A Rage for Revenge watc-3

by David Gerrold

  "You can't put that blame on me."

  "Jim, you know what your responsibility in the matter is. You know where you failed. There's nothing I have to say or do at all. You'll do it all yourself, far worse than I ever can."

  "I'm not going to play word games with you any more, Jason. I came down here. I gave you a chance. My conscience is clean."

  "That's bullshit and we both know it."

  "You're no god," I said to him. "You know what your failure is? You wanted revenge on me. You may wrap it up in beautiful fancy language, but underneath it all, somewhere in there, it's still nothing more than revenge, isn't it?"

  "I kept my word, James. As I said I would." He returned to his bunk and sat down. He was dismissing me.

  I didn't move. "You know, you were right about something you said to me once. I don't want to kill. But I kill. I don't want to kill you. But I will. If I have to."

  "I've told you my choice. I think I'll die now."

  "Unfinished? Incomplete?"

  He laughed. "I'm not incomplete, Jim. I'm fulfilled. I've come farther than any human being before me; but this isn't the end of the process. Oh, no. There's still so much more to come. This is only where I stop, Jim, not the work.

  "Nature is abundant. She'll keep spawning prophets until one of us accomplishes the transformation of the species. It was never important that I be the one to complete the work, only that the work gets completed. And what I've done isn't wasted either. I've helped pave the way, helped make it easier for the next prophet.

  "In that regard, I envy you, Jim; because it's very possible that you will live long enough to see the work completed. I promise you that it will be. Nothing you or anyone can do can stop it. The work will be finished. If not by me, then by someone else. Perhaps . . . " He smiled, and the effect was terrifying. "Perhaps, Jim, you might even be the one to someday finish what we started here."

  "I'll burn in hell first," I said.

  "Yes, that's the other possibility." I closed the door behind me.

  He would not let me be complete. The bastard. His skill was at keeping people off balance. He'd done it to me again.

  And tomorrow, I would have to do it to him.

  A necrophile name of Ned Schultz,

  often brags of his deed and exults,

  "Tis legal, it's said,

  to make love to the dead,

  if performed by consenting adults."

  49

  The Trial

  "If you build a better mousetrap, you'll catch a better class of mouse."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  I walked in and stopped and looked at them.

  There were only seven. They were in a row along the side of the room.

  Marcie, Jessie, Frankenstein, three whose names I didn't know, and Delandro.

  They were on their knees, hands on top of their heads. Prisoner of war position.

  There was one guard in back of each one of them, with a rifle pointed directly at their backs. None of the guards was over sixteen years old.

  They were impassive. Guards and prisoners both. We almost looked civilized.

  I knew what was going to happen here. And they knew it too. They were going to say what they would say. We would say what we would say. But the result would be the same.

  I turned away from them. I nodded to the two young men at the back of the room. They opened the doors and the rest of the people of Family filed silently in. They took their seats quickly and with a minimum of noise.

  I was startled by how few of us were left. Less than fifteen adults.

  When they were settled, I nodded to the guard at the side door. He opened it and Betty-John and Birdie came quietly in. They stepped up to the podium and sat down at the table there.

  Betty-John arranged some papers in front of her, poured herself a glass of water, and took a drink. She put the glass down and put on a pair of reading glasses. She peered at the papers in front of her. She picked up a gavel. She tapped it three times on a small wooden block and said, "This court is now in session."

  She glanced around the room for the first time. She looked grim. She looked over her audience as if renewing herself. Then she looked at the prisoners.

  "A fair trial," she said, "presupposes that the defendant is a responsible human being, capable of understanding the difference between right and wrong and able to gauge his actions and their consequences on that basis." She looked at the prisoners. "Do you understand this?"

  Delandro said, "We do not recognize your authority to try us."

  "Do you understand the question?" Betty-John asked.

  "We do not recognize your authority."

  "Yes, I know. You don't recognize my authority. Be that as it may, I still have the authority. Do you understand the question? Let me repeat it. A fair trial presupposes that the defendant is a responsible human being, capable of understanding the difference between right and wrong and able to gauge his actions and their consequences on that basis. The outcome of this hearing is dependent on your ability to deal with the circumstances of the physical universe. Do you understand this?"

  "We do not recognize your authority."

  I looked at Betty-John. "With your permission?" She nodded to me.

  I walked over to Delandro. "I am acting as a friend of the court here. Do you understand?"

  "We do not recognize the authority of this court."

  "Yes, I understand that. I get your communication. You do not recognize the authority of this court. That's too bad, because you're here anyway."

  "You do not have the authority to judge us."

  "That issue is irrelevant. We've already begun the process, whether you think we have the authority or not."

  Delandro didn't answer.

  "Last night, I offered you a choice. Do you wish to accept it?" His face remained blank. I knew what he was doing. "Refusal to answer is still an answer, Delandro."

  He answered by not answering.

  So. We were going to act out the entire charade. Here is where it starts-and proceeds inexorably to its terrifyingly logical conclusion.

  I spoke my line. "You realize, of course, that you are effectively signing your own death warrant?"

