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Updated: June 6, 2025
Pendarvis he had seen once or twice, but their paths had never crossed. He had a good face, thin and ascetic, the face of a man at peace with himself. With him was Mohammed Ali O'Brien, who seemed surprised to see them enter, and then apprehensive. Nobody shook hands; the Chief Justice bowed slightly and invited them to be seated.
"The Chief Prosecutor just called me; Judge Pendarvis has denied the nolle prosequi he entered in your case and in Mr. Holloway's, and ordered both cases to trial." "You mean they're actually taking this seriously?" "It is serious. If you're convicted, the Company's charter will be almost automatically voided.
Brannhard looked as startled as though his own briefcase had jumped at his throat and tried to bite him. He didn't look half as startled as Ham O'Brien did. "So you think," Pendarvis said, recovering his composure with visible effort, "that the logical custodian of prosecution evidence in a murder trial is the defendant? Mr. O'Brien, you simply enlarge my view of the possible!"
Especially for seventeen Fuzzies and a Baby Fuzzy and a little black-and-white kitten. There was one unusual feature; there was now a fourth man on the bench, in gold-braided Navy black; sitting a little apart from the judges, trying to look as though he weren't there at all Space Commodore Alex Napier. Judge Pendarvis laid down his gavel.
"Your Honor, I acted only to insure their safety and appearance in court." "So you took them away from the only man on this planet who knows anything about their proper care, a man who loves them as he would his own human children, and you subjected them to abuse, which, for all you knew, might have been fatal to them." Judge Pendarvis nodded. "I don't believe, Mr.
Judge Pendarvis had decided that it would be next to impossible, in view of the widespread public interest in the case and the influence of the Zarathustra Company, to get an impartial jury, and had proposed a judicial trial by a panel of three judges, himself one of them. Even Leslie Coombes had felt forced to agree to that. He told Jack about the decision.
"I used bad judgment," Coombes said dispassionately, as though discussing some mistake Hitler had made, or Napoleon. "I thought O'Brien wouldn't try to use one of those presigned writs, and I didn't think Pendarvis would admit, publicly, that he signed court orders in blank. He's been severely criticized by the press about that."
We have a great deal to discuss, I'm afraid." Mr. Chief Justice Frederic Pendarvis moved the ashtray a few inches to the right and the slender vase with the spray of starflowers a few inches to the left. He set the framed photograph of the gentle-faced, white-haired woman directly in front of him. Then he took a thin cigar from the silver box, carefully punctured the end and lit it.
After that, of course, there was nothing to do but challenge him. You must be thinking of Barton Bailey, Eliza DuFour's grandfather on her mother's side. He was a complete scoundrel. Or maybe you're thinking of Tiger Bill Pendarvis. A most awful person! almost an out-law!" Mrs. Scarboro looked up, bit off a thread, and said placidly: "Oh, awful!
Perhaps the next time we find people who speak beyond the range of human audition, who have fur and live in a mild climate, and who like their food raw, we'll know what they are from the beginning." Bet Ybarra gets another stripe, and a good job out of this. Jack hoped so. Then Pendarvis was pounding again. "I had almost forgotten; this is a criminal trial," he confessed.
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