Дэймон Найт - Orbit 4

There was more, but Edmonds now heard only snatches. His eyes were looking into—and through—the eyes of Philip Dopher. In a strange, nearly real sense, both of them were for the next few minutes not even in this great chamber, but in a deserted room in an office building on Manhattan’s East Side, where Dopher was kneeling at an open window, caressing a rifle resting on the window sill, and waiting.

Somehow, the voice of Helen Nord floated by, wisplike, fragmented. . the consequences of the reasoning urged by New York ... the thrust of the constitutional command . . . we do not recede from ...”

And now he watched the kneeling figure grow tense and still. The bearded cheek lay in lethal affection against the wooden stock, the eye peering through the telescopic cylinder, and the gloved finger beginning to squeeze its unspeakable message to the trigger.

“. . . if clairvoyance does exist—and this we do not decide—this source of information should have been brought to the magistrate’s attention, so that he could fully understand and evaluate what was being sworn to as a fact . . . and assuming arguendo that clairvoyance exists, we rule, nevertheless, that it is not such a generally accepted basis for experiential information that the magistrate could take judicial notice of it. . .”

One year and a couple of hundred miles away, a puff of smoke appeared at the muzzle of Dopher’s rifle. Ben Edmonds closed his eyes and withdrew from the mind of the murderer.

“In summary, it is the decision of this Court that the warrant did not issue upon probable cause. The judgment of the Court of Appeals of New York is reversed and the cause remanded for further proceedings not inconsistent with this opinion.”

She was done.

Everyone in the courtroom knew what had happened. It would be futile for New York to retry Tyson without the evidence of the rifle. He would have to be released, a branded assassin, the mark of Cain on his forehead, with every hand against him. How long had Tyson to live?

Dopher appeared to be reflecting silently. To Edmonds the man seemed only mildly disappointed. Dopher had no way of knowing what had just happened to him: that the image Dopher dreaded most, the horrid secret one, had been carefully lifted from his mind, and had been carried away and laid down in another place, and there made permanent, as a flowing modulated pattern of light-sensitized silver bromide molecules in a gelatin emulsion.

Edmonds knew that his face was covered with tiny drops of perspiration, and that he was cold.

As Helen Nord closed her case folder, the Chief Justice turned and nodded to Oliver Godwin.

The old man’s voice rasped out. “I must respectfully dissent from the majority opinion, and my Brothers Moore, Lovsky, and Randolph have authorized me to state that they join in this dissent. We do not contend that the discovery of the rifle justifies the search, but we think this not the point. We think the search was made on a lawfully issued warrant, and that the rifle was properly admitted for that reason. In any event, the matter is procedural. We think, if perchance the constable blundered, this should not set the criminal free. Society has the right to be protected against the return of this man. A great deal has been said about psi and clairvoyance in the proceedings below, and here. Some of the authors of this dissent have asked me to confirm their satisfaction that the record amply supports the existence of psi. Personally, I am far from convinced. But no matter, for our dissent is not founded either on the belief or disbelief in psi. We might observe that the use of psi as a police technique necessarily requires corroboration. But the only useful corroboration necessarily involves the subject matter of the search. It seems to us of the minority, that when the clairvoyant (assuming he was such) has been duly corroborated, the warrant stands self-validated, and further inquiry is superfluous. In our minority view the warrant was issued upon probable cause. We would, therefore, affirm.

“And now, with the consent of our brothers representing the majority opinion, we turn to one final matter. In the record below there is explicit testimony to the effect that the contents of the safe—Exhibit Q—will prove that psi exists. Both majority and minority have of course reached our separate conclusions without benefit of the safe—which, indeed, is not even in evidence and can have no probative value in our decisions. We do now order that the safe be opened. Marshal?”

Walter Sickles leaped to his feet. “Objection, your honor! We have had no opportunity to examine the contents!”

“Overruled. Your opportunity will come.” The old man added sternly, “And there is no such thing as an objection to this court.”

Sickles sat down uncertainly.

“Will the marshal please proceed?” said Godwin testily.

“May I remind your honor,” said the deputy marshal, “that I do not have the combination.”

“Of course. Here it is.” Pendleton swiveled his chair around and gave the waiting page an envelope.

In a moment the marshal had the safe open and was staring inside. “It’s full—of something, your honor.”

“Yes. I imagine that’s the urethane foam. You’ll have to tear it out with your fingers. But be careful when you get to the camera.”

The deputy dug in gingerly. Finally he pulled out the camera, still encrusted with adherent bits of plastic foam.

There was a sudden excited buzz in the great chamber.

Pendleton banged twice with his gavel. “Silence! Or I will ask the sergeants to clear the room!” He added quietly to the marshal: “Remove the film. Do you know how?”

“Yes, your honor.” He pulled the tab, counted off the seconds, then tore off the assembly and stripped the wet print. His eyes widened as he stared.

“If the court please!” Guy Winters was on his feet.

“The court recognizes New York.”

“New York requests permission to see the print.”

“Granted, Mr. Winters. And I assume Mr. Sickles would like to see it also?”

“Of course, your honor.”

Together the two lawyers bent over the composite with the marshal, who held the black-and-white print by the tab as the three of them studied it.

Pendleton’s voice was under control, but it had now risen by half an octave. He demanded: “What does the print show?”

Winters looked up at the Chief Justice in wonder. “It seems to be— the rifle. A puff of smoke . . . just been fired. It’s the room . . . the window. And the man is still aiming. . .”

“Man?” demanded Pendleton.

“Yes, your honor. It looks like . . . Philip Dopher!”

“Dopher? The witness below?”

“Sure looks like him,” affirmed Winters in irreverent wonder.

And now a commotion in front of the audience. A stocky bearded man exploded into the center aisle. His right hand held a pistol. The spectators shrank away from him.

He cried out, “Yes! I did it! Long live the revolution!”

The defiant, weaponed fist upraised, in weird confrontation of the ultimate lawless force versus the ultimate force of law.

Everyone in the audience was on his feet. A wide empty circle formed around the intruder.

Dopher boomed out again. “If I killed your President, you think I won’t kill you? All of you, possessed by the devil! Only way you could know I did it. I have six bullets. I think maybe I start with your chief, Mr. Pendleton.” He waved the pistol. “Nobody move! Maybe I miss, and hit the smart lady judge—you want that, eh?”

Edmonds felt his stomach caving in. The horror was complete. It was futile now, and much too late, to say, never, never again.

But now in the appalling silence, he felt a chill descending into the room. A cold wind struck his face, and he shivered. Behind him, the great maroon drapes were rustling.