Tomorrow’s World

Chapter 13

As the trial grew closer, there were a million petty details to take care of. Carson Fields worked like a dog, trying to forge his many defendants into a solid steel wall that would withstand the onslaught of Pelazi’s formidable case. Fields worked like the director of a tremendous production, rehearsing and re-rehearsing his clients. His case was based on an open acknowledgement of the fact that Pelazi had indeed attended the benefit. He was shrewd enough to know that Pelazi would have at least one witness to swear to that fact. Fields’ line of attack was a simple one. He would admit that Pelazi had been there, but he would prove that Pelazi had left before the show started, before any portions of the human anatomy were exposed before his eyes. If Pelazi had not been in attendance during such exposure, he could not claim infringment on the Dignity of Man, he could not rely upon 431, nor could he even hope to apply 62-A.

True, another case could follow on the heels of this one, using a totally different plaintiff. But Fields could stall that off until the Statute of Limitations forbade a trial. Such was his reasoning. One case at a time.

But in order to prove that Pelazi had left the benefit before the shooting, so to speak, started, Fields had to develop an intricate network of lies.

He planned his case with ultimate artistry. To hear Fields’ clients tell it, Pelazi had been under constant surveillance since he’d set foot into the theatre on the night of the benefit. There was a copy writer at an advertising agency who was willing to swear Pelazi lit a cigarette for him in the lobby, before the show started. There was a stereo scribe who held a ticket stub for the seat next to the one Pelazi had occupied. (A stunt facilitated by the friendship of the theatre owner, a Vike who’d been forced out of the legitimate stage competition when the Rees cornered the field. A Vike who, incidentally, was also being sued by Pelazi under Section 62-A. It was a simple thing to arrange a false seating plan.)

There were countless agents, actors, scribes, admen, photographers, chorines, and even janitors who were ready to swear that they’d seen Pelazi enter the theatre, take his seat, have a smoke, wander to the window, go to the men’s room, button his fly, adjust his tie, wipe sweat from his forehead, tie his shoelace, blow his nose, anything and everything, every movement accounted for by separate reliable witnesses, and the most important move — the move that had taken him out of the theatre and into a tomicab (the cab driver was willing to swear to this, too) before the show started — this move had been observed, too, by at least a dozen people.

So Van Brant worked; he rehearsed his own little part in the drama Fields directed. Fields was a good lawyer, and an even better director. He knew just what inflection he wanted a voice to carry. He knew just what expression should cross a client’s face, and he knew just how long he wanted that expression to be held. He knew just when any of his clients should hesitate, should stammer, should seem defiant, or embarrassed, or harried. He knew just when to break the proceeding with some welcome comic relief. He knew what he wanted, and he made sure his clients knew what he wanted, and when they complained, he simply asked, “Want to win this case?”

It took time. It took a lot of time, and time was one commodity Van could hardly afford. He knew he was not alone in this one respect. The other defendants hated this as much as he did, and he knew their time was valuable, too. This was little solace, in spite of the feeling of concerted effort Fields managed to kindle. Sure, they were going to give the Ree a tremendous slap in the face, but — as the old joke went — “Who’s watching the store?”

Van tried to watch the store.

When he got home each night, he was ready to pile into bed and sleep through the next week. Instead, he had a hot dinner and then joined Liz to hear her go over the details of the agency’s day. It was usually well past 0200 before he got into bed. He rose again at 0600 each morning, rushed to the office to open the mail and sort it, and then waited for Liz to come in before he left for the studio or Fields’ office, whichever happened to come first. It was on one of those mornings that Liz told him she’d hired Lois Sylvan.

“What for?” he asked.

“Van, we needed the help; we really did. Besides, she’s at loose ends now that the script is in production.”

“Where the hell will we get the money for her salary?”

“Things aren’t that bad, Van.”

“And who gave you the authority to do any hiring around here?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought...”

“Just because you share the apartment, don’t think you own the business! You’re still my alleged secretary!”

“I’m sorry, Van, really. I thought, with you away so much and all, that we could use someone else around here. Someone to handle the small details. It’s really been a drag, Van, believe me. I’m only human.”

“When does she start?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“How much?”

