I Will Fear No Evil

13

"—having business before this Honorable Court draw nigh!" —"May it please the Court, while Petitioners are ready to proceed, may they respectfully invite to the Court's attention that no proper foundation has been laid. This matter relates to the competency of Johann Sebastian Bach Smith, grandfather of the four Petitioners...and Counsel is not aware that he is in court."

"Order! There will be order in the court—at once. Or the room will be cleared. Counsel, are you suggesting that Miss Smith—this young lady at whom I am pointing—is not Johann Sebastian Bach Smith?"

"Counsel suggests nothing, Your Honor. I merely note that we have nothing in the record to show that the person at whom the Court pointed is Johann Sebastian Bach Smith—and that the question of competency cannot be considered until proof of identity is indubitably established."

"Is Counsel attempting to instruct this Court in the law?"

"Oh, not at all!"

"It sounded like ‘that. May I remind Counsel that this Court sits today in equity, not in law—and that the procedures are what the Court says they are."

"Most certainly, Your Honor. I regret if I inadvertently sounded otherwise."

"You were one-sixteenth of an inch from contempt, and don't let it happen again."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"…as I am sick and tired of the behavior of about fifty percent of the spectators and at least ninety percent of the press, I order the Bailiff to clear the room. Use a platoon, Evelyn, and clear these cattle out of the chutes promptly—and if that fancy video equipment is damaged in the process, we won't worry about it.

"Counsels, Petitioners, Guardian, and Ward—putative ward, let the record show—will adjourn to my chambers while we get this silly hassle cleared up."

"Jake, this is fun! If I'm not me, then I'm flat broke and footloose. You'll have to marry me—to keep me off

Welfare."

"Johann, shut up that drivel. This is serious."

"Jake, I refuse to see doom. If I'm not me, then I'm dead and it would be worth being broke to hear my will read and see the faces of my loving descendants when they discover that they wind up with trivial incomes that aren't even tax-free. Jake, every rich man wants to hear his will read—and I may get the chance."

"Hmm. Under the theory they seem to be following, Eunice is entitled to hear your will read—remember that paragraph about ‘all persons not specifically named who are in my personal and private employ at the time of my demise—'"

"Can't say that I do, but if you put it in, it's there."

"It's there. If you're not Johann, then you have to be Eunice. It's an ‘either-or' " (Nope! It's both.) (Eunice, this is going to be fun?) (I think so, too, Boss.)

The part of his chambers selected by Judge McCampbell was a comfortable lounge. Once in it he looked around.

"Mmm... Jake, Ned, Miss Smith, Alec, Mrs. Seward, Mrs. Frabish, you"re Mrs. Crampton, aren't you?—Mrs. Lopez. Parkinson, how the devil did you get in here?"

"Amicus curiae, Your Honor."

"You're no friend of this Court and you don't belong here."

"But—"

"Will you walk or would you rather be thrown out?" Parkinson elected to walk. When the door sealed behind him, the Judge said, "Sperling, set that thing so I can record when I feel like it, then you can leave. Alec, you look as if you were all set to object."

"Me? Oh, not at all, Judge."

"Good. Because we're going to cut through the fog on this silly business. Who needs a fog cutter?" The Judge stepped to a corner bar. "Alec? Gin and tonic as usual?"

"Thanks Judge."

"I'm forgetting the ladies. Mrs. Seward? Something with alcohol? Or coffee? This machine will make tea, too, if I can remember which buttons to push,. And how about your sister? And your cousins? Miss Smith? I recall what you used to order at the Gib some years back. Are your tastes the same now?"

(Watch it, Boss! It's loaded.) (Relax, Eunice.) "Judge, with a new body my tastes have changed in some respects. But I remember fondly Glen Grant on the rocks—back before my doctors put a stop to it. But I haven't tasted anything with that much authority since those days, and, since this is a competency hearing, I'll settle for coffee. Or a Coke, if you can twist its tail for that."

The Judge rubbed his nose and looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure it's a competency hearing until we settle this matter of identity. Jake could have told you about Glen Grant. The idea of Johann Smith ordering a Coke shakes me."

Joan smiled at him. "I know—hardly seems in character. My doctors made me quit carbonated drinks long before they made me give up whisky. Back about the time you entered law school. If I'm Johann Smith, that is. If I'm not, I'll ask to be excused—as in that case I'm not a ward of the Court and shouldn't be here. Isn't that correct?"

McCampbell looked still more thoughtful. "Jake, do you want to caution your client? No, not your ‘client,' your—no, not that either. Blessed if I know what you are; that's what we've got to find out. Young lady, sit down and I'll fetch you a Coke. Alec, get drink orders from your four ladies and serve them. Jake, you and Ned serve yourselves—Alec and I have a date with some fish in Nova Scotia tomorrow morning and I'll be switched if I'll keep fish waiting over a surprise turn in this hearing. Alec, confound your Irish soul, are you seriously questioning the identity of this young lady?"

"Well—Judge, are you going to talk about contempt if I suggest that your question is not properly put?"

McCampbell sighed. "Young lady, pay no attention to him. He was my roommate in college and gives me a bad time whenever he comes into my court. Someday I'm going to give him thirty days to think it over—and about four-thirty tomorrow morning I'm going to trip him into some very cold water. Accidentally."

"Do that, Mac, and I'll sue. In Canada."

"I know he was your roommate, Judge; you were both ‘Big Greens'—Dartmouth seventy-eight, was it not? Why not let him ask me questions and find out for himself who I am?"

Mrs. Seward said shrilly, "That's not the way to go about it! First you must take the fingerprints of that—that

impostor— and—"

"Mrs. Seward!"

"Yes, Judge? I was just going to say—"

"Shut up!"

Mrs. Seward shut up. Judge McCampbell went on, "Madam, simply because it suits me to be informal in my chambers do not think that this is not a court in session or that I would not find you in contempt. I would enjoy it. Alec, you had better convince her of that."

"Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Seward, any suggestions you have, you will make through me, not to the Court."

"But I was just going to say that—"

"Mrs. Seward, keep quiet! You're here only by courtesy of the Court until this matter of identity is cleared up. I'm sorry, Judge. I advised my clients that, at the most, this was a holding action. I know that Jake Salomon would not risk bringing a ringer—sorry, Miss Smith—a ringer into court."

