Eijkman said, "Order!" He glared at me. "Sentencing the alien would require appeal to foul Galactic Government. Recommend deportation."
I had anticipated being dragged away to a gas chamber, or an electric chair, or some other savage torture device; but I still did not like Eijkman's decree.
Eijkman said, "Ordinance 30: Alien tourists shall not stay on Maggie longer than one week. That is, nine days or 243 hours. Must be above air by 26:47 Threeday night."
Bartok objected, "Have not passed the decision!"
Eijkman ignored him. "Since no plane will be in space then, time must be extended."
"Uh—ah, yes, must," said His Perfectness, Spencer Gaius Quesnay, the Joe Nordo Ideal, as he leaned from his box. "Er, should not force the—um—alien to leave without a plane."
Bowing to the box, Eijkman told me, "As His Perfectness explains, must wait here for the Ap-GG-12C. Will return at about 20:50 next Fourday. Shuttle blasts at 18:00."
"Foreman," Bartok again interrupted. "Should see if this alien can destroy the Hog, however long it takes."
The other Maximums began commenting. I fumbled with the head harness. The guards restrained me, but Quesnay gestured from his box and mumbled above the din, "Let, uh, the alien—ah, speak. Would like to, uh, hear him."
The guards removed the straps. I massaged my chin and croaked, "Your Perfectness." I cleared my throat noisily. "Your Perfectness, I agree that I should hunt the Hog."