“It may come as a shock to you, Ivor,” said Kominsky, “but even I don't have fingertip data on every race in the galaxy.”
“Then tell me what you can about methane-breathers in general before you run off to the library, or wherever it is you run off to when you're trying to convince me you're a genius.” “In general,” began Kominsky, “about ninety percent of all methane-breathing races are crystalline. They're extremely sensitive to sound and heat, but beyond those two forces they're just about unkillable. If you could hit the average methane-breather with the force of a small grenade but without the accompanying heat, he probably wouldn't even feel it. Another interesting point is that since they are virtually indestructible, most methane beings are extremely long-lived, usually surviving thousands of years. This tends to make them pretty placid and contemplative, which is one of the reasons they haven't
accomplished a hell of a lot—in human terms, anyway. Also, due to their physiology and the mental
attitude that accompanies an eons-long life span, very few methane races are at all advanced technologically. There's never been much research done on their ESPer qualities, but I'd assume they're a little higher than average in telepathy and almost at the bottom of the scale in all other such talents. “Being basically static in their social outlook and mobility, I imagine that their penal codes would be both simple and very stark. They'd have little experience with lawbreakers, almost no misdemeanors, and would rid their society of felons swiftly and efficiently. “Of course,” he concluded with a smile, “none of the above may apply to this particular race of methane-breathers.”
“Thanks,” grunted Khalinov. “Anything else you can think of off the top of your massive head?” “It's my brain that's massive,” corrected Kominsky. “My head simply houses it. As for any further information, I can only add that since they could never have been carnivores, they probably aren't going to view even an accidental murder in the most rational or lenient of lights. Murder's an ugly thing even to a race that once depended on killing for its survival; I would think that it's incomprehensible to a methane-breather, especially since most of them are sexless and therefore can't even have had any experience with crimes of passion.”
“Okay,” said Khalinov. “I'd sure hate to hear you expound on a subject you know something about.” He stood up. “Find out everything you can about the Atrians, check into any court cases they may have won or lost onother planets, and get back to me in a couple of days.” While his staff went about their duties, Khalinov went down to the library stacks in the building's basement and began finding out what he could about Atrian law. It wasn't very encouraging.
Five non-Atrians, none of them Men, had been tried for murder during the twelve centuries that Atria XVI had been a member of the galactic community. All had been found guilty, and all had been summarily executed.
Atrian criminal law was a composite of childishly simple codes and shockingly severe penalties. Most of the crimes were meaningless to Khalinov; they evidently could be committed only by one Atrian against the person or property of another. But for those crimes that could be committed by non-Atrians, they were meaningful in the extreme.
Anyone who knowingly or unknowingly caused the death of an Atrian, for any reason whatsoever, including self-defense, was guilty of murder. The penalty: death. Anyone who entered an Atrian domicile without written permission was guilty of the Atrian equivalent of breaking and entering. The penalty: death. Anyone who took possession of any Atrian property or artifact without first proffering a fair and agreed-upon payment was guilty of robbery and/or burglary. The penalty: death. Andthat, in toto, was their penal code for alien races. It told Khalinov almost as much about the race by its omissions as by what it said. For one thing, it was
obvious that Kominsky was right about their near-indestructibility, for there was no mention of assault or
battery. He was probably also correct about their being a race of philosophical bent, since, unlike most of the races of the galaxy, there was no mention of blasphemy or of giving lip service to local religious mores. Probably the surest bet of all was that they were indeed long-lived, for nowhere was there any sentence other than death; and it stood to reason that prison sentences would be meaningless to a race that was virtually immortal.
The transcripts of the five non-Atrian murder trials were almost identical. In every case the argument was made that the act had been accidental. In only one case did the court disagree, but it seemed to make no difference. If a non-Atrian caused an Atrian death, his own life was forfeit. Period. He read more. The defendant did not have to be present; if he was, he could not confront his accusers unless they agreed. Trial was by a randomly selected jury of five, but the jury could be waived by the defense. And, finally, there was only one court on Atria, because of the relative absence of crime. As a result, its verdict was final; there was absolutely no procedure by which a decision could be appealed. Krantz had been given a preliminary hearing on Deluros VIII, at which time he was indicted of the lesser crime of resisting arrest and making an illegal claim of sanctuary. They decided, further, that he qualified for extradition. As yet, his case hadn't been heard on Atria XVI, for on that unthinkably frigid world there were no bills of indictment, no pretrial hearings, nothing but a simple verdict of innocent or guilty. After two more hours of poring over what little was written concerning Atrian law, it began to look more and more as if this wasn't going to go down in history as one of Ivor Khalinov's more brilliant cases. He started up from his book, suddenly aware of another presence in the room. It was Kominsky, back from wherever he went to do his research, and looking as grim as Khalinov. “Well?” demanded the barrister.
“To draw a rather poor parallel,” said Kominsky, “if your boy Krantz were a horse, we could save a lot of time and money by shooting him right now.” “It looks that bad?”
“It sure doesn't look good,” said Kominsky. “I'll give it to you point by point. First, the only Atrian who won a court case on any other world was executed upon returning to Atria XVI, because they thought the judgment had been too lenient. Second, they're more fragile than most methane-breathers; there can't be any doubt that a good loud sneeze, amplified by passing through an unfiltered and unmuffled T-pack on Krantz's oxygen helmet, would shatter every Atrian in his vicinity. Third, they subscribe to the laws of the Galactic Commerce Commission insofar as their interplanetary and interstellar trade is concerned, but they seem to do it as a necessary and irritating inconvenience; none of the more sophisticated codes, such as mercy, applies in planetary matters. Fourth, they have no religion, and even if they did, I very much doubt that their god would be the forgiving type. Fifth, they are definitely asexual, and reproduce by a form of budding, unbelievable as that sounds. Sixth, the average life span is upward of three thousand years. Seventh, there's never been a trial that lasted more than two hours. And eighth, I could use a drink.”
“I'll agree with your last point,” said Khalinov, pulling out a hip flask. “How about the first seven?”