The Rolling Stones (20 page)

“Okay with me, Judge.”

“No objection,” the prosecutor said wearily.

“You may continue, ma’am. I think we ought to wind this up in about ten minutes, if you both will stick to the subject. Let’s have your theory.”

“Yes, your honor. First, I want you to take a look at those two young and innocent lads and see for yourself that they could not be up to anything criminal.” Castor and Pollux made a mighty effort to look the description; they were not notably successful.

Judge Warburton looked at them and scratched his chin. “That’s a conclusion, ma’am. I can’t see any wings sprouting from here.”

“Forget it, then. They’re a couple of little hellions, both of them. They’ve given me plenty of grief. But this time they didn’t do anything wrong and they deserve a vote of thanks from your chamber of commerce—and from the citizens of Mars Commonwealth.”

“The first part sounds plausible. The latter part is outside the jurisdiction of this court.”

“You’ll see. The key to this case is whether or not a bicycle is a production item, or a luxury. Right?”

“Correct. And the distinction depends on the end use of the imported article. Our tariff schedule is flexible in that respect. Shall I cite the pertinent cases?”

“Oh, don’t bother!”

“I believe it was stipulated that the bicycles were sold for the end use of sightseeing, that the defendants knew that, that they even suggested that end use and made it part of their sales argument, and that they neglected to inform the buyer of the customs status of the articles in question. Correct?”

“Right to nine decimals, Judge.”

“I’ve not yet gotten a glimpse of your theory. Surely you are not contending that sightseeing is anything but a luxury?”

“Oh, it’s a luxury all right!”

“Madam, it seems to me that you are doing your grandsons no good. If you will withdraw, I will appoint counsel.”

“Better ask them, Judge.”

“I intended to.” He looked inquiringly at the twins. “Are you satisfied with your representation?”

Castor caught Pollux’s eye, then answered promptly, “We’re as much in the dark as you are, sir—but we’ll string along with grandmother.”

“I admire your courage at least. Proceed, ma’am.”

“We agreed that sightseeing is a luxury. But ‘luxury’ is a relative term. Luxury for
whom
? Roast suckling pig is a luxury for you and me—”

“It certainly is. I haven’t tasted one on this planet.”

“—but it’s an early death for the pig. Will the court take judicial notice of an activity known as ‘Mars’ Invisible Export?’”

“The tourist trade? Certainly, if it’s necessary to your theory.”

“Objection!”

“Just hang on to that objection, Herbert; she may not establish a connection. Proceed.”

“Let’s find out who eats that pig. Your tariff rules, so it has been explained, are to keep citizens of the Commonwealth from wasting valuable foreign exchange on unnecessary frills. You’ve got a credit gap—”

“Regrettably, we have. We don’t propose to increase it.”

“That’s my point. Who pays the bill? Do
you
go sightseeing? Does
he
?” She pointed again at the prosecutor. “Shucks, no! It’s old stuff to both of you. But
I
do—I’m a tourist. I rented one of those bicycles not a week ago—and helped close your credit gap. Your honor, we contend that the renting of bicycles to tourists, albeit a luxury to the tourist, is a productive activity for export to the unmixed benefit of every citizen of the Commonwealth and that therefore those bicycles are ‘articles of production’ within the meaning and intent of your tariff laws!”

“Finished?” She nodded. “Herbert?”

“Your honor, this is ridiculous! The prosecution has clearly established its case and the defense does not even dare to dispute it. I have never heard a more outlandish mixture of special pleading and distortion of the facts. But I am sure the facts are clear to the court. The end use is sightseeing, which the defense agrees is a luxury. Now a luxury is a luxury—”

“Not to the pig, son.”

“‘The pig?’ What pig? There are no pigs in this case; there isn’t a pig on Mars. If we—”

“Herbert! Have you anything to add?”

“I—” The young prosecutor slumped. “Sorry, Dad, I got excited. We rest.”

The judge turned to Hazel. “He’s a good boy, but he’s impetuous—like yours. I’ll make a lawyer out of him yet.” He straightened up. “And the court rests—ten minutes out for a pipe. Don’t go away.” He ducked out.

The twins whispered and fidgeted; Hazel caught the eyes of her son and daughter-in-law and gave them a solemn wink. Judge Warburton returned in less than ten minutes and the bailiff shouted for order. The judge stared at the prisoners. “The court rules,” he said solemnly, “that the bicycles in question are ‘articles of production’ within the meaning of the tariff code. The prisoners are acquitted and discharged. The clerk will release the delivery bond.”

