Two grillion, m’lud. The Clerk sat down. A hydrospectic photo of him at this point would have revealed that he was steaming slightly.
Judiciary Pag gazed once more around the courtroom, wherein were assembled hundreds of the very highest officials of the entire Galactic administration, all in their ceremonial uniforms or bodies, depending on metabolism and custom. Behind a wall of Zap-Proof Crystal stood a representative group of the people of Krikkit, looking with calm, polite loathing at all the aliens gathered to pass judgment on them. This was the most momentous occasion in legal history, and Judiciary Pag knew it.
He took out his chewing gum and stuck it under his chair.
That’s a whole lotta stiffs, he said quietly.
The grim silence in the courtroom seemed in accord with this view.
So, like I said, these are a bunch of really sweet guys, but you wouldn’t want to share a Galaxy with them, not if they’re just gonna keep at it, not if they’re not gonna learn to relax a little. I mean it’s just gonna be continual nervous time, isn’t it, right? Pow, pow, pow, when are they next coming at us? Peaceful coexistence is just right out, right? Get me some water somebody, thank you.
He sat back and sipped reflectively.
OK, he said, hear me, hear me. It’s, like, these guys, you know, are entitled to their own view of the Universe. And according to their view, which the Universe forced on them, right, they did right. Sounds crazy, but I think you’ll agree. They believe in…
He consulted a piece of paper which he found in the back pocket of his Judicial jeans.
They believe in “peace, justice, morality, culture, sport, family life, and the obliteration of all other life forms”.
He shrugged.
I’ve heard a lot worse, he said.
He scratched his crotch reflectively.
Freeeow, he said. He took another sip of water, then held it up to the light and frowned at it. He twisted it round.
Hey, is there something in this water? he said.
Er, no, m’lud, said the Court Usher who had brought it to him, rather nervously.
Then take it away, snapped Judiciary Pag, and put something in it. I got an idea.
He pushed away the glass and leaned forward.
Hear me, hear me, he said.
The solution was brilliant, and went like this:
The planet of Krikkit was to be enclosed for perpetuity in an envelope of Slo-Time, inside which life would continue almost infinitely slowly. All light would be deflected round the envelope so that it would remain invisible and impenetrable. Escape from the envelope would be utterly impossible unless it were locked from the outside.
When the rest of the Universe came to its final end, when the whole of creation reached its dying fall (this was all, of course, in the days before it was known that the end of the Universe would be a spectacular catering venture) and life and matter ceased to exist, then the planet of Krikkit and its sun would emerge from its Slo-Time envelope and continue a solitary existence, such as it craved, in the twilight of the Universal void.
The Lock would be on an asteroid which would slowly orbit the envelope.
The key would be the symbol of the Galaxy the Wikkit Gate.
By the time the applause in the court had died down, Judiciary Pag was already in the Sens-O-Shower with a rather nice member of the jury that he’d slipped a note to half an hour earlier.