"And I know it."

"But they insisted. If Mrs. Seward won't control herself, I'll have to ask your permission to withdraw from the case."

The Judge shook his head and grinned. "No, sirree, Alec. You fetched them here, you're stuck with them—at least until Court adjourns. Jake? Is Ned still fronting for you? Or will you speak for yourself?"

"Oh, I think we can both speak up from time to time, without friction."

"Ned?"

"Of course, Judge. Jake can speak for himself and should. But I'm finding it interesting. Novel situation."

"Quite. Well, speak up if you have anything to contribute. Alec, I don't think we can get anywhere today. Do you?"

Alec Train stood mute. Joan mid, "Why not, Judge? I'm here, I'm ready. Ask me anything. Bring out the rack and the thumbscrews—I'll talk."

The Judge again rubbed his nose. "Miss Smith, I sometimes think that my predecessors were overly hasty in letting such tools be abolished. I think I can settle to my own satisfaction whether or not you are the person known as Johann Sebastian Bach Smith, of this city and of Smith Enterprises, Limited. But it is not that simple. In an ordinary identity case Mrs. Seward's suggestion of fingerprints would be practical. But not in this case. Alec? Do Petitioners stipulate that the brain of their grandfather was transplanted into another body?"

Petitioners' counsel looked unhappy. "May it please the Court, I am under instructions not to stipulate anything of the sort."

"So? What's your theory?"

"Uh, ‘Missing and presumed dead,' I suppose. We take the position that the burden of proof is on anyone who steps forward and claims to be Johann Sebastian Bach Smith."

"Jake?"

"I can't agree as to the burden of proof, Judge. But my client—my ward who is also my client, Johann Sebastian Bach Smith—is present in court and I am pointing at her. I know her to be that named individual. Both of us are ready to be questioned by the Court in any fashion in order to assure the Court as to her identity. I was about to say that both of us are willing to be questioned by anyone—but on second thought I cannot concede that there is any interested party other than my client."

"Judge?"

"Yes, Miss Smith? Jake, do you want her to speak?"

"Oh, certainly. Anything."

"Go ahead, Miss Smith."

"Thank you. Judge, my granddaughters can ask me anything. I've known them since they were babies; if they try to trip me, I'll have them hanging on the ropes in two minutes. For example, Johanna—the one you called ‘Mrs. Seward'—was hard to housebreak. On her eighth birthday—May fifteenth nineteen-sixty, the day the Paris Conference between Eisenhower and Khrushchev broke down—her mother, my daughter Evelyn, invited me over to see the little brat have her birthday cake, and Evelyn shoved Johanna into my lap and she cut loose—"

"I did no such thing!"

"Oh, yes, you did, Johanna. Evelyn snatched you off my lap and apologized and said that you had a bed-wetting problem. Can't say as to that—my daughter lied easily."

"Judge, are you going to sit there and let that—that person—insultthe memory of my dead mother?"

"Mrs. Seward, your counsel cautioned you. If you don't heed his caution, this Court is capable of nailing you into a barrel and letting you speak only when I say to pull out the bung. Or some such. Squelch her, Alec. Suppress her the way they did in the trial in ‘Alice in Wonderland'—which this is beginning to resemble. She's not a party to this; she is here only to give evidence in case the Court needs it. Miss Smith—"

"Yes, sir?"

"Your opinions as to the veracity of your putative descendants are not evidential. Can you think of anything that Johann Smith would know and that I would know or could check on—but which Jake Salomon could not possibly have briefed you on?"

"That's a tough one, Your Honor."

"So it is. But the alternative—today—is for me to assume that you are an imposter most carefully coached and then to question you endlessly in an attempt to trip you. I don't want to do that... because final identification—now that the matter has been raised—will have to be by evidence as conclusive as fingerprints. You see that, don't you?"

"Yes, I see it but I don't quite see how." She smiled and spread her graceful hands. "My fingerprints—and everything about me that can be seen—are those of my donor."

"Yes, yes, surely—but there are more ways of killing a cat than buttering it with parsnips. Later."

"Harrumph!"

"Yes, Jake?"

"Judge, in the interests of my client I cannot concede that physical means of identifying this body are relevant. The question is: Is this the individual designated by Social Security number 551-20-0052 and known to the world as Johann Sebastian Bach Smith? I suggest that ‘Estate of Henry M. Parsons v. Rhode Island,' while not on all fours, is relevant."

McCampbell said mildly, "Jake, you are much older than I am and I'm reasonably sure you know the law more thoroughly than I do. Nevertheless, here today, I am the Judge."

"Certainly, Your Honor! May it please the Court, I—"

"So quit being so damned respectful in my chambers. You sat on my orals and voted to pass me, so you must think I know some law. Of course the Parsons case is relevant; we'll get to it later. In the meantime I'm trying to find a basis for a pro-tem ruling. Well, Miss Smith?"

"Judge, I don't care whether I'm identified or not. In the words of a gallant gentleman: ‘Broke don't scare me.'" She suddenly chuckled and glanced at her granddaughters. "May I tell you something funny—privately?"

"Mmm...I could clear the room of everyone but you and your counsel; nevertheless you had better save any jokes until after we adjourn."

"Yes, sir. May I address one irrelevant remark to my granddaughters?"

"Hmmph. I may strike it from the record. Go ahead."

"Thank you, Judge. Girls—Johanna, Maria, June, Elinor—look at me. For thirty-odd years you have been waiting for me to die. Now you hope to prove that I am dead, else this silly business would never have come up. Girls, I hope you get away with it...for I can't wait to see your faces when my will is read." (You zapped ‘em, Boss! Look at those expressions!) (I surely did, darling. Now shut up; we're not home free.)

"Your Honor—"

"Yes, Alec?"

"May I suggest that this is not relevant?"

Joan cut in. "But I said it would be irrelevant, Mr. Train. Just the same, they had better start thinking about how to break my will, instead of this nonsense." She added thoughtfully, "Perhaps I had better set up a lifetime trust that will make them slightly better off with me alive than dead...to protect myself against patricidal assassination. Judge, is ‘patricidal' the right word? Now that I'm female?"

