Fredric Brown - Sentence

Charley Dalton, spaceman once of Earth, had within an hour of his landing on the second planet of the star Antares committed a most serious offense. He had killed an Antarian.

On most planets murder is a misdemeanor; on some it is a praiseworthy act. But on Antares II it is a capital crime.

"I sentence you to death," said the solemn Antarian judge. "Death by blaster fire at dawn tomorrow." No appeal from the sentence was allowed.

Charley was led to the Suite of the Condemned.

The suite turned out to have eighteen palatial rooms, each stocked and well stocked with a wide variety of food and drink, couches and everything else he could possibly wish for, including a beautiful woman on each of the couches. "I'll be damned," said Charley.

The Antarian guard bowed low. He said, "It is the custom of our planet. On the last night of a man condemned to die at dawn these arrangements are made. He is given everything he can possibly wish for."

"Almost worth it," Charley said. "Say, I'd just landed when I got into that scrap and I didn't cheek my planet guide. How long is a night here? How many hours does it take this planet to revolve?"

"Hours?" said the guard. "That must be an Earth term. I will phone the Astronomer Royal for a time comparison between your planet and ours."

He phoned, asked the question, listened. He told Charley Dalton, "Your planet Earth makes ninety-three revolutions around your sun Sol during one period of darkness on Antares II. One of our nights is equal to ninety-three of your years."

Charley whistled softly to himself and wondered if he'd make it. The Antarian guard, whose life span was a bit over twenty thousand years, bowed with grave sympathy and withdrew.

Charley Dalton started the long night's grind of eating, drinking, et cetera, although not in precisely that order; the women were very beautiful and he'd been in space a long time.

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