There was very scattered applause, led by Hazel. “No demonstrations!” the judge said sharply. He looked again at the twins. “You’re extremely lucky—you know that, don’t you?”

“Yessir!”

“Then get out of my sight and try to stay out of trouble.”

Dinner was a happy family reunion despite the slight cloud that still hung over the twins. It was also quite good, Dr. Stone having quietly taken over the cooking. Captain Vandenbergh, down on the same shuttle, joined them for dinner. By disconnecting the TV receiver and placing it temporarily on Meade’s bunk and by leaving open the door to the twins’ cubicle so that Captain Vandenbergh’s chair could be backed into the door frame, it was just possible for all of them to sit down at once. Fuzzy Britches sat in Lowell’s lap; up till now the flat cat had had its own chair.

Roger Stone tried to push back his chair to make more room for his knees, found himself chock-a-block against the wall. “Edith, we will just have to get a larger place.”

“Yes, dear. Hazel and I spoke to the landlord this afternoon.”

“What did he say?”

Hazel took over. “I’m going to cut his gizzard out. I reminded him that he had promised to take care of us when you two got down. He looked saintly and pointed out that he had given us two more cots. Lowell, quit feeding that mop with your own spoon!”

“Yes, Grandma Hazel. May I borrow yours?”

“No. But he did say that we could have the flat the Burkhardts are in, come Venus departure. It has one more cubicle.”

“Better,” agreed Roger Stone, “but hardly a ballroom—and Venus departure is still three weeks away. Edith, we should have kept our nice room in the
War God.
How about it, Van? Want some house guests? Until you blast for Venus, that is?”

“Certainly.”

“Daddy! You wouldn’t go away
again
?”

“I’m joking, snub nose.”

“I wasn’t,” answered the liner’s captain. “Until Venus departure—or all the way to Venus and then back to Luna, if you choose. I got official approval of my recommendation this afternoon; you two can drag free in the
War God
until death or decommission do you part. How about it? Come on to Venus with me?”

“We’ve been to Venus,” announced Meade. “Gloomy place.”

“Whether they take you up or not,” Hazel commented, “that’s quite a concession to get out of Four-Planets. Ordinarily that bunch of highbinders wouldn’t give away a bucketful of space.”

“They were afraid of the award an admiralty court might hand out,” Vandenbergh said drily. “Speaking of courts, I understand you put on a brilliant defense today, Hazel. Are you a lawyer, along with your other accomplishments?”

“No,” answered her son, “but she’s a fast talker.”

“Who’s not a lawyer?”

“You aren’t.”

“Of course I am!”

“When and where? Be specific.”

“Years and years ago, back in Idaho—before you were born. I just never got around to mentioning it.”

Her son looked her over. “Hazel, it occurs to me that the records in Idaho are conveniently far away.”

“None of your sass, boy. Anyway, the courthouse burned down.”

“I thought as much.”

“In any case,” Vandenbergh put in soothingly, “Hazel got the boys off. When I heard about it, I expected that they would have to pay the duty at least. You young fellows must have made quite a tidy profit.”

“We did all right,” Castor admitted.

“Nothing spectacular,” Pollux hedged.

“Figure it up,” Hazel said happily, “because I am going to collect a fee from you of exactly two-thirds your net profit for getting your necks out of a bight.”

The twins stared at her. “Hazel, you wouldn’t?” Castor said uncertainly.

“Wouldn’t I!”

“Don’t tease them, Mother,” Dr. Stone suggested.

“I’m not teasing. I want this to be a lesson to them. Boys, anybody who sits in a game without knowing the house rules is a sucker. Time you knew it.”

Vandenbergh put in smoothly, “It doesn’t matter too much these days when the government—” He stopped suddenly. “What in the world!”

“What’s the matter, Van?” demanded Roger.

Vandenbergh’s face cleared and he grinned sheepishly. “Nothing. Just your flat cat, crawling up my leg. For a moment I thought I had wandered into your television show.”

Roger Stone shook his head. “Not mine, Hazel’s. And it wouldn’t have been a flat cat; it would have been human gore.”

Captain Vandenbergh picked up Fuzzy Britches, stroked it, then returned it to Lowell. “It’s a Martian,” announced Lowell.

“Yes?”

