Destroyer from the Lost Planet, page 35
“I am aware, your honor. Thank you.”
“And you understand that, if you say anything in open court, your statement may be used against you in sentencing or in the event you attempt to change your plea?”
“I understand.”
“And you have taken the opportunity to discuss this with your counsel. Is that correct? Glick.”
“Yes.”
“And you still wish to proceed with your statement and allow the requested rebuttal?”
“I do,” said Anzû.
“Then,” said the chief judge, “with the prisoner’s informed consent and his having availed himself of advice of counsel, at the urging of the ambassador in his capacity as a friend of the Court, the Court grants the prisoner ten minutes to present his justification for his actions in respect of the crimes to which he is pleading guilty today. Glick. Such time will not be deducted from the time to be allotted for any explanation the prisoner may choose to make at a later time prior to sentencing. Both the prisoner and his counsel are hereby cautioned that any willful attempt by the prisoner to foment rebellion or disrespect for this tribunal or its proceedings will result in forfeiture of the prisoner’s remaining time today and the imposition of penalties for contempt of court. Proceed.”
Anzû began slowly. “I am Anzû,” he said, surveying the courtroom to see just how badly he was despised by those present. Quite badly, judging by the sneers. “Everything I’ve done for the past six thousand years has been for a single purpose, namely, to preserve what little freedom remains to the people of Nibiru, a people with a proud and bloody history of risking all to throw off oppression in all its forms, no matter how handsome the oppressor’s face, and no matter how rational or beneficent the oppressor believes his exercise of authority to be.
“A Nibirune’s life is owned by no one other than himself. If he or she wishes to spend a life in poverty, declining all the seductive ‘opportunities’ by which the oppressor tries to ensnare him, he has that right and needs no one’s leave to exercise it. That’s because such right is conferred not by the king, nor by the state, nor even by a majority of society. Even were society unanimous against him, the choice would still belong to the individual.
“Though imposing limitations upon the powers of the state may be a good start, such limitations are doomed to fail if society once loses its will to enforce them or, worse, actively cheers on the state’s expanding tyranny.
“A Nibirune’s right to choose his own life arises out of the very operation of nature. He is born free. If one prefers to think theologically, his freedom is conferred by God—not by false gods such as Anu’s heirs, but by the God whose works resulted in the natural condition of the individual’s freedom.
“Under the heirs of Anu, freedom has all but disappeared from my native planet of Nibiru, and conditions there are suffocating. They’re anything but free. As it is the meddlesome state itself that decides how far it may intrude into the life of each citizen, unsurprisingly it seems never to recognize any limits on itself. This must change; if not peaceably, then by other means. I, Anzû, am not the sole proponent of this view, nor will this view perish with Anzû. My supporters are representative of all Niburunes from all walks of life and demographic groups, and their views are always welcome.”
A woman’s voice came from the gallery. “Then, where are the women in your organization?” she demanded.
Chief Judge Brogo nodded to the bailiff, who removed the woman from her seat and escorted her out into the hall. “Proceed,” he said. “Glick.”
Anzû ignored the heckler’s question as though to answer it would be beneath him. “We came to Earth many years ago to build a few paltry pockets of freedom where we could be left to our own choices. Instead, after all this time the Anunnaki return in force—offering no good reason for their reappearance, I might add. I submit to the Court that the real threat to the freedom of earthlings is posed not by a few thousand liberty-seekers such as we, but by those who have returned here uninvited for the purpose of imposing upon everyone within reach their own self-serving conception of the good life.”
Anzû looked up at the chief judge as humbly as he knew how. Although the chief judge was obviously displeased by the prisoner’s lack of contrition, he didn’t appear to think that Anzû had violated his instructions. “I thank the Court for this early opportunity to be heard,” said Anzû, resuming his seat.
David conferred briefly with the chief prosecutor. Evidently, they decided it would be David who would speak, as the chief prosecutor could be overheard ending their discussion with, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mister Ambassador.”
