Code Duello up-4

by Mack Reynolds

  He bore their scrutiny.

  Helen said finally, “What makes you great, Mr. the Great Marconi?”

  “Yeah,” Jerry said ungraciously. “You an unemployed magician, or something?” Then, without waiting for an answer, “What’re they doing with live waiters on Firenze? I thought the only place you ever saw waiters anymore were in the historical Tri-Di shows, or backward planets such as Goshen, where they’ve got a feudalistic socioeconomic system.”

  “You seem to be somewhat critical of our institutions, Signore Rhodes. You’re fortunate someone hasn’t called you out, as a result. Florentines are touchy in matters of honor.”

  “Jerry’s lucky,” Helen said flatly. “Anybody who called him out would probably wind up with laryngitis.”

  The Great Marconi blinked at her. “What?” he said. It hadn’t been exactly the sort of crack that usually comes from a child.

  Helen brought the eight-year-old back into play. “Why’re you so great?” she said. “My daddy’s bigger’n you.”

  The waiter brought their order. Helen looked in disgust at the ice cream. “A lot of guano for the condors,” she muttered.

  The Florentine blinked again. “What did you say?”

  Jerry covered quickly. “You and Gertrude eat your ice cream, Helen. I’ll hear you recite your lessons later.”

  He took a swallow of his drink, put the glass down and stared into it accusingly. He looked at the Great Marconi. “You people drink this for a pick-me-up? Where I come from, we’d call it a lay-me-down-flat.”

  The other sipped his own in satisfaction. “Ah. Wonderful,” he sighed. Then to Jerry, “Thank you.”

  “Thank you? For what?” Jerry said. He pushed the glass to one side in rejection.

  “For the drink.” The Great Marconi beamed at him.

  “A free loader,” Helen muttered, reaching surreptitiously for Jerry’s glass.

  Jerry Rhodes looked at the Great Marconi. “You know,” he said. “Something has just occurred to me. We set down only yesterday, and I haven’t gotten around to acquiring a Firenze crediter. Will my Interplanetary do?”

  “What’s a crediter?” the Great Marconi said, taking another pull at his Grappa Sour.

  “A crediter, a crediter,” Jerry said. “A credit card, an exchange card, a debenture I.D. What do you call them on this planet?”

  The other was looking at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jerry said impatiently, “What do I pay for this drink with?”

  “With money,” the Florentine said.

  “You mean actual money?”

  “It’d better not be counterfeit.”

  Jerry said, “Heyl” and grabbed his drink back from Helen. “You’re too young for that kind of stuff.”

  “Oooo,” Helen said. “That’s strong.” The glass was almost empty.

  The Great Marconi stared at her, took in the glass. “You’d better get her back to your hotel. Grappa Sours are sold only one to the customer. They’re potent.”

  Jerry began to growl, “You don’t know this…” but then cut it short, to cover. He cleared his throat glared at Helen and said, “I suppose you’re right. Since I don’t have any of the local exchange, can you pay for this?”

  “No.”

  Jerry looked at him.

  The other said, “I thought it was on you.”

  “You’re great, all right,” Helen muttered.

  He smiled winningly at her. “The greatest, Signorina.”

  Jerry looked around for the waiter, gave up. He snarled, “Listen, you bum, you never did answer my question. Why do you call yourself the Great Marconi?”

  The Great Marconi’s face lost its amiability. “Because I am the greatest tutor on all Firenze, Signore. Now as to your designation…”

  Helen said, “Tooter what?”

  The Florentine looked at her. “Little Signorina, I have taken a great attraction to you, in spite of the oafishness of your companion with whom I shall deal in a moment. Any child who can put down a Grappa Sour in a split second…” He cleared his throat. “But to answer your question. I tutor gentlemen who have been called out.”

  His eyes went back to Jerry Rhodes. “I am, without doubt, the greatest fencer, the best shot, on all Firenze.”

  Jerry snorted disbelief. “Then why’re you on your uppers, Citizen Great Marconi? If you were such a stute of a duelist, you’d be on top of the heap. Here, you can’t even pay for a couple of drinks.”

