V: FIVEDAY AFTERNOON
About two hours past noon of Planet Maggie's twenty-seven hour day, a man called, "Criminal Alien Ube Kinlock!"
Surrounded by guards, I stiffly walked into an auditorium with a high, peaked ceiling supported by heavy wooden beams. A few spectators sat in rows of wooden benches. Tall windows stood open, and mechanisms with rotating blades fanned the air, but the room was stifling. Toothies chased each other across the beams.
At the end of the room, a man sat in a high box. As we approached, I saw that he was a replica of the Joe Nordo portrait in the vestibule. Carved in the molding around the top of the box was the legend, "His Perfectness, Spencer Gaius Quesnay, the Joe Nordo Ideal."
The guards halted and made peculiar gestures, swiftly touching their foreheads with extended hands. One announced, "Your Perfectness, we bring Criminal Alien Ube Kinlock."
Behind a long desk below Spencer Gaius Quesnay's box sat five men—large, tanned, and well provided with noses. A placard identified the man in the center, who had gray in his hair, as, "Foreman Maximum Rory J. N. Eijkman." He said, "Criminal Alien Kinlock broke many Ordinances." He picked up a paper and read from it. "Broke 320 by refusing to show papers to the shuttle pilot, Ypsilanti. Broke 419 when attempted to ride the upper deck. Broke 481 by conversing with the pilot."
The list of my defections grew. My movements had been observed from the wall by something called scopeplate. Any slight suspicion that I had flaunted an Ordinance was assumed to be proven fact. Even my use of the cargo hoist was criminal, and my relationship with Betty Toal was filled with offenses. I grunted indignantly in the head harness, but no one listened. Perspiration drained from my body.
After weary minutes, Eijkman read the last of my foul deeds, which was speaking to Toal in the outer room. Eijkman said, "Because of many crimes, suggest he be charged with breaking 792, which covers disrespect to people and customs of Planet Maggie."
An unusual noise came from the spectators. I twisted my head and saw that they were slapping the palms of their hands together.
Eijkman glanced at the other men behind the desk. He frowned at me and said, "Were you Maggiese, should recommend that you be reduced to Farmer. Are reportedly an agent of the creeping monster, Galactic Government. Were sent to kill the Hog. One alien with nothing but small weapons cannot kill the Hog. Am always opposed to asking Government aid. So—"
A man named Maximum Qasim Pierre Macready, according to his sign, exclaimed, "Foreman, object! If the Hog is not killed, may as well find another continent or island. If this alien—"
"The case concerns the alien, not the Hog," Eijkman said.
"Think it silly for an entire population to be scared by the Hog!" cried J. N. Zengo Bartok, a man leaner than the others. "The alien is a well known hunter. Suppose—"
Eijkman said, "Order!" He glared at me. "Sentencing the alien would require appeal to foul Galactic Government. Recommend deportation."
I had anticipated being dragged away to a gas chamber, or an electric chair, or some other savage torture device; but I still did not like Eijkman's decree.
Eijkman said, "Ordinance 30: Alien tourists shall not stay on Maggie longer than one week. That is, nine days or 243 hours. Must be above air by 26:47 Threeday night."
Bartok objected, "Have not passed the decision!"
Eijkman ignored him. "Since no plane will be in space then, time must be extended."
"Uh—ah, yes, must," said His Perfectness, Spencer Gaius Quesnay, the Joe Nordo Ideal, as he leaned from his box. "Er, should not force the—um—alien to leave without a plane."
Bowing to the box, Eijkman told me, "As His Perfectness explains, must wait here for the Ap-GG-12C. Will return at about 20:50 next Fourday. Shuttle blasts at 18:00."
"Foreman," Bartok again interrupted. "Should see if this alien can destroy the Hog, however long it takes."
The other Maximums began commenting. I fumbled with the head harness. The guards restrained me, but Quesnay gestured from his box and mumbled above the din, "Let, uh, the alien—ah, speak. Would like to, uh, hear him."
The guards removed the straps. I massaged my chin and croaked, "Your Perfectness." I cleared my throat noisily. "Your Perfectness, I agree that I should hunt the Hog."
"What, ah, is he saying?" Quesnay grumbled. "Cannot understand a, uh, word."
I spoke more distinctly. "I'll be happy to leave as soon as the Ap-GG-12C returns, if you'll let me hunt the Hog while I'm here. I'll guarantee to kill him, if you cooperate, but with three conditions."
"Of course, conditions," Eijkman said hopefully.
"According to GG regulations, I must investigate the place of a carnivorous life form in the bionomics of a planet or continent and decide if destroying it would be harmful."
"Can doubt the Hog should be killed?" Bartok yelled. "In three years, he and sows have killed 237 Maggiese!"
Foreman Eijkman sneered, "Can import more hogs. The continent swarms with them. Since Criminal Alien Kinlock believes should not kill the Hog—"
"I didn't say that!" I almost snarled. My feet throbbed from too much standing. "I'll give an example, also about hogs.
"Many centuries ago on Mother Earth, in a place called Sumatra, there were animals like the hellcat of Four, Alpha Gruis, except they were smaller and had stripes. These cats sometimes ate men, but hunters liked to kill them whether they were man-eaters or not. As the cats decreased, the wild hogs in Sumatra increased. The hogs started eating the crops, mostly some plant, called palms, from which oil was taken. The hogs practically destroyed the economy of Sumatra, because the cats, which had checked the hog population, had been destroyed."
Bartok said. "Clever fable. All the Hog eats is us and domestic animals. And killing him will not destroy his species."
"I'll accept that," I said. "The second condition is that I must learn if the Hog has near-human intelligence, and if we can communicate with him."
Eijkman laughed harshly. "Communicate? The Hog has no intelligence."
"Very well. The last condition is that you must pay my fee, since this private planet makes no donations to Galactic Government." I impulsively doubled my rates and said, "My fee is one thousand x-tops, fifty coupons, to be paid when I've killed the Hog."
Eijkman said, "Gangster!"
Macready said, "Give him platinum bars. Have too many now."
I raised my voice above the arguing. "There's a standard form in my Travel Book. It relieves GG of any consequences and guarantees that I be paid. It must be signed by the highest authority on the planet."
"The Jury is head here!" Eijkman said. "Order!"
His Perfectness mumbled from above, "Give, uh, the alien the form."
Eijkman looked as if he had swallowed something sour. He muttered, "His Perfectness suggests Criminal Alien Kinlock get the statement. Vote."
The other four Maximums nodded. Eijkman said, "Am opposed. Four to one."
Quesnay said, "Good—uh, give the uh statement. Guards, huh, find his baggage. Take him, er, to Dominant Rasmussen."
Eijkman growled at me, "Will leave this planet at 18:00 o'clock Fourday!"