands adjourned until further notice. The counsellors will report to my chambers in one hour's time!"
Helen Lindstrom watched the monitor screen as four armed security guards escorted Tom Bruce from the witness stand, up onto the stage and away into the wings. Then she turned sickly toward her companion.
"That bastard! That dirty, conniving, shit-throwing bastard!" roared Admiral Carter. "He knew bloody well that Tom Bruce could not defend himself in open court! That case was a Corps matter, top secret! I'm going to go down to Corps Records, and when I find the sniveling sonofabitch who talked, I'm going to tear him apart with my bare hands!" He stormed toward the door of the small room.
Helen hurried to intercept him. "Admiral! Tell me one thing."
"Yes?" He stopped and glared up at her.
"Did Tom Bruce really kill those people?" she asked.
"Of course he did," growled Carter. "But that's not the point! Corps Security has been breached! Get out of my way, woman!" He thrust past her and flung open the door.
Not the point! Helen slumped into a chair; she sobbed. Forty-one human beings dead, on some godforsaken, unnamed planet, massacred by the man who had shared her bed a thousand times. She had known he was ruthless, but this ...
"Oh, God!" she moaned. "What kind of men are these?" And she knew the answer. These are your brother officers, your Corps commander. If you can't stand what they are, should you be one of them?
She thought about Paul.
"I trust you understand that by coming here you are making a complete shambles of both political and Corps protocol?" Henry Fong's face had all the scrutability of a pale brown egg as he surveyed his visitor.
Paul Sharva, poised uneasily on the edge of a chair that looked inadequate for the task of holding his big body, frowned.
"Mr. Secretary, while I may be an officer of the Space Corps, I am by training and instinct a lawyer. As such, I consider it my duty to defend my client to the best of my ability. This I am not allowed to do at the moment"
"You have discussed the situation with your superiors?" Fong inquired blandly.
"The Judge Advocate General is at the moment on extended leave, and according to his office, quite untraceable," Sharva said. He looked for enlightenment at the other, and received none.
Fong nodded.
Sharva rose to his feet, surrendering to the tensions of a body that demanded movement. He moved restlessly. "Mr. Secretary, I have just come from the Corps Admin Headquarters, where I am outranked by practically everybody except the clerks. I have spent two whole hours there in conference with a herd of Admirals, Rear-Admirals and assorted brass, not one of whom is prepared to make a decision or take any action in this very urgent matter; and every time I've tried to open my mouth I've been told to sit tight and say nothing."
"There are times when that can be very good advice Lieutenant Sharva," Fong said.
"But this is not one of them!" Sharva stopped his pacing and towered over the Secretary's desk. "Mr. Secretary, if I am to defend Commander Bruce when that inquiry resumes, I must be given the full facts. I understand that the Confidential File containing those facts is held in the strong room of this building."
"Under the Presidential seal, Lieutenant; which can only be broken at the express order of the President himself."
"Or, at your discretion, as the President's personal secretary."
"Only in the most extreme circumstances."
"These are extreme circumstances!"
Fong placed the tips of his carefully manicured fingers together and looked calmly at the big, dark man who faced him. "Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you expect to find in this confidential file?" he asked.
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