Jarnes answered calmly, “The reference is as stated: Rulings of Governmental Commissions, 5/19/E/349/K.”
“That’s no reference!” Khorwiss proclaimed indignantly.
“Shall we permit the court to decide?” Jarnes asked him politely.
Justice Figawn was consulting his own computer. After a moment he turned toward them. “I find no indication that the commission intended its ruling to have legal precedence. The reference is denied because of single-case applicability.”
With a ping Jarnes’s reference was wiped out and Khorwiss’ list restored. He shrugged philosophically; a gamble with a feit reference was excusable only when one didn’t expect it to work.
He played his remaining references with deliberation, one at a time. When he succeeded in reducing Khorwiss’ list to six, Wembling’s attorney insolently added another dozen.
Finally, his references exhausted, Jarnes turned to the most promising of his feit disks. The computer greeted each one with a gong, and Clerk Wyland’s voice took on an edge of impatience that matched Justice Figawn’s deepening scowl as he observed, “The computer says irrelevant, Submaster Jarnes.” Khorwiss was grinning broadly.
Finally Jarnes got to his feet and faced the justice. “That’s all I have, Your Eminence.”
Justice Figawn nodded politely. “The court confirms the ownership by Wembling and Company of land on the world of Langri properly developed by them under charter. Does your petition include the required legal descriptions, Master Khorwiss?”
Khorwiss arose. “It does, Your Eminence.”
“It does? Yes—I have it here.” Figawn paused to skim through the descriptions. “Master Khorwiss,” he asked politely, “how many golf courses does one resort require?”
Khorwiss remained discreetly silent.
Figawn turned to Jarnes. “May I have your counterpetition, Submaster Jarnes?”
“I have none, Your Eminence,” Jarnes told him.
Figawn stared at him. “Do you mean to say you’re going to accept these claims as stated?”
“That is the wish of my clients, Your Eminence.”
“Anyone but a nitwit could tell with one glance that many of these claims are preposterous,” Figawn announced.
“Your Eminence!” Khorwiss exclaimed.
“Surely you’re not going to let this petition stand without protest,” Figawn said to Jarnes.
“I have no choice but to observe the wishes of my clients, Your Eminence. They do request, however, that Wembling and Company be required to file a certified and attested statement of investment for each parcel of land claimed so as to demonstrate the validity of the claim to this court’s satisfaction, I shall insist on an accounting of Wembling and Company’s expenditures for each parcel.”
Figawn regarded him gravely. “You are of course bound by the wishes of your clients.” He turned to Khorwiss. “I so rule. Wembling and Company are instructed to prepare the desired certified and attested statements, and I myself will then carry out the wishes of the people of Langri by allowing such claims as the developmental investment justifies—in accordance with legal procedure, of course. Is there further comment? None? Let justice be done.”
His image faded. The justice in session sign darkened. Khorwiss quickly gathered his disks and records and went out grinning. Jarnes wearily began the methodical packing of his own reference disks.
Clerk Wyland leaned over and spoke to him. “Submaster Jarnes—a word, please. My understanding was that even one resort on Langri would seriously deplete the natives’ food supply.”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Surely the people of Langri can perceive that Wembling and Company will use this lavish gift of land for the construction of innumerable resorts.”
“I’m sure that they can,” Jarnes said politely. “In fact, I brought that possibility to their attention very forcefully. However, they not only requested the action taken, they demanded it, and I had no choice but to carry out their wishes.”
“Surely if you had explained to them…”
“I did explain,” Jarnes said.
“…and demonstrated to them…”
“I did demonstrate.”
“…and described the inevitable result…”
“I did describe the inevitable result, not once but repeatedly.”
“Well!” Clerk Wyland drew back and regarded him indignantly. “I’ll be interested to see what happens, and I’m certain that I’ll find out. The people of Langri will soon be back here screaming for relief. Unfortunately, that petition will come much too late.”
He stomped away angrily. Jarnes felt like weeping, and he turned away for a moment before resuming his packing. Saltwater corrosion in an attorney’s reference disks was a sure sign of immaturity.
22
The village was deathly quiet. Pausing in the street outside the improvised hospital, Talitha Warr tried to remember the last time she’d heard singing there. Once the natives had accompanied every mood with an appropriate song, from the tender love melodies of the youths to the stirring chants that were used with heavy work and the burying of koluf; but now so many natives were weak from hunger that the heavy work went undone, and the few koluf that were caught were buried in tragic silence.
There were no more songs—only lamentations for the dead, and she heard one beginning now. Shivering, she walked despondently down to the beach, where Aric Hort was to meet her. He was sitting alone on the vast stretch of sand. There were no more native children well enough to play there.
She said, “Did you hear?”
He nodded. “The natives gave your uncle everything he asked for.”
They set out along the beach for the medical center, and for a time they walked silently, keeping their eyes on the unmarked, wind-rippled sand. “It was their last chance for help from the courts,” Hort said finally. “Fornri doesn’t even seem worried. He says it’s part of the Plan.”
“I have an appointment with Uncle tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going to try again to persuade him to hire an experienced nutritionist. We’ve got to find something they can eat. If only they would trust us—”
“But they won’t,” Hort said. “If one thing is more responsible than any other for the mess they’re in, that’s it. They need help desperately, and they won’t trust anyone. Turn your head slowly and look at that bush on the ridge.”
She did as he told her and saw two native children peering at them from behind the bush. “It’s only a couple of children,” she said.
“Any time you can see two, there are ten others you can’t see. Weak as they are, they follow every alien on Langri who takes a step away from the construction sites. They watch his every move and carry regular reports to a secret native headquarters. They’ve been doing that from the moment your uncle set up an embassy, and they’re still doing it, malnutrition or not. One would think that by this time they’d trust you and me, but they don’t. We’re followed everywhere we go. Didn’t you know?”
She shook her head. “I’m not surprised, though. Certainly they have every right—”
He gripped her arm. The two of them stopped and stood facing each other. “Would you join me in an experiment?” he asked. “There’s something I’ve wanted to investigate for weeks, but I know the natives would stop me if they caught me at it. There’s only one way I can think of to shake off those children.”
She resisted the temptation to look again at the bush. “What sort of an experiment?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.”