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Fantasy Aspects, issue 1, May 1947

Page 20

FROM LETHE
by Jack Riggs

As Brad took the foaming retort from over the Bunsen burner, the door burst open and the scarlet-shirted special police flooded into the room. Momentarily he was stunned into immobility by the suddeness of it, then he recovered and demanded, "What is the meaning of this? I want an explanation!"

"You'll get one too, Hah!" The officer in charge paused, then sneeringly announced, "Brad Ronson; in the name of Bruno III, Emporer of the Americas, you are hereby placed under arrest."

"Why...?" asked Ronson..."Why?"

"You have been accused of dabbling into forbidden research, and we have all the evidence we need in the form of dictograph records and a hidden camera that took some damning films of you. Come on, let's go, we're wasting time."

Brad went unprotesting, there was no sense in fighting against the overwhelming odds. They took the elevator to the roof, and hence to a trim, speedy police helicopter. No one said a word to him, there was no need, he was as good as dead already. Brad knew where he was going, and all that had to be done was the legal formality of pronouncing the death sentence by the High Judge.

Brad, sitting between two burly patrolmen, wondered what dissolution felt like. He had heard only rumors concerning Bruno's method of dealing out "law" to offenders. It was reported that the condemned one was put into a chamber surrounded by electrical paraphenalia and a switch was turned on. There was a terrific drain on the current, it was said, because the lights went dim. The one inside the chamber simply faded from view. When the chamber was opened not a trace remained. Thei was probably fancy, most likely it would be an electric chair. If the reports were right it would be a clean, painless death, nothing could go wrong except a power failure.

Brad noticed the thin finger of the Justice Building pointing skyward off to the north, as the pilot swung toward it. The pilot dropped the 'copter swiftly to a projecting ledge, one fourth of the way down from the top of the building. He was a good pilot, for he set it down as gently as a man handling eggs.

"End of the line, fella! All out!" snapped the officer. As Brad got out, they watched him like hawks. Incompetency was liable to be fatal here in the presence of high government officials, abundant there. As he stepped out, patrolmen grabbed his arms and escorted him within the building, down endless corridors, up one flight of stairs, and into an ante room. There was a short wait, then he was ushered into a huge room where a sad looking soul in a black robe presided at a desk. He gazed vacantly at Brad and his escort. "Well...?" he intoned.

Obviously he supposed that anyone brought here to the highest court was automatically guilty and so the preceedings were a foregone conclusion. They repeated the charge against him and produced the evidence, all this time Brad said nothing, there was nothing to say.

"Has the defendant anything to say in his defense?" asked the Judge.

---( Page 20 )---

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FROM LETHE by Jack Riggs As Brad took the foaming retort from over the Bunsen burner, the door burst open and the scarlet-shirted special police flooded into the room. Momentarily he was stunned into immobility by the suddeness of it, then he recovered and demanded, "What is the meaning of this? I want an explanation!" "You'll get one too, Hah!" The officer in charge paused, then sneeringly announced, "Brad Ronson; in the name of Bruno III, Emporer of the Americas, you are hereby placed under arrest." "Why...?" asked Ronson..."Why?" "You have been accused of dabbling into forbidden research, and we have all the evidence we need in the form of dictograph records and a hidden camera that took some damning films of you. Come on, let's go, we're wasting time." Brad went unprotesting, there was no sense in fighting against the overwhelming odds. They took the elevator to the roof, and hence to a trim, speedy police helicopter. No one said a word to him, there was no need, he was as good as dead already. Brad knew where he was going, and all that had to be done was the legal formality of pronouncing the death sentence by the High Judge. Brad, sitting between two burly patrolmen, wondered what dissolution felt like. He had heard only rumors concerning Bruno's method of dealing out "law" to offenders. It was reported that the condemned one was put into a chamber surrounded by electrical paraphenalia and a switch was turned on. There was a terrific drain on the current, it was said, because the lights went dim. The one inside the chamber simply faded from view. When the chamber was opened not a trace remained. Thei was probably fancy, most likely it would be an electric chair. If the reports were right it would be a clean, painless death, nothing could go wrong except a power failure. Brad noticed the thin finger of the Justice Building pointing skyward off to the north, as the pilot swung toward it. The pilot dropped the 'copter swiftly to a projecting ledge, one fourth of the way down from the top of the building. He was a good pilot, for he set it down as gently as a man handling eggs. "End of the line, fella! All out!" snapped the officer. As Brad got out, they watched him like hawks. Incompetency was liable to be fatal here in the presence of high government officials, abundant there. As he stepped out, patrolmen grabbed his arms and escorted him within the building, down endless corridors, up one flight of stairs, and into an ante room. There was a short wait, then he was ushered into a huge room where a sad looking soul in a black robe presided at a desk. He gazed vacantly at Brad and his escort. "Well...?" he intoned. Obviously he supposed that anyone brought here to the highest court was automatically guilty and so the preceedings were a foregone conclusion. They repeated the charge against him and produced the evidence, all this time Brad said nothing, there was nothing to say. "Has the defendant anything to say in his defense?" asked the Judge. ---( Page 20 )---