“Forty and morph.”

“That’s not too bad. I’ll be watching her, though; if I think she’s not worth it, out she goes.”

“Grooved.”

He watched Lois, and was surprised, at first, to see the change that had taken place. He hadn’t seen her since the early days of production on the Senso. She’d looked Vike then, yes, and a long way from the stammering Ree who’d first stumbled into his office. But now... now... she was hopelessly hooked. Van had never seen a morphict like her...

She seemed to be efficient, however, if somewhat listless; and she did help Liz — which was all they expected of her. Walt Alloway generally accompanied her to the office in the morning, and called for her after work each evening.

He continued at the grinding pace for a good two weeks, averaging some four hours sleep each night. And one morning, when the mail was especially light, Van wandered into the stock room, and nosed around.

Lois pranced in at nine, her breasts sparkling with an iridescent glow. Her skirt was the most daring thing he’d ever seen in any place of business; it consisted of a single thin strip that hung over her buttocks. Her underwear was transparent, and fully exposed.

“That’s going a little far, isn’t it?” he asked.

She glanced at her near-nudity, lifted her eyes. She shrugged. “Kicks, father.”

“Kicks? What the hell...”

“Look, Van,” she snapped. “You told me how to dress once. I’m a big girl now; don’t try telling me again.”

“I don’t give a damn what you wear on your own time,” he answered. “In this office, though, don’t look as if you’re ready to crawl into some goddamn Ree’s nest.”

“You’re insulting!”

“And so’s that skirt!”

“All right,” she shouted. “Would you like me to go home and change it?”

“No. But there are a few things I’d like to know.”

“Like what?”

“Like who’s in charge of the stock room now?”

“I am.”

“I thought so. What happened to our supply of drugs? Did you forget to reorder, or has someone been using it for private parties?”

“Neither. Swift’s is out.”

“Out of drugs? Are you...”

“Out of drugs, yes.”

“Then why didn’t you order elsewhere?”

“I tried. There seems to be a scarcity of the stuff.”

“Of drugs?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, yes, of drugs. Don’t you understand when I...”

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Lois?”

“Nothing. I haven’t had a fix yet; that’s all.”

“Well, go take one then, and we’ll talk business when you’ve popped.”

“There’s none in the office. You saw that yourself.”

He was beginning to get a little exasperated. “Then why didn’t you pop before you left your house?”

“Because I’m all out, too, and I couldn’t get any.”

“I’ve got plenty at my place,” he said. “Send one of the kids when they come in.”

“Morph?” she asked, an eager light in her eyes.

“Morph mostly. A guest supply of a few others. Have you tried all the drug outfits?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“The private pushers?”

“All of them.”

“Probably a small shortage. Maybe a shipment got fouled.” He shrugged. “Has Liz got you doing any of the marketing?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I wanted to ask you about something. We usually get checks from Vizco and Young and Coon Thursdays; there were none in this morning’s mail. Any idea what’s wrong?”

“Yes. They’ve both been taken over by a new outfit.”

“Oh? What’s the name of the new owner?”

“Listen, do you suppose I could call a messenger service and get them to stop at your place for the morph?”

“Better yet, call Liz. She probably hasn’t left yet. She’ll bring it for you.”

“Good. Good. I’ll do that.”

She started for the door and Van said, “Hey, what’s the name of the new outfit?”

“Pall Associates,” she called over her shoulder.

He ran into Deborah Dean the week before the trial. She was hurrying to catch a pneumotube, and she almost knocked him over.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s the rush?”

She looked up at him for a moment, puzzled, and then said, “Van! How good.” She grasped his hand firmly, squeezed it hard. “It’s awfully nice to see you. What are you doing?”

“Well, I’ve been pretty busy.”

“This Belly thing?” She smiled knowingly. “Pelazi has certainly started something, hasn’t he? I don’t think there’s a Vike in sight who isn’t talking about it.”

“He’s going to be sorry he started,” Van promised.

“Yes. I understand everyone is getting together to squash him. Is that right?”

