Chapter Nine
Being accused of a murder you can't remember is one thing; remembering amurder you have been accused of is another thing entirely. Such evidenceis hard to disbelieve.
Barrent tried to sort out his feelings on the matter. Before his visitto the Dream Shop he had never felt himself a murderer, no matter whatthe Earth authorities had accused him of. At worst, he had thought thathe might have killed a man in a sudden uncontrollable fit of rage. Butto plan and perform a murder in cold blood....
Why had he done it? Had his lust for revenge been so great as to throwoff all the restraint of Earth's civilization? Apparently so. He hadkilled, and someone had informed on him, and a judge had sentenced himto Omega. He was a murderer on a criminal's planet. To live heresuccessfully, he simply had to follow his natural bias toward murder.
And yet, Barrent found this extremely difficult to do. He hadsurprisingly little taste for bloodshed. On Free Citizen's Day,although he went into the streets with his needlebeam, he couldn't bringhimself to slaughter any of the lower classes. He didn't want to kill.It was a ridiculous prejudice, considering where and what he was; butthere it was. No matter how often Tem Rend or Joe lectured him on hisCitizen's duties, Barrent still found murder quite distasteful.
He sought the aid of a psychiatrist, who told him that his rejection ofmurder had its roots in an unhappy childhood. The phobia had beenfurther complicated by the traumatic qualities of his experience in theDream Shop. Because of this, murder, the highest social good, had becomerepugnant to him. This antimurder neurosis in a man eminently suited forthe art of killing would, the psychiatrist said, inevitably lead toBarrent's destruction. The only solution was to displace the neurosis.The psychiatrist suggested immediate treatment in a sanitarium for thecriminally non-murderous.
Barrent visited a sanitarium, and heard the mad inmates screaming aboutgoodness, fair play, the sanctity of life, and other obscenities. He hadno intention of joining them. Perhaps he was sick, but he wasn't _that_sick!
His friends told him that his uncooperative attitude was bound to gethim into trouble. Barrent agreed; but he hoped, by killing only when itbecame necessary, that he would escape the observation of the highlyplaced individuals who administered the law.
For several weeks his plan seemed to work. He ignored the increasinglyperemptory notes from the Dream Shop and did not return to services atthe Wee Coven. Business prospered, and Barrent spent his spare timestudying the effects of the rarer poisons and practicing with hisneedlebeam. He often thought about the girl. He still had the gun shehad lent him. He wondered if he would ever see her again.
And he thought about Earth. Since his visit to the Dream Shop, he hadoccasional flashes of recall, isolated pictures of a weathered stonebuilding, a stand of live oaks, the curve of a river seen throughwillows. This half-remembered Earth filled him with an almost unbearablelonging. Like most of the citizens of Omega, his only real wish was togo home.
And that was impossible.
The days passed, and when trouble came, it came unexpectedly. One nightthere was a heavy knocking at his door. Half asleep, Barrent answeredit. Four uniformed men pushed their way inside and told him he was underarrest.
"What for?" Barrent asked.
"Non-drug addiction," one of the men told him. "You have three minutesto dress."
"What's the penalty?"
"You'll find out in court," the man said. He winked at the other guardsand added, "But the only way to cure a nonaddict is to kill him. Eh?"
Barrent dressed.
* * * * *
He was taken to a room in the sprawling Department of Justice. The roomwas called the Kangaroo Court, in honor of ancient Anglo-Saxon judicialproceeding. Across the hall from it, also of antique derivation, was theStar Chamber. Just past that was the Court of Last Appeal.
The Kangaroo Court was divided in half by a high wooden screen, for itwas fundamental to Omegan justice that the accused should not see hisjudge nor any of the witnesses against him.
"Let the prisoner rise," a voice said from behind the screen. The voice,thin, flat and emotionless, came through a small amplifier. Barrentcould barely understand the words; tone and inflection were lost, as hadbeen planned for. Even in speaking, the judge remained anonymous.
"Will Barrent," the judge said, "you have been brought before this courton a major charge of non-drug addiction and a minor charge of religiousimpiety. On the minor count we have the sworn statement of a priest. Onthe major count we have the testimony of the Dream Shop. Can you refuteeither of these charges?"
Barrent thought for a moment, then answered, "No, sir, I can't."
"For the present," the judge said, "your religious impiety can bewaived, since it is a first offense. But non-drug addiction is a majorcrime against the state of Omega. The uninterrupted use of drugs is anenforced privilege of every citizen. It is well known that privilegesmust be exercised, otherwise they will be lost. To lose our privilegeswould be to lose the very cornerstone of our liberty. Therefore toreject or otherwise fail to perform a privilege is tantamount to hightreason."
There was a pause. The guards shuffled their feet restlessly. Barrent,who considered his situation hopeless, stood at attention and waited.
"Drugs serve many purposes," the hidden judge went on. "I need notenumerate their desirable qualities for the user. But speaking from theviewpoint of the state, I will tell you that an addicted populace is aloyal populace; that drugs are a major source of tax revenue; that drugsexemplify our entire way of life. Furthermore, I say to you that thenonaddicted minorities have invariably proven hostile to native Omeganinstitutions. I give you this lengthy explanation, Will Barrent, inorder that you may better understand the sentence which is to be passedupon you."
"Sir," Barrent said, "I was wrong in avoiding addiction. I won't pleadignorance, because I know the law doesn't recognize that excuse. But Iwill ask you most humbly for another chance. I ask you to remember, sir,that addiction and rehabilitation are still possible for me."
"The court recognizes that," the judge said. "For that reason, the courtis pleased to exercise its fullest powers of judicial mercy. Instead ofsummary execution, you may choose between two lesser decrees. The firstis punitive; that you shall suffer the loss of your right hand and leftleg in atonement for your crime against the State; but that you shallnot lose your life."
Barrent gulped and asked, "What is the other decree, sir?"
"The other decree, which is nonpunitive, is that you shall undergo aTrial by Ordeal. And that, if you survive such a trial, you shall bereturned to appropriate rank and position in society."
"I'll take the Trial by Ordeal," Barrent said.
"Very well," said the judge. "Let the case proceed."
Barrent was led from the room. Behind him, he heard a quickly concealedlaugh from one of the guards. Had he chosen wrong? he wondered. Could atrial by ordeal be worse than outright mutilation?