He knew he was innocent and, as far as he could tell, most of the Daktari did, too. They had been relatively kind to him during his pre-trial detention, bringing him anything he needed, regardless of the light years of travel required to pick it up, except for a lawyer or communications with Earth. He had been informed that the Daktari lacked a tradition of framed defendants in murder cases, but this seemed to be working to his advantage. The glutinous creatures sympathized with his plight instead of automatically condemning him. They failed to see how he was even brought up as a suspect, much less to trial, and the general consensus was that with a competent lawyer, he would be cleared of the charges. This sympathy and puzzlement was more than Tomas Drieser would have dared to expect from his own people on Earth, where people were assumed guilty the second stories hit the press. Not to mention Earth’s long history of persecuting labor leaders.
Not that he considered himself a leader. Titling himself an organizer, he worked with interstellar unions and governments to defend the universally defenseless wage slave against sprawling corporations. If businesses organized in multiple star systems, labor had to as well. This was the reality that carried him to the Daktari in the first place. Arriving with little prior knowledge of the species or planetary politics, he had expected a briefing on the situation by the Asofi field worker shortly after landing. His almost immediate arrest prevented him from getting to the union offices and from finding more about the multicolored globules. A shame.
Brought out of a detention cell designed for offworlders – filled with bizarre instruments that looked as likely to be for torture as for any beneficial use – Drieser was marched down a hall between two guards. Though they carried no weapons, he doubted even the first step of an escape attempt would work – his knockout punch would probably just bend the skin of the jelly-like creatures, or bounce off. The creatures stood about four feet high, were opaque in various dull colors, and slimed across the already slick steel floor. Their internal structures had to have been different from that of the slugs they resembled, since the gravity on this planet was only slightly lower to that of Earth – still powerful enough to squash a slug this large into a puddle. This species could keep its forward end upright. At this end, four slits – a single lower one long, the three upper ones short and in a row – must have been the equivalent of a nose and mouth. Three eye-like black beads stood at the very crest of the head, but as with everything else about Daktarii anatomy, Drieser had no clue about them. On the reflective metal walls, Drieser caught sight of his unshaven face and disheveled suit. Would this make a bad impression? Would the smoothness of his face matter to a species that could not possibly use that trait to determine beauty? Again, a lack of information betrayed itself.
More vital matters surfaced in his mind. From the little he learned during his preliminary detention time, this first hearing would determine the form of his trial. The Daktari, while not part of the Interstellar Community, wanted to avoid a diplomatic disaster by following the standards of cultural accommodation. But what passed for justice on this planet? The little tidbits he picked up showed him mere molecules in the body of legal code. With only the ideologically obsessive traveling this far from Earth, no human lawyer would sufficiently understand Daktarii cultural quirks to present his case convincingly. On the other hand, Drieser doubted his ability to explain himself to a Daktari.
In the background of it all, the corporations loomed. The Plani owned most of the businesses on this planet – not to mention all other planets Drieser knew of except those under Human or Eldrandii control – and recent tensions between Plani and Earth allowed him every suspicion that they were behind this frame-job. At least, the Plani were as likely to be behind this as any Earthers were. Plani propensity to subvert legal procedures existed as an added menace. Earth justice might have been a joke, but only the Plani spread their corruption throughout the justice systems of the known universe.
Preparing himself for everything he could imagine, Drieser’s eyes took in the courtroom as they entered with lack of interest. Nothing overtly otherworldly struck him anyway. The Daktari clearly believed that height implied superiority, but that was nothing new. The judge sat in a tower twenty feet above ground, with an iridescent glow over his teal skin. Applying some chemical to make smooth skin shine surely matched human use of impressive suits. Some of the court witnesses seated on tiers no less than six feet above the floor were similarly glossed, but most remained dull. Among the witnesses sat members of many species, including half a dozen Plani, but no humans.