David nodded humbly. “So do I,” he said, and turned to the Court. “Your honor, I will address the prisoner’s statement.”
“Tread carefully, Mister Ambassador,” said the chief judge dolefully. “This procedure is already highly irregular.”
David took a deep breath and looked straight at Anzû.
“Far be it from an American such as I to condemn the desire to breathe the air of freedom, or even to oppose the right to take up arms against genuine tyranny. Nor am I well-poised to defend the Anunnaki monarchy, were it in need of defending.
“Suffice it for me to observe that many of the happiest nations on Earth are constitutional monarchies. And the Anunnaki monarchy, whatever its flaws, has approved the rules governing the conduct of this manifestly fair and public trial, and has made no objection to the prisoner having an opportunity to try to explain away his heinous conduct in respect of the numerous felonies to which he is today pleading guilty.
“And may I remind the Court that such felonies include the making of unprovoked war on the United States, attempting to murder the President of the United States and the maker of mankind, namely, Lord Enki, while they were engaged in the laudable endeavor of making peace between our worlds. Do we need reminding that the additional felonies to which the prisoner is pleading guilty include the attempted murder of additional American citizens without benefit of trial, or even of lawful arrest?
“The private justice meted out by this prisoner before being apprehended wasn’t based upon evidence presented to impartial judges, and the sentences he handed down were anything but measured (as this Court’s will be) to fit the crime; they were instead rather summary: A bullet to the brain. I ask everyone in the courtroom today to imagine the kind of trial you would have received if the shoe were on the other foot, that is, if you were a prisoner in Anzû’s court and on the bench sat—not these impartial jurists bound by the venerable legal traditions of three different planets—but instead by Anzû’s cronies.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you cannot afford to purchase the self-portrait that this snake oil salesman is selling. He poses as a freedom fighter whose values are as universal as freedom of conscience and the freedom to refrain from the commonly accepted responsibilities of life in civil society. But, if those are his values, what need had he of a standing army of drones, part plant and part animal, lacking any capacity or desire to think for themselves? For what valid purpose does he need artillery? Why automatic weapons? Why an air and space force? What does a man of the people need with an arsenal of nuclear and antimatter weapons, which he had aplenty?
“If the prisoner were what he holds himself out to be, he would need none of those things. But the prisoner is not what he pretends to be: a mere countercultural rejectionist. He’s not a hippy; he’s an authoritarian, a man whose sole object in life is to be the all-powerful boss. If you think Anunnaki society is authoritarian, just wait for the establishment of his society. We earthlings spent our entire twentieth century horrified, watching authoritarianism up close, and we can tell you that the price of admission is always assessed in lives—tens of millions of them—and they are so often the lives of complete innocents.
“Authoritarianism never dares to appear publicly as itself; it’s too harsh. Instead, it cloaks itself in a fairy tale—perhaps a fairy tale where the all-powerful boss ensures that only people who look like us are allowed to live; that’s the Nazi fairy tale. Sometimes the fairy tale is one where the all-powerful boss ensures that everyone has perfectly equal rights, receives perfectly equal pay for his labor, and never wants for material goods; that’s the Communist fairy tale. And there are many other fairy tales, limited only by the mountebank’s capacity to fabricate lies. But whichever authoritarian fairy tale you think you’re buying, you may rest assured that it will never come to pass at the hands of the all-powerful boss, and its ending will closely resemble the most horrific of Grimms’ fairy tales—with real children being thrown into real ovens. We must learn from history for, with today’s superweapons at hand, we can no longer afford the price of admission to such fairy tales—they are Utopian lies and they are never implemented as promised.
“Don’t be deceived. The enemy is the all-powerful boss.”
The courtroom was absolutely still. Before a reaction could develop, to avoid any accusation of grandstanding David bowed to the Court. “I thank the Court for this opportunity to be heard.”
