Cordwainer Smith: Norstrilia

“Have the hearing then,” said the Lord Redlady, “have the hearing if it is your custom, my Mister and Owner Taggart, my Mister and Owner Beasley.”

The Norstrilians, appeased, bowed their heads briefly.

Almost shyly, Beasley looked over at the Lord Redlady. “Sir and Commissioner, will you say the words. The good old words. The ones that will help us to find our duty and to do it.”

(Rod saw a quick flare of red anger go through the Lord Redlady’s mind as the Earth commissioner thought fiercely to himself, “Why all this fuss about killing one poor boy? Let him go, you dull clutts, or kill him.” But the Earthman had not directed the thoughts outward and the two Norstrilians were unaware of his private view of them.)

On the outside, the Lord Redlady remained calm. He used his voice, as Norstrilians did on occasion of great ceremony,

“We are here to hear a man.”

“We are here to hear him,” they responded.

“We are not to judge or to kill, though this may follow,” said he.

“Though this may follow,” they responded.

“And where, on Old Old Earth, does man come from?”

They knew the answer by rote and said it heavily together: “This is the way it was on Old Old Earth, and this is the way it shall be among the stars, no matter how far we men may wander:

“The seed of what is planted in dark, moist earth; the seed of man in dark, moist flesh. The seed of wheat fights upward to air, sun and space; the stalk leaves, blossom and grain flourish under the open glare of heaven. The seed of man grows in the salty private ocean of the womb, the sea-darkness remembered by the bodies of his race. The harvest of wheat is collected by the hands of men; the harvest of men is collected by the tenderness of eternity.”

“And what does this mean?” chanted the Lord Red-lady.

“To look with mercy, to decide with mercy, to kill with mercy, but to make the harvest of man strong and true and good, the way that the harvest of wheat stood high and proud on Old Old Earth.”

“And who is here?” he asked. They both recited Rod’s full name.

When they had finished, the Lord Redlady turned to Rod and said, “I am about to utter the ceremonial words, but I promise you that you will not be surprised, no matter what happens. Take it easy, therefore. Easy, easy.” Rod was watching the Earthman’s mind and the mind of the two Norstrilians. He could see that Beasley and Taggart were befuddled with the ritual of the words, the wetness and scent of the air, and the false blue sky in the top of the van; they did not know what they were going to do. But Rod could also see a sharp, keen triumphant thought forming in the bottom of the Lord Redlady’s mind, I’ll get this boy off! He almost smiled, despite the presence of the snake man with the rigid smile and the immovable glaring eyes standing just three paces beside him and a little to his rear, so that Rod could only look at him through the corner of his eye.

“Misters and Owners!” said the Lord Redlady.

“Mister Chairman!” they answered.

“Shall I inform the man who is being heard?”

“Inform him!” they chanted.

“Roderick Frederick Ronald Arnold William Mac-Arthur McBan the one hundred and fifty-first!”

“Yes sir,” said Rod.

“Heir-in-trust of the Station of Doom!”

“That’s me,” said Rod.

“Hear me,” said the Lord Redlady.

“Hear him!” said the other two.

“You have not come here, child and citizen Roderick, for us to judge you or to punish you. If these things are to be done, they must be done in another place or time, and they must be done by men other than ourselves. The only concern before this board is the following: should you or should you not be allowed to leave this room safe and free and well, taking into no account your innocence or guilt of matters which might be decided elsewhere, but having regard only for the survival and the safety and the welfare on this given planet? We are not punishing and we are not judging, but we are deciding, and what we are deciding is your life. Do you understand? Do you agree?”

Rod nodded mutely, drinking in the wet, rose-scented air and stilling his sudden thirst with the dampness of the atmosphere. If things went wrong now, they did not have very far to go. Not far to go, not with the motionless snake-man standing just beyond his reach. He tried to look at the snake brain but got nothing out of it except for an unexpected glitter of recognition and defiance.

The Lord Redlady went on, Taggart and Beasley hanging on his words as though they had never heard them before.

“Child and Citizen, you know the rules. We are not to find you wrong or right. No crime is judged here, no offense. Neither is innocence. We are only judging the single question. Should you live or should you not? Do you understand? Do you agree?”

Said Rod, “Yes, sir.”

“And how stand you, Child and Citizen?”

“What do you mean?”

“This board is asking you, what is your opinion? Should you live or should you not?”

“I’d like to,” said Rod, “but I’m tired of all these childhoods.”

“That is not what the board is asking you, Child and Citizen,” said the Lord Redlady. “We are asking you, what do you think? Should you live or should you not live?”

“You want me to judge myself?”

“That’s it, boy,” said Beasley, “you know the rules. Tell them, boy. I said we could count on you.”

The sharp friendly neighborly face unexpectedly took on great importance for Rod. He looked at Beasley as though he had never seen the man before. This man was trying to judge him, Rod; and he, Rod, had to help decide on what was to be done with himself. The medicine from the snake-man and the giggle-giggle death, or a walk out into freedom. Rod started to speak and checked himself; he was to speak for Old North Australia. Old North Australia was a tough world, proud of its tough men. No wonder the board gave him a tough decision. Rod made up his mind and he spoke clearly and deliberately:

“I’d say no. Do not let me live. I don’t fit. I can’t spiek and hier. Nobody knows what my children would be like, but the odds are against them. Except for one thing…”

“And what, Child and Citizen, is that?” asked the Lord Redlady, while Beasley and Taggart watched as though they were staring at the last five meters of a horse race.

“Look at me carefully, Citizens and Members of the Board,” said Rod, finding that in this milieu it was easy to fall into a ceremonious way of talking. “Look at me carefully and do not consider my own happiness, because you are not allowed, by law, to judge that anyhow. Look at my talent — the way I can hier, the big thunderstorm way I can spiek.” Rod gathered his mind for a final gamble and as his lips got through talking, he spat his whole mind at them:

anger-anger, rage-red

blood-red,

fire-fury,

noise, stench, glare, roughness, sourness and hate hate hate,

all the anxiety of a bitter day.

crutts, whelps, pups!

It all poured out at once. The Lord Redlady turned pale and compressed his lips, Old Taggart put his hands over his face, Beasley looked bewildered and nauseated. Beasley then started to belch as calm descended on the room.

In a slightly shaky voice, the Lord Redlady asked,

“And what was that supposed to show, Child and Citizen?”

“In grown-up form, sir, could it be a useful weapon?”

The Lord Redlady looked at the other two. They talked with the tiny expressions on their faces; if they were spieking, Rod could not read it. This last effort had cost him all telepathic input.

“Let’s go on,” said Taggart.

“Are you ready?” said the Lord Redlady to Rod.