A smile crept on Drieser’s face when, in the corner of his mind, he noticed the Asofi field labor organizer that headquarters sent him to meet. The Asofi gestured an apology, clearly prevented from speaking by the court rules. Drieser nodded an acknowledgement, filing a reminder to insist visitors be allowed to see him. He would have preferred contact with a fellow human, but at least the Asofi understood humans and could act as a bridge to the Daktari.
“Tomas Drieser,” the judge intoned through a portable translator mounted like a chandelier above the center of the room, his real voice so slushy that Drieser would have failed to recognize his own name without the translation. The single translator would translate only between the native Daktarii language and English, only dealing with the loudest voice detected. “You are accused of murdering a Daktari company manager soon after your arrival here. The timetable was analyzed to ensure your involvement in the crime was possible before you were formally charged. As Daktar is not party to the Interstellar Community, it is our right to try you here instead of at the Interstellar Court. For the sake of justice, which we here hold true to as much as you on Earth do, Earth law will be taken into account, though it is alien to us.”
With a response clearly expected from him, Drieser said “Thank you” and meant it. The translator relayed his words, creating an eerie warble among the witnesses. Drieser decided that this was a murmur of approval.
“We have completed an extensive study of your world’s justice system, and are confused by the disparity between your standards of justice and the actual practice of those standards,” the judge continued. It must have been sarcasm. No race lacked inconsistency between ideal and reality. Or did Daktari refuse to admit that to themselves? No one made any noise that could be construed as laughter. The judge left no silence for a reaction, either. “The Daktari United Deliberation Council has decided to adopt the average practices of your world for this trial.”
Drieser choked on the world’s thin air. At the corner of his eye, he caught one of the Plani grinning.
The judge went on unperturbed by the shock on Drieser’s face, not that he could understand the bulging eyed expression. “We feel this is fair, and will not speculate about the deceptive quality of Earth’s justice codes. A full document of the details of procedure will be given to everyone here today, but I will outline the most significant elements from the Earth codes here. They are as follows: For the duration of the trial, Tomas Drieser will be kept in our general incarceration areas instead of the regular holding cell. As you have no lawyers on this world, this court will appoint one. As we understand it, those appointed are selected only from available lawyers – those not able to find other work – “
“But – “ Drieser could not help but interrupt.
“The suspect will not speak,” decreed what must have been the equivalent of a baliff. This blob was green in color, significantly more upright, and had more distinguishable oral and nasal cavities than the others. It looked much more human. “Speak only after instructions are given.”
The judge resumed. “Many nations on your world use a jury system, but while they are supposed to be of peers, this is rarely true when the defendant is a minority. Forming a jury of peers in this case would be troublesome anyway, so a Daktari jury is a reasonable proposition. They will be selected by joint agreement between the prosecution and defense lawyers.
“Evidence gathered by the police in this case will be at their sole discretion. The defense may request specific articles if they deem necessary, but the police may refuse if internal security might be compromised.
“You are presumed guilty until proven innocent. As you are a minority, the state prosecution will seek the death penalty. If you are sentenced to death, the execution will be carried out in between four to eight years. Now, are there any questions or objections, Tomas Drieser?” The judge said all this in what must have been an utterly reasonable tone to the witnesses.
“But . . .” Drieser wanted to say that they had gotten it all wrong, but knew it was a lie. In fact, they would probably still end up treating him better than he would have been on Earth – before they killed him, at least. They cited most of the reasons he had been more confident in Daktari justice than that of Earth. As a labor man, he had dealt with the double standard of the judicial system. To hear so much of it recited to him as standard Earth procedures confused him.
Why had they chosen to examine the actual practice, though? Most would have just taken the letter of Earth laws at face value – not that such analysis would have definitely improved his situation, but it would have created a more diluted version of injustice, at least. Was it just Daktarii culture or mindset at work? But the whole minority thing was too far – someone knowledgeable about Earth law must have tipped them off. Who?
“You!” Drieser shouted at the particularly smug Plani who had been glowing throughout the trial, unable to contain his glee. As with all of his species, this specimen looked like a scrawny, sickly human, with grayish skin and flowing wraith’s hair. The zombie-like image of Plani certainly had not helped human opinion of them. This time, though, the animosity between the races bore down on Drieser personally. He resented being targeted. “You, Plani, told this court how to construe Earth justice. You want to frame me for this crime because of the hostility between our peoples.”