  “And a ice cream,” Helen added for a clincher.

  The Great Marconi twisted his expressive face into a moue. “They are afraid to come to me,” he admitted. “They should form lines at the door of my studio, but they are afraid.”

  Jerry and Helen looked at him.

  He grunted disgust. “Because I am an Engelist,” he said.

  “What!” Jerry blurted.

  “You wouldn’t understand. Local politics.”

  Jerry Rhodes’ usually all but vacuous expression took on a suddenly alert quality. “An Engelist!” he blurted.

  Helen grabbed up her doll. “Easy, easy,” she crooned. “Take it easy, darling Gertrude.”

  The Great Marconi said, “You wouldn’t understand. As an Engelist, I am a minority element. Very highly discriminated against.”

  “Of course. Yes, I’m sure,” Jerry said, ignoring Helen, who was now kicking him under the table. “Look, I’d like to find out more…”

  “I feel sick,” Helen announced. “I wanna go to my daddy.”

  “Shut up,” Jerry said. Then, back to the Florentine: “Listen, ever since we set down on this planet, we’ve been hearing about the Engelists, but you’re the first one we’ve met. I’d like a chance, along with some friends, to find out more about your, uh, program and all. How you expect to overthrow the government, and all.”

  “Oh, you would?”

  Helen closed her eyes in mute anguish.

  “Yes,” Jerry said definitely. “I’d like to know all about ft. So would my friends. You’d be surprised.” He began looking for the waiter again, snapping his fingers.

  “That’s interesting,” the Great Marconi said, his face expressionless now.

  It occurred to Helen that this particular face was more at ease, expressionless, than it was carrying the air of joviality it had up until this point. Inwardly, she groaned. “I wanna go back to my daddy,? she bleated.

  “Shush,” Jerry told her. “As soon as I take care of the bill, we’ll all go back to the hotel.”

  She closed her eyes again. “Oh, great. Sucker every-l body else in, too.”

  “What?” the Great Marconi said.

  “I said, I wanna go back to my daddy.”

  The waiter appeared.

  Jerry said, “Look, I feel lucky. Tell you what I’ll do. We’ll flip this coin.” He brought his French franc from a pocket. “If I can call it, I don’t pay. If I can’t, I’ll pay you five times the tab.”

  “Five times?” the waiter said.

  “Right.”

  The waiter said, “It’s a deal if you’ll let me flip the coin.”

  “All right. It doesn’t make any difference.”

  The Great Marconi was eyeing Jerry. “What if you lose?”

  Jerry ignored him, handed the coin to the waiter.

  “You’ll pay five times the bill?” the waiter said.

  “Right,” Jerry said impatiently. “Flip it. I want to get going.”

  The waiter flipped the coin high. While it was still in the air, he called, “Tails!”

  The coin hit the table.

  Jerry got up without bothering to look, and said to Helen and his newly acquired Engelist friend, “Come on.”

  The waiter said, “Just a minute. You owe me six and a half silver lire.”

  “What?” Jerry said.

  The waiter pointed.

  Jerry Rhodes bug-eyed the coin. He looked up at the waiter blankly. Finally, he got out, “But… but I haven’t any… any
money.”

  “No money!” The other was enraged. “Why, you I damned Engelist! Trying to get something for nothing! I took my chance, eh? But you’re unable to pay, now you have lost.” He spun and yelled, “Gino, Gino!

  Come here, please. I wish this… this Signore to be arrested and hauled into the Court of the People! He refuses to pay his bill!”

  Jerry Rhodes looked about desperately.

  The Great Marconi had disappeared.

  Chapter Seven

  Dorn Horsten peered through the bars. “Where is Helen?” he demanded.

  “How would I know?” Jerry growled.

  Maggiore Roberto Verona, suave as ever, said smoothly, ” I am sure the little ragazza is safe. This is all most distressing. What in the world happened, my dear Signore Rhodes?”

  Jerry said in exasperation, “Nobody’d listen to me. I forgot to make arrangements for exchange. I didn’t know my Interplanetary Crediter wouldn’t be legal tender on this half-baked, backward planet.”