"Blessed if I know. Better make it ‘avicidal'—no, ‘avicide' already means the killing of birds and has nothing to do with ‘avus.' Never mind. Miss Smith, take up such matters with your attorney and let us return to our muttons. Have you thought of anything which Jake Salomon could not have coached you on?"

"It's difficult. Jake has been handling my affairs for I most of a generation. Mmm, Judge, will you shake hands with me?"

"Eh?"

"We had best do it under the table, or out of sight of anyone but Mr. Train."

Looking puzzled, the Judge went along with her request. Then he said, "Be damned! Excuse me. Miss -Smith—shake hands with Alec."

Joan did so, letting her body cover it from spectators. Mr. Train looked surprised, whispered something to her which she answered in a whisper. (Boss, what was what?) (Greek. Tell you later, dear—though girls aren't supposed to know.)

McCampbell said, "Mr. Salomon could not have coached you?"

"Ask him. Jake was a Barb, not a Greek."

"Of course I was a Barb," Salornon growled. "I had no stomach for being the exhibit Jew in a chapter that did not want its charter lifted. What is this?"

Train said, "Well, it seems that Miss Smith is a fraternity brother of the Judge and myself. Mmm... ‘sister,' I suppose. Judge, it's easy to check this on both Johann Smith and Mr. Salomon. In the meantime I find it persuasive."

"Perhaps I can add to it," Joan said. "Mr. Train—Brother Alec—of course you should check on both Jake and myself. But look me up in our fraternal archives under ‘Schmidt' rather than ‘Smith' as I changed my name in forty-one. Which my granddaughters know. But you both know of our fraternal Distress Fund?"

"Yes."

"Certainly, Miss Smith."

"The fund did not exist when I was pledged—my senior year it was, after I made Phi Beta Kappa and because our local chapter needed a greasy grind and had an alumnus willing to pay for my initiation. The fund was started during World War Two; I helped augment it some years later and was one of its trustees from fifty-six until late in the eighties when I dropped most outside activities. Judge, you tapped the fund for fifteen hundred in the spring of seventy-eight."

"Eh? So I did. But I paid it back, eventually—then donated the same amount at a later time, according to our customs."

"I'm glad to hear it. The latter, I mean; you were off the hook before I resigned as a trustee. I was a hard-nosed trustee, Judge, and never okayed a loan until I was certain that it was a distress case and not just a convenience to a lazy undergraduate. Shall I relate the circumstances which caused me to okay your loan?"

The Judge blinked. "I would rather you did not, at least not now. Alec knows them."

"Yes," agreed Train. "Would have lent him the money myself if I had had it." (What is this, Boss?) (Case of ‘rheumatic fever,' sweet.) (Abortion money?) (No, no—he married the girl—and here lam digging up the skeleton.)

(Bitch.) (No, Eunice—my granddaughters don't know what I'm talking about, nor does Jake.)

"I see no reason to discuss it," Miss Smith went on, "unless the Judge wants to question me privately—and if you do, Judge, do remind me to tell you a real giggle about the ancestries of my so loving granddaughters. Odd things happen even in the best families—and the Schmidt family was never one of the best. We're a vulgar lot, me and my descendants—our only claim to prominence is too much money."

"Later perhaps, Miss Smith. I am now ready to hand down a decision—temporary and conservative. Counsels?"

"Ready, Judge."

"Nothing to add, Your Honor."

McCampbell fitted his fingertips together. "Identity. It need not depend on fingerprints or retinal patterns or similar customary evidence. John Doe could lose both hands and both feet, have both eyes gouged out, be so scarred and damaged that even his dentist could not identify him—and he would still be John Doe, with the same Social Security number. Something like that happened to you, Miss Smith, assuming that you are indeed Johann Sebastian Bach Smith—though I am happy to see"—he smiled—"that no scars show.

"This Court finds persuasive the evidence of your identity brought out in this hearing. We assume, pro tem, that you are Johann Sebastian Bach Smith.

"However"—the Judge looked at Salomon—"we now get to the Parsons case. Inasmuch as the Supreme Court has ruled that the question of life or death resides in the brain and nowhere else, this Court now rules that identity must therefore reside in the brain and nowhere else. In the past it has never been necessary to decide this point; now it is necessary. We find that to rule in any other fashion would be inconsistent with the intent of the Supreme Court in ‘Estate of Henry M. Parsons v. Rhode Island.' To rule in any other way would create chaos in future cases in any way similar to this one: Identity must lie in the brain. "Now, Jake, I am in effect going to shove the burden of the proof over onto you and your client. At a later time you must be prepared to prove beyond any possible doubt that Johann Sebastian Bach Smith's brain was removed from his body and transplanted into this body"—McCampbell pointed.

Jake nodded. "I realize that, Judge.. A person who wants to cash a check must prove his identity—this is on all fours. But today we were taken by surprise."

"So was the Court—and, Alec, I'm going to take you by surprise someday...with something better than a pie bed or an exploding cigar. Damn it, you should have warned Court and Counsel."

"I apologize, Your Honor. I received my instructions quite late."

"You should have at once asked for a continuance, not let this hearing open. You know better. Never mind, the hearing has been instructive. Miss Smith—Miss Johann Sebastian Bach Smith subject to remarks above—you were made a ward of this Court and placed under the guardianship of Mr. Jacob Salomon for one reason alone:

You were at the time not competent to manage your affairs by reason of post-operative incapacity. Let the record show that neither insanity in the legal sense nor mental illness in the medical sense had anything to do with it; you were in an extended condition of unconsciousness following surgery and that was all. You are no longer unconscious, you appear to be in good health, and the Court takes judicial notice that during this hearing you appeared always to be alert and clearheaded. Since the sole condition—unconsciousness—on which you were made a ward no longer obtains, you are now no longer a ward and Mr. Salomon is discharged of his guardianship—what's the trouble, Alec?"

"May it please the Court!—as Counsel for the Petitioners I must ask to have an objection entered into the record."

"On what grounds?"

"Why, lack of expert witnesses as to, uh, ‘Miss Smith's' competence."

"Do you have expert witnesses ready to examine her?"

"Of course."

"Jake?"

"Certainly. Waiting on call."

"How many?"

"Harrumph! One more than Alec has, however many he qualifies."