  He looked up at me. At Betty-John. At all of us. "I'm not afraid of death," he said. He looked at me again. "If you put the gun in my mouth, James, and offer me life or death, I will not make the same choice you did. If I choose death, then there is nothing you can do to me, nothing you can threaten me with. I am the source of my own choices, I always will be. Any power you might have over me would be only the power that I give you. I give you nothing. We give you nothing."

  Right.

  I looked at the whole line of them. All of the prisoners were impassive. I'd have been disappointed if they hadn't been.

  I looked to Betty-John. She looked to me. She was as annoyed as I was. I crossed to the bench.

  "I told you this was going to happen. I know these people."

  "A little too well," Betty-John remarked acidly. "All right." She picked up her notepad. I stepped back.

  "Before we proceed, I want to make your options clear to you," she said to Jason and the others. "First of all, there is the nondiscriminatory option; for those of you who are smart enough to request the court's guidance, the question of guilt or innocence will be set aside in favor of social service.

  "James McCarthy informs me that you all possess information about the nature of the Chtorran ecology, information that could prove valuable to the United States war effort. If any of you choose to make that information available, I am prepared to enroll any or all of you into an appropriate national service program.

  "Let me make it very clear that a social welfare program is not a prison term, but neither is it an escape or a parole. These national service programs are intended to provide a way for those who are, for one reason or another, incapable of accepting the full responsibilities of citizenship to still meet their obligations to the society they live in. It is an entirely
voluntary program.

  "If that option is not acceptable to you, then this trial will continue and you will be tried for crimes against humanity. Unless any of you request otherwise, you will be tried as a group."

  None of them spoke. I hadn't expected them too.

  Betty-John asked, "Do any of you wish to accept the national service option."

  She waited. We waited.

  "I see," she said. She scribbled something on her pad and passed it sideways for Birdie to initial too. "Do any of you wish to be tried as individuals?"

  Again, silence.

  Betty-John ran her hand through her hair in annoyance. She knew what had to come next. She didn't like it either. She steepled her fingers in front of herself and pursed her lips and looked unhappy.

  Finally, she picked up her gavel and said, "Let it be noted that the prisoners' silence has been interpreted as a refusal to both questions. Therefore, we must continue with the trial." To Jason, she said, "The court is prepared to provide you with the services of an attorney. "

  Jason shook his head. "We do not recognize the authority of this court."

  "Mr. Delandro, I'm going to give you one more chance. I strongly recommend that you take it. Do you wish the services of an attorney?"

  Jason repeated his statement. "We do not recognize the authority of this court."

  Betty-John looked frustrated and angry. "Let it be recorded that the prisoners refused to recognize the authority of the court." She looked at her notes. She found the place in the civil orders I had marked for her. "All right. The court recognizes James Edward McCarthy as an expert witness on the state of mind of the prisoners." She looked across to me. "In your opinion, are the prisoners capable of recognizing the authority of this court?"

  I stood up. "No," I said. "In my opinion, they are not presently capable. The operative word is presently. Under other circumstances, perhaps."

  "We are dealing with the present," Betty-John said.

  "I concur. "

  Betty-John moved her finger down the page, pursed her lips into a frown. But instead of reading the next passage, she motioned me over to the table. She lowered her voice, "You're certain?"

  "It went exactly as I told you it would, B-Jay. They're not operating inside the parameters of what we recognize as responsibility and you can't proceed with the trial. And yes, they clearly know what's at stake. This is what they want."

  "Do you think they're trying to force the issue-embarrass me into compassion?"

  I shook my head. "On the contrary. I think they want to die."

  "That's why I hate this law," B-Jay said. "It makes too many martyrs."

  "There's no way that any of them are going to cooperate with the system."

  B-Jay said, "Jim, let me remand them to the custody of the San Jose Authority."

  I shook my head.

  Birdie said warningly, "Jim . . . "

  I cut her off. "They're too damned dangerous."

  "That may be true, but this is too damned close to revenge."

  "Birdie!" I forced myself to whisper again. "Is there a single person in this room who doesn't want revenge?"

  "That's the point, Jim. B-Jay's right. We should send this whole thing to San Jose."

  I shook my head. "No. Listen to me. Your authority ends at the point at which the prisoners refuse to cooperate. You have no choice. The responsibility for disposition passes to the acting officer in charge of the district. And I claim that authority."

  "I'm not arguing that. I'm arguing about the humanity of it!"

  "So am I. I say we need to complete this here. If it goes to San Jose, it'll go on for months-or worse, they'll kick it up to Oakland, and it'll go on for years. Delandro isn't stupid. He'll tie the legal system into knots. If he can stall his trial for three years-and he can-the odds get very very slim that he'll ever be brought to trial for his real crimes. They'll come up on reduced conspiracy charges. If it leaves this district, he'll be back in five years.

  "Besides," I lowered my voice to add, "I'm not willing to have him be a notorious celebrity. The kind of garbage he's spreading is infectious. I know."

