At the coldly gleaming Experimental Station
they flung this choice in Outlaw Joel Hakkyt's
teeth: "Grinding, endless slavery on Asgard,
that Alpha Centauri hell—or a writhing, screaming
guinea-pig's death here?" He chose Asgard,
naturally. But what was natural—on Asgard?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Joel Hakkyt stirred impatiently in the prisoner's chair. His features,homely, strong-boned and intelligent, were inscrutable. But he didn'tknow how much longer he could bottle up his indignation. It had beenaccumulating all during his trial. Now this delay!
The machines had been whisked from the chamber. The investigatingpsychologist should have returned with his verdict minutes ago. Whatwas wrong?
Joel glanced at his parents, at his wife. They were the onlyspectators, the three of them sitting stiffly in the front row ofbenches.
Doctor Hakkyt refused to meet his son's eyes. A plump, tall man,the doctor looked stonily out the windows at the park-like groundssurrounding the Hall of Justice. He was president of Clear SpringsCommunity, and his angry red expression said plainly as words that hisson had disgraced him.
Mrs. Hakkyt dabbed at cold eyes with a scrap of handkerchief. Joel'sglance passed over her swiftly and on to his wife.
She sat next to his mother with a notebook on her knee, a pencil poisedin her hand. Joel's wife was a specialist in creative writing, andall through his trial, she had watched him with the same impersonalcuriosity she might have bestowed on some animal, jotting down hisreactions.
In sudden disgust, Joel wondered why he had consented to marry her.It had been her looks, he supposed. She had a sensual rather prettyface....
A panel behind the bench clicked loudly in the silence. The guard stoodup, saying: "Attention, please."
It was a useless formality, because everyone's eyes had jerkedinstantly to the slowly opening door.
The investigating psychologist bustled in, sat down behind his desk. Hearranged his black gown with a tug, rattled the papers in his hand.
"An unusual case," he began. "Unusual in several respects!" He turnedhis eyes on Joel's father. "The examination reveals that the prisoneris possessed of a high I.Q. Very high. However, he is completelymaladjusted. A dangerous anti-social type. He is to be committed to theExperimental Station at once!"
Joel caught his breath. The Experimental Station!
Criminals and the maladjusted were committed to the ExperimentalStations where they were used as guinea-pigs by the scientists. Theymight live for years, surviving experiment after experiment. Butinexorably like the early Roman gladiators they met a ghastly fate.
Doctor Hakkyt had risen furiously. "This is preposterous! Think of thenotoriety! I'm the president of...."
"That will be sufficient!" the investigating psychologist interrupted."The prisoner is thirty-four years old. This is the third time he'sbeen up for examination. All the rehabilitative measures have failed!"
Doctor Hakkyt sank back muttering into his seat.
The psychologist rattled his papers again, fixed Joel's wife with asofter glance. "Annulment orders for your marriage, Mrs. Hakkyt, havebeen forwarded to the capitol. You are free."
"Thank you," said the young woman without glancing up from her notes.
The investigating psychologist wiped his sharp features with ahandkerchief and said: "Court dismissed."
Joel watched his father and mother rise. They