The Eel

In Short

Miriam Allen DeFord’s science fiction short story follows a notorious, elusive thief who specializes in multi-million-credit interplanetary thefts and signs his crimes with an insulting drawing of an eel. After twenty-six years of evasion, galactic computers track him down to Earth. When a fierce dispute breaks out among victimized planets over who gets to punish him, primitive little Agsk wins custody. The story has endured as a witty, satirical look at systemic red tape, legal loopholes, and the ultimate triumph of individual cunning over rigid institutional power.

The Story

The story begins with the widespread pursuit of The Eel, a terrestrial criminal who has plagued eight planets across three solar systems with unprecedented thefts. Working entirely alone and leaving no physical clues, he signs every successful job with a mocking picture of an eel. Following a massive computer investigation of every fortune on Earth, the Galactic Police finally capture him, leaving him completely dumfounded. This arrest immediately triggers an intense power struggle before a special meeting of the Galactic Council, as various planets argue over their right to punish him. Xystil cites the scale of its theft, Artha claims the first recorded crime, Medoris demands him for an immediate and horrible death, and several other worlds press their own claims based on jurisdiction, assistance, or need.

In utter despair, the Council awards him to Agsk, a primitive probationary member planet seeking to prove itself. The Agskians place The Eel in a stone pit and prepare an enormous, multi-species trial that threatens to bankrupt their economy. Agskian law dictates that grand larceny is punished not by death or imprisonment, but by torturing and killing the person the criminal loves most. The trial grinds to a halt because exhaustive probes reveal that The Eel has never loved anyone, leaving the Agskians unable to execute him before passing him along to the deadly Medorans.

As months pass and public sympathy for The Eel grows, the desperate priestess-judge consults her chief god in a trance. She emerges to declare that his chains must be removed and he must be executed immediately because the only being he loves is himself. When The Eel vehemently denies loving himself to avoid execution, the priestess rules that he falls outside their laws and must be sent to Medoris. Terrified of the Medoran death penalty, The Eel panics and reverses himself, claiming he has just experienced true love at first sight. When asked if he will name the object of his adoration, he boldly declares his love for the priestess-judge herself, legally obligating the court to execute her instead of him if they wish to punish him. The narrative concludes with The Eel remaining comfortably in his pit while the Galactic Federation and Agsk struggle endlessly for a legal way out of the trap.

How It Unfolds

• The net tightens: After twenty-six years of grand thefts across the Galaxy, computers successfully track down the terrestrial master criminal known as The Eel through an audit of Earth fortunes.
• The council wrestles: Unable to agree on which victimized planet deserves custody of the famous thief, the Galactic Council desperately awards him to the primitive planet Agsk.
• The grand assembly: Agsk evacuates its capital and hosts a massive, multi-species media circus inside a stone amphitheater to conduct the historic trial.
• The missing vulnerability: The court discovers that Agskian law requires killing the criminal's most beloved person, but months of probing prove The Eel cares for no one.
• The divine loophole: After consulting her god in a trance, the priestess-judge declares that since he loves only himself, he must be slain.
• The final deflection: Facing certain death, The Eel saves himself at the last possible second by legally declaring his sudden love for the priestess-judge.

The People

The central figures drive the narrative's central legal and philosophical impasse through their conflicting roles. The Eel is a bald, paunchy, and unassuming fifty-year-old terrestrial who wants nothing more than to evade the brutal punishments of the galaxy. What stands in his way are the combined technological resources of the Galactic Federation and the unyielding penal codes of various worlds, yet his absolute detachment and quick-witted manipulation allow him to outmaneuver every authority figure.

The priestess-judge of Agsk rules her planet alongside her high priestly duties and wants to successfully execute a high-profile trial to secure her world's full standing in the Federation. Standing in her way is the total absence of anyone whom The Eel loves, threatening to bankrupt her planet and mock her legal system. She ends up personally checkmated by The Eel's courtroom maneuver, trapped by her own sacred laws.

The planetary representatives and the Council members want to claim jurisdiction and satisfy their thirst for retribution. Standing in their way are bureaucratic deadlock, public ridicule, and the stubborn resilience of a criminal who refuses to fit neatly into any single planetary statute.

In Its Own Voice

He was intimately and unfavorably known everywhere in the Galaxy, but with special virulence on eight planets in three different solar systems.

This line establishes the legendary, multi-planetary scale of the protagonist's criminal career right at the opening of the story.

They reasoned that death, because it comes inevitably to all, is the least of misfortunes.

This sentence explains the philosophical foundation of the Agskian legal system, which prioritizes psychological suffering and lasting grief over execution.

"Great lady, it is you!"

The Eel delivers this final, audacious declaration in court to save his own life by turning the legal code back against his judge.

What It's Really About

The story explores the tension between rigid legal systems and the fluid, unpredictable nature of human individualism. It questions the wisdom of retributive justice, particularly when different societies hold entirely incompatible definitions of crime and punishment. DeFord satirizes bureaucratic procrastination and the absurdity of interplanetary politics through a council that would rather let a criminal go free than compromise its own prestige. Beneath the light tone lies a deeper inquiry into what makes a person truly human, contrasting a society built on absolute honesty and family bonds with a rootless criminal who has successfully severed every emotional tie—until he weaponizes emotion itself for survival.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy clever courtroom drama, satirical science fiction, and classic cat-and-mouse dynamics will find much to love here. It feels like a witty intellectual puzzle, moving at a brisk, conversational pace that treats its absurd premise with total seriousness. While contemporary readers might notice the mid-century pulp style and a complete absence of modern technological details—such as computers functioning through massive mechanical data entry rather than digital networks—these period touches only add to its vintage charm. The story rewards attention with sharp comedic timing and an unforgettable ending that questions who is truly on trial. What stays with you is the image of the ultimate trickster sitting comfortably in his stone pit, having successfully paralyzed an entire galaxy through a single, perfectly timed compliment.