On Omega, so the saying went, you couldn't fit a knife blade between the
trial and the execution of the sentence. Barrent was taken at once to a
large, circular stone room in the basement of the Department of Justice.
White arc lights glared down at him from a high, arched ceiling. Below,
one section of wall had been cut away to provide a reviewing stand for
spectators. The stands were almost filled when Barrent arrived, and
hawkers were selling copies of the day's legal calendar.
For a few moments Barrent was alone on the stone floor. Then a panel
slid away in one curved wall, and a small machine rolled out.
A loudspeaker set high in the reviewing stand announced, "Ladies and
gentlemen, your attention please! You are about to witness Trial
642-BG223, by Ordeal, between Citizen Will Barrent and GME 213. Take
your seats, please. The contest will begin in a few minutes."
Barrent looked over his opponent. It was a glistening black machine
shaped like a half-sphere, standing almost four feet high. It rolled
restlessly back and forth on small wheels. A pattern of red, green, and
amber lights from recessed glass bulbs flashed across its smooth metal
hide. It stirred in Barrent a vague memory of some creature from Earth's
oceans.
"For the benefit of those who are visiting our gallery for the first
time," the loudspeaker said, "a word of explanation is in order. The
prisoner, Will Barrent, has freely chosen the Trial by Ordeal. The
instrument of justice, which in this instance is GME 213, is an example
of the finest creative engineering which Omega has produced. The
machine, or Max, as its many friends and admirers call it, is a murder
weapon of exemplary efficiency, able to utilize no less than
twenty-three killing modes, many of them extremely painful. For trial
purposes, it is set to operate upon a random principle. This means that
Max has no choice over the way in which it kills. The modes are selected
and abandoned by a random arrangement of twenty-three numbers, linked to
an equally random time-selection of one to six seconds."
Max suddenly moved toward the center of the room, and Barrent backed
away from it.
"It is within the prisoner's power," the loudspeaker voice continued,
"to disable the machine; in which case, the prisoner wins the contest
and is set free with full rights and privileges of his station. The
method of disabling varies from machine to machine. It is always
theoretically possible for a prisoner to win. Practically speaking, this
has happened on an average of 3.5 times out of a hundred."
Barrent looked up at the gallery of spectators. To judge by their dress,
they were all men and women of status; high in the ranks of the
Privileged Classes.
Then he saw, sitting in a front row seat, the girl who had lent him her
gun on his first day in Tetrahyde. She was as beautiful as he had
remembered her; but no hint of emotion touched her pale, oval face. She
stared at him with the frank and detached interest of someone watching
an unusual bug under a jar.
"Let the contest begin!" the loudspeaker announced.
Barrent had no more time to think about the girl, for the machine was
rolling toward him.
He circled warily away from it. Max extruded a single slender tentacle
with a white light winking in the end of it The machine rolled toward
Barrent, backing him toward a wall.
Abruptly it stopped. Barrent heard the clank of gears. The tentacle was
withdrawn, and in its place appeared a jointed metal arm which ended in
a knife-edge. Moving more quickly now, the machine cornered him against
the wall. The arm flickered out, but Barrent managed to dodge it. He
heard the knife-edge scrape against stone. When the arm withdrew,
Barrent had a chance to move again into the center of the room.
He knew that his only chance to disable the machine was during the pause
when its selector changed it from one killing mode to another. But how
do you disable a smooth-surfaced turtle-backed machine?
Max came at him again, and now its metal hide glistened with a dull
green substance which Barrent immediately recognized as Contact Poison.
He broke into a spring, circling the room, trying to avoid the fatal
touch.
The machine stopped. Neutralizer washed over its surface, clearing away
the poison. Then the machine was coming toward him again, this time with
no weapons visible, apparently intending to ram.
Barrent was badly winded. He dodged, and the machine dodged with him. He
was standing against the wall, helpless, as the machine picked up speed.
It stopped, inches from him. Its selector clicked. Max was extruding
some sort of a club.
This, Barrent thought, was an exercise in applied sadism. If it went on
much longer, the machine would run him off his feet and kill him at its
leisure. Whatever he was going to do, he had better do it at once, while
he still had the strength.
Even as he thought that, the machine swung a clubbed metal arm. Barrent
couldn't avoid the blow completely. The club struck his left shoulder,
and he felt his arm go numb.
Max was selecting again. Barrent threw himself on its smooth, rounded
back. At the very top he saw two tiny holes. Praying that they were air
intake openings, Barrent plugged them with his fingers.
The machine stopped dead, and the audience roared. Barrent clung to the
smooth surface with his numbed arm, trying to keep his fingers in the
holes. The pattern of lights on Max's surface changed from green through
amber to red. Its deep-throated buzz became a dull hum.
And then the machine extruded tubes as alternative intake holes.
Barrent tried to cover them with his body. But the machine, roaring into
sudden life, swiveled rapidly and threw him off. Barrent rolled to his
feet and moved back to the center of the arena.
The contest had lasted no more than five minutes, but Barrent was
exhausted. He forced himself to retreat from the machine, which was
coming at him now with a broad, gleaming hatchet.
As the hatchet-arm swung, Barrent threw himself _at_ it instead of away.
He caught the arm in both hands and bent it back. Metal creaked, and
Barrent thought he could hear the joint beginning to give way. If he
could break off the metal arm, he might disable the machine; at the very
least, the arm would be a weapon....
Max suddenly went into reverse. Barrent tried to keep his grip on the
arm, but it was yanked away. He fell on his face. The hatchet swung,
gouging his shoulder.
Barrent rolled over and looked at the gallery. He was finished. He might
as well accept the machine's next attempt gracefully and have it over
with. The spectators were cheering, watching Max begin its
transformation into another killing mode.
And the girl was motioning to him.
Barrent stared, trying to make some sense out of it. She gestured at him
to turn something over, turn it over and destroy.
He had no more time to watch. Dizzy from loss of blood, he staggered to
his feet and watched the machine charge. He didn't bother to see what
weapon it had extruded; his entire attention was concentrated on its
wheels.
As it came at him, Barrent threw himself under the wheels.
The machine tried to brake and swerve, but not in time. The wheels
rolled onto Barrent's body, tilting the machine sharply upward. Barrent
grunted under the impact. With his back under the machine, he put his
remaining strength in an attempt to stand up.
For a moment the machine teetered, its wheels spinning wildly. Then it
flipped over on its back. Barrent collapsed beside it.
When he could see again, the machine was still on its back. It was
extruding a set of arms to turn itself over.
Barrent threw himself on the machine's flat belly and hammered with his
fists. Nothing happened. He tried to pull off one of the wheels, and
couldn't. Max was propping itself up, preparing to turn over and resume
the contest.
The girl's motions caught Barrent's eye. She was making a plucking
motion, repeatedly, insistently.
Only then Barrent saw a small fuse box near one of the wheels. He yanked
off the cover, losing most of a fingernail in the process, and removed
the fuse.
The machine expired gracefully.
Barrent fainted.