"Nothing serious. One with a lungful of sneeze gas when we had to clear the main entrance and seal the riot doors, one with a flesh wound on a cheekbone, and the third with cracked ribs. My guess is the newsies bought ‘emselves a riot, as cameras were in position when the trouble started."
"I see. Are we going to need the Guard?"
"I wouldn't say so. The police have the streets around us pretty well patrolled and our own people are either staying overnight or being taken off the top by chopper. Message from Judge Anders—says there's no reason for you not to go fishing and he'll assume that he's presiding judge pro tem. He's staying in his chambers tonight."
"I'll call him and thank him. Off."
The Judge switched to view three, studied it. "Doesn't look too rough. Just the same they ought to tear this building down and build a stronger one farther from any Abandoned Area." He switched to view four. "Oh oh!"
The room filled with crowd roar, the screen showed a milling mob. Moving slowly through the crowd were two police Merrimac tanks, their loudspeakers monotonously repeating the warning-to-disperse. "Brother Schmidt, does your house have a copter landing?"
Joan shook her head. "No, it's designed so that a copter can't land on it. It seemed the safer choice when it was built."
"Well... I could put you into any, enclave by copter. Or you could stay here overnight."
Jake said, "Judge, my car is a Rolls-Skoda. We'll be all right."
"I can't force you to stay. But let's get a playback on the news and see what stirred up the lice." McCampbell punched the time in, then punched for playback.
"Headline of the Hour! Brain Transplant Fraud! Our earlier flash has been confirmed; the sensational brain transplant of Tycoon Johann Smith was a hoax. The question is: Did he die a natural death? Or was he murdered? The latter theory seems likely in view of today's bald-faced attempt to steal his enormous fortune through claiming in open court that his alleged former secretary, a woman of doubtful reputation going by the name of ‘Blanca'—"
Salomon growled, "Judge, would you mind shutting off that damned rot?"
McCampbell switched it off. "Seems I started something. Can't say I'm sorry. I will not let my courtroom be turned into a circus."
Joan Eunice said meekly, "I'm sorry, Judge."
"Eh? Joan Eunice, you are not at fault. You were forced into court needlessly and against your will; you did nothing. As for me, I hold to the old-fashioned ideal that a courtroom is where the Sovereign is present in person, dispensing equity and justice to all... not bread-and-circuses for the rabble. As long as I'm on the bench I'll run it that way, no matter how many news snoops get sore or how many hilts want a livelier show."
"I'm sorry your bailiffs were hurt."
"Well, so am I. But they aren't conscripts, they are career people who know it is hazardous. And they are necessary—if that bill ever passes to disarm bailiffs, that day I quit the bench, and the Law as well. Jake?"
"Yes, Mac?"
"You can risk your neck if you want to, but even a Rolls-Skoda is not a Merrirnac. Enough people can tip it over, then they can build a bonfire around it and roast you like chestnuts... and there are characters out there who would do it just for kicks. No, not a word out of you; I'm not going to let her leave this building in a ground car even if I have to reconvene court for three seconds and make her a ward again. She leaves by copter. The question is: Where does she go? You could sleep in my chambers, Joan Eunice; there is a buttery in the bar and the washroom is a complete bath and that couch opens into a bed. Lumpy, I'm afraid." (Ask Judgie Wudgie if he goes with the bed!) (I didn't hear you—and pipe down.)
"I was going to say," Jake said mildly, "that I have a house in Safe Harbor. Unstaffed and empty but it's a safe rendezvous. You could have your Chief Bailiff tell my driver and Shotgun to wait until this quiets down, then pick us up there—although I would bet on those boys to drive through any mob and not let the car be tipped; they're mean."
"No doubt. And wind up with a hit-and-run, too; we'll do it the easy way. Either of you want to use my washroom while I phone Evelyn and the roof?"
A few minutes later Jake and Joan were about to leave; the Judge's copter was waiting for them, he having brushed aside remarks about fish. Joan said, "Judge? I think you know I am grateful, but I would like to show my thanks by doing something—money, I mean—for those men who were hurt."
"No."
"Why not? Oh, I know it was not my fault but nevertheless they were hurt because of me. You know I can afford it."
"Because they are officers of the Court and I would have to treat it as constructive bribery. Tell her, Jake."
"He's correct, Joan—although he's being stuffy about it."
"Not too stuffy. Joan Eunice, there is an enclave home for dependents of police, bailiffs, firemen, and such, killed in line of duty. Jake can tell you about it. I would rather not hear what you do about it."
"I see." Joan ignored the fact that Jake was waiting with her robe, stepped closer to McCainpbell, turned her face up, and put her arms around his neck. "Does this constitute bribery?"
"I think so," McCampbell answered, putting his arms around her. "But I won't analyze it."
"Of course it's bribery! Get away from him, Brother Schmidt! I handle his bribes."
"Shut up, you noisy Mick."
Joan turned her face just as her lips were about to touch McCampbell's. "You're next on my bribe list, Brother Alec."
"So get back into line! R.H.I.P." McCampbell stopped any further words from her; she let her lips come softly open, did not hurry him. (Whee... 000! I thought so.)
(Don't let me faint, Eunice.)
Some seconds later she opened her eyes, looked up into the Judge's face. "My goodness!" she said softly.
Alec Train tapped his shoulder. "Court's adjourned, Judge. Be elsewhere."
Joan gave the Judge a quick, possessive squeeze, untangled herself and went into his former roommate's arms, turned up her face. She was careful to make this kiss as long and as warm as the other. (Unh! What do you think, Eunice?) (They are both oral as hell and they kiss almost as well as lake and if Jake weren't here they would have us down on the rug this instant—break it up, dear; you've kissed him as long as you did Judgie Wudgie and Jake is getting edgy.) (All right. Spoilsport.) (Not at all—but you don't -know how to handle men without upsetting them. Break!)
A moment later Jake silently helped her into her street robe. She thanked him, clicked the magnostrip, arranged the shoulder drape, let the Judge hand her into his lift. They said good-bye, the lift closed. Alec Train turned to his friend: "Mac, kissing Brother Schmidt is more emphatic than spreading most gals."
"Amen!"
"What would it be like to be married to her? And why is it that when the parade goes by I'm always out for a short beer?"
"The O.B. damaged your head with his forceps. That's why they had to make a lawyer out of you."
"How about yourself?"
"Oh, me, too—stipulated. I wasn't bright enough to be a lawyer; I had to wangle an appointment to the bench. Christ, what a chick!"
"Passed by acclamation. Mac, having kissed her, do you really think she can be old ‘Sell ‘em Johann,' the terrible-tempered tycoon?"
"Well...everything fits—and she did have the Grip."
"And the password; I checked. But, Mac, any of our brothers, even ones whose bias hardly extends to girls, would sell our secrets—what am I saying?—would give them to that one. If she kissed him."
"Stipulating that you are correct in your estimate of our brothers—and I agree—Joan Eunice can't have had much chance to subvert one of them. Jake has practically had her under house arrest, at my suggestion. And Jake himself—well, he sounded like a Barb, but you can check it in that bookcase, in ‘Who's Who in Law.'