A few evenings later, amidst the largest crowd ever to assemble on the planet, protected by a blanket of security measures never before imagined, King Enlil’s personal escort craft landed on the Temple Mount, carefully avoiding the venerated space formerly occupied by the Al-Aqsa Mosque (and, long before that, by the Temple of Solomon).
When King Enlil emerged aglow from his escort craft and assumed his full height of nearly thirty feet, a unified gasp emerged from the crowd. There was no cheering tonight, just silent awe and respect.
On this occasion, the king was briefly introduced by his half-brother Enki. King Enlil chose to address the assemblage calmly and quietly, which lent gravity to his words. He told them of his blessed father’s visit to this spot thousands of years earlier, and of his family’s deep respect for the God of Abraham and his issue—of Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad. He pledged to do all in his power during his reign to bring the great religions together in mutual respect and peace.
After a speech of what seemed like a few minutes (but in fact lasted well over an hour), the king resumed his seat in the shuttlecraft and was flown from the Temple Mount back to his crystal palace in the sky, barely visible on the edge of space.
Epilogue
A year later, after a long vacation in the Bahamas spent incognito, David and Catharine (now a married couple) found themselves once again aboard Enki’s pyramidion, this time in a banquet hall full of hundreds of dignitaries and their spouses, each resplendent in their own species’ version of formal eveningwear. The long-awaited wedding ceremony of Ninurta and Inanna had just finished, and guests had begun to mill about and mix cheerfully.
Ten or so Dagon congregated near the altar. Among this number were Brosa and Brogo, who’d served as chief judge in Rex versus Anzû. Whenever David glanced in Brogo’s direction, he found himself the subject of the Dagon’s perplexed scrutiny. David could only shake his head as, despite his openness at their many conferences, Brogo evidently still found him inscrutable, and no doubt found the human race to be characterized by gamesmanship, deceit, and violence.
In a row of chairs immediately behind the Dagon attendees sat several Anunnaki, a few of whom were aged beyond human comprehension, their longevity having given way to the usual infirmities of old age: poor eyesight, poor hearing, limited mobility, and a certain mental vagueness that made them objects of fondness while at the same time giving rise to a sense of relief that they no longer wielded the power of command.
Amidst all the well-wishing and bonhomie, the diminutive Brogo excused himself from the group he’d been speaking with, shuffled his lonely way to the dais, and approached the lectern, where he silently raised his hands in a vain attempt to call for attention.
David checked his copy of the engraved program and pointed out to Catharine that, indeed, Brogo was scheduled to address the crowd with a brief announcement before any of the guests could retreat to their private rooms. As many in the crowd seemed more interested in a hearty bout of eating and drinking than going to sleep, David thought Brogo’s appearance on the dais a bit premature.
Being slight of stature, Brogo found himself unable to gain the crowd’s attention. He leaned in toward the microphone and, instead of beginning with his voice raised, he rubbed his chin anxiously and emitted a quiet glick.
Seeing that no one was paying attention to such an august personage, David (and, to their credit, a few young Anunnaki males) began whistling and shouting to get the crowd to quiet down. Eventually it worked, and all eyes lighted on Brogo, who seemed quite pleased to be at the center of attention at last.
“Queen Inanna, Beloved of Anu,” he said, “and Lord Ninurta (who, if you have failed to notice until now, are our bride and groom)—” Cheers and chants arose from the young people present “—have asked me to inform (or remind) you of the ancient Anunnaki tradition pursuant to which the bride and groom, on the night of their nuptials, sometimes send small, but (hopefully) meaningful gifts to their guests. Glick. As you will all be spending the night aboard this pyramidion, by prior arrangement the bride and groom have sent such gifts to your respective rooms, which already await you there. The bride and groom extend to you their sincere hope that you will accept these gifts in the loving spirit in which they are given. Now, some cynics in the past—and I will forbear from mentioning any names—have suggested that this announcement is simply a polite technique of dispersing you all to your rooms—”
This suggestion gave rise to good-natured derisive laughter.
