"We are not killers."

"Generally speaking, humans aren’t, either. But a man is dead."

"Yes."

"One of my people will ask everyone in the residence this at some point, but did you ever see anyone fighting or arguing with Calhoun?"

"No."

Dale let out a hurricane of a sigh. "All right. We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us. Now, we better get prepared for the arraignment."

Frank Nobilio walked the two blocks to the Los Angeles County Criminal Courts Building, at the corner of Temple and Broadway. It was a great concrete cube, with wafflelike sides. Just inside the front door, Frank passed through a metal detector operated by two uniformed guards.

Christmas decorations were hanging from the walls.

There was a shoeshine stand with four stations in the large, dim lobby. In front of it was a white foam-core board written on in brown Magic Marker:

Frank looked down at his own brown loafers. He was sweating a fair bit; the walk had been easy (although gently uphill), but L.A. was having a winter heat wave.

He made his way past the information desk — which seemed to specialize in giving bus maps to jurors — and found a building directory. The room he wanted was 18-709. He pushed the button to call an elevator that went to that floor.

He got into the elevator and heard the clacking of heels on the floor behind him. He held out a hand to keep the door from closing, and in came a severe-looking, thin white woman with short brown hair. Frank felt his eyes widen as he recognized her: Marcia Clark, the lead prosecutor in the Simpson criminal case. Clark must have just been dropping in for a visit, since she was now a TV host, rather than a member of the DA’s office — Frank wondered if she got the same kind of flak about selling out from professional colleagues that Cletus Calhoun had. She punched a floor button; Frank pushed the one labeled 18 and tried not to stare at her. A sign in the elevator said "All Persons Will Be Searched on the 9th Floor."

The warning was repeated in Spanish.

The elevator stopped. Marcia Clark got off. The cab resumed motion, and a moment later Frank exited. He found the door labeled "Montgomery Ajax, District Attorney," stopped to adjust his tie and smooth out his hair, then entered the outer office.

"I’m Frank Nobilio," he said. "I have an appointment with Mr. Ajax."

The secretary nodded, picked up her telephone handset, and spoke briefly into it. She then pushed a button on her desk, apparently unlocking the door to Ajax’s private office. "You may go in," she said.

Frank walked into the large wood-paneled office with his hand extended.

"Mr. Ajax," he said, "thank you for agreeing to see me."

Ajax’s fox face was not smiling. "Frankly," he said, "I’m not sure I should.

In precisely what capacity are you here, Doctor?"

"A private citizen, that’s all."

’’Because if Washington is interfering—"

"No one is interfering, Mr. Ajax, believe me. But Cletus Calhoun was my friend — we’d known each other almost twenty years. Believe me, no one wants to see justice done more than I do."

"Well, then," said Ajax, sitting back down. The view of L.A. through his office windows was breathtaking.

Frank sat down, too. "But Hask is also my friend," he said. "I find it hard to believe that he killed Clete. Remember, I’ve spent more time with the Tosoks than anyone — anyone still alive, that is. I’ve seen no sign of malevolence in them."

"So?"

"So, I’m wondering — I’m just wondering, is all — I’m wondering, Mr. Ajax, if perhaps you’ve been a bit too hasty in going after one of the Tosoks."

Ajax stiffened noticeably. "Are you suggesting that my office should drop this case?"

"It might be prudent," said Frank gently. "After all, this is the first contact between humans and aliens. The Tosoks are much more advanced than we are. They could revolutionize our science and technology. We don’t want to antagonize them."

" ‘We’?" said Ajax. "Who is ‘we’?"

"Well — all of us. Humanity."

"One might say that it’s the Tosoks who have antagonized us, not the other way around."

"But this case has an impact on the entire world."

"That may be so. But the fact is that one of your aliens committed murder.

That crime has to be addressed."

Frank tried to keep his voice from rising. "No, sir. The fact is that a Tosok may have committed murder. But then again, he may be completely innocent. And if he is—"

Ajax spread his arms; Frank noticed he wore a Rolex watch. "If he is, he will be exonerated, and no harm done. But if he’s guilty—"

"If he’s guilty, you’ll be seen as the great white knight in the fight against evil, the crusading DA who wouldn’t back down."

Ajax’s pale blue eyes flashed with anger, but he said nothing.

"I’m sorry," said Frank. "I shouldn’t have said that."

"If there’s nothing else, Doctor…" The DA gestured toward his office door.

Frank considered for a moment whether to go on. "Rumor has it that you’re going to run for the governorship of California."

"I’ve made no public announcement."

"You could certainly use all sorts of support in that bid."

"Are you trying to bribe me into dropping this case, Doctor?"

"Not at all. I’m just pointing out that the ramifications run deep."

"Dr. Nobilio, if I run for governor, it’ll be because I believe in law and order.

I believe we shouldn’t let criminals go free. And I think America can take a certain justifiable pride that one of its institutions is working the way it was intended to, as the great leveler and as the bastion of truth."

Frank nodded. "And therefore you can’t be seen as being soft; I understand that. But surely you can see that you’re letting political ambition blind you to the larger issues—"

Ajax held up a hand. "We’re through here, Doctor. Good day."

Frank exhaled. "All I’m saying is think about what you’re doing, Mr. Ajax."

"I have thought about it. And I intend to proceed against this alien killer with all speed."

Judge Albert Dyck was almost seven feet tall. He entered the courtroom with a stride worthy of a Tosok and took his seat at the bench. Like most humans, he had trouble taking his eyes off Hask — he’d seen the aliens on TV before, but never one in the flesh.

"Mr. Rice," said Dyck, "on the primary charge of murder in the first degree, how does your client plead?"

Dale brought his massive bulk out of the swivel-mounted chair. "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"And on the secondary charge of using a deadly and dangerous weapon, how does your client plead?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Your client is entitled to a speedy trial, if he so desires."

"We waive that right, Your Honor."

"Very well. How long do you need to prepare?"

"Twelve weeks should be sufficient, Your Honor."

"How does March fifteenth sound, then?"

"Fine."

"The People?"

Deputy District Attorney Linda Ziegler rose; at forty-one, she’d already had an illustrious career, and was one of the top lawyers in Monty Ajax’s Special Trials Unit. She was thin, with jet-black hair cut in a short, punk style. Her nose was aquiline; her chin, strong. "Yes," she said, in a crisp, clipped voice, "that date’s fine, Your Honor."

"Your Honor, I’d like to now raise the question of bail," said Dale.

Ziegler had sat down, but she immediately rose again. "Your Honor, the People oppose bail in this matter. The particularly brutal nature of the crime—"