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  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.]

  [Sidenote: _Should a former outlaw become a judge--even if he need onlypass sentence on a layer cake?_]

  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 from Earth or one of theplant-growing asteroids--and he could tell us everything we had added,and exactly how much."

  * * * * *

  "I find that hard to believe, Matilda."

  "Isn't it? It's honestly incredible. If I hadn't seen him do it myself,I wouldn't have believed it."

  "But he doesn't have human preferences. Wasn't he--wasn't he--"

  "Carnivorous? Oh, yes. They say he was the most vicious creatureimaginable. Let an animal come within a mile of him, and he'd scent itand be after it in a flash. He and the others of his kind made the moonhe came from uninhabitable for any other kind of intelligent life. Cometo think of it, it may have been the very moon we're on now!"

  "Really?"

  "Either this, or some other moon of Saturn's. We had to do somethingabout it. We didn't want to kill them off, naturally; that would havebeen the easiest way, but so uncivilized! Finally, our scientists cameup with the suggestion for psychological reforming. Professor Haldertold us how difficult it all was, but it seems to have worked. In hiscase, at least."

  Mrs. Silver stole another glance. "Did it? I don't notice any one goingnear him."

  "Oh, we don't like to tempt fate, Clara. But, if there were really anydanger, I'm sure the psychologists would never have let him out of theirclutches."

  "I hope not. But psychologists take the most reckless riskssometimes--with other people's lives!"

  "Well, there's one psychologist who's risking his own life--and his ownwife, too. You know Dr. Cabanis, don't you?"

  "Only by sight. Isn't his wife that stuck-up thing?"

  "That's the one. Dr. Cabanis is the man who had actual charge ofreforming him. And he's going to be here. His wife is entering a cake."

  "Don't tell me that she really expects to win!"

  "She bakes well, my dear. Let's give the she-devil her due. How on Earthan intelligent man like Dr. Cabanis can stand her, I don't know, but,after all, he's the psychologist, not I, and he could probably explainit better than I could."

  * * * * *

  Ronar disengaged his attention.

  So Dr. Cabanis was here. He looked around, but the psychologist was notin sight. He would probably arrive later.

  The thought stirred a strange mixture of emotions. Some of the mostpainful moments of his life were associated with the presence of Dr.Cabanis. His early life, the life of a predatory carnivore, had been anunthinkingly happy one. He supposed that he could call his present lifea happy one too, if you weren't overly particular how you defined theterm. But that period in between!

  That had been, to say the least, painful. Those long sessions with Dr.Cabanis had stirred him to the depths of a soul he hadn't known hepossessed. The electric shocks and the druggings he hadn't minded somuch. But the gradual reshaping of his entire psyche, the period ofbasic instruction, in which he had been taught to hate his old life sogreatly that he could no longer go back to it even if the way were open,and the conditioning for a new and useful life with human beings--thatwas torture of the purest kind.

  If he had known what was ahead of him, he wouldn't have gone through itat all. He'd have fought until he dropped, as so many of the others likehim did. Still, now that it was over, he supposed that the results wereworth the pain. He had a position that was more important than it seemedat first glance. He exercised control over a good part of the foodsupply intended for the outer planets, and his word was trustedimplicitly. Let him condemn an intended shipment, and cancellationfollowed automatically, without the formality of confirmation bylaboratory tests. He was greatly admired. And feared.

  They had other feelings about him too. He overheard one whisper thatsurprised him. "My dear, I think he's really handsome."

  "But, Charlotte, how can you say that about someone who isn't evenhuman!"

  "He looks more human than many human beings do. And his clothes fit himbeautifully. I wonder--does he have a tail?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Oh." There was disappointment in the sound. "He looks like a pirate."

  "He
was a kind of wolf, they tell me. You'd never guess, to see him,that he ran on all fours, would you?"

  "Of course not. He's so straight and dignified."

  "It just shows you what psychology can do."

  * * * * *

  "Psychology, and a series of operations, dear ladies," he thoughtsarcastically. "Without them I wouldn't be able to stand so nice andstraight with the help of all the psychologists in this pretty littlesolar system of ours."

  From behind a potted Martian nut-cactus came two low