Brant nodded happily, studying Deborah. She’d changed a great deal. She wore her hair long now, curling about her neck. There were no contacts on her eyes, and he noticed for the first time that their natural color was a somewhat muddy brown. She’d put on weight, of course, so he assumed her trips to the Inseminary had been successful. She wore a maternity breast sheath that fully covered her bosom, and her skirt ended just above the knees, much longer than anything he’d ever seen on her. She wore flats, but he attributed that to her condition.

“Well, I guess we’ve all been busy,” she said. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, making him forget the drabness of their color for a moment. This hardly seemed like the vivacious Deborah he’d once known. And yet, there was something new about her that hadn’t been there before either. A glow almost. Hell, he thought, that’s corny. A glow. Rocks.

She glanced at her wrist chronometer and said, “I must run, Van. Are you going downtown?”

He’d been heading for Carson Fields’ office when he met her. “Yes,” he said, “I am.”

“Good, we’ll share a car.”

They caught a dual car, and they sat side by side as the buildings sped by in a blur outside. They talked of little things, neither of them mentioning the change in her. He wondered if he should ask her for the money she’d promised, but he still felt like a stranger, and he decided that could wait until they really needed it.

The topic somehow swung to drugs, and he asked, “Have you been having trouble getting fixed, Deb?”

She smiled tolerantly. “I’m off it, Van; I’m having a baby, you know. They don’t mix well.”

“You look grand,” he said.

“I feel grand. I really do. I feel better than I’ve ever felt. It’s quite a wonderful thing, Van. It’s a shame it’s such an exclusive experience.”

“Exclusive?”

“Women only.”

He smiled. “Oh, yes.”

They watched the buildings flash by outside. Autumn had lingered longer than it should have. The trees were bare of leaves now, but the air was still refreshingly mild when it should have been bitingly cold.

“I wish winter would come,” she said.

“I don’t like winter,” he answered.

“Too much clothing? Even though it’s see-thru?” There was a smile on her face; he didn’t understand the smile, and it irritated him.

“Well, yes,” he said defensively.

“But so good. Such a good season. So cold outside, and so warm inside. I always think of pot belly stoves in the winter, Van. Cherry red, so hot that you can spit at them and hear them sizzle. I love winter.”

“I’m a summer man,” he said. “Swimming, sand, outdoor parties.”

“Parties,” she said. There was a sadness in her voice, or was it that? He didn’t quite know. He stared at her, and there was that same wistful smile on her face. He wondered for a moment if she had snapped her lid. Hell, she sounded rational enough.

“I hope it’s not a mild winter,” she went on. “I like them with a lot of snow, the kind that stays crisp on top because the weather turns cold right afterwards. That kind.” She seemed to sense his indifference, and she turned and smiled ingratiatingly. “Forgive me, Van, I didn’t mean to run on so.”

“That’s quite all right.”

“It’s just that I’m so happy now, you see.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I’m glad the Inseminar was a success.”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “Well... not exactly.”

He didn’t catch her meaning at first. When it hit him, he stared at her in surprise. A feeling of revulsion gripped him, and he almost wanted to leap out of the car to get away from her.

“I thought you knew,” Deborah said softly. “Rog Moore and I are married.”

“Married!”

Deborah turned away from him and gazed steadily through the window of the car. “A person gets tired of parties,” she said after a while.

There was only one thing wrong with the trial tactics of Carson Fields, attorney at law, and lie did not — unfortunately — discover that one thing until the day of the trial.

When prosecuting attorney Corona’s first witness took the stand, Fields was still smiling confidently at his table near the judge’s bench. His assembled clients had been delegated one entire portion of the courtroom, a portion which afforded them a good view of the bench, the witness’ chair, the jury box, and the long bank of windows overlooking Court Square. Van Brant sat among the gathered defendants, and when he saw the smile on Fields’ face, he couldn’t help smiling himself. Pelazi was in for a hell of a licking, and there was nothing Van would enjoy more. And to top it all, Fields was ready to present a few Suzy Q’s of his own, the second this trial was decided in favor of his clients. Ah yes, the entire thing looked as rosy as a posy. Van sat back to enjoy it.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the court attendant was saying, and Corona’s witness said, “I do,” and then Corona looked at the jury for a moment before walking over to the chair. He raised one leg onto the dais, stared at his witness, and then said, “Suppose you tell the court just where you were on the night of June thirtieth of this year?”

