"Eric Frank Russell - The Witness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

THE WITNESS
Eric Frank Russell

No court in history had drawn so much world attention. Six television cameras
swivelled slowly as they followed red and black-robed legal lights parading solemnly
to their seats. Ten microphones sent the creaking of shoes and rustling of papers
over national networks in both hemispheres. Two hundred reporters and special
correspondents filled a gallery reserved for them alone. Forty representatives of
cultural or-ganizations stared across the court at twice their number of governmental
and diplomatic officials sitting blank-faced and impassive.
Tradition had gone by the board; procedure resembled nothing familiar to the
average lawyer, for this was a special occasion devised to suit a special case.
Technique had been adapted to cope with a new and extraordinary culprit, while the
dignity of justice was upheld by means of stagy trim-mings.
There were five judges and no jury, but a billion citizens were in their homes
watching and listening, determined to ensure fair play. Ideas of what constituted fair
play were as var-ied as the unseen audience, and most of them unreasoning, purely
emotional. A minority of spectators hoped for life, many lusted for death, while the
waverers compromised in favor of arbitrary expulsion, each according to how he
had been influenced by the vast flood of colorful and bigoted propaganda preceding
this event.
The judges took their places with the casual unconcern of those too old and
deeply sunk in wisdom to notice the lime-light. A hush fell, broken only by the
ticking of the large clock over their rostrum. It was the hour of ten in the morn-ing of
May 17, 1977. The microphones sent the ticking around the world. The cameras
showed the judges, the clock, and finally settled on the center of all this attention: the
crea-ture in the defendant's box.
Six months ago this latter object had been the sensation of the century, the focal
point of a few wild hopes and many wilder fears. Since then it had appeared so often
on video screens, magazine and newspaper pages, that the public sense of
amazement had departed, while the hopes and fears re-mained. It had slowly
degenerated to a cartoon character contemptuously dubbed "Spike," depicted as
halfway between a hopelessly malformed imbecile and the crafty emissary of a
craftier other-world enemy. Familiarity had bred contempt, but not enough of it to
kill the fears.
It's name was Maeth and it came from some planet in the region of Procyon.
Three feet high, bright green, with feet that were mere pads, and stubby limbs fitted
with suckers and cilia, it was covered in spiky protrusions and looked somewhat like
an educated cactus. Except for its eyes, great golden eyes that looked upon men in
naive expectation of mercy, because it had never done anyone any harm. A toad, a
wistful toad, with jewels in its head.
Pompously, a black gowned official announced, "This spe-cial court, held by
international agreement, and convened within the area of jurisdiction of the Federal
Government of the United States of America, is now in session! Silence!"
The middle judge glanced at his fellows, adjusted his spec-tacles, peered gravely
at the toad, or cactus, or whatever it might be. "Maeth of Procyon, we are given to
understand that you can neither hear nor speak, but can comprehend us telepathically
and respond visually."
Cameras focussed as Maeth turned to the blackboard immediately behind him and
chalked one word. "Yes."