"No, Court of Political Justice," she told me. "This is the court that's going to try those three Bonney brothers, who killed Mr. Cumshaw." It suddenly occurred to me that this was the first time I had heard anything specific about the death of my predecessor. "That isn't the trial that's going on now, I hope?" "Oh, no; that won't be for a couple of days. Not till after you can arrange to attend. I don't know what this trial is. I only got home today, myself." "What's the procedure here?" I wanted to know. "Well, those nine men are judges," she began. "The one in the middle is President Judge Nelson. You've met his son--the Ranger officer who chased you from the spaceport. He's a regular jurist. The other eight are prominent citizens who are drawn from a panel, like a jury. The men at the table on the left are the prosecution: friends of the politician who was killed. And the ones on the right are the defense: they'll try to prove that the dead man got what was coming to him. The ones in the middle are friends of the court: they're just anybody who has any interest in the case--people who want to get some point of law cleared up, or see some precedent established, or something like that." "You seem to assume that this is a homicide case," I mentioned. "They generally are. Sometimes mayhem, or wounding, or simple assault, but--" There had been some sort of conference going on in the open space of floor between the judges' bench and the three tables. It broke up, now, and the judge in the middle rapped with his gavel. "Are you gentlemen ready?" he asked. "All right, then. Court of Political Justice of the Confederate Continents of New Texas is now in session. Case of the friends of S. Austin Maverick, deceased, late of James Bowie Continent, versus Wilbur Whately." "My God, did somebody finally kill Aus Maverick?" Gail whispered. On the center table, in front of the friends of the court, both sides seemed to have piled their exhibits; among the litter I saw some torn clothing, a big white sombrero covered with blood, and a long machete. "The general nature of the case," the judge was saying, "is that the defendant, Wilbur Whately, of Sam Houston Continent, is here charged with divers offenses arising from the death of the Honorable S. Austin Maverick, whom he killed on the front steps of the Legislative Assembly Building, here in New Austin...." _What goes on here?_ I thought angrily. _This is the rankest instance of a pre-judged case I've ever seen._ I started to say as much to Gail, but she hushed me. "I want to hear the specifications," she said. A man at the prosecution table had risen. "Please the court," he began, "the defendant, Wilbur Whately, is here charged with political irresponsibility and excessive atrocity in exercising his constitutional right of criticism of a practicing politician.