“Right. Lefory is bound to show up sometime. I’ll leave a warrant for him. You’ll have to apprehend him the moment he appears.”
“Solitary prospectors who go off into the blue are usually looking for gold. They show up only at long intervals to cash in their accumulation, and if they’ve been lucky, they may buy supplies that will last for years.”
“If he shows up at all, the warrant will see that he is detained for galactic police authorities.”
“Have you considered the possibility that he might live the rest of his life out without being seen again?” Pummery asked. “He might be able to cash in his gold without being seen if he has a confederate. Are you still intent on changing the status of this world to ‘Nullified?’”
“I am.”
“We’ll contest the petition, of course. And we’ll win.”
“How can you possibly win? There is no doubt at all that organizations on Llayless harbored a murderer. Not only did they fail to punish him, but they helped him avoid punishment.”
Pummery smiled. “I told you when you arrived—an Unnullified world, a world without government, can be far more law-abiding than your so-called normal worlds. According to the results of your own investigation, Lefory is one of the most severely punished men in galactic history.”
“How do you figure that? No one punished him at all.”
“Study your notes again. At the Last Hope mine, he was shouldered. At the Laughingstock, he was much more emphatically shouldered. Once he was almost killed. At Smelter No. 2, more of the same thing. The danger to his life was increasing. Finally, at the Shangri-la, he was escaping death by narrower and narrower margins.
“It isn’t necessary for management to take a hand in the punishment of a murderer, you see. Every person on Llayless knows that if a Roger Lefory can murder in a fit of temper and escape the consequences, no person is safe. So the people of Llayless set about making an example of him. They put him through living hell, one place after another. And when he finally announced to a fellow worker that he was leaving Llayless, they gave his punishment the final twist.”
“And what was that?” Dantler demanded.
“You’ve already answered your question: He disappeared. His fellow workers so frightened him that he gave up his plan to return to Pummery and leave the planet. He was afraid he wouldn’t live long enough to get there. Instead, he went to hide out beyond the mountains, thus condemning himself to perpetual hell. Don’t you believe for a moment that he is gleefully basking in the wilderness and chuckling about how he got away with murder. He is eating plants that make him sick and half starving because he hasn’t the knack for catching birds or animals. He simply isn’t the type for solitary prospecting. He wouldn’t recognize paydirt if he fell in it. He desperately needs fellow workers he can shift his own share of work onto. Running back to Pummery and using the return ticket he has on file to get off the world is his kind of gambit, but he was too terrified to try it.
“The sanctity of life is a basic law among humans everywhere. An Unnullified world doesn’t need the apparatus of government and courts to punish murderers. Word of a murder circulates among workers almost instantly. The murderer’s deed dogs his tracks forever after. It followed Lefory everywhere, and his fellow workers reacted accordingly. If he shows up again, Llayless’s community of workers will resume where it left off. His punishment is already a legend that will deter people from murder far into the future. Do you know how many murders there have been on Llayless in its history?”
Dantler shook his head.
“Two,” Pummery said. “One happened twenty-eight years ago. That murderer’s punishment is still remembered and still a deterrent—as Lefory’s punishment will be for decades to come. How many murderers do you know of on normal worlds who have been released through lack of evidence or through legal manipulations? So many you couldn’t answer, I’m sure. On an Unnullified world, where the people are the law, punishment is certain —and it is perpetual. It will dog Lefory again if he ever emerges from the wilderness. He can’t escape it—can’t escape the planet—because no one will let him.”
“It sounds suspiciously like mob rule, which the Inter-World Federation outlaws. That simply won’t do.”
“Ah, but mob rule—thoughtless mob punishment without proper evidence—is an entirely different thing. It wouldn’t have popular support. Further, it would bring every management on Llayless down on it. We simply couldn’t permit that. Punishment of the mob would be official, immediate, and severe.”
He got to his feet. “I’m pleased to be able to introduce you to the way the law works on a world without government—a lawless world. I’m sorry you can’t stay longer. We are very strong on law but unfortunately weak in amenities, and I apologize for that.”
He nodded politely. Dantler, feeling himself dismissed, left. He had reached the street before he remembered that he had failed to serve on Pummery the notice of his intention to recommend an immediate change in Llayless’s status.
He took the paper from his pocket, hesitated, and then tore it into very small pieces. The pieces dropped almost at his feet, and he kicked at them as he walked away.
THE RIGHT’S TOUGH
by Robert J. Sawyer
“The funny thing about this place,” said Hauptmann, pointing at the White House as he and Chin walked west on the Mall, “is that the food is actually good.”
“What’s funny about that?” asked Chin.
“Well, it’s a tourist attraction, right? A historic site. People come from all over the world to see where the American government was headquartered, back when there
now could serve absolute crap, charge exorbitant prices, and the place would still be packed. But the food really is great. Besides, tomorrow the crowds will arrive; we might as well eat here while we can.”
Chin nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s give it a try.”
The room Hauptmann and Chin were seated in had been the State Dining Room. Its oak-paneled walls sported framed portraits of all sixty-one men and seven women who had served as presidents before the office had been abolished.
“What do you suppose they’ll be like?” asked Chin, after they’d placed their orders.
“Who?” said Hauptmann.
“The spacers. The astronauts.”
Hauptmann frowned, considering this. “That’s a good question. They left on their voyage—what?” He glanced down at his weblink, strapped to his forearm. The device had been following the conversation, of course, and had immediately submitted Hauptmann’s query to the web. “Two hundred and ten years ago,” Hauptmann said, reading the figure off the ten-by-five-centimeter display. He looked up. “Well, what was the
Chin smiled. “After more than a century aboard a starship, fresh air is exactly what they’re going to want.”
Neither Hauptmann nor his weblink pointed out the obvious: that although a century had passed on Earth since the
The waiter brought their food, a Clinton (pork ribs and mashed potatoes with gravy) for Hauptmann, and a Nosworthy (tofu and eggplant) for Chin. They continued chatting as they ate.
When the bill came, it sat between them for a few moments. Finally, Chin said, “Can you get it? I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”
Hauptmann’s weblink automatically sent out a query when Chin made his request, seeking documents containing Chin’s name and phrases such as “overdue personal debt.” Hauptmann glanced down at the weblink’s screen; it was displaying seven hits. “Actually, old boy,” said Hauptmann, “your track record isn’t so hot in that area. Why don’t you pick up the check for both of us, and I’ll pay you back tomorrow? I’m good for it.”