“It won’t work!” shouted one inebriated young Anunnaki.
Brogo smiled in his strange Dagon way and emitted an audible glick.
“But the bride and groom in this instance have disclaimed any such intention, and they intend to remain available to speak with one and all for the next few hours.” He surveyed the crowd. “And, with that, the scheduled ceremonies have come to their end. Thank you all for coming. You are on your own. Glick.” The crowd applauded enthusiastically, which raised the old Dagon’s mood. He stepped mincingly off the dais and resumed his mingling.
Catharine tapped David on the shoulder. When he turned, she introduced to him a very young Anunnaki male. Though he was nearly David’s height, he came as close as David had ever seen to a preadolescent Anunnaki male.
“This is Namkuzu, of the line of King Enlil,” said Catharine. “He wishes to tell you something.”
David extended his hand, which was a little awkward, as handshaking was not an Anunnaki custom. But Namkuzu did his best to accept the proffered hand amiably, and shook it lightly.
“What did you wish to say?” asked David with a smile.
The youth seemed a bit embarrassed and his face reddened. “I wanted to tell you, Mister Ambassador, that I heard your condemnation of Anzû at his … arraignment. Is that the right word?”
David was a bit chagrined. “Arraignment is the right word. I might take issue with the other word condemnation, as that was not my intention—although I can see how you might have understood it that way.”
Namkuzu braced himself and said, “I want you to know that you are a hero of mine.”
As any man would be at a time like that, David was veritably bursting with pride, but he thought it prudent not to let on. “Be careful with the word hero, dear Namkuzu. Are you familiar with Moses of the Bible?”
Namkuzu nodded enthusiastically. “He who led the Israelites out of Egypt?”
David nodded.
Namkuzu said, “Yes, he also is one of my heroes.”
“Do you recall what happened when Moses reached the border of the Promised Land?” asked David.
The boy nodded. “He couldn’t go in.”
David nodded. “That’s correct, but why not?”
“Because he’d slain an Egyptian long before.”
“I see you are already a learned young fellow, Namkuzu,” said David. “Tell me. Do you know of King David?”
“Yes,” said Namkuzu. “Yet another hero! He conquered the lands about, united the Israelites into a single kingdom, and, at God’s instruction, purchased the platform for construction of the Temple.”
“Excellent!” said David. “But what happened when David proposed to commence building the Temple?”
“Yahweh forbade him to do so, and instructed him to leave that task to his son Solomon.”
“Why did God forbid David from having any hand in building the Temple?” asked David.
“Because David had been a man of war and had blood on his hands,” said Namkuzu, who now realized that he was being led to a conclusion by the Socratic method. “Are you saying that you, too, are unworthy because you have blood on your hands?” he asked.
David smiled at the young fellow’s quickness and patted him fondly on the back. “I’m just suggesting that you need a better class of hero.”
Namkuzu nodded thoughtfully, shook David’s hand, and disappeared into the crowd.
Catharine, who’d heard the whole conversation, said sardonically, “You have such a knack for alienating your fans.”
David shrugged. “That young man may someday be king. He can’t afford to have stars in his eyes.”
In another half-hour, David and Catharine stole away to their room. Consistently with a habit of long standing, upon entering David went straight to the bathroom to wash his face. He quickly patted his face dry, and emerged to see Catharine seated on the edge of the bed, her shoulders drooping. At her feet lay a formal-looking envelope, its golden seal broken and its contents removed.
In Catharine’s hand was a calligraphed letter with a gold seal at its base. Though when David had first opened the door to their suite, he hadn’t checked to see whether anything had been slipped under it, what she was reading was very likely the promised gift from the bride and groom—except that Catharine was weeping uncontrollably, and these were obviously tears of misery; not of joy or relief.
