In his stentorian voice, the Judge announces, 'The argument for proprietorship of the revived remains of Mr. Charlie has been conducted for the Common Archive by Sitor Ananta. As this argument has been laid before the Moot from Earth, the communications lag of six minutes forty seconds has been edited by the Clerk.
The compressed argument presented here remains true in form and content.' The air beside the Clerk wobbles, and there appears a holoform image of a
morph with slant-cut brown hair and long, Byzantine eyes, dressed in the loose, red-trimmed black uniform of the archives. 'The archaic brain on display was uncovered at Alcoran site three by Commonality archivists twelve terrene years ago,' the image declares. 'The full records of discovery have been forwarded to the Moot. The remains date from the late archaic period, and though no chronicle of a prior life is extant, a direct cull was made of the dendritic memories and proof positive obtained that this individual experienced a full terminal episode before encephalic separation, glycolic perfusion, and immersion in liquid nitrogen. Though the definition of death has changed over historical time, this archaic brain was in fact declared dead by the definition of his own time. This is shown in the records of the dendritic cull, which have also been forwarded to the Moot.'
The Clerk's slender voice pipes up, 'Discovery and memory cull records on display.'
Above him, for the benefit of the loges, calligraphic smears of color squirm through space: coded spectra to be translated by the spectators' sensors. Mei ignores them, but Munk records the full display and determines by correlation to the data in his anthropic model that Mr. Charlie had been interred in the
archaic province of Californica in only his ninth decade. The primitive brevity of his existence-for such can hardly be deemed a life-stirs pity in the androne, and he determines then and there that this man, who through a misweave in the weft of history has escaped the utter obliteration of his age, shall know the abundance of life the human spirit deserves. Fear of what he is about to do swarms like static through him, but he overrides his panic by focusing on the prime directive of his C-P program, to treat all people humanely-even if it
means his own destruction. Mr. Charlie is human, and he will no longer be treated as an object, if Munk can so help it.
Sitor Ananta continues, 'The exhibit, revived by standard archival procedures-'
'I have seen enough,' Munk declares, rising. He hears the music of the nearby andrones shift tone, sensing his threat. Fear mounts again in him as he expects the Maat to intervene and scatter him into a tenuous blowing of atoms. But nothing happens.
The Commonality agent continues talking: '...exists in its animated form today only because-'
'No judgment will be passed on this human being,' Munk declares, 'unless it is the judgment of life and the concomitant freedom that humanity has wrested from the accidents of creation and history.'
of the efforts exerted by the Commonality Archi-' The image of Sitor Ananta shrivels away.
'Be seated, Androne Munk!' the Clerk commands. 'You are in contempt of the Moot.'
'Yes!' Munk confesses, amazed and emboldened by his defiant survival in the temple of his makers. He can hear-sense--all the other andrones in the chambers and corridors of the tower, each one a cell in the metabody of a grand silicon mind. He feels their animus. Yet none act. Are his makers restraining them? Can there be any other explanation? 'I am in contempt of you.' He points a squared finger at the magistrate and sweeps his hand toward the loges. 'And I am in contempt of all of you who dare pass judgment on a human being who has broken no law, committed no crime.'
'Sit!' the Clerk brays.
'No.' Munk steps toward the Judge. The loud music of the foreign code logics from the andrones in the court crest with rageful intent, but no threat appears.
'I have been created by the Maat and contra-parameter programmed by them to study and respect homosapiens. I am an authority. And this archaic brain I recognize as human and alive. I cannot permit you to pass any other judgment but life and freedom upon him. Do you understand?'
The fiery halo above the Judge's faceted head flares hotter. 'I understand that you are in contempt of the Moot and will now be removed-forcibly, if necessary.'
'The Maat have created me to withstand the gravitational tidal forces of the Saturn system,' Munk loudly informs the court. 'Unless you intend to destroy yourselves, the exhibit you presume to judge, and this entire chamber, you dare not try to stop me.'
This, of course, is a bluff. His makers, who possess his signal codes, could turn him off in an instant-or, if they desired a more vehement display, he could be sheathed in a confining field and his body dissolved to atoms. He knows the Maat could do that. But they do not, which is all the approval he requires. He seizes the plasteel capsule and dashes in a blur across the expansive courtroom. At the plate window, he dives, his cowl shattering the wall of plastic to a blizzard of molecular motes.
Mei Nili, who has watched Munk's rebellion with slack jaw, rises weakly to her feet and gapes at the gashed hole where he has disappeared. Overhead, in the loges, the spectators mill excitedly.
'The Moot judgment on the proprietorship of the revived remains of Mr. Charlie is hereby suspended pending the recovery of the exhibit,' the Judge announces solemnly. 'The Moot is now adjourned.'
Munk's silver-black cowl distends, and with Charles tucked firmly under one arm, he banks into a thermal updraft and rises against the glittering onyx skyline of Terra Tharsis. Earlier, talking with Shau Bandar, he acquired the signal codes for the reporter's comlink, hoping to stay in contact with a representative of the anthro commune. Now, he realizes, it is his only means of finding his way back to Mei Nili.
He listens briefly to the gentle internal chirping of the comlink to be sure it works. Satisfied, he disconnects and puts his full attention on the magnificient city around him, the brave dream of the Maat. Magravity-the conversion of magnetism to the acceleration force of artificial gravity-enables the celestial heights of these prismal turrets, skytowers, and aerial domes. He hears the deep, oceanic drone of it underlying the crystal music of all the andrones in this region of the city.
He turns down his internal sensors-a heavy silence reigns at these heights-and dips lower to avoid the spark- glint of flyers appearing in the hazy distance among the spires. No one was hurt in the commission of his property crime, and
he hopes that not much of an effort will be made to apprehend him.
Space-weathered as he is and with his power cells at nearly full capacity, he could cause far more destruction