“Objection!” Fields said. “Defense attorney would appreciate knowing the witness’ name.”

The judge looked down from the bench, surprised that a veteran like Alfred Corona — even if he were a Ree — would pull such a boner.

“Will the prosecution...”

“Forgive me,” Corona said softly, and then he asked his witness, “Your name, please, sir?” Fields sat down triumphantly, and Van smiled again, convinced the trial had got off on the right foot.

“Sigmund Weiss,” the witness said.

“Thank you, Mr. Weiss. Can you tell us now where you were on the night of June thirtieth?”

“I was with Mr. Pelazi, sir,” Weiss said.

“Do you see Mr. Pelazi anywhere in this courtroom?” Corona asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you mind pointing him out to the court, please?”

Weiss pointed to where Pelazi sat at his table, his legs crossed, his hands folding and unfolding a sheet of paper.

“That is Mr. Pelazi,” Weiss said.

“Thank you,” Corona said. “And where did you and Mr. Pelazi go, Mr. Weiss, on that night of June thirtieth?”

“To the Beldame Theatre to watch a Vike benefit.”

“Will you tell us at what time you first saw Mr. Pelazi on that evening?”

“Yes, sir. It was approximately 1930, sir.”

“And where was this?”

“At my home, sir. Mr. Pelazi stopped by for me.”

“And did you go directly to the theatre when you left your home?”

“Yes, sir, we did.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weiss. That will be all.”

Brant almost chuckled out loud. Fields had anticipated all this. A witness to establish the fact that Pelazi had gone to the theatre. He was surprised that Corona hadn’t tried to show that Pelazi had remained there during the show, but so much the better for the Vike case. Fields was walking to the dais now, regarding the witness with cold suspicion. He cleared his throat, pointed a pencil at Weiss, and then asked, “You say you left your home at approximately 1930. Are you sure about that time?”

“As sure as I can be, sir. I didn’t say it was exactly 1930. I said approximately. A few minutes before, or a few minutes later.”

“How many minutes?”

“Objection,” Corona said. “Defense is attempting to disparage the witness’ testimony, asking for admissions beyond the scope of witness’ direct knowledge. If...”

“I am merely attempting, your honor,” Fields said, “to arrive at a definition for ‘a few minutes.’ When a woman is dressing for a ball, a few minutes can be two hours.”

The court snickered, and Corona said, “Witness is not a woman, your honor. By common definition, few implies not many. We can take it to mean...”

“Your honor...” Fields said.

“Order in the court!” the judge said, pounding his gavel. “Will the witness please define the expression ‘few minutes.’ ”

“Five minutes either way,” Weiss said.

“Thank you,” Fields said. “Tell me, Mr. Weiss, how do you know it was close to 1930?”

“I’d pulled a message from the Private Communicator at 1920. Dino... Mr. Pelazi came in shortly after that, and we left almost immediately. That’s how I know it was very close to 1930, five minutes either way.”

“I see. And you went directly to the Beldame Theatre when you left your home, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mr. Pelazi was with you, is that also correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did you do when you got to the Beldame?”

“We took our seats.”

“Which seats were those?”

“Fourth row, second and third seats from the aisle.”

“Which aisle?”

“The one on the right.”

“Did you and Mr. Pelazi sit together then, Mr. Weiss?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Side by side, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you happen to see who was sitting on the other side of Mr. Pelazi?”

“No, sir.”

“And you sat alongside Mr. Pelazi all night, is that right?”

“No, sir.”

Fields seemed surprised. Van watched the surprise cross his face, and he suddenly wondered what Corona had up his sleeve.

“You did not sit alongside Mr. Pelazi all night?” Fields asked.

“No, sir, I did not.”

“But for a portion of the night?” Fields asked, smiling.

“Yes, sir.”

“And where did you sit for the remaining portion of the night?”

“I didn’t sit,” Weiss said. “I went home to bed.”

The court began mumbling, and the judge banged on his desk again. Corona sat at the table with Pelazi, apparently undisturbed by his witness’ peculiar admission.

