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picked up a belt and a pair of pistols that had been lying in front of him.
"Wilbur Whately," he began, "this court is proud to announce that you have been unanimously acquitted
of the charge of political irresponsibility, and of unjustified and excessive atrocity.
"There was one dissenting vote on acquitting you of the charge of political irresponsibility; one of the
associate judges felt that the late unmitigated scoundrel, Austin Maverick, ought to have been skinned
alive, an inch at a time. You are, however, acquitted of that charge, too.
"You all know," he continued, addressing the entire assemblage, "the reason for which this young hero cut
down that monster of political iniquity, S. Austin Maverick. On the very morning of his justly-merited
death, Austin Maverick, using the powers of his political influence, rammed through the Finance and
Revenue Committee a bill entitled 'An Act for the Taxing of Personal Incomes, and for the Levying of a
Withholding Tax.' Fellow citizens, words fail me to express my horror of this diabolic proposition, this
proposed instrument of tyrannical extortion, borrowed from the Dark Ages of the Twentieth Century!
Why, if this young nobleman had not taken his blade in hand, I'd have killed the sonofabitch, myself!"
He leaned forward, extending the belt and holsters to the defendant.
"I therefore restore to you your weapons, taken from you when, in compliance with the law, you were
formally arrested. Buckle them on, and, assuming your weapons again, go forth from this court a free
man, Wilbur Whately. And take with you that machete with which you vindicated the liberties and rights
of all New Texans. Bear it reverently to your home, hang it among your lares and penates, cherish it, and
dying, mention it within your will, bequeathing it as a rich legacy unto your issue! Court adjourned; next
session 0900 tomorrow. For Chrissake, let's get out of here before the barbecue's over!"
Some of the spectators, drooling for barbecued supercow, began crowding and jostling toward the exits;
more of them were pushing to the front of the courtroom, cheering and waving their hip-flasks. The
prosecution and about half of the friends of the court hastily left by a side door, probably to issue
statements disassociating themselves from the deceased Maverick.
"So that's the court that's going to try the men who killed Ambassador Cumshaw," I commented, as Gail
and I went out. "Why, the purpose of that court seems to be to acquit murderers."
"Murderers?" She was indignant. "That wasn't murder. He just killed a politician. All the court could do
was determine whether or not the politician needed it, and while I never heard about Maverick's
income-tax proposition, I can't see how they could have brought in any other kind of a verdict. Of all the
outrageous things!"
I was thoughtfully silent as we went out into the plaza, which was still a riot of noise and polychromatic
costumes. And my thoughts were as weltered as the scene before me.
Apparently, on New Texas, killing a politician wasn't regarded as mallum in se, and was mallum
prohibitorum only to the extent that what happened to the politician was in excess of what he deserved.
I began to understand why Palme was such a scared rabbit, why Hutchinson had that hunted look and
kept his hands always within inches of his pistols.
I began to feel more pity than contempt for Thrombley, too. He's been on this planet too long and he
should never have been sent here in the first place. I'll rotate him home as soon as possible....
Then the full meaning of what I had seen finally got through to me: if they were going to try the killers of
Cumshaw in that court, that meant that on New Texas, foreign diplomats were regarded as practicing
politicians....
That made me a practicing politician too!
And that's why, when we got back to the vicinity of the bandstand, I had my right hand close to my
pistol, with my thumb on the inconspicuous little spot of silver inlay that operated the secret holster
mechanism.
I saw Hutchinson and Palme and Thrombley ahead. With them was a newcomer, a portly, ruddy-faced
gentleman with a white mustache and goatee, dressed in a white suit. Gail broke away from me and ran
toward him. This, I thought, would be her father; now I would be introduced and find out just what her
last name was. I followed, more slowly, and saw a waiter, with a wheeled serving-table, move in behind
the group which she had joined.
So I saw what none of them did the waiter suddenly reversed his long carving-knife and poised himself
for a blow at President Hutchinson's back. I simply pressed the little silver stud on my belt, the
Krupp-Tatta popped obediently out of the holster into my open hand. I thumbed off the safety and
swung up; when my sights closed on the rising hand that held the knife, I fired.
Hoddy Ringo, who had been holding a sandwich with one hand and a drink with the other, dropped both
and jumped on the man whose hand I had smashed. A couple of Rangers closed in and grabbed him,
also. The group around President Hutchinson had all turned and were staring from me to the man I had
shot, and from him to the knife with the broken handle, lying on the ground.
Hutchinson spoke first. "Well, Mr. Ambassador! My Government thanks your Government! That was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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