united states

The commander of the brigade pulled a folded sheet of yellow paper from his uniform and declared in an officious tone: "You know the charge. It's been announced. It concerns the playwright John Dalton Bright."

The fugitive's eyes widened. "You dare confront me with him? His play was an attack on all immigrants, vilifying all who seek refuge here, simply for the crime of breathing. I merely gave it a truthful review."

"You misunderstand. It has become a criminal matter."

Kidman's mouth fell open. "Is it now a crime to criticize a poisonous play? I tell you, as I informed my readers, the play was a crime against truth, not to mention an affront to the audience's kidneys. At four hours and five acts, the idea that this man might sit in judgment of what is admirable in our nation and what is not is insane."

The horseman rose in his saddle, held up the damning document and calmly spoke so all could hear: "Do you deny, citizen Kidman, these are your words: 'Mr. Bright's play, A Season of Peace, is the spring season's most shining example of shallowness, its subject matter grotesquely sentimental, its premise childish--pure rubbish--the very length of the work a deplorable, unendurable insult.'" The Brigadesman lifted his eyes from the document. "Are these not your exact words?"

"If you read the full review, you'll see I also made several positive points. I wrote that the special effects were imaginative and that the view of the stage was adequate even from the cheap seats."

"You dare mock me?" the Brigadesman snapped. "Do you not know the truth?"

"What more is there to know?"

"Citizen Bright has killed himself; his suicide note has blamed you."

Kidman stared, his gaze slowly assessing the ragged perimeter of the encirclement; all avenues of retreat were gone.

The fugitive finally answered: "I am aware only that last night the rest of the media called the show a triumph--hardly a surprise, given the fact this dismal work was financed by those who so profusely praise him. Why would it matter so much to him what one negative review said unless he knew I wrote the truth?"

The Brigadesman brandished his yellow sheet. "You are not appreciating the severity of this."

Kidman shook his head. "What can one say about such an absurd response to a mere theater review. You have trumped all this up for some reason I do not understand."

"This is no trivial matter," the Brigadesman repeated. "Your sympathies for enclave appeasers and certain indigent factions opposed to the Emergency Decrees are well known. The evidence is clear; the polls have been taken. Unless you can convince us there are mitigating circumstances, we will have no choice but to pronounce you guilty of provocative acts leading to the death of an innocent man. That is your crime, sir."

Kidman trembled, his face an angry crimson. "Provocation? Is it now unlawful for a theater critic to condemn the fascist propaganda of a half-witted playwright? Are you saying the decrees should extend to criticism of art? Or perhaps it is all thin cover for ridding yourselves of a Jew who has taken up the rights of immigrants and other indigent people inside the enclaves, including Islamists, for whom you and your Directorate appear to have disgraceful, racist contempt."

The Brigadesman wheeled his mount. Quayle grabbed the woman by one arm and forced her back, sparing her from being trampled.

The Brigadesman shook his head. Facing the crowd, he began to shout his response to this verbal attack: "You see this man's deception? He turns this into a political matter, when his own reckless acts are solely to blame. In the Directorate we care nothing about politics. Public safety--the public order--that is our charge. Homicide is a crime--a crime against order." He dropped his eyes back to the yellow sheet, then slowly raised them again; the lenses of his glasses flashing in the sunlight. "The Emergency Decrees declare that the use of incendiary words are the same as detonated bombs. Citizen Kidman cannot deny that his words have led to the death of an innocent man; no reasonable citizen could. You, the public, agrees, as the morning polls confirm; this man has committed a crime and must confess to it or automatically pay the extreme penalty. So the decrees have proscribed."