“You went home, Mr. Weiss?” Fields pounced.

“Yes, Sir.”

“At what time?” he asked quickly.

“At about 2100, sir.”

“Exactly 2100?”

“No, sir. A few minutes before or after.”

“By earlier definition, I take a few minutes to mean five minutes. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, sir, give or take five minutes.”

“Then, am I to understand that on the evening of June thirtieth, you left Mr. Pelazi at the Beldame Theatre and went home to sleep, and you left Mr. Pelazi there roughly between 2055 and 2105, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you see Mr. Pelazi again that night?”

“No, sir. I did not.”

“Defense rests,” Fields said. He walked back to his table beaming happily, and Van leaned forward in his seat. Corona hadn’t seemed like an egghead, but this was certainly a hell of a way to start off. His entire case hinged on proving Pelazi had been at the theatre and had seen the show. And now his first witness had admitted leaving at about 2100, just about when the show was starting.

“Call Paul O’Leary,” Corona said, and the court began buzzing again until the witness had taken the stand. He was a tall boy with red hair, an obvious Ree. He took the chair nonchalantly, and he was sworn in quickly. Corona stepped over to him and asked, “Your name, sir?”

“Paul O’Leary.”

“And your occupation, Mr. O’Leary.”

“I’m an usher at the Beldame Theatre,” O’Leary said.

“Are you now so occupied?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And were you so occupied on the night of June thirtieth past?”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“Would you please look at that gentleman, Mr. O’Leary?” Corona asked. He pointed to Pelazi where he sat at the table, and Pelazi lifted his head while O’Leary looked.

“Do you recognize him?” Corona asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know his name, sir,” O’Leary said.

“Then how do you know him?”

“He asked me for a program, sir.”

“When was this?”

“On June thirtieth, sir.”

“At the Beldame Theatre?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you give him a program?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“And what time was this?”

“2110, sir.”

“Objection!” Fields snapped, leaping to his feet. “Witness cannot possibly remember...”

“If the court please,” Corona said, “witness will validate his statement.” He paused. “Provided the prosecution may continue without any further interruptions.”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Proceed.”

“How do you know you gave this gentleman a program at 2110, Mr. O’Leary?”

“He called me over just as the house lights were being dimmed, sir. He asked me for the program, and I gave it to him, and then the lights went out, and the curtain went up.”

“At 2110?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you know it was 2110?”

“The curtain always goes up at 2110, sir. You see we have a preset board at the Beldame. It takes care of dimming the lights at the start of the show, closing the rear doors, releasing the locks on the emergency exits, and raising the curtain, all automatically. It’s always set for 2110, sir.”

“Thank you,” Corona said. “That’s all.”

He went back to the table, and Fields came to the stand, rubbing his jowls. O’Leary was a thin boy, and Fields seemed fatter standing next to him. He leaned over now, and the material of his breeches tightened over his ample buttocks.

“How are your eyes, Mr. O’Leary?” Fields asked.

“Twenty-twenty, sir,” O’Leary said.

“You’re quite certain? We can call in a court physician, you know, and I don’t have to warn you about perju...”

“Objection!” Corona shouted.

“Sustained. Defense will not threaten any witness in my courtroom,” the judge said angrily.

Fields cleared his throat. “How dim were the lights when Mr. Pelazi first called you over? Mr. Pelazi, the gentleman you identified.”

“They weren’t dim at all, sir. They were up to full brightness. He called me over, and then the lights began to dim.”

“You said earlier that he called you over ‘just as the house lights were being dimmed.’ Now, were the house lights being dimmed, or weren’t they? Make up your mind.”

“He called me over, and I went to him, and then the lights started to dim.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Of course.”

“Or was it too dark to see his face?”

“It was very bright, sir. I got a good look at him before the lights began to dim. It was that man, sir.”

“How do you know this was at 2110?”

“The curtain...”

“Yes, but how do you know the curtain was preset for 2110?”

“I saw it, sir.”

“Where?”

“Backstage, sir.”

“Do you customarily wander backstage to look at the control board? Is that part of an usher’s duties?”

“No, sir, it is not; I went backstage to see my girl friend.”

The court tittered, but Fields pressed on. “Is your girl friend in charge of the control board?”