“Tomas Drieser!” the judge roared. “Even by your planet’s standards this must be highly irregular!”
“I’m sorry, your honor, but am I right in saying that a Plani contributed to your research on Earth justice? Since we are here to decide how my trial will be run, I think it’s fair for me to attack any misrepresentation of my world’s justice systems that could be to my detriment.”
The Plani sat with mouth hanging slightly open, ready and eager to speak. The judge thought it over, then said, “very well. Yes, Ferin Keraliz, the Plani you addressed, did indeed provide help to us. In specific, he pointed out certain inconsistencies in your justice system – “
“ – and he did so to ensure that I would be convicted of a crime I did not commit by denying me proper counsel, purely out of hatred for my species,” Drieser concluded.
“Not true!” the Plani named Keralitz stood and shouted. He spoke in English and the Daktari translation echoed. “I merely pointed out my own observations. I am a specialist in your world, especially the English speaking parts, and was well qualified to advise this tribunal having spent my life on your world. Not to mention having been convicted of petty theft there - a charge that was plainly ludicrous since the sum in question was a thousandth of my annual salary.”
“So you want some payback!”
“Maybe. But, I must admit, I do have a side interest in this case. You see, I work for the company the victim belonged to – Dael Interstellar trading. I want to see the true murderer punished. This trumps any hatred between our races, Mr. Drieser. If you are innocent, you are not my target,” Keraliz concluded with a broad grin.
“Dael Interstellar Trading?” repeated Drieser as circuits clicked in his mind. “Your honor, I was sent here to help labor unions negotiate a better contract with Dael. This Plani and the murdered man both represent the very management I am here to negotiate against.” That was it, the same old story of corporate manipulation. His leap to the race hatred conclusion was unfortunate, but now he knew.
“Tomas Drieser, I believe it is practice in your world that anything you say can be used against you. By saying this, do you intend to provide evidence against yourself?” inquired the judge.
“I intend to show that I have been framed,” Drieser said, understanding it was futile since the Daktari had no such concept. He also considered what whether there was really any victim – maybe the whole thing was fabricated. If Dael had the police in their pockets, it’d be an easy thing to manage. “And definitely to show that this Plani’s advice cannot be taken at face value. He has a vested interest in seeing me condemned.”
The judge seemed immobile, but the Daktari witnesses jiggled in confusion. Drieser focused his attention upward, extending his will, but the judge’s answer came quick. “Tomas Drieser of Earth, do you swear that on Earth you would receive better justice than you expect from the procedures outlined here?”
Well, that was it, wasn’t it? Drieser knew the question he could not answer without abandoning his argument, so, when he heard it, he greeted it with calm resignation instead of surprise. He produced a few seconds of dignified silence, making it clear that he wanted to avoid answering the question. At the point that, if they had not gotten the point, they were never going to, he asked, “will I be allowed visitors?”
Scrolling through a digital sheet in front of his, the judge said, “yes, that seems to be a standard on your world, though with some disparities in the past centuries.”
“Thank you,” Drieser said, glancing meaningfully at the Asofi, who nodded in understanding. A measure of illogical giddiness bubbled in Drieser’s stomach. His mind drifted somewhere between losing it and total clarity, without an awareness that anything was wrong.
“That will be all, then,” said the judge. “Guards, take the suspect to his assigned cell. Everyone will be informed concerning the trial date. That will be all.”
*
The Daktari gave Drieser his own cell – only logical since he was the only human in the place and there was sensitivity to potential violence. Solitude, and the eons Drieser had to himself between the court sessions that started right off heading downhill thanks to that idiot of an attorney who might as well have been human for all he knew of his own people and their laws, quite quickly made mockery of his once stable mind by allowing him time to think.
