Interstellar Patrol (1 of 5 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Interstellar Patrol by Anvil and Flint (Ed.). Copyright 2003 by Christopher Anvil.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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INTERSTELLAR PATROL

Christopher Anvil
Edited by Eric Flint


PART I: PARADISE

STRANGERS TO PARADISE

Vaughan Nathan Roberts, captain of the fast interstellar transport Orion, stood in the huge room amidst all the wheeled and antennaed metal shapes, large and small, and thought of his ship orbiting the planet with its drive knocked out. The idea of coming to this place, he told himself stubbornly, was to get repairs. Not to get eaten alive, mobbed, or bundled around by roboid functionaries, but to get repairs. The question was, how?

Roberts was flanked by metal boxes nearly as tall as himself, much wider and thicker, with whip antennas on top, bicycle wheels below, and the words "Law Enforcement" blazoned on them front and back.

Directly in front of Roberts stood a far larger metal box, on low massive wheels, with a variety of antennas sticking up, and mouthpieces, viewscreens, and receptor heads thrust out toward him under the glowing letters: CRIMINAL COURT.

From this maze of screens and speakers, a voice was murmuring: " . . . Fingerprints, palm prints, retinal patterns, total body index: not on record. Conclusion unavoidable that this individual is not native to this planet."

"I've been trying to tell you," said Roberts, "we had gravitor trouble. We headed for the nearest repair facility, got here crippled, couldn't raise any response on the communicator, and half-a-dozen of us came down in the ship's tender. The tender cracked up in a forest forty miles from the spaceport. Three of my men were badly hurt. One of us stayed with them, and two of us hiked out for help. When we reached your city, here, we got garbage dumped on us, tin cans and chunks of cement slung at us, a gang of kids went for us, and then your iron gendarmes arrested us for causing a riot."

"Unsuitable attire," snapped a voice from the metal box to Roberts' right.

"We are dressed as spacemen," said Roberts shortly. "Now, I've got three injured men in the tender, and a ship in orbit with the rest of my crew trapped on board. We'll gladly pay for medical help and repairs. Where are they?"

A general murmur and clack rose from the big metal box in front of Roberts. On the screens, human faces and metal forms of various sizes and shapes rapidly came and went. From somewhere in the room, Roberts could hear the voice of Hammell, his cargo-control officer, raised in anger.

Then a speaker in front of him was murmuring, "On basis of correlation of statements of both accused, overall probability of guilt is 0.2, necessity of making examples 0.1. Therefore, adjudge innocent, transfer to Immigration."

At once, a loud voice announced, "We find the accused innocent of all charges brought against him."

From Roberts' roboid captors, to either side, came low murmurs of discontent.

A new voice spoke with authority. "The prisoner will be released at once, and escorted to Immigration for disposal."

Roberts blinked. "I don't want to immigrate. I just need repairs for my ship!"

The words CRIMINAL COURT faded out and the words IMMIGRATION HEARING flickered on.

"Name," said the box.

Roberts said, "I've been through all that. What I want . . ."

"Name," said the box sternly.

To Roberts' right, one of the smaller boxes explained. "You were at the Criminal Court. Now you are at the Immigration Hearing."

"I don't want to immigrate!" said Roberts.

The big metal box said sternly, "This case has been transferred to Immigration for disposal. Relevant information of interest to applicant: 1) No individual not already a citizen will be compelled against his will to become a citizen. 2) Due to food and material shortages, technological breakdowns, and attendant malfunctions, no one not a citizen will be fed, sheltered, clothed, or otherwise allowed to become a charge on the planet, unless otherwise decided by the due and constituted authorities." There was a brief pause. "Name."

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