“No, sir! she was hired to help with the wardrobe.”

“She was then, in effect, working for the show?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you aware that under Section 62-A of Statute 431, she could be held liable for...”

“Objection!” Corona said. “The witness’ acquaintance was not summoned, and the plaintiff is not bringing suit against her.”

“Sustained.”

“Or that you, Mr. O’Leary, as an employee of the theatre in which the benefit was held, could also...”

“Objection!” Corona said.

“Defense will refrain from this line of questioning,” the judge said drily. “Witness is not on trial. Nor is his girl friend.”

“I was simply wondering, your honor, why they are not on trial, that’s all. Everyone else seems to be.”

“Request that be removed from the record, your honor,” Corona said.

“Request granted.” The judge turned to the recorder. “Strike that last from the record.”

Fields grunted. “Defense rests,” he said.

Brant still didn’t know what was going on, but he vaguely suspected that Corona had won that round. Corona’s approach didn’t become clear until the next witness took the stand, and then it became damned clear.

“Your name, sir?”

“Franklin Beade.”

“Were you at the Beldame Theatre on the night of the June thirtieth benefit?”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“Will you tell the court what happened at 2115?”

“I got sick,” Beade said.

“Sick, sir?”

“To my stomach. I’d had clams for dinner. Clams never did agree with me. I also tried a cigarette. I should have known better. Cigarettes...”

“Objection!” Fields said. “Anti-Vike propaganda is being introduced into the witness’...”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Witness will stick to the facts.”

“I was sick to my stomach,” Beade said.

“What did you do?”

“I got up and headed for the men’s room.”

“Was the show on at this time?”

“Yes, sir. It had been on for about five minutes.”

“Did you go directly to the men’s room?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Well, sir, I guess I was in a hurry. I got out into the aisle, and then I stumbled.”

“And what happened then?”

“Someone helped me up.”

“Who helped you?”

Beade pointed to Pelazi. “That man, sir.”

“Are you sure it was that man?” Corona asked, anticipating Field’s cross-questioning. “Wasn’t the theatre dark?”

“Oh, yes, sir, it was. I didn’t see his face until we got to the men’s room. It was that man, all right.”

“And are you sure this was at 2115, five minutes after the show had started?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s is a big chronometer at the back of the theatre, sir. When I slipped and fell, I found myself staring right up at the chron. It was 2115; you can bet on that.”

“How long did you remain in the men’s room with Mr. Pelazi, the gentleman you just identified.”

“About five minutes. He helped me loosen my tie and... well, he helped me while I was sick. Then he stood by while I washed up. He looked at his watch then and said, ‘It’s 2120. We’d better get back or we’ll miss the show!’ ”

“Mr. Pelazi said this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Beade.”

It was clear now, very clear. It was clear to Van, and it was clear to every defendant in that courtroom, and it was exceptionally clear to Fields. He cross-examined the witness, but Van could see his heart wasn’t in it. Fields was thinking ahead, Brant knew, anticipating what was to come, dreading what was to come.

It came. It came with precision planning behind it. One by one, Corona paraded his witnesses. One by one, they took the stand, and each witness swore for Pelazi’s whereabouts, pinpointed those whereabouts in time and place. One by one, they swore to having seen him at the theatre: the washroom attendant who brushed off his coat when he left the men’s room with Beade; the usher who showed both men to their seats again. There was the man behind Pelazi who asked him to stop moving in his seat so much, the woman who stepped on Pelazi’s toe while moving out to the aisle, the three men Pelazi talked with during intermission. Then came the man from whom Pelazi borrowed a light, during that same intermission, a third usher of whom Pelazi asked the time, another usher of whom Pelazi asked what time the show ended. There was the man in the lobby from whom Pelazi bought an orange crush, the woman in front of Pelazi who asked him not to make so much noise sipping at the drink, on and on. Each witness presented a time, each witness having seen Pelazi all through the show, right up to the time he left, right up to the young lady he picked up during the second intermission, the young lady who left the show with him when it was all over.

