Flatlander - Larry Niven [104]
6. THE LUNAR LAW
The committee met again at 0800. I’d had breakfast with Taffy, but the rest of us were sipping and munching when Bertha Carmody called us to order.
Charles Ward asked for the floor. “It strikes me that our differences are all concerned with matters of the lunar law and the manner in which it is enforced. Is this the case?”
He got noises signifying agreement. “Then let me remind you all,” said that frail dark beanpole, “that the trial of Naomi Mitchison for the attempted murder of Chris Penzler begins in one hour. Some of us are likely to be called as witnesses. Mr. Penzler, in particular, is still recovering from his wounds. His mind is likely to be on the trial.”
Chris nodded and winced in pain. “You may be right. I wouldn’t be concentrating.”
Ward spread his hands wide. “Then in the interests of actually observing lunar justice in action, why don’t we all adjourn to the courtroom?”
We voted eight to two in favor. We adjourned to the courtroom.
The courtroom was a place of beauty. Its design was standard: high podium for the judge, rails separating the spectators from the accused and the jury. It was the thousand-year-old English courtroom design, originally intended to protect the accused from the victim’s family. But one whole wall was glass, and it overlooked the Garden.
Mirrors caught the raw lunar sunlight and diffused it down upon dozens of ledges of plants, down along the great redwood to its long, tangled roots. The air was full of wings. No plant grew that didn’t have a use, but the prettiest plants, artichokes and apple trees and so forth, were the most accessible, and the dancing fountains weren’t only for irrigation, and the winding paths weren’t only for the farmers. The Garden was designed for pleasure.
I thought how terrible it must be to look out on the Garden and wait to be condemned to death.
Naomi was watching the Garden. Her golden hair was piled high in a coiled arrangement that must have represented hours of work. She had taken particular care with dress and cosmetics. The butterfly tattoo was gone. She seemed composed, with terror hiding underneath. When her lunie lawyer whispered to her, her answers were curt. She must know that if she started screaming, they would fill her full of tranquilizers.
Was she guilty? My judgment would never be impartial where Naomi was concerned.
Chris Penzler thought she was. He watched Naomi’s eyes while he gave his testimony. “I was taking a bath. I stood up and reached for a towel. I thought I saw something outside the window, a man or a woman. Then there was a flare of red light. It struck me in the chest, threw me back in the water, and knocked me unconscious.”
The prosecuting lawyer was a pale blond woman over seven feet tall, massing no more than I do. She had an elfish triangular face, quite lovely, quite perfect, and quite without human weakness. She asked, “What color was the suit? Did it have markings on it?”
Penzler shook his head. “I didn’t have time to see.”
“But you saw only one person.”
“Yes,” he said, and looked at Naomi.
She probed. “Was it a local? We tend to be taller and thinner.”
Chris didn’t laugh, though others did. “I don’t know. It was less than a second, then … it was like being run through with a red-hot jousting lance.”
“How far away?”
“Three to four hundred meters. I can’t judge distances here.”
“Would Naomi Mitchison have any reason to hate you?”
“I’ve wondered about that” Chris hesitated, then said, “Four years ago Mrs. Mitchison applied for emigration to the Belt. Her application was turned down.” Again he hesitated. “By me.”
Naomi’s surprise and anger were obvious.
Prosecution asked, “Why?”
“I knew her. She wasn’t qualified. The Belt environment kills careless people. She would have been a danger to herself and everyone around her.” Chris Penzler’s ears and neck were quite pink.
Prosecution was through with him. Naomi’s lawyer cross-examined him briefly. “You say you knew