  "Jim, I ask you one more time to reconsider. There may be another way."

  "Birdie, I've given this a lot more consideration than you know already. Maybe I've seen too much. But that makes me the expert. You're the expert on medicine here. If you see a cancer, you cut it out. I'm the expert on Chtorrans. I see a cancer too."

  Birdie sighed. "All right, Jim." She looked unhappy.

  I looked to Betty-John. "Go on to the next page," I said. I stepped away from the table.

  Betty-John read:

  "After expert examination, this court finds that the accused are presently incapable of understanding or cooperating with the legal process. The accused will be remanded to the custody of the United States Army."

  I was watching Delandro's face when Betty-John read that last. His eyes widened in surprise. Then he looked at me, and smiled in appreciation.

  Betty-John continued. "Lieutenant James Edward McCarthy, acting commander for the Santa Cruz Peninsula District, will you accept custody of the accused?"

  I turned to Betty-John. "I will."

  "Thank you. Court is hereby adjourned."

  I walked back over to stand before Delandro.

  "Like a clock, James. Like a clock," he said. "The machinery works. Tick tock. Tick tock."

  I didn't reply to that. I was considering my next words. There was something I wanted to know. I turned back to the prisoners. Very softly, I asked, "Where's Loolie? She wasn't at the camp." No answer.

  I raised my eyes to see Jason studying me.

  I let my glance slide sideways, to Jessie. She looked bitter and angry-and triumphant.

  "Where is she?" I asked.

  Jessie snorted. "You wouldn't understand."

  "Try me."

  '"She had a Revelation."

  "And-?"

  "And she gave herself to Orrie."

  "She what?!!"

  Jessie smiled. "I told you that you wouldn't understand."

  "You're wrong," I said. "I understand all too well. Revelationists eat their young." I turned away from them quickly.

  I walked over to Big Ivy, acting commander of the guards. "Take them outside," I said.

  The prisoners were taken in a single file line out the side door and onto the parking lot. A wide area had been roped off on the lawn. "Line them up there," I pointed.

  The people of Family were coming out of the front doors of the auditorium now, coming around to the side to join us. The children were being herded away. Only the adults and teenagers were lining up to watch.

  The sun was high overhead. The day was warm and clear. It was a beautiful day.

  I waited until the prisoners were down on their knees again. I picked up a hand mike, tested it by tapping on it, and spoke. "Twenty-eight months ago, Congress passed the Emergency Euthanasia Bill. The bill defines specific circumstances under which the termination of human lives that have been damaged beyond rehabilitation may be authorized."

  I nodded to Big Ivy. "Will you please read the text of the relevant sections?" I handed her the microphone.

  She took it. She unfolded a piece of paper from her shirt pocket and began to read the text of the law. While she did, I looked at the faces of our survivors.

  They were grim.

  This was ugly, but necessary.

  Big Ivy finished and handed me back the microphone. "By the authority vested in me by the Congress of the United States of America and the Commander in Chief of the United States Armed Forces, I hereby assume the responsibility for the decision of termination." I turned to Big Ivy. "Do you have the papers?"

  She motioned to one of the younger girls, who came up with a clipboard. I signed all seven documents.

  "Jim!" I looked up. It was Marcie. I walked over to her. "Yes?"

  "I'm pregnant. You can check with your own doctor. She knows. She examined me, last night."

 
; "So?"

  "The baby-it deserves a chance, doesn't it?"

  "Are you asking to have your case reconsidered?"

  She glanced once at Jason. His face was still blank. She looked back to me. "Yes, I am," she said. "It's your baby."

  I looked at her eyes. She was terrified. "I'm sorry, Marcie. It's too late. You already chose. I don't have the authority to reopen your trial. All I have is the authority to determine whether or not you're terminally damaged. You had your chance inside."

  "But I didn't know you were planning this-"

  "Yes, you did. You knew the choice. We made it clear."

  "It's your baby!" she repeated.

  "No," I said. "It isn't. Whatever it is, it's a monster. And you're using it to manipulate me. It won't work."

  "Jim, please-"

  I leaned in close. "Marcie," I said softly. "Shut up. That's your survival programming talking. I'm not going to listen to it, because I know that's not who you really are."

  "You son of a bitch," she said

  "I had a good teacher."

  I walked away from her and thumbed the mike to life. "I want to stress something here. When an animal is sick, you put it out of its pain. A human being deserves the same courtesy. What we are up to here is not vengeance. Vengeance is a crime against ourselves. What we are up to here is a cleansing. It will look brutal. Think of it as the removal of cancer. Those of you who feel you may not be able to cope with this are requested to leave. Those of you who are here for vengeance are requested to leave. Those of you who are here to mourn the loss of another bit of humanity are welcome to remain and share the grief." I turned to the seven surviving members of Jason Delandro's Revelationist Tribe. I thought for a long moment. No. There was nothing else I wanted to say to them. It had all already been said.

  Jason looked at me. "Do we get any last words?"

  "This isn't an execution. It's a termination. No purpose will be served. But if you want to babble, no one will stop you."