By the time the Asofi labor organizer, a stalwart biped named Raevol, got in to see him, the prison guards were wobbling their heads in wonder at the fragility of the human mind. They spent some of their off time watching him babble. Occasionally, he seemed stable, but otherwise he was reportedly wild with shouting.
“I don’t understand,” said Raevol when the prison chief informed him of Drieser’s condition, “what could have caused it?”
No answer was given. The Asofi was taken in to see Drieser, who at first glance looked more or less normal. His hair and clothes were in complete disarray. That much had been visible in court, where Drieser remained completely composed, though in silence with an out of place omniscient smile. If not for that, Raevol would have suspected overreaction and misinterpretation of human behavior at work. Relieved to see the prisoner sitting calmly on his bed, no doubt contemplating his situation after yesterday’s session, Raevol approached the cell optimistically.
“Mr. Drieser,” Raevol said, snapping Drieser out of his reverie, “I am sorry that I could not come in earlier. Are you well?”
“Ah, the Asofi,” said Drieser quavering. He remained seated, eyes staring at the wall. “Are your people also insane? Nevermind. I’m. . .” then he bolted upright, dashed to the cell gate, and stared Raevol in the eye, “I’m going to die. They’re going to kill me. And you know what? I’m pretty well, thank you.”
Raevol took a step back. “How can you be well?”
“If I couldn’t have been, why did you ask?” Drieser asked, bags under gleaming glossy eyes. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. It’s not nearly funny enough to matter. What’s funny is this: my people are going to be persecuted based on their persecution of themselves. Don’t you think that’s funny?”
“Mr. Drieser?” If Drieser continued talking like this, Raevol would be left no choice but to repeat the man’s name in a questioning tone or abandon the conversation entirely.
Through clenched teeth, Drieser said, “Listen to me.” Raevol took another step back to avoid the spittle. “I’d tell you I’m not insane but you wouldn’t believe me. I might soon be dead, and I need to be heard even if it means screaming to the universe at the top of my lungs. You take my words back to my people. We do rotten things to each other that nobody thinks is right but we do anyway. The problem is, we do things rotten more often than we do things right. Finally, its happened that other species look at us and say, ‘Well, that’s just the way they are I guess.’ And they hold us to it – they now feel justified in treating us the same.
“We did that to ourselves, too you know. We did everything. I just didn’t realize what was going on at the time. Oh, a country would treat its people bad and we’d assume that’s just the way they were so we’d treat that country’s people like crap, too, and forget all about human rights. Everybody did it. It was the thing to do. Everyone misunderstood, no one tried – no one even tried. Don’t you think that’s funny? I do. If I can get out of this alive, I’ll spread the word myself, but I don’t think that’ll happen. My so-called attorney came in drunk yesterday, for heaven’s sake, or at least what counts as drunk for these Daktari. Cute bastards, aren’t they?”
“Mr. Drieser – “
“You don’t understand a word I said.” He threw his arms up in frustration. “I can’t make it any simpler than that. And, frankly, if you were in my position, you’d learn some things about your species and be just as eager to tell them about it. That’s a good idea, why don’t you get framed for murder? Anyway, as everybody in shouting distance can tell you, I can get a whole lot more complicated, not that they understood any of it. And frankly, if a smart Asofi like yourself can’t catch my drift, I doubt anyone at home would get me, since they’re all caught up in it. Or maybe you Asofi are more caught up in it than us humans are. Small universe, eh? Spreads like a disease.”
“So . . . ,” said Raevol, hopelessly lost, “what exactly do you want me to tell your people?”
Drieser turned away and moved to the center of the cell. Facing the back wall, he said, “I planned to get you to go to my world for some help, but I don’t think that kind of help would work now. I would have sent you with some inspirational words for headquarters . . . yes, that’s best. If I die, just tell then ‘Don’t Mourn, Organize.’ That’s always been a good one. They’ll get that. If they’re not trying to understand, it’s not my job to force ‘em. No, it’d be wrong to do that.”
“Don’t mourn, organize, then?”
“That’s right.”
“I will tell them.”