It was tighter than a drum, and it hurt. It hurt because it was Field’s own strategy — but Corona had pulled it first. It hurt because Fields had underestimated his enemy, figured it all wrong, figured the Rees would drag in a few witnesses to establish Pelazi’s attendance, but not this. Fields had not anticipated this juggernaut of people, all lying their heads off, all apparently well-rewarded for their services. No, not this.

Van Brant got to him first when the recess was called. He found Fields shooting up on Corradon, and he took out his own vial of morph and shot up with him. He needed a clear head now. He wanted to talk this all out with Fields, and the morph would help him.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

Fields was perspiring heavily. The beads of sweat clung to his brow and his lip, rolled off the layers of fat on his neck, streamed down his naked chest.

“We go on with the case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just the way we planned it.”

“That’s crazy!” Van said. “Can’t you see he’s stolen our thunder? For godsakes, man, wake up!”

“What the hell do you want me to do? Prepare a new case right this minute? He’s got us by the...”

“Ask for a delay. Ask for a longer recess. Ask for an adjournment until tomorrow — do something.”

“No,” Fields said, shaking his head. “No.”

“Carse...”

“No. We fight it through. We present our witnesses; we parade them just the way Corona did. They’ll tell stories conflicting with the ones Corona’s witnesses told. Somebody’s got to be lying, and we’ll leave it to the jury to decide.”

“That’s a hell of a way to do things,” Van said. “Suppose...”

“What else can we do? He beat us to the punch,” Fields said. “The goddamn illidge beat us to the...”

“What about the jury?”

“Mixed. Half Vike, half Ree; we’ve got a chance.”

“Have Vikes ever decided against Vikes?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Well, have they?”

“Of course. I helped pick six unbiased Rees for the jury. You can bet the six Vikes Corona agreed to are unbiased, too.”

“So it’s all in their laps.” Van laughed bitterly. “Goddamnit, justice is really going to prevail at this thing, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Fields said sourly. “Both sides will lie their heads off, and then an honest jury will render a decision.” He wiped the sweat from his lip. “Justice.”

Fields paraded his witnesses, and the jury listened. And then they went out to make their decision. They knew that certain parts of the human anatomy had been exposed at the benefit. It was for them to decide whether or not Pelazi had been there to see that exposure, whether or not his dignity had been offended. And perhaps it was simply because Corona was a better lawyer than Fields that they decided as they did. Van Brant did not think so. Corona had plainly got there fustest with the mostest; the jury brought in a verdict in favor of Dino Pelazi.

The court became a screaming mob when the verdict was read off. Van saw Pelazi get to his feet and start for the doors. He shoved his way out into the aisle, collaring Pelazi while the crowd screamed and the judge rapped his gavel.

“You won, didn’t you?” he said.

“It would appear that way,” Pelazi said, smiling.

“Every one of your witnesses was lying!” Van shouted over the voices around him.

“As were yours,” Pelazi said.

“You admit it? You admit it?”

“The trial is over,” Pelazi said. “I’ve won. You’d best listen to the judge while he reads off the settlements.”

“You bastard,” Van said. “You slimy bastard. Pelazi, what the hell do you think all this is going to get you?”

“Money, for one thing,” Pelazi said, smiling. “I can do a lot with money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just that. It’s nice to have money, don’t you think?”

Van stared at him curiously. “Is that why you did all this? Just for the money?”

“No, Mr. Brant. I had another reason — a far greater reason. But then, you’ll be learning about that soon.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” Pelazi said, smiling.

“You’re pretty cocky, aren’t you? You win a crummy little case, and right away you get that confident look in your eye. You really make me laugh, Pelazi. Damnit, don’t you realize this is small potatoes?”

Pelazi was still smiling, and his eyes were brimming with confidence now, sparkling with the shine of his victory. “Yes, Mr. Brant,” he said, “I realize this is small potatoes. I realize it very well, Mr. Brant. But I’ve hoed the potatoes very carefully, and potatoes are nice big vegetables, don’t you think, even when they’re small potatoes. Yes, Mr. Brant, very small potatoes, but a lot of big people were scrambling to pick them up, weren’t they?” Pelazi laughed suddenly, a high laugh that rose above the shouting in the courtroom. “Mr. Brant.” he said, “this is just the beginning. Just the beginning. Just the small potatoes.”