  The maggiore’s voice was suddenly chill. “I am sure you are distressed, Signore Rhodes, and shall ignore your derogatory comments.” He flicked his hand at a jailer who came forward and opened the cell door.

  Dr. Horsten was staring at the accommodations Jerry was departing. “A cell,” he exclaimed. “Wonderful. Imagine, in this day and age. A jail. Guards and everything. I can’t wait to tell my colleagues on, say, Avalon, or Earth, or… well, just about any place.”

  He turned to Maggiore Verona and beamed. “And my daughter. You have her in, uh, durance vile, as well? Oh, wonderful! What an experience.” He looked at his disgusted younger colleague. “Jerry, how unfortunate you aren’t a journalist, eh? What a story for Interplanetary Press. Ah, tell me again. Just what was this, uh, romp, as the gangsters call it on the Tri-Di shows?”

  The Florentine official was taken aback. “But, really, Doctor, this is all a terrible misunderstanding. Your daughter…”

  “Oh, I am sure Helen can take care of herself.” Horsten said in growing enthusiasm. “I dote on the historical fiction gangster shows. My only relaxation. I can just see it all. Jerry, here, dashing up in a low-slung, black hovercar. Mufflegun in both hands. Ah, where did it happen, Jerry, my boy?”

  “At a sidewalk cafe,” Jerry growled in disgust. “How do we get out of this hole?”

  “This way,” the maggiore said hastily, trying to stem the universally renowned scientist’s tirade.

  “Up to the, uh, what do they call them? Pay booth, cash register… ?”

  The Florentine groaned softly under his breath. “… threatening all with his weapon. Dash it, I wish I had been there. Romantic, eh? Jerry, just what was it you did?”

  Jerry said sourly, “Couldn’t pay my bill. Six and a half silver lire, or whatever. If this ever gets back to Mother, she’ll probably buy this town, just to plow it under.”

  Maggiore Verona looked at him from the side of his eyes, a certain respect there. “Ah, Signori, if you’ll just come this way.”

  He led them down a sterile corridor, the doctor still excitedly proclaiming the romanticism of it all, Jerry scowling darkly. They emerged into a well furnished office in which there were half a dozen Florentines, including two women, obviously matrons by their attire. Helen was seated on a desk, Gertrude under one arm, holding forth with a highly superior air and a treble voice on the shortcomings of the planet Firenze. Her audience, all in uniform, all on the brawny side—even the feminine contingent—were obviously fascinated. On spotting her supposed father and his companions,

  Helen wound it up. “An” when me and Gertrude grow up, if we’re still on this dump planet, we’re gonna become Engelists.”

  “What!” the anti-subversion maggiore blurted.

  “Me and Gertrude both,” Helen said definitely. She looked at her father and switched gears. “I don’t like being here,” she wailed. “I wanna go home!”

  Horsten said hurriedly, “Now, Helen, everything will be all right. We’ll return immediately to the hotel.”

  “I don’t wanna go back to that dump hotel. I wanna go home!”

  Maggiore Verona was looking bleakly at the Florentines. “What’s been going on here?”

  One official, who had come suddenly to his feet when the maggiore had entered the room, stuttered an answer. The child had been taken care of with silken gloves. Ice cream had been brought, chocolate for the little girl, strawberry for her doll, who, Helen had claimed, would eat nothing else.

  “Very well, very well,” Verona finally cut off the tirade. He turned to Horsten and Jerry Rhodes. “My vehicle is waiting. I shall be happy to return you to the hotel, Signori.” He looked at Helen, suppressing distaste. “And you too, of course, Signorina.”

  Helen snorted and tucked Gertrude more firmly under her arm.

  On the way back to the Albergo Palazzo, the maggiore murmured gently, “Where in the name of the Holy Ultimate would the little ragazza have ever heard of the Engelists? Ah, what sort of conversations do you hold before her?”

  “Huh!” Jerry grunted.

  “Signore Rhodes?”

  Jerry said, “It’s