"Having heard these things, Marylyn and Kent, step forward and join hands."
They did. The ceremony was short and simple; the couple then walked from the courtroom under the beaming smile of the judge.
A burly guard next to Ross pointed at the groom. "Look," she said sentimentally. "He's crying. Cute!"
"I don't blame the poor sucker," Ross flared, and then, being a man of conscience, wondered suddenly if that was why, on Halsey's Planet, women cried at weddings.
A clerk called: "Dear, let's have those egalitarians front and center, please. Her honor's terribly rushed."
Helena was escorted forward from one side, while Ross and Bernie were jostled to the fore from the other. The judge turned from the happy couple. As she looked down at the three of them the smile that curved her lips turned into something quite different. Ross, quailing, suddenly realized that he had seen just that expression once before. It was when he was very, very young, when a friend of his mother's had come bustling into the kitchen where he was playing, just after she had smelled, and just before she had seen, the long-dead rat he had fetched up from the abandoned cellar across the street.
While the clerk was reading the orders and indictment, the judge's stare never wavered. And when the clerk had finished, the judge's silent stare remained, for a long, terrible time.
In the quietest of voices, the judge said, "So."
Ross caught a flicker of motion out of the comet of his eye. He turned just in time to see Bernie, knees buckling, slip white-faced and unconscious to the floor. The guards rushed forward, but the judge raised a peremptory hand. "Leave him alone," she ordered soberly. "It is kinder. Defendants, you are charged with the gravest of crimes. Have you anything to say before sentence is passed on you?"
Ross tried to force words—any words, to protest, to plead, to vilify—through his clogged throat.
All he managed was a croaking sound; and Helena, by his side, nudged him sharply to silence. He turned to her sharply, and realized that this was the best chance he'd be likely to get. He clutched at her, rolled up his eyes, slumped to the floor in as close an mutation of Bernie's swoon as he could manage.
The judge was visibly annoyed, and this time she didn't stop the attendants when they rushed in to kick him erect. But he had the consolation of seeing a flash of understanding cross Helena's face, and her hand dart to a pocket with the paper he had handed her. In the confusion no one saw.
The rest of the courtroom scene was kaleidoscopic in Ross's recollection. The only part he remembered clearly was the judge's voice as she said to him and Bernie,
"——for the rest of your lives, as long as Almighty God shall, in Her infinite wisdom, permit you the breath of life, be banished from Azor and all of its allied worlds to the prison hulk in 'Orbit Minerva.' "
And they were hustled out as the judge, even more wrathful than before, turned to pronounce sentence on Helena.
9
THE guard spat disgustedly. "Fine lot of wrecks we're getting," she complained. "Not like the old days. They used to send real men here." She glowered at Ross and Bernie, holding their commitment papers loosely in her hand. "And for treason, too!" she added. "Used to be it took guts to commit a crime against the state." She shook her head, then made a noise of distaste and scribbled initials on the commitment papers. She handed them back to the pilot who had brought them up from Azor, who grinned, waved, and got out of there. "All right," said the guard, "we have to take what we get. I'll have to put you two on construction; you'll never stand up under hard work. Keep your noses clean, that's all. Up at 0500; breakfast till 0510; work detail till 1950; dinner and recreation till 2005; then lights out. Miss a formation and you miss a meal. Miss two, and you get punishment detail. Nobody misses three."
Ross and Bernie found themselves sharing a communal cell. They had all of five minutes to look around and get oriented; then they were out on their first work detail.
It wasn't so bad as it sounded. Their shiftmates were a couple of dozen ragged-looking wrecks, half-heartedly assembling a short of meccano-toy wall out of sheets of perforated steel and clip-spring bolts. All the parts seemed well worn; some of the bolts hardly closed. It took Ross the better part of his first detail, whispering when the guards were looking the other way, to find out why. Their half of the prisoners were Construction; the other half was Demolition. What Construction in the morning put up, Demolition in the evening tore down. Neither side was anxious to set any speed records, and the guards without exception were too bored to care.
With any kind of luck, Ross found, he could hope eventually to get a real job—manning the "Minerva's" radar, signal, or generating facilities, working in the kitchens or service shops, perhaps even as an orderly in the guard quarters. (Although Ross quite by accident chanced to see a guard's orderly as he passed through a corridor near the work area, a handkerchief held daintily to his nose. And though the orderly's clothing was neat and his plump cheeks indicated good eating, the haunted expression in his eyes made Ross think twice.)
The one thing he could not do, according to the testimony of every man he spoke to, was escape.
The fifth time Ross got that answer, the guard had stepped out of the room. Ross took the opportunity to thrash the thing through. "Why?" he demanded. "Back where I come from we've got lots of prisons. I never heard of one nobody escaped from."
The other prisoner laughed shortly. "Now you have," he said. "Go ahead, try. Every one of us has tried, one time or another. There's only one thing stopping you—there's no place to go. You can get past the guards easy enough— they're lazy, when they're not either drunk or boy-chasing. You can roam around 'Minerva' all you like. You can even get to the spacelock, and if you want to-you can walk right through it. But not in a spacesuit, because there aren't any on board. And not into the tender that brings us up from Azor, because you aren't built right."
Ross looked puzzled. "Not built right?"
"That's right. There's telescreens and remote-control locks built into that tender. The pilot brings you up, but once she couples with 'Minerva' the controls lock. And the only way they get unlocked is when three women, in three different substations down on Azor, push the RC releases. And they don't do that until they look in their screens, and see that everybody who has turned up in the tender has stripped down to nothing at all, and every one of them is by-God female. Any further questions?" He grinned wryly.
"Don't even think about plastic surgery, if that happens to cross your mind," he said. "We have two men here who tried it. You don't have much equipment here; you can't do a neat enough job."
Ross gulped. "Hadn't given it a thought," he assured the other man. "You can't even hide away in a trunk or something?"
The prisoner shook his head. "Aren't any trunks. Everything's one way—Azor to 'Minerva'—except pilots and guards. No men ever go back. When you die, you go out the lock—without a ship. Same with everything else that .they want to get rid of."
Ross thought hard. "What if they—well, what if you're sent up here and all, and then some new evidence turns up and you're found innocent? Don't they send you back then?"
"Found innocent?" The man looked at Ross pityingly. "Man, you are new. Hey," he called. "Hey, Chuck! This guy wants to know what happens if they find out back on Azor that he's innocent!"
Chuck exploded into laughter. Wiping his eyes, he walked over to Ross. "Thanks," he grinned.
"Haven't had a good laugh in fifteen years."
"I don't see that that's so funny," Ross said defensively. "After all, the judge can make a mistake, none of us is per—awk!"