Fugitive From Asteron Read Online Free PDF

work early to arrive first
and obtain the best seats. After loading Feran’s spacecraft, I found excuses to
linger, arriving after the seats were filled. I made sure that the leader of my
quarters saw me and that my attendance was recorded, and then I found a place
to stand far behind the seated spectators, trying to lose myself among the thousands
of people standing.
    Guards
were present in large numbers during these occasions, their dark-gray uniforms
speckling the mass of light-gray workers’ uniforms. The mayor of our city and
other officials took their reserved seats in a viewing gallery on the stage.
    I watched
three people step up to the stage. Two wore long judges’ gowns: the counselor,
a woman who provided guidance, and the commissioner, a man who pronounced
sentence. The third person on the stage, a large, shirtless man with a vacuous
face and wooden movements, did not wear a robe. Instead, he wore a leather
apron covering his thighs and bare chest. We called him the Arm of Justice.
    As the
Arm set up the stage, the counselor stepped to the front, opened a book, and
read to us from Feran’s teachings: “Our lesson today is about compassion. Our
state has created a culture of helping and caring for its citizens that is the
envy of the galaxy .”
    The Arm brought to the stage two
vertical posts, each with a metal ring for locking to
a wrist, and spaced them so a person could be strung between them. Then he
placed a whip beside them.
    “Our
state protects its people from fear and want,” continued the counselor.
    Next to
the posts the Arm placed a scaffold with a noose hanging from its crossbeams.
    “No one
is left to stumble through life on his own.”
    The Arm hoisted
the last of his equipment onto the stage—several coffins piled one upon
another. The stage had a roof so there would be no discomfort to the players in
the rain.
    During the preparations, the youngsters
from Children’s World arrived and sat on the grass alongside the main crowd. I
caught glimpses of them. Some stared at the stage with already hardened eyes. Others
buried their heads in their schoolbooks in what seemed like an attempt either
to block out the spectacle or merely to get a start on their homework, until
their teachers admonished them to pay closer attention.
    “Asteron
is the planet that puts compassion on the highest pedestal,” the counselor
concluded. Then she closed her book and turned to a door on the stage.
    The door opened and Feran appeared.
Our supreme leader wore an imposing black cape ornamented with military medals.
The cape rustled like a black sail in a storm, filling with wind fore and aft
of the rigid mast called Feran. Thick black hair, a restless face, and impatient
movements added to his intimidating presence. He took his place in the center
of the gallery, towering over the mayor and other officials. In one sweeping
motion the crowd in the seats rose to attention. We all saluted our leader with
his favorite slogan, “One people, one will! Asteron!” And the proceedings
began.
    Feran greeted the crowd: “My fellow
Asteronians, we meet today to reaffirm our great tradition of the rule of law
and to deal with the Unteachables in a just way.”
    The counselor announced the arrival
of the Unteachables’ cart, an open wagon transporting prisoners through the
streets to the Theater of Justice. The crowd was sufficiently dense to block my
view of the cart, sparing me the sight of the prisoners’ faces, at least until
they stepped up to the stage. I did, however, see the faces of those who turned
to gape at the arriving cart, barren ovals that watched the doomed without pity
or protest.
    The commissioner announced the
first case: “Hoarding food.”
    “The Arm takes no coffin from the
stack,” someone behind me whispered in a tone of disappointment.
    “And he has not been wrong in the
last three single moons,” someone else replied.
    It was the Arm’s habit to prepare
in advance for each case, and this