Hazel caught his attention. “The situation has multifarious ramifications not immediately apparent to the unassisted optic. This immature zygote holds it as the ultimate desideratum to consort with the dominate aborigine of the trifurcate variety. Through a judicious use of benign mendacity, Exhibit ‘A’ performs as a surrogate in spirit if not in letter. Do you dig me, boy?”

Vandenbergh blinked. “I think so. Perhaps it’s just as well. They are certainly engaging little pets—though I wouldn’t have one in any ship of mine. They—”

“She means,” Lowell explained, “that I want to see a Martian with legs. I still do. Do you know one?”

Hazel said, “Coach, I tried, but they were too big for me.”

Captain Vandenbergh stared at Lowell. “He’s quite serious about it, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid he is.”

He turned to Dr. Stone. “Ma’am, I’ve fair connections around here and these things can always be arranged, in spite of treaties. Of course, there would be a certain element of danger—not much in my opinion.”

Dr. Stone answered, “Captain, I have never considered danger to be an evaluating factor.”

“Um, no, you wouldn’t, ma’am. Shall I try it?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“It will pay interest on my debt. I’ll let you know.” He dismissed the matter and turned again to the twins. “What profit-tax classification does your enterprise come under?”

“Profit tax?”

“Haven’t you figured it yet?”

“We didn’t know there was one.”

“I can see you haven’t done much importing and exporting, not on Mars anyhow. If you are a Commonwealth citizen, it all goes into income tax, of course. But if you come from out planet, you pay a single-shot tax on each transaction. Better find yourself a tax expert; the formula is somewhat complicated.”

“We won’t pay it!” said Pollux.

His father answered quietly, “Haven’t you two been in jail enough lately?”

Pollux shut up. For the next few minutes they exchanged glances, whispers, and shrugs. Presently Castor stood up. “Dad, Mother—may we be excused?”

“Certainly. If you can manage to squeeze out.”

“No dessert, boys?”

“We aren’t very hungry.”

They went into town, to return an hour later not with a tax expert but with a tax guide they had picked up at the Chamber of Commerce. The adults were still seated in the general room, chatting; the table had been folded up to the ceiling. They threaded through the passageway of knees into their cubicle; they could be heard whispering in there from time to time.

Presently they came out. “Excuse us, folks. Uh, Hazel?”

“What is it, Cas?”

“You said your fee was two-thirds of our net.”

“Huh? Did your leg come away in my hand, chum? I wouldn’t—”

“Oh, no, we’d rather pay it.” He reached out, dropped half a dozen small coins in her hand. “There it is.”

She looked at it. “
This
is two-thirds of all you made on the deal?”

“After taxes.”

“Of course,” added Pollux, “it wasn’t a total loss. We had the use of the bicycles for a couple of hundred million miles.”

FLAT CATS FACTORIAL

V
ANDENBERGH MADE GOOD

his offer. Lowell and he went by stratorocket to the treaty town of Richardson, were gone about three days. When Lowell came back he had seen a Martian, he had talked with one. But he had been cautioned not to talk about it and his family could get no coherent account out of him.

But the simple matter of housing was more difficult than the presumably impossible problem of meeting a Martian. Roger Stone had had no luck in finding larger and more comfortable quarters, even after he had resigned himself to fantastic rentals. The town was bursting with tourists and would be until Venus departure, at which time those taking the triangular trip would leave—a majority, in fact. In the meantime they crowded the restaurants, took pictures of everything including each other, and ran their bicycles over the toes of pedestrians. Further packing a city already supersaturated were sand rats in from the desert and trying to arrange some way, any way, to get out to the Hallelujah Node in the Asteroid Belt.

Dr. Stone said one night at dinner, “Roger, tomorrow is rent day. Shall I pay it for a full month? Mr. d’Avril says that the Burkhardts are talking about staying on.”

“Pay it for six days only,” Hazel advised. “We can do better than this after Venus departure—I hope.”

Roger Stone looked up and scowled. “Look here, why pay the rent at all?”

“What are you saying, dear?”

“Edith, I’ve been chewing this over in my mind. When we first came here our plans, such as they were, called for living here through one wait.” He referred to the fifteen months elapsed time from arrival Mars to Earth departure from Mars, using the economical orbits. “Then we planned to shape orbit home. Fair enough, if this overrated tourist trap had decent housing. But I haven’t been able to start writing my book. When Buster isn’t climbing into my lap, his pet is slithering down the back of my neck.”