The Model of a Judge Page 2

voices--notwhispers this time. And there was several octaves difference in pitchbetween them. One male, one female.

  The man said, "Don't be worried, sweetheart. I'll match your cooking andbaking against anybody's."

  There was a curious sound, between a click and a hiss. What human beingscalled a kiss, he thought. Between the sexes, usually an indication ofaffection or passion. Sometimes, especially within the ranks of thefemale sex, a formality behind which warfare could be waged.

  The girl said tremulously, "But these women have so much experience.They've cooked and baked for years."

  "Haven't you, for your own family?"

  "Yes, but that isn't the same thing. I had to learn from a cookbook. AndI had no one with experience to stand over me and teach me."

  "You've learned faster that way than you'd have done with some of theseold hens standing at your elbow and giving you directions. You cook toowell. I'll be fat in no time."

  "Your mother doesn't think so. And your brother said something about abride's biscuits--"

  "The older the joke, the better Charles likes it. Don't let it worryyou." He kissed her again. "Have confidence in yourself, dear. You'regoing to win."

  "Oh, Gregory, it's awfully nice of you to say so, but really I feel sounsure of myself."

  "If only the judge were human and took a look at you, nobody else wouldstand a chance. Have I told you within the last five minutes that you'rebeautiful?"

  * * * * *

  Ronar disengaged his attention again. He found human love-making asrepulsive as most human food.

  He picked up a few more whispers. And then Dr. Cabanis came in.

  The good doctor looked around, smiled, greeted several ladies of hisacquaintance as if he were witnessing a private strip-tease of theirsouls, and then came directly up to the platform. "How are you, Ronar?"

  "Fine, Doctor. Are you here to keep an eye on me?"

  "I hardly think that's necessary. I have an interest in the results ofthe judging. My wife has baked a cake."

  "I had no idea that cake-baking was so popular a human avocation."

  "Anything that requires skill is sure to become popular among us. By theway, Ronar, I hope you don't feel hurt."

  "Hurt, Doctor? What do you mean?"

  "Come now, you understand me well enough. These people still don't trustyou. I can tell by the way they keep their distance."

  "I take human frailty into account, Doctor. Frailty, and lack ofopportunity. These men and women haven't had the opportunity forextensive psychological treatment that I've had. I don't expect too muchof them."

  "You've scored a point there, Ronar."

  "Isn't there something that can be done for them, Doctor? Some treatmentthat it would be legal to give them?"

  "It would have to be voluntary. You see, Ronar, you were considered onlyan animal, and treatment was necessary to save your life. But thesepeople are supposed to have rights. One of their rights is to be leftalone with their infirmities. Besides, none of them are seriously ill.They hurt no one."

  For a second Ronar had a human temptation. It was on the tip of histongue to say, "Your wife too, Doctor? People wonder how you stand her."But he resisted it. He had resisted more serious temptations.

  * * * * *

  A gong sounded gently but pervasively. Dr. Cabanis said, "I hope youhave no resentment against me at this stage of the game, Ronar. I'd hateto have my wife lose the prize because the judge was prejudiced."

  "Have no fear, Doctor. I take professional pride in my work. I willchoose only the best."

  "Of course, the fact that the cakes are numbered and not signed with thenames of their creators will make things simpler."

  "That would matter with human judges. It does not affect me."

  Another gong sounded, more loudly this time. Gradually the conversationstopped. A man in a full dress suit, with yellow stripes down the sidesof his shorts, and tails hanging both front and rear, climbed up on theplatform. His eyes shone with a greeting so warm that the fear wasalmost completely hidden. "How are you, Ronar? Glad to see you."

  "I'm fine, Senator. And you?"

  "Couldn't be better. Have a cigar."

  "No, thank you. I don't smoke."

  "That's right, you don't. Besides, I'd be wasting the cigar. You don'tvote!" He laughed heartily.

  "I understand that they're passing a special law to let--people--like mevote at the next election."

  "I'm for it, Ronar, I'm for it. You can count on me."

  The chairman came up on the platform, a stout and dignified woman whosmiled at both Ronar and the Senator, and shook hands with both withoutshowing signs of distaste for either. The assembled competitors andspectators took seats.

  The chairman cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us open thismeeting by singing the _Hymn of All Planets_."

  * * * * *

  They all rose, Ronar with them. His voice wasn't too well adapted tosinging, but neither, it seemed, were most of the human voices. And, atleast, he knew all the words.

  The chairman proceeded to greet the gathering formally, in the name ofthe Presiding Committee.

  Then she introduced Senator Whitten. She referred archly to the factthat the Senator had long since reached the age of indiscretion and hadso far escaped marriage. He was an enemy of the female sex, but they'dlet him speak to them anyway.

  Senator Whitten just as archly took up the challenge. He had escapedmore by good luck--if you could call it good--than by good management.But he was sure that if he had ever had the fortune to encounter some ofthe beautiful ladies here this fine day, and to taste the products oftheir splendid cooking and baking, he would have been a lost man. Hewould long since have committed polygamy.

  Senator Whitten then launched into a paean of praise for the ancient artof preparing food.

  Ronar's attention wandered. So did that of a good part of the audience.His ears picked up another conversation, this time whispered between aman and a woman in the front row.

  The man said, "I should have put your name on it, instead of mine."

  "That would have been silly. All my friends know that I can't bake. Andit would look so strange if I won."

  "It'll look stranger if I win. I can imagine what the boys in the shopwill say."

  "Oh, the boys in the shop are stupid. What's so unmanly in being able tocook and bake?"

  "I'm not anxious for the news to get around."

  "Some of the best chefs have been men."

  "I'm not a chef."

  "Stop worrying." There was exasperation in the force of her whisper."You won't win anyway."

  "I don't know. Sheila--"

  "What?"

  "If I win, will you explain to everybody how manly I really am? Will yoube my character witness?"

  She repressed a giggle.

  "If you won't help me, I'll have to go around giving proof myself."

  "Shh, someone will hear you."

  Senator Whitten went on and on.

  * * * * *

  Ronar thought back to the time when he had wandered over the surface ofthis, his native satellite. He no longer had the old desires, the oldappetites. Only the faintest of ghosts still persisted, ghosts with nopower to do harm. But he could remember the old feeling of pleasure, thedelight of sinking his teeth into an animal he had brought down himself,the savage joy of gulping the tasty flesh. He didn't eat raw meat anymore; he didn't eat meat at all. He had been conditioned against it. Hewas now half vegetarian, half synthetarian. His meals were nourishing,healthful, and a part of his life he would rather not think about.

  He took no real pleasure in the tasting of the cakes and otherdelicacies that born human beings favored. His sense of taste hadremained keen only to the advantage of others. To himself it was atantalizing mockery.

  Senator Whitten's voice came to a sudden stop. There was applause. TheSenator sat down; the chairman stoo
d up. The time for the judging hadarrived.

  They set out the cakes--more than a hundred of them, topped by icings ofall colors and all flavors. The chairman introduced Ronar and laudedboth his impartiality and the keenness of his sense of taste.

  They had a judging card ready. Slowly, Ronar began to go down the line.

  They might just as well have signed each cake with its maker's name. Ashe lifted a portion of each to his mouth, he could hear the quick intakeof breath from the woman who had baked it, could catch the whisperedwarning from her companion. There were few secrets they could keep fromhim.

  At