"So I expected, and if we start qualifying expert witnesses now and let each one exercise his little ego, those fish in Nova Scotia would die of old age. Keep your shirt on, Alec. No expert witnesses were used to show this person's incompetence; the gross condition of uncon­sciousness was stipulated—and now no longer exists. Alec, your objection goes into the record but I am putting you on notice that your claim of need for expert witnesses lacks foundation~—and this time the burden of proof is on you. Petitioners will have to show something more than great anxiety to get their hands on the large sums of money at stake in this matter. Every citizen, every person, is conditionally presumed to be competent—and that means everyone—you, me, Jake, Miss Smith, Petitioners, and the illiterate who fills that bar and cleans out the empties. This Court will not set the extremely bad precedent of allowing you, or anyone, to conduct a fishing expedition into the matter of a person's competency without proper foundation. However— Jake."

"Yes, Judge."

"We all know what this hearing is really about. Money. Lots of money. You might explain to Miss Smith that her competence may he challenged at some later time."

"We're prepared for it."

"While I've discharged you as her guardian, you will stay on as conservator of the property of Johann Sebastian Bach Smith pending positive proof of identity—and I do mean positive; you've got to trace Smith's brain into this body every step of the way. What was the name of that surgeon? Boyle? I suppose you'll need him. And several others. I'm not going to take anything for granted, nor permit any stipulations; there is too much at stake and I don't intend to be reversed. Alec, if you are going to challenge competency, you will have to wait until after that time and—if it's in my court—show foundation for such challenge. That satisfy you?"

"I guess it will have to."

"I guess so, too. Court's adjourned."

Mrs. Seward stood up, red-faced, and said to Alec Train, "You're fired!"

McCampbell said coldly, "Madam, consider yourself lucky that you saved that outburst until after Court adjourned. Now, get out of my chambers. You other three ladies may leave, too."

Johanna's sister June said as she stood up: "Judge, may I ask a question?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Frabish."

"You've turned this person loose—that's all right, I'm not criticizing. But are you leaving her in our grandfather's house? I think you ought to know that it is loaded, simply loaded, with valuable works of art. What is to keep her from gutting it while we are proving that she can't be our grandfather?"

"Oh. Madam, Mr. Salomon knows the duties and responsibilities of a conservator. However—Jake, it would be prudent not to permit any objects of sentimental or artistic value to leave that house during this waiting period."

"No problem. Since I've had to manage the household, I've been staying there much of the time. But I'll have a word with Johann's chief guard."

"Judge, may I say something?"

"Certainly— Miss Smith."

"I'd like protection against them. June doesn't know what objets d'art I own. Not one of them has been inside my house since it was built. During my long illness and confinement not one of them called on me or sent flowers or anything. And the same for my post-surgery convalescence, except that I learned that Johanna—Mrs. Seward—tried to crash in right after my operation. I don't trust them; I'd like the Court's protection."

"Jake?"

"I wasn't there but I heard it from Johann's chief guard."

"Mrs. Seward?"

She sniffed. "I had a perfect right! Next of kin."

"I think I understand it. All right, you four ladies—listen carefully, then leave. You will refrain from visiting the home or offices or other properties of Johann Sebastian Bach Smith. You will refrain from making any attempt to see or to speak with this young lady I have been addressing as ‘Miss Smith.' If you need to communicate with her or with the Court's appointed conservator, Mr. Salomon, you will do so only through this Court or through your attorney, whoever he may be, to Mr. Salomon and never directly to Miss Smith. This is an order to all four of you and each of you will obey under pain of severe penalties for contempt. Do you understand? Are there any questions?"

McCampbell waited, then went on, "Very well. Now all four of you leave."

The Judge remained standing while they filed out. When the door sealed, he sighed. "Whew! Miss Smith—or should I say ‘Brother Schmidt'?—will you have that Glen Grant on rocks now? Glenlivet actually, I don't have Glen Grant."

She smiled. "Truly, I haven't tried anything that potent on this new body. Jake and I should leave—you and

Brother Alec have a date with a fish."

"Oh, do sit down. Alec has his gear in his car in the basement and my copter is picking us up from the roof in about an hour. Another Coke?"

"Is there sherry? I get a very pleasant buzz on just a glass of sherry—I conclude that my donor did not drink at all." (Almost never, Boss—and you're giving me a taste for the stuff.) (Quiet, darling—later.) (‘All right... but ask him about our name. Isn't Judgie Wudgie a darling? Wonder what he's like in bed?) (You and your one-track mind! I'll ask him about our name. Now shut up!)

"Sherry it shall be. Jake? Ned? Alec?"

"Judge, since Jake doesn't need me, I'll ask to be excused."

"Okay, Ned. Alec, serve yourself and take care of Jake; I want to stare at Brother Schmidt. I probably won't be seeing you again, Miss Smith. Your granddaughters are almost certain to try to move it into a higher court. That business of proving who you are by our fraternity grip—that tore it. All I could do today was to give you a little protection in the interim."

"Which I appreciated, sir. Here's an odd thing about this sex change. When I was an old man, frail and helpless, I was afraid of nothing. Now I'm young and healthy and strong. But female. To my surprise I find that I want to be protected."

Alec Train said over his shoulder from the bar, "I'll protect you, Brother Schmidt! Don't trust Brother McCampbell—he was the worst wolf in our chapter. Step aside, Brother Wolf—-it's my turn to stare at our new brother."

"Boys, I am not a ‘new brother,' I was pledged years before you were born. But I'm not surprised that you like to stare at me, as my donor—Jake, do they know?"

"It's not much of a secret, Johann. Judge McCampbell knows, I think Alec knows, too." (Joan, if he doesn't know, tell him. And don't forget our name!) (What do you think I'm leading up to?)

"All right. My donor, Eunice Branca, my former secretary and the sweetest, loveliest girl I've ever known, was not only a perfect secretary; she was a beauty contest winner not many years back. I know what a treasure I inherited from her. 1 don't wear her body with the charming grace she gave it—but I'm trying to learn."

(You're learning, Boss.)

"It is the opinion of this Court that you have learned."

"Shut up, Mac. Brother Schmidt, I agree with him merely because he's right."

"Thank you both—on behalf of Eunice Branca. Jake? Now that Court has adjourned do I have to wear this Mother Hubbard? It's too warm."

"That's up to you. I suppose it depends on how much you have under it."

