THE MODEL OF A JUDGE
By WILLIAM MORRISON
Illustrated by BURCHARD
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science FictionOctober 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ronar was reformed, if that was the right word, but he could see thatthey didn't trust him. Uneasiness spoke in their awkward hurried motionswhen they came near him; fear looked out of their eyes. He had toreassure himself that all this would pass. In time they'd learn toregard him as one of themselves and cease to recall what he had oncebeen. For the time being, however, they still remembered. And so did he.
Mrs. Claymore, of the Presiding Committee, was babbling, "Oh, Mrs.Silver, it's so good of you to come. Have you entered the contest?"
"Not really," said Mrs. Silver with a modest laugh. "Of course I don'texpect to win against so many fine women who are taking part. But I justthought I'd enter to—to keep things interesting."
"That was very kind of you. But don't talk about not winning. I stillremember some of the dishes you served for dinner at your home that timeGeorge and I paid you a visit. Mmmmm—they were really delicious."
Mrs. Silver uttered another little laugh. "Just ordinary recipes. I'm soglad you liked them, though."
"I certainly did. And I'm sure the judge will like your cake, too."
"The judge? Don't you usually have a committee?"
He could hear every word. They had no idea how sharp his sense ofhearing was, and he had no desire to disconcert them further by lettingthem know. He could hear every conversation taking place in ordinarytones in the large reception room. When he concentrated he could makeout the whispers. At this point he had to concentrate, for Mrs. Claymoreleaned over and breathed into her friend's attentive ear.
"My dear, haven't you heard? We've had such trouble with thatcommittee—there were such charges of favoritism! It was really awful."
"Really? But how did you find a judge then?"
"Don't look now—no, I'll tell you what to do. Pretend I said somethingfunny, and throw your head back and laugh. Take a quick glance at himwhile you do. He's sitting up there alone, on the platform."
Mrs. Silver laughed gracefully as directed, and her eyes swept theplatform. She became so excited, she almost forgot to whisper.
"Why, he's—"
"Shhh. Lower your voice, my dear."
"Why—he isn't human!"
"He's supposed to be—now. But, of course, that's a matter of opinion!"
"But who on Earth thought of making him judge?"
"No one on Earth. Professor Halder, who lives over on that big asteroidthe other side of yours, heard of the troubles we had, and came up withthe suggestion. At first it seemed absurd—"
"It certainly seems absurd to me!" agreed Mrs. Silver.
"It was the only thing we could do. There was no one else we couldtrust."
"But what does he know about cakes?"
"My dear, he has the most exquisite sense of taste!"
"I still don't understand."
"It's superhuman. Before we adopted Professor Halder's suggestion, wegave him a few tests. The results simply left us gasping. We could mixall sorts of spices—the most delicate, most exotic herbs from Venus orMars, and the strongest, coarsest flavors