Badge of Infamy

by Lester Del Rey

  IX

  Judgment

  Doc woke to see sunlight shining through a heavily barred window thatmust be in the official Southport jail. He waited a few minutes for hishead to clear and then sat up; necrosynth left no hangover, at least.

  The sound of steps outside was followed by the squeak of a key in thelock. "Fifteen minutes, Judge Wilson," a voice said.

  "Thank you, officer." Wilson came into the cell, carrying a tray ofbreakfast and a copy of the Northport _Gazette_. He began unloadingbracky weeds from his pocket while Doc attacked the breakfast.

  "They tossed the book at you, Doc," he said. "You haven't got a chance,and there's nothing the villages can do. Trial's set for tomorrow atNorthport, and it's in closed session. We can't get you off this time."

  Doc nodded. "Thanks for coming, even if there's nothing you can do. I'vebeen living on borrowed time for a year, anyhow, so I have no right tokick. But who's 'we'?"

  "The villages. I've been part of their organization for years." The oldman sighed heavily. "You might say a revolution has been going on sinceI can remember, though most villagers don't know it. We've just beenwaiting our time. Now we've stopped waiting and the rifles will becoming out--rifles made in village shops. The villages are going torebel, even if we're all dead of plague in a month."

  Doc Feldman nodded and reached for the bracky. He knew that this wastheir way of trying to make him feel his work hadn't been for nothing,and he was grateful for Wilson's visit. "It was a good year for me.Damned good. But time's running short. I'd better brief you on thelatest on the plague."

  Wilson began making notes until Doc was finished. Finally he got up assteps sounded from the hall. "Anything else?"

  "Just a guess. A lot of Earth germs can't live in Mars-normal flesh;maybe this can't live in Earth-normal. Tell them so long for me."

  "So long, Doc." He shook hands briefly and was waiting at the door whenthe guard opened it.

  An hour later, the Lobby police took Feldman to the Northport shuttlerocket. They had some trouble on the way; a runner cut down the street,with the crowds frantically rushing out of his way. Terror was reachingthe cities already.

  Doc flashed a look at Chris. "Mob hysteria. Like flying saucers andwriggly tops, I suppose?" he asked, before the guard could stop him.

  They locked his legs, but left his hands free in the rocket. He unfoldedthe paper Wilson had brought and buried his face in it. Then he swore.They _were_ explaining the runners as a case of mob hysteria!

  Northport was calmer. Apparently they had yet to have first-handexperience with the plague. But now nothing seemed quite real to Doc,even when they locked him into the big Northport jail. The whole ritualof the Lobbies seemed like a fantasy after the villages.

  It snapped back into focus, however, when they led him into the trialroom of the Medical Lobby building. It was a smaller version of histrial on Earth. Fear washed in by association. The complete lack ofhumanity in the procedure was something from a half-remembered andhorrible past.

  The presiding officer asked the routine question: "Is the prisonerrepresented by counsel?"

  Blane, the dapper little prosecutor, arose quickly. "The prisoner is apariah, Sir Magistrate."

  "Very well. The court will accept the protective function for theprisoner. You may proceed."

  _I'll be judge, I'll be jury._ And prosecution and defense. It made fora lot less trouble. Of course, if Space Lobby had asserted interest, itwould have gone to a supposedly neutral court. But as usual, Space washappy to leave it in the hands of Medical.

  The tape was played as evidence. Doc frowned. The words were his, butthere had been a lot of editing that subtly changed the import of hisnotes.

  "I protest," he challenged. "It's not an accurate version."

  The Lobby magistrate turned a wooden face to him. "Does the prisonerhave a different version to introduce?"

  "No, but--"

  "The evidence is accepted. One of the prisoner's six protests will becharged against him."

  Blane smiled smoothly and held up a small package. "We wish to introducethis drug as evidence that the prisoner is a confirmed addict, morallyirresponsible under addiction. This is a package of so-called brackyweed, a vile and noxious substance found in his possession."

  "It has alkaloids no more harmful than nicotine," Feldman statedsharply.