"Mmm... perhaps I'd better not. Minimum decency under the customs of today—but it would get a burlesque queen thirty days back when I was a youngster." (Exhibitionist. You're asking to be coaxed.) (Certainly. And who taught me? At least the bra isn't just paint, like that mermaid outfit you zapped me with.)

Alec Train said, "Brother Schmidt, in identity cases it is sometimes necessary to require the challenged individual to strip completely. Birthmarks and scars and such—tell her, Judge."

"Ignore him, Brother Schmidt. I wouldn't call that lovely Grecian robe a ‘Mother Hubbard.' But I can see that it was intended for outdoors and I'll happily hang it up for you."

"Uh... oh, goodness, I'm having trouble shucking off my early-twentieth-century Puritanism. Jake has seen me in the nothing-much girls wear today, and he's seen Eunice in even less than I have on under this; Eunice wasn't shy about sharing her beauty." (You milked that, didn't you, dearie? Which one are you after?) (Shut up!) Joan ran a finger down the magnostrip, let the robe fall open; Alec Train hurried to claim it ahead of the Judge.

Then she posed. "See? This is almost the way Eunice Branca looked—except that she walked in glory, always while I am an old man who is trying to learn to wear her body." Besides Eunice's body, Joan was wearing some of Winnie's clothes—black frill skirt, translucent black Cling-On cups, six-inch Sticktite stilt sandals that left her pretty feet in view—no paint, just restrained enhancement with rouge and shadow.

She posed, they stared. Jake cleared his throat louder than usual. "Joan, had I known what you were wearing—not wearing, rather—under that robe, I would have advised you to keep it on."

"Oh, pooh, Jake, you wouldn't have scolded Eunice for dressing this way. But that brings up something I must ask. Judge, I can't go on being ‘Johann Smith.' Will you let inc change my name?"

"That's not properly put, Brother Schmidt. You can have any name you like. At most a court confirms it. You mean that you need a girl's name now. Helen, perhaps? Or Cleopatra?"

"Thank you—for Eunice." (Boss,, find out if Judge is still married.) (Go back to sleep!) "Not either of those names. I want to be known as ‘Joan'—for ‘Johann'—‘Joan Eunice...Smith.'"

Judge McCampbell lOoked surprised, then smiled in, approval. "A good choice. The flavor of your masculine name, plus, I assume, a tribute to your donor. But may I offer a word of advice? You can start calling yourself that today—"

"I already have."

"I noticed that Jake called you ‘Joan.' But let it be a family name, and keep your masculine name at other times—use it to sign letters, checks, and so forth—until your identity has been finally established—in the Supreme Court if possible. Don't cloud the issue."

"I gave her the same advice," Salomon put in.

"I'm not surprised. Miss—Brother Schmidt, what do you want me to call you? In private."

"Why, either ‘Joan' or ‘Eunice.' Both by preference, as I do not want anyone ever to forget Eunice Branca. Me least of all—I want ‘to be reminded of my benefactor. Benefactrix. But don't call me ‘Miss' in private. Look, brothers, as ‘Brother Schmidt' I am half a century older than you two... but as ‘Joan Eunice' I am only a few weeks old. However, Eunice's body is that of a young woman, and that is what I am learning—must learn!—to be. You could have daughters my age. So please call me ‘Joan Eunice' and save ‘Miss Smith' for court appearances." She smiled. "Or ‘Brother Schmidt if you wish—although ‘Yonny' was what I was called by our brothers in my chapter."

Alec said, "Joan Eunice Brother Yonny Schmidt, I'm pleased to call you whatever you like, and I don't have daughters your age and you make me feel younger just to look at you. But I'm not speaking for my roommate and I'd hate to tell you how old some of his offspring are; he was the scourge of P.S. 238—stay away from him and let me protect you. And did I mention how happy I am that Mrs. Seward fired me? Brother Joan Eunice, I would never have been in this case other than as a favor to Parkinson's mother-in-law. But at first it did look like a straightforward case of protecting the interests of an invalid too ill to protect himself. Believe me."

"Don't listen to him," advised the Judge. "He's an ambulance chaser. I throw legitimate business his way just to protect the good name of our Brothers. But back to this matter of identity. Joan Eunice, I don't know how much law you know—"

"Just what has rubbed off in the course of a long and evil life. I depend on experts. Such as Jake."

"I see. Well, your granddaughters probably think it is wrong of me to help you establish your identity. It is not. True, in a civil suit or a criminal action a judge must be impartial. But such a matter as establishing identity is neither one, and there is no rule of law or equity which prohibits a court from being helpful. The situation is like that of a citizen who has lost his passport and appeals to his consul. The consul doesn't sit as a judge; he tries to get the mixup straightened out. So— Jake, you've been in the Law much longer than I have; do you want my opinions?"

"I am always most happy to have Judge McCampbell's opinions on any matter."

"I think I'll reconvene court and slam you for contempt. After I've finished this drink. All right, you're going to get ‘em anyhow. Do you anticipate any difficulty in proving that the brain of Brother Schmidt was moved into the body of Eunice Branca?"

"None. A nuisance but no difficulty."

"Or in showing that this body—this lovely body—was once that of Eunice Branca?"

"Same answer."

"What evidence?"

"Police reports, photographs, hospital personnel, and so forth."

"Let's say it's my court. I'm going to make you go back and touch second at every opportunity. I intentionally got into the record today that ruling based on ‘Parsons' estate v. Rhode Island'; I think it's important—"

"So do I."

"Thank you. In following the principle that identity lies in the brain and nowhere else"—(We could tell him something, couldn't we, Boss?) (Yes, beloved—but we aren't going to!)—"I am going to be as tough as possible. No depositions when it is possible to bring the witness into court. Photographs and other records not only allowed but required—but the originals must be brought into court, not copies, and photographers or record keepers must appear and identify same, and the surgeons or others whose work appears in those films, photographs, or records must appear and confirm each record. Do you know if each body was fingerprinted just prior to surgery?"

"Not of my own knowledge. Damn it, I was taken by surprise today—and at the time of Eunice Branca's death I had other things worrying me."