He pulled himself free and then shoved his way out of the courtroom, and Brant thought of the confident gleam in his eye, and then he thought of what Pelazi had said.

“Just the beginning.”

The beginning of what?

The report came through on all communications, private and public. It came after a rugged two weeks during which drugs had dwindled down to a mere trickle. It came on the evening after the trial.

Van was at home, getting ready for bed. Liz had gone to one of the legit shows, in spite of his protests against it. He’d denounced her as a Ree, but she’d laughingly dressed in her sheerest skirt, kissed him on the cheek — which enfuriated him more — and then breezingly left the apartment. He’d sulked for a while, vowing to kick her out in the morning. He was getting tired of this cramped living, and the extra bed didn’t help the appearance of the place at all. Besides, ever since his chance meeting with Deborah, he’d begun to suspect Liz of ulterior motives. The thought sickened him, and he wanted to squash anything like that immediately.

In the morning. Walking papers. So long, sweetie, it’s been grand. Adios. Good-bye.

He buttoned his pajamas, lit a cigarette, and then snapped on the Communicator, scanning the message as they taped out of the machine.

The report read:

He tore the tape off and held it in trembling hands. This was impossible. This was utterly fantastic. He rushed to the bedroom, then remembered that Liz wasn’t home. Of all the times to visit a Ree show. He ran to the vid, punched out Hayden Thorpe’s number, let it buzz six times before he gave up. He tried Walt next, and when he got no answer there, he called Clark Talbot in desperation.

Clark didn’t look well; he didn’t look well at all. He blinked his eyes at the screen, wet his lips with his tongue.

“That you, Van?” he asked.

“Yes, Clark. Did you see the latest on the Com?”

“About the narcotics?”

“Yes.”

“They’ve been running that every ten minutes. Where you been goofing, father?”

“Is it straight goods?”

“The straightest. It’s on the public communicators, too. You can’t get bum dope on those.”

“Well, what the hell are we going to do? What does it all mean? I thought we had a Vike majority in Congress.”

“Majorities don’t mean beans, Van. You spread a little moo in the right places, and majorities become minorities overnight. Don’t you know politics?”

“But... I mean... well, where are we going to get our stuff?”

Clark gave a short, dry laugh that sounded more like a cackle. “Jest me not, father,” he said. “I’ve been cool for the past nine days. I couldn’t raise a drop of herrocoke no matter how hard I tried. So this makes it illegal, so what? If you can’t get it, what difference does it make if somebody says you’re not allowed to get it? Father, I’ve been down, really.”

“Nine days,” Van said incredulously.

“Cooler and cooler, and now I’m almost cold. It was rough, tough stuff, Van. I thought I was done a few days ago. I was ready to make out a will.”

“What about now? I mean...”

“Now?” Clark asked. “Now?” Van looked into his eyes. They were vacuous and lonely. Something of a smile played on his lips and then died there. “No mo, Van. Gone. From my body, anyway. In my mind... in my mind...” He sighed deeply, then changed the subject abruptly. “Have you sold anything of mine lately?”

“What?” Van asked, still a little dazed.

“My stuff. Any sales, any checks coming?”

“Oh. Well, it’s been rough, Clark. Lots of changes throughout the field. New owners, new policies. You know how these things work.”

“Yeah,” Clark said drily. “Well, without a habit, all I have to worry about is food. Think you can scrape up enough for that? I mean, in addition to what Lana Davis gets me.”

Van managed to laugh weakly. “Hell, Clark, stop talking like a...”

“Ree?” Clark asked. He began laughing then, continued to laugh until Van clicked off.

Van walked to the home bar, checked the vials there. He was almost out. These past two weeks of non supply had just about taken all he had. His hands were trembling when he pulled the lid shut. He felt like talking to someone, anyone. He thought of Hayden, realized he was out. The same applied to Walt. He picked up the Com report and looked at it again. He shook his head, threw the paper onto an end table. Where had Liz gone? The Imperial? Was that the name of the theatre? Imperial? It sounded right. He’d check the name of the show in the papers. He dressed quickly and left the apartment.

He was not prepared for what he found in the streets.