  "Do you contend that you find the taste pleasing?" Blane asked.

  "It's bitter, but I've gotten used to it."

  "I've tasted it," the magistrate said. "Evidence accepted. Twodeductions, one for irregularity of presentation."

  Doc shrugged and sat back. He'd tested his rights and found what heexpected. It was hard to see now how he had ever accepted suchprocedure. Jake must be right; they'd been in power too long, and weremaking the mistake of taking the velvet glove off the iron fist andflailing about for the sheer pleasure of power.

  It dragged on, while he became a greater and greater monster on therecord. But finally it was over, and the magistrate turned to Feldman."You may present your defense."

  "I ask complete freedom of expression," Doc said formally.

  The magistrate nodded. "This is a closed court. Permission granted. Therecording will be scrambled."

  The last bit ruined most of the purpose Doc had in mind. But it was toolate to change. He could only hope that some one of the Medical menpresent would remember something of what he said.

  "I have nothing to say for myself," he began. "It would be useless. ButI had to do what I did. There's a plague outside. I've studied thatplague, and I have knowledge which must be used against it...."

  He sat down in three minutes. It had been useless.

  Blane arose, with a smile still plastered on his face. "We, of course,recognize the existence of a new contagion, but I believe we haveestablished that this is one disseminated by the prisoner himself, andprobably not directly contagious. There have been many cases of fanaticsready to destroy humanity to eliminate those they hate. Now, surely, theprisoner has himself left no question of his attitude. He asserts he hasknowledge and skill greater than the entire Medical Research staff. Hehas attempted to intimidate us by threats. He is clearly psychopathic,and dangerously so. The prosecution rests."

  The guards took Doc into the anteroom, where he was supposed to hearnothing that went on. But their curiosity was stronger than theirdiscretion, and the door remained a trifle ajar.

  The magistrate began the discussion. "The case seems firm enough. It'sfortunate Dr. Ryan acted so quickly, with some of the people gettingnervous. Perhaps it might be wise to publicize our verdict."

  "My thought exactly," Blane agreed. "If we show Feldman is responsibleand that Medical is eliminating the source of the infection, it may havea stabilizing effect."

  "Let's hope so. The sentence will have to be death, of course. We can'tlet such a rebellious psychopath live. But this needs something more, itseems. You've prepared a recommendation, I suppose."

  "There was the case of Albrecht Delier," Blane suggested. "Somethinglike that should have good publicity impact."

  It struck Doc that they sounded as if they believed themselves--as thewitch-burners had believed in witches. He was sweating when the guardsled him before the bench.

  The magistrate rolled a pen slowly across his fingers as his eyes rakedFeldman. "Pariah Daniel Feldman, you have been found guilty on allcounts. Furthermore, your guilt must be shared by that entire section ofMars known as the villages. Therefore the entire section shall be bannedand forbidden any and all services of the Medical Lobby for a period ofone year."

  "Sir Magistrate!" One of the members of Southport Hospital staff was onhis feet. "Sir Magistrate, we can't cut them off completely."

  "We must, Dr. Harkness. I appreciate the fine humanitarian tradition ofour Lobby which lies behind your protest, but at such a time as this thegood of the body politic requires drastic measures. Why not see me aftercourt, and we can discuss it then?"

  He turned back to Feldman, and
his face was severe.

  "The same education which has produced such fine young men as Dr.Harkness was wasted on you and perverted to endanger the whole race. Nopunishment can equal your crimes, but there is one previously invokedfor a particularly horrible case, and it seems fitting that you shouldbe the fourth so sentenced.

  "Daniel Feldman, you are sentenced to be taken in to space beyondplanetary limits, together with all material used by you in thefurtherance of your criminal acts. There you shall be placed into aspacesuit containing sufficient oxygen for one hour of life, and nomore. You and your contaminated possessions shall then be released intospace, to drift there through all eternity as a warning to other men.

  "This sentence shall be executed at the earliest possible moment, andDr. Christina Ryan is hereby commissioned to observe such execution. Andmay God have mercy on your soul!"