Joan Eunice reached over and squeezed his hand. Alec Train said, "I can help on that. When Parkinson brought Mrs. Seward to see me, I checked on that point at once. Prints were taken from both bodies—so I gave identity no further thought. That's why I was taken as much by surprise as you two. I don't know what chimney-corner lawyer put the idea in Mrs. Seward's head—Parkinson, probably; he's stayed at her elbow all through—but I received instructions just ac court convened. I'm not spilling any privileged communication when I say that—nor do I know of any Canon which forbids me to say that I am damn sick of both Mrs. Seward and Parkinson."

"Hmm. Every possible bit of evidence," McCampbell went on. "You will have to trace that brain out of that body—Joan Eunice—no, Jake. Jake, do you know what became of Johann Smith's body?"

"That one I can answer. Here we have a unique case of a body becoming a chattel while the person who lived in it is still alive. I knew what Johann Smith—Joan Eunice, that is—had wanted done with it, as his will contains the standard ‘donated for medical research' clause. But the will did not control because Johann Smith was, and is, alive. The Medical Center asked what to do with it. I told them to hold it, in their morgue. I assume that it is still there."

Mr. Train said, "Counselor, I hope you're right. But unless that cadaver was nailed down, two gets you ten that some eager medical student has chopped it up."

The Judge said, "I'm afraid Alec could be right. Jake, it may be a matter of great urgency to perpetuate the evidence—all the evidence. Verb. sap. We all know how key evidence has a way of disappearing when big money is involved. And besides eager medical students—well, we all know that almost any illegal act is for sale at a price. Films and records can be stolen, others substituted, ostensibly respectable witnesses can be bribed. Let's speculate for a moment that Brother Schmidt is opposed by nameless dishonest persons, persons willing to bribe, suborn, and so forth. Such crime is not cheap. Does anyone have a guess as to how much money might be used to destroy or change the evidence?"

Jake said, "I won't guess. But in the case of four nameless females I can find out."

Joan said, "I can help a little on this. Maria and Elinor lost their father before they were of age and his estate wound up minus and no insurance to speak of. So I supported my daughter Roberta until she died and kept her kids in school until they flunked out, then continued to support them until each married—one of their grievances against me is that I stopped their allowances when they married. But I continued a credit watch on them, as I did not want any descendant of mine to become a charge on the taxpayers. Much the same with the other two girls except that Jim Darlington outlasted my daughter Evelyn, and both girls—Johanna and June—married while their parents were living. To put it briefly, unless one of them has come into some windfall, all four could not scrape together enough money to tackle any really expensive crime."

"I'm glad to hear it," said McCampbell. "Just the same, Jake, time is of the essence in preserving evidence—and I want you to know that this court will give you all possible legal help in protecting and perpetuating any evidence you dig up. Uh, Alec and I plan to be away four days—but I'll leave my emergency wavelength with Sperling and will bounce back here if you need me."

"Thank you, sir."

"Wait a minute," said Alec Train. "There is money in this case. Mac, you know how I am about fees."

"Yes. Larcenous."

"Ignore him, Brother Schmidt. I tailor my fees, all the way from zero up to outrageous. In this case I did not want the job, so I demanded an outrageous retainer against a, yes, larcenous per diem—and Parkinson paid without a quiver. Through Mrs. Seward but there was no question as to who called the tune. The question is: Will Parkinson go on paying... and is he willing to hire his friendly, neighborhood safecracker to go after some necessary link? I don't know—especially as it isn't his money, but his mother-in-law's."

"I don't know," answered Jake, "but I always assume that my opponent might cheat if I fail to cut the cards. I'm going after that evidence with all possible speed. Sorry, Joan, I should have anticipated this—I'm getting old." (He is not. Tell him so, Boss.)

Joan Eunice patted his hand. "Jake, you are not getting old and there was no reason to anticipate this. Gentlemen, let me say again, I don't care a whit if my granddaughters win. If they win, they lose—because if they prove me legally dead, I have cut them off with that shilling. And, thanks to Eunice Branca and Dr. Boyle and lake Salomon, I'm young and healthy and enjoying life and not distressed at the idea of losing a fortune that has become a burden to me."

Alec Train said, "Brother Schmidt Joan Eunice honey, don't you realize that it is unAmerican to talk that way about millions of dollars?"

She grinned at him. "Brother Alec, if I come out of this broke, I'll bet you a million dollars that I can net a million dollars after taxes in the next five years, starting from scratch. Jake, will you back my bet? Since it calls for me starting broke?"

"Certainly."

"Wait a minute!" Train protested. "I'm just a poor but honest lawyer. Will you make that bet fifty cents? Mac, will you lend me fifty cents?"

"Not without security. Joan Eunice, listen, please. I don't doubt that you are willing to tackle the world broke. But I know in my heart that you are indeed Brother Johann Schmidt... who okayed a loan to me when I really needed it. Old Eata Bita Pi didn't let me down... and I'm not going to let Brother Schmidt down."

"Thank you, Brother Mac."

Jake growled, "You f rat house aristocrats made me sick when I was in college and I don't like it much better today. Judge, the only good reason for giving Joan Eunice a hand is because it's the fair thing to do. Not because she—he—Okayed a loan years ago to some snot-nose fraternity brother."

"Counselor, your point is well taken. I think I can truthfully say that I have never allowed fraternal bonds—including Shriner, which you and I are—to affect my behavior on the bench—"

"The hell it hasn't, old buddy mine; you rule against me just for the hell of it. Ask anybody."

"Even when I've been forced to instruct this Irishman in the finer points of the law. I would have helped in this matter in any case; both as a citizen and as a ward of the Court Joan Eunice is entitled to any help a court can offer in establishing her identity. But I confess that my emotions were aroused by a circumstance that I did not dream existed. Not that Joan Eunice is my fraternity brother—that is simply a pleasing coincidence—but that she—he at that time—gave me a hand when it mattered. Uh"—he stared at his glass—"no need to go into details. You know them, Joan Eunice?"

"Yes."

"You can tell Jake later. Let me list the things I think are necessary in this case; both of you lawyers check me and I'm going to stick a fresh tape in this thing so that we can all have copies." He turned to his clerk's recording equipment. "That is I think I am going to. Damn! Excuse me, Joan Eunice. I wonder if Sperling has gone home."

(Let's look at that thing, dear.) "I'm ‘Brother Schmidt' any time you feel like swearing, Judge. May I look at your recorder? It's a bit like one I have at home."

