before.
Rounded up! Charged with treason!
A door slid back out of sight, recessing into the rear wall, and a new group of men entered. Old men. Mayor Hawkes led the way, wearing his official robes of office for the occasion, the blue cloak with the orange trim, the peaked hat, the seal of power dangling from a massive chain around his neck.
He looked horribly, grotesquely old. He had been Mayor of New York since 2611, thirty-nine years ago, and he had been a middle-aged man when first elected. Every ten years since he had been reelected, and everyone assumed that he would be elected without opposition to a fifth term next year, though he was now nearly ninety. He stood rigidly erect, the light glaring down on his domed, wrinkled forehead, his hook of a nose, his withered cheeks and sharp chin. Humorless pale blue eyes glinted deep in the Mayor's eye sockets.
Behind him marched the City Council, nine of them, the youngest well past sixty. Like the Mayor, the City Council was supposedly chosen in open election every ten years. But it had been a century or more since anyone had last contested an election. The way the system worked now, a new Councilor was elected only when one of the old ones died-and the stubborn old men never seemed to die. Two of the nine were past the hundred-year mark now, and evidently planned to live forever.
The ten rulers of New York arrayed themselves along the dais and sat down. Ten pairs of flinty aged eyes peered in hostility at the prisoners, who stood before them.
Dr. Barnes said, staring straight at the Mayor, "Your Honor, I demand to know the meaning of this arrest."
"The charge is treason," Mayor Hawkes said in a voice that sounded like a swinging rusty gate. "The seven of you have engaged in activities detrimental to the welfare of New York City, and you stand accused. How do you plead?"
Jim gasped. His father said, "Is this a trial?"
"It is."
"Without lawyers? Without witnesses? Without a judge or a jury?"
"I understand there is one among you who is a lawyer," the Mayor replied, with a glance at Roy Veeder. "He can speak for you. I am the judge. The Council is the jury. There is no need for anyone else."
"You know we have the right of independent counsel, Your Honor," Roy Veeder said. "An accused man is entitled-"
"Never mind, Roy," Dr. Barnes said. "They have us, and we're helpless."
"No." Veeder shook his head. "I must protest, Your Honor," he said to the Mayor. "This violates the basic charter of the city. Accused men have right of counsel. You are not empowered to conduct a trial, Your Honor! Your powers are executive, not judicial!"
"Roy's wasting his breath," Ted Callison murmured to Jim. "Those men can do anything they please. This is a trial that was over before it ever began."
Jim nodded. A sense of hopeless rage stole over him. Those ten willful men up there had ruled the city so long they were convinced of their own infallibility. What did charters, laws, codes mean to them? They were the representatives of the people! They were the rulers!
The Mayors gaunt, fleshless face grew harsher, more ugly. He glowered at Roy Veeder and said, "Such trial as you will have, you will have here, Counselor Veeder. If you object to the proceedings, you will be removed from the room and tried in absentia . Traitors must be dealt with promptly. It is late at night."
"Of course," Ted Callison blurted out. "Old men need to get their sleep! Get rid of us fast so you can get to bed!"
Callison grunted as the snout of a stun gun was rammed into his kidneys. He subsided. There was a chill silence in the room. The Mayor beckoned, and the sliding panel opened again. A policeman walked in-carrying the radio!
He carried it as though it were a live serpent. He put it down on the table before the Mayor, and backed out of the room.
The Mayor eyed the square box sourly, then glared at the prisoners. "With this," he said, "you contacted another city. You spoke with men from London. True or