"Your Honor," said a voice out of the darkness all around him, "the defendant is awake."
Frost's eyes came open and he struggled to get out of the chair. But his legs seemed to have no power in them and his arms were rubbery and all he really wanted was to stay sitting in the chair.
But the man had said Your Honor and something about a defendant now awake and that was startling enough to make him want to find out where he was.
Another voice asked, "Can he stand?"
"It appears he can't, Your Honor."
"Well," His Honor said, "it doesn't matter much, one way or the other.
Frost managed to hitch around so he was sitting side-wise in the chair and now he saw the light, a little shielded light, on a level somewhat above his head, and just above the light, half in shadow, half in light, hung a ghostly face.
"Daniel Frost," asked the ghostly face, "can you see me?"
"Yes, I can," said Frost.
"Can you hear and understand me?"
"I don't know," said Frost. "It seems I just woke up and I can't get out of the chair…"
"You talk too much," said the other voice in the room.
"Leave him be," said the ghostly face. "Give him a little time. This must be a shock to him."
Frost sat limply in the chair and the others waited.
He had been walking on a street, it seemed, when a man had stepped from a doorway and had spoken to him. Then something stung his neck and he'd tried to reach the thing that stung him, but he couldn't reach it. And then he had fallen very slowly, although he could not remember that he'd ever hit the street, and there had been two men, not one, standing on the sidewalk, watching as he fell.
Your Honor, the other man had said, and that must mean a court and if it were a court, the machine would be.the Jury, and the place where His Honor sat, with the little shielded light, would be the judge's bench.
But it all was wrong. It was a fantasy. For what reason would he find himself in court?
"You feeling better now?" His Honor asked.
"Yes, I seem to," said Frost, "but there is something wrong. It seems I'm in a courtroom."
"That," said the other voice, "is exactly where you are."
"But there is no reason for me to be in…"
"If you'll shut up for a minute," said the other, "His Honor will explain."
When he finished saying it, he snickered and the snicker ran all about the room on little, dirty feet.
"Bailiff," said the face that hung above the bench, "that is the last I want to hear from you. This man is unfortunate, indeed, but he is not a subject for your ridicule."
The other man said nothing.
Frost struggled to his feet, hanging to the chair to hold himself erect.
"I don't know what is going on," he said, "and I have a right to know. I demand…"
A ghostly hand waved beside the ghostly head to cut off what he meant to say.
"You have the right," said the face, "and if you'll listen, I'll inform you."
A pair of hands, reaching from behind him, grasped Frost beneath the armpits, hauled him straight, and held him on his feet. Slowly Frost reached out to grasp the back of the chair to hold himself erect.
"I'm quite all right," he said to the man behind him.
The hands released him and he stood alone, propped up by the chair.
"Daniel Frost," said the judge, "I'll make this brief and to the point. There is no other way.
"You have been seized and brought to this court and have undergone a narco-trial. You have been found guilty of the charge and sentence already has been passed and executed, according to the law."
"But that's ridiculous," Frost cried out. "What have I done? What was the charge?"
"Treason," said the judge.
"Treason. Your Honor, you are crazy. How could I…" "Not treason to the state. Treason to humanity." Frost stood rigid, his hands gripping the wood of the chair so hard that the grasp was painful. A tumult Of fear went surging through him and his brain seemed curdled. Words came churning up, but he did not say them. He kept his mouth clamped shut.
For this was not the time, said one tiny corner of his mind that still stayed sane, for the rush of words, for an outpouring of emotion. Perhaps he akeady had said more than he should have. Words were tools and must be used to their best advantage.
"Your Honor," he finally said, "I challenge you on that. There is no provision…"
"But there is," said the judge. "Think of it and you'd realize that there had to be. There has to be provision against the sabotage of the plan to prolong human life. I can quote you…"
Frost shook his head. "No need to, although I've never heard of it. But even so, there has been no treason on my part. I've worked for that very plan; I've worked for Forever Center…"
"Under narco-questioning," said the judge, "you admitted to conniving with various publishers, using your position, for motives of your own, to prejudice the plan." "It's a lie!" yelled Frost. "That was not the way it was."
The ghostly head shook slowly, sadly.
"It must have been the way it was. You told of it yourself. You testified against yourself. You would not lie about yourself and to your discredit."
"A trial!" Frost said bitterly. "In the middle of the night. Struck down in the street and carried here. No arrest. No attorney. And, I would suppose, no chance to
appeal."
"You are right," said the judge. "There is no appeal. Under law, narco-trial results and judgments stand final. After all, it is the most equable approach to justice. It does away with all impediments to the course of justice." "Justice!"
"Mr. Frost," said the judge, "I have been patient with you. Because of your former position of trust and honor and your long record with Forever Center, I have given you more latitude in your remarks than conforms with the dignity of this court. I can assure you that the trial was conducted properly and by the only means that a trial for treason can be conducted under law, that you have been found guilty of the charge and that sentence has been passed. I now will read the sentence to you." A phantom hand reached into the darkness where a pocket was and, bringing out a pair of spectacles, placed them on the ghostly face. "The seemingly detached hand picked up a sheaf of papers and the papers rustled. "Daniel Frost," said the judge, reading from the paper, "you have been adjudged, after due legal process, guilty of the charge of treason against all humankind in that you attempted willingly and willfully to obstruct the administrative functions and processes aimed at the bringing of immortality not only to all presently living persons but to all the others who are dead, with their bodies held in preservation.
"It is the sentence of this court, in accordance with the penalty set out by the statutes, that you, Daniel Frost, shall be ostracized from the human race, that you shall be forbidden…"
"No!" yelled Frost. "No, you can't do that to me. I didn't…"
"Bailiff," roared the judge.
A hand reached out of the darkness and the fingers ground into Frost's shoulder.
"You shut up," said the bailiff, grinding his teeth, "and listen to His Honor."
"… that you shall be forbidden," the judge went on, "to have any intercourse, commerce, or communication, in any manner whatsoever, with any other member of the human race, and that any other member of the human race, under duly set forth penalties, shall be forbidden to have any intercourse, commerce, or communication with you. That you shall have stripped from you all personal possessions except, for the sake of decency, the very clothes you stand in, and that all other of your possessions shall be confiscated. Likewise you are stripped of all rights except the one final right of having your body preserved, in accordance with the law, and by the mercy of this court.
"And it is hereby directed that, in order all men may recognize your ostracism and so refrain from any contact with you, you be branded, by the means of a tattoo, upon your forehead and each cheek with an O outlined in red."