"Go ahead. I sometimes wish we still used shorthand reporters."

"Thank you." (How about, Eunice?) (It's Betsy's idiot baby sister, no huhu. You whistle Yankee Doodle or think about Judgie Wudgie and don't bother me.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme—) (Got it, dearie.) "Recording with a fresh tape, Judge; set for three copies, and erase memory."

McCampbell said, "I'm amazed every time I find someone who understands machinery."

"I don't, really. But Eunice Branca taught me to run one somewhat like yours." (Boss, you're learning how to lie—just tell the truth but not all of it.) (Honey girl, I invented that way of lying way back when your great-grandmother was a virgin.)

"First, Eunice Branca's death must be established. As it was murder, we will assume extensive records with positive identification including fingerprints—and since they are police records, we must also assume that they are vulnerable to any determined and well-financed attempt to destroy or replace them. Then Mrs. Branca's body must be followed into surgery and positive identification of the body again established at that point. Johann Schmidt's body must also be followed to that point and positively identified just before surgery. Then we must be certain beyond any doubt that the brain was removed from the Schmidt body—Joan Eunice, this must be distressing to you. Would you like to retire to my washroom? There's a couch in there."

"Please go ahead, sir; I've learned to live with it." (Makes me feel like throwing up, Boss.) (Me, too, darling—but we aren't going to; we're going to look solemnly serene. Om Mani Padme Hum.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Let's make a Lotus: this chair is big enough.) (Yes, darling. Om Mani Padme Hum.)

"—and finally, in court, we will take Joan Eunice's fingerprints, have them compared by experts with each earlier set, and thereby forge the final link. Joan Eunice, do I simply switch this off now?"

(After the three copies pop out, it will shut itself off.) "When the three copies pop out, it will erase and shut off. Jake, we're keeping these gentlemen from their fishing."

"Those fish aren't restless," the Judge assured her. "Just a moment." He stepped to his closed-circuit viewphone.

"Evelyn."

"Yes, Judge."

"How are things outside? Quiet?"

"Judge, how did you guess? I've got three men in the infirmary and the building is buttoned up. You might take a look on three and four, and then play back the sixteen o'clock spot news."

"How badly were your men hurt?"

"Nothing serious. One with a lungful of sneeze gas when we had to clear the main entrance and seal the riot doors, one with a flesh wound on a cheekbone, and the third with cracked ribs. My guess is the newsies bought ‘emselves a riot, as cameras were in position when the trouble started."

"I see. Are we going to need the Guard?"

"I wouldn't say so. The police have the streets around us pretty well patrolled and our own people are either staying overnight or being taken off the top by chopper. Message from Judge Anders—says there's no reason for you not to go fishing and he'll assume that he's presiding judge pro tem. He's staying in his chambers tonight."

"I'll call him and thank him. Off."

The Judge switched to view three, studied it. "Doesn't look too rough. Just the same they ought to tear this building down and build a stronger one farther from any Abandoned Area." He switched to view four. "Oh oh!"

The room filled with crowd roar, the screen showed a milling mob. Moving slowly through the crowd were two police Merrimac tanks, their loudspeakers monotonously repeating the warning-to-disperse. "Brother Schmidt, does your house have a copter landing?"

Joan shook her head. "No, it's designed so that a copter can't land on it. It seemed the safer choice when it was built."

"Well... I could put you into any, enclave by copter. Or you could stay here overnight."

Jake said, "Judge, my car is a Rolls-Skoda. We'll be all right."

"I can't force you to stay. But let's get a playback on the news and see what stirred up the lice." McCampbell punched the time in, then punched for playback.

"Headline of the Hour! Brain Transplant Fraud! Our earlier flash has been confirmed; the sensational brain transplant of Tycoon Johann Smith was a hoax. The question is: Did he die a natural death? Or was he murdered? The latter theory seems likely in view of today's bald-faced attempt to steal his enormous fortune through claiming in open court that his alleged former secretary, a woman of doubtful reputation going by the name of ‘Blanca'—"

Salomon growled, "Judge, would you mind shutting off that damned rot?"

McCampbell switched it off. "Seems I started something. Can't say I'm sorry. I will not let my courtroom be turned into a circus."

Joan Eunice said meekly, "I'm sorry, Judge."

"Eh? Joan Eunice, you are not at fault. You were forced into court needlessly and against your will; you did nothing. As for me, I hold to the old-fashioned ideal that a courtroom is where the Sovereign is present in person, dispensing equity and justice to all... not bread-and-circuses for the rabble. As long as I'm on the bench I'll run it that way, no matter how many news snoops get sore or how many hilts want a livelier show."

"I'm sorry your bailiffs were hurt."

"Well, so am I. But they aren't conscripts, they are career people who know it is hazardous. And they are necessary—if that bill ever passes to disarm bailiffs, that day I quit the bench, and the Law as well. Jake?"

"Yes, Mac?"

"You can risk your neck if you want to, but even a Rolls-Skoda is not a Merrirnac. Enough people can tip it over, then they can build a bonfire around it and roast you like chestnuts... and there are characters out there who would do it just for kicks. No, not a word out of you; I'm not going to let her leave this building in a ground car even if I have to reconvene court for three seconds and make her a ward again. She leaves by copter. The question is: Where does she go? You could sleep in my chambers, Joan Eunice; there is a buttery in the bar and the washroom is a complete bath and that couch opens into a bed. Lumpy, I'm afraid." (Ask Judgie Wudgie if he goes with the bed!) (I didn't hear you—and pipe down.)

"I was going to say," Jake said mildly, "that I have a house in Safe Harbor. Unstaffed and empty but it's a safe rendezvous. You could have your Chief Bailiff tell my driver and Shotgun to wait until this quiets down, then pick us up there—although I would bet on those boys to drive through any mob and not let the car be tipped; they're mean."

"No doubt. And wind up with a hit-and-run, too; we'll do it the easy way. Either of you want to use my washroom while I phone Evelyn and the roof?"

A few minutes later Jake and Joan were about to leave; the Judge's copter was waiting for them, he having brushed aside remarks about fish. Joan said, "Judge? I think you know I am grateful, but I would like to show my thanks by doing something—money, I mean—for those men who were hurt."

"No."

"Why not? Oh, I know it was not my fault but nevertheless they were hurt because of me. You know I can afford it."

"Because they are officers of the Court and I would have to treat it as constructive bribery. Tell her, Jake."

"He's correct, Joan—although he's being stuffy about it."

"Not too stuffy. Joan Eunice, there is an enclave home for dependents of police, bailiffs, firemen, and such, killed in line of duty. Jake can tell you about it. I would rather not hear what you do about it."

"I see." Joan ignored the fact that Jake was waiting with her robe, stepped closer to McCainpbell, turned her face up, and put her arms around his neck. "Does this constitute bribery?"

"I think so," McCampbell answered, putting his arms around her. "But I won't analyze it."

"Of course it's bribery! Get away from him, Brother Schmidt! I handle his bribes."

"Shut up, you noisy Mick."

Joan turned her face just as her lips were about to touch McCampbell's. "You're next on my bribe list, Brother Alec."

"So get back into line! R.H.I.P." McCampbell stopped any further words from her; she let her lips come softly open, did not hurry him. (Whee... 000! I thought so.)

(Don't let me faint, Eunice.)

Some seconds later she opened her eyes, looked up into the Judge's face. "My goodness!" she said softly.

Alec Train tapped his shoulder. "Court's adjourned, Judge. Be elsewhere."

Joan gave the Judge a quick, possessive squeeze, untangled herself and went into his former roommate's arms, turned up her face. She was careful to make this kiss as long and as warm as the other. (Unh! What do you think, Eunice?) (They are both oral as hell and they kiss almost as well as lake and if Jake weren't here they would have us down on the rug this instant—break it up, dear; you've kissed him as long as you did Judgie Wudgie and Jake is getting edgy.) (All right. Spoilsport.) (Not at all—but you don't -know how to handle men without upsetting them. Break!)

A moment later Jake silently helped her into her street robe. She thanked him, clicked the magnostrip, arranged the shoulder drape, let the Judge hand her into his lift. They said good-bye, the lift closed. Alec Train turned to his friend: "Mac, kissing Brother Schmidt is more emphatic than spreading most gals."

"Amen!"

"What would it be like to be married to her? And why is it that when the parade goes by I'm always out for a short beer?"

"The O.B. damaged your head with his forceps. That's why they had to make a lawyer out of you."

"How about yourself?"

"Oh, me, too—stipulated. I wasn't bright enough to be a lawyer; I had to wangle an appointment to the bench. Christ, what a chick!"

"Passed by acclamation. Mac, having kissed her, do you really think she can be old ‘Sell ‘em Johann,' the terrible-tempered tycoon?"

"Well...everything fits—and she did have the Grip."

"And the password; I checked. But, Mac, any of our brothers, even ones whose bias hardly extends to girls, would sell our secrets—what am I saying?—would give them to that one. If she kissed him."

"Stipulating that you are correct in your estimate of our brothers—and I agree—Joan Eunice can't have had much chance to subvert one of them. Jake has practically had her under house arrest, at my suggestion. And Jake him­self—well, he sounded like a Barb, but you can check it in that bookcase, in ‘Who's Who in Law.'

"I don't think I can walk that far. But let's assume that old Johann was a brother—easy to check—and she did know all about the Distress Fund and the fact that you needed a loan our senior year."

"Yes. That's the convincer."

"No, it⁴s not. I mean that Johann would have been just as susceptible. She was his secretary; it might have amused him to spill fraternal secrets to her—grip, password, even details about the fund."

"Oh, crap, you honkie bastard. Joan Eunice is just what she purports to be—an utterly delicious girl who has Johann's brain in her skull. Alec, I concede that Joan Eunice doesn't seem much like Johann Smith. But even you might be socially acceptable if that sponge between your ears were placed in the brainpan of a creature as delectable as she is." The Judge shook his head. "She's enough to make a queen switch from A.C. to D.C."

"Man, she really got to you, didn't she?"

"And you, my friend. Who said we needed a vacation from women? You, as I recall. But you drooled over her. You would give up boys for life if she were to phone and ask for you. Don't try to fool your roomie; I know you better than Ruth does."

"I won't argue. But you're at least as far down the Street as I am, Mac... and she affected you the same way. Uh, does Norma know how little fishing we plan to do?"

"Sure she suspects. But she's always been tolerant. Alec, how disappointed would you be if I called off our trip? Jake may need a friendly judge in a hurry. Especially if those vultures find a shyster unscrupulous enough to buy some direct action. I'd hate to be missing if Brother Schmidt needed me."

"My God, a soul with a soul. Oddly enough I was thinking the same thing. Can't let Brother Schmidt down. Mac, could it prejudice anything if I volunteered my services—free—to Jake? If this gets sticky, he's going to need to be several places at once. I could share the load."

"And share the wealth. It would give you an excuse to see Brother Schmidt again."

"Any law against taking a profit? But Jake does need help."

"And you're familiar with the case. Alec old dear, it's a noble thought. While you did represent the Petitioners, not only have they fired you, but this was never an adversary situation; theoretically those creeps are as anxious to arrive at the truth for the benefit of their beloved grandfather as Jake is. They don't dare admit that they are trying to grab his gelt."

"I wonder if lake has a phone in that empty house he mentioned? If not, I can leave word at the Gibraltar Club—he has rooms there—and at Johann Smith's town house. And with lake's answering service."

"Yes. But let the call be from me; it might speed the service. We'll stay and wait for it. Ruth's not expecting you, Norma is not expecting me; I'll have dinner sent up from the basement."

"Clear thinking. So fix fresh drinks while I put in those calls. Hey! You can reach them in your copter."

"Only via the piloting circuit. Not private. Better we keep this tight. Alec, it is unlikely that Jake will have anything for you to do before morning. But he might—a trip to the coast or such. You could stay on call by spending the night here."

"Well!" Alec Train stopped with his hand near the phone. "Roomie, I thought that Brother Schmidt had driven all other thoughts out of your mind. Or did I misunderstand?"

"Let's phrase it this way: It would be pleasant to discuss Brother Schmidt in intimate detail with some sympathetic person who appreciates her as much as 1 do."

"In that case, mix those drinks and start a lukewarm shower. I'll join you as fast as I can."