Isaac Asimov - The Martian Way and Other Stories

For a while, Mark’s voice was only a collection of sounds that meant nothing to him. Then they began to coalesce into words. Finally, when his eyes fluttered open and light entered stabbingly so that he had to close them again, he could make out sentences. He remained where he was, head hanging, one quivering knee holding him up.

Mark was saying in a breathless, high-pitched voice, “… a thousand people all dead. Just graves. And nobody knows why.”

There was a rumble Sheffield couldn’t make out. A hoarse, deep voice.

Then Mark again, “It’s true. Why do you suppose all the scientists are aboard?”

Sheffield lifted achingly to his feet and rested against one wall. He put his hand to his head and it came away bloody. His hair was caked and matted with it. Groaning, he staggered toward the coaster’s cabin door. He fumbled for the hook and yanked it inward.

The landing ramp had been lowered. For a moment, he stood there, swaying, afraid to trust his legs.

He had to take in everything by instalments. Both suns were high in die sky and a thousand feet away the giant steel cylinder of the Triple G . reared its nose high above the runty trees that ringed it.

Mark was at the foot of the ramp, semi-circled by members of the crew. The crewmen were stripped to the waist and browned nearly black in the ultraviolet of Lagrange I. (Thanks only to the thick atmosphere and the heavy ozone coating in the upper reaches for keeping UV down to a livable range.)

The crewman directly before Mark was leaning on a baseball bat. Another tossed a ball in the air and caught it. Many of the rest were wearing gloves.

Funny, thought Sheffield erratically, Mark landed right in the middle of a ball park.

Mark looked up and saw him. He screamed excitedly, “All right, “ask him. Go ahead, ask him. Dr. Sheffield, wasn’t there an expedition to this planet once and they all died mysteriously?”

Sheffield tried to say, “Mark, what are you doing?” He couldn’t. When he opened his mouth, only a moan came out.

The crewman with the bat said, “Is this little gumboil telling the truth, mister?”

Sheffield held on to the railing with two perspiring hands. The crewman’s face seemed to waver. The face had thick lips on it and small eyes buried under bristly eyebrows. It wavered very badly.

Then the ramp came up and whirled about his head. There was ground gripped in his hands suddenly and a cold ache on his cheekbone. He gave up the fight and let go of consciousness again.

He came awake less painfully the second time. He was in bed now and two misty faces leaned over him. A long, thin object passed across his line of vision and a voice, just heard above the humming in his ears, said, “He”ll come to now, Cimon.”

Sheffield closed his eyes. Somehow he seemed to be aware of the fact that his skull was thoroughly bandaged.

He lay quietly for a minute, breathing deeply. When he opened his eyes again, the faces above him were clear. There was Novee’s round face, a small, professionally serious line between his eyes that cleared away when Sheffield said, “Hello, Novee.”

The other man was Cimon, jaws set and angry, yet with a look of something like satisfaction in his eyes.

Sheffield said, “Where are we?”

Cimon said coldly, “In space, Dr. Sheffield. Two days out in space.”

“Two days out-” Sheffield’s eyes widened.

Novee interposed. “You’ve had a bad concussion, nearly a fracture, Sheffield. Take it easy.”

“Well, what hap- Where’s Mark? Where’s Mark ?”;

“Easy. Easy now.” Novee put a hand on each of Sheffield’s shoulders and pressed him down.

Cimon said, “Your boy is in the brig. In case you want to know why, he deliberately caused mutiny on board ship, thus endangering the safety of five men. We were almost marooned at our temporary camp because the crew wanted to leave immediately. He persuaded them, the Captain did, to pick us up.”

Sheffield tried to brush Novee’s restraining arm to one side. That fuzzy memory of Mark and a man with a bat. Mark saying “… a thousand people all dead…”

The psychologist hitched himself up on one elbow with a tremendous effort. “Listen, Cimon, I don’t know why Mark did it, but let me talk to him. I’ll find out.”

Cimon said, “No need of that. It will all come out at the trial.”

Sheffield tried to brush Novee’s restraining arm to one side. “But why make it formal? Why involve the Bureau? We can settle this among ourselves.”

“That’s exactly what we intend to do. The Captain is empowered by the laws of space to preside over trials involving crimes and misdemeanors in deep space.”

“The Captain. A trial here? On board ship? Cimon, don’t let him do it. It will be murder.”

“Not at all. It will be a fair and proper trial. I’m in full agreement with the Captain. Discipline demands a trial.”

Novee said uneasily, “Look, Cimon, I wish you wouldn’t. He’s in no shape to take this.”

“Too bad,” said Cimon.

Sheffield said, “But you don’t understand. I’m responsible for the boy.”

“On the contrary, I do understand,” said Cimon. “It’s why we’ve been waiting for you to regain consciousness. You’re standing trial with him.”

“What!”

“You are generally responsible for his actions. Specifically, you were with him when he stole the air-coaster. The crew saw you at the coaster’s cabin door while Mark was inciting mutiny.”

“But he cracked my skull in order to take the coaster. Can’t you see that’s the act of a seriously disturbed mind? He can’t be held responsible.”

“We’ll let the Captain decide, Sheffield. You stay with him, Novee.” He turned to go.

Sheffield called on what strength he could muster. “Cimon,” he shouted, ”You’re doing this to get back at me for the lesson in psychology I taught you. You’re a narrow-petty-“

He fell back on his pillow, breathless.

Cimon, from the door, said, “And by the way, Sheffield, the penalty for inciting mutiny on board ship is death!”

Well, it was a kind of trial, Sheffield thought grimly. Nobody was following accurate legal procedure, but then, the psychologist felt certain, no one knew the accurate legal procedure, least of all the Captain.

They were using the large assembly room where, on ordinary cruises, the crew got together to watch subetheric broadcasts. At this time, the crew were rigidly excluded, though all the scientific personnel were present

Captain Follenbee sat behind a desk just underneath the subetheric reception cube. Sheffield and Mark Annuncio sat by themselves at his left, faces toward him.

The Captain was not at ease. He alternated between informal exchanges with the various “witnesses” and sudden super-judicial blasts against whispering among the spectators.

Sheffield and Mark, having met one another in the “courtroom” for the first time since the flight of the air-coaster, shook hands solemnly on the former’s initiative. Mark had hung back at first, looking up briefly at the crisscross of tape still present on the shaven patch on Sheffield’s skull.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Sheffield. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s all right, Mark. How have they been treating you?”

“All right, I guess.”

The Captain’s voice boomed out, “No talking among the accused.”

Sheffield retorted in a conversational tone, “Listen, Captain, we haven’t had lawyers. We haven’t had time to prepare a case.”

“No lawyers necessary,” said the Captain. “This isn’t a court trial on Earth. Captain’s investigation. Different thing. Just interested in facts, not legal fireworks. Proceedings can be reviewed back on Earth.”