The room was not large, perhaps like a surgery amphitheatre, with a judge's bench on a raised dais, with six judge's chairs behind it. The desk glistened and reflected; lights.
Near the table where Solo sat was another one similar to it, and as completely bare.
Above him, and around the room in an elevated semi-circle, looking down on the bench and the two tables in the cleared area were rows of empty chairs. But after a few moments three men entered from behind the bench and took their places in the center chairs.
Solo stared at them incredulous. Action of light from the desk blotted out their faces to him. The heads were blanked out, almost as if they were headless bodies.
When the three judges had taken their places, two men entered from each side of the room. One came to the table where Solo sat, the other went to the similar table near it. Lights blotted out the faces of these two men, too, no matter where they moved.
One of the guards touched Solo's shoulder, ordering him to place the 'death summons' before him on the bared table.
This folded sheet of paper was the only materials of the trial in evidence.
A voice from a speaker in front of the judges' bench droned, "Seated are three supreme justices of the highest court. The Highest Referendary of Unquestioned Supreme Hearings is now in session. All proceedings of this court are voice recorded. Seated with the accused is his defense attorney, appointed by the Court of Supreme Hearings."
One of the judges spoke. "The prosecution may open the case of World Order versus Napoleon Solo."
The man seated at the table near Solo got to his feet. The light, blotting his face from Solo's view, followed him.
The prosecutor stalked before the bench. "Prosecution will show that the defendant is guilty of all charges listed against him before this court."
A judge said, "We will dispense with the reading of those charges."
"I'd like to hear them read," Napoleon Solo said. His defense counsel shook his light-struck head at him, warning him to be silent.
A judge said coldly, "Defendant is permitted to speak only when it is time for him to admit to the charges proved against him in this court. Until this time he must remain silent and allow his defense attorney to speak for him. Only the defense attorney will be recognized by this court."
Solo shook his head, staring up at those light-blotted faces.
The voice from the speaker said, "Defendant will step into the witness chair."
A small chair inside a cage was eased out before the bench, suspended there. When Napoleon Solo protested, his defense attorney touched his arm warningly again and the guards placed Solo inside the cage. He sat down in the low chair so that his knees were almost up to his chest. The cage door was locked.
The defense attorney sat back at the table, apparently checking over the charges in the death summons.
The prosecutor said, "Do you admit that you came to this place with the avowed purpose of violence against the people herein?"
Solo started to answer, but the judges commanded him to silence. If an answer was required, they reminded him, his defense counsel would make it.
This gentleman remained silent at the defense table.
Solo sweated in the cage, raging against this mockery of justice. Still, he knew these men were deadly serious, listening to the further charges against him shouted by the prosecutor.
"You advocate the overthrow of our way of life by force?... You entered illegally?... You attacked and assaulted the person of two of our guards... You would destroy all that we here in this room hold dear?
"Are you not guilty of these charges? And are you not guilty of the further charges of planned murder? Treason? Spying? Are you not guilty?"
The defense attorney rose then, and spoke, for the first and only time during Napoleon Solo's trial. He said in a low, sad tone, "The defendant admits guilt to all these charges. He repents of his crimes against you. He is heartily sorry for his misdoings. But he understands there can be but one sentence in accord with justice; his crimes do not permit of even the recommendation of mercy.
"He throws himself upon the mercy of this court and asks only that he be allowed to die in the manner which will serve the cause of humanity under our great system most fully."
Solo stared. A judge spoke calmly. "There will be no need to hear from the defendant. The sentence is death, to be executed in a way most benefiting our inquiries into science."
TWO
SOLO WAS led to his cell. He felt nothing as far as the sentence of the strange court was concerned. They had never suggested the trial would be impartial. The summons had ordered him to a hearing of the treasonable charges leveled against him.
He prowled the cubicle, less concerned about what would happen to him than for the safety of Illya Kuryakin and Bikini.
Solo had not learned anything about Illya since he had seen him struck down by the light beam in the corridor. And Bikini?
He shook his head in anguish, not permitting himself to think about either of them.
The door opened, suddenly. Solo stared in complete astonishment, his mouth sagged open. Illya Kuryakin walked in.
Solo shook his head, feeling ill. It was Kuryakin—or Kuryakin's body. Illya was dressed in the green fatigues that all the guards wore, and his face was rigid, his eyes empty and staring.
Illya held a light-gun across his chest. He stared straight ahead, at nothing.
Solo gazed at him.
"Illya," he said.
Illya did not even hear him.
"No good to talk to him, Mr. Solo," Nesbitt's voice rattled the intercom. "He's gone quite beyond the reach of your voice."
Solo did not speak again, watching the way Illya stood, like a robot, a living dead man.
"Mr. Kuryakin is your guard, Mr. Solo. Isn't this a nice touch? Eh? I like it irony, Solo. You will die, when your turn comes, among my plants.
"Meantime, I warn you, Mr. Kuryakin has been programmed to kill you if you attempt to escape. An ironic touch that's lovely, eh, Solo?
"Surely you appreciate its grandeur? Guarded by your own former comrade, who is now one of my mindless slaves... Yes, if you try to escape, your own former friend will kill you. As I said, we indeed all of us have inside ourselves the seeds of our own destruction."
The intercom crackled a moment. "And now I am busy, Mr. Solo. You will forgive me if I leave you to the mercies of your former friend? I warn you, he has no memory, no stirring of memory of your past association. If you make a move to escape, or to attack him, he will kill you."
The intercom went dead.
Solo passed his hand nervously across his eyes. "Illya, can't you hear me?" He stared in disbelief at his friend.
Illya didn't move and Solo's helplessness mounted. He said in desperation, "That girl, Illya. We brought her in here—and they are going to kill her—feed her to those plants."
It was as if Illya Kuryakin could not even hear him. He remained unmoving, holding the gun at ready across his chest.
Solo went tense, remembering that Joe had warned Nesbitt that the mindless ones could not be reached by ordinary conversation.
They could be reached only by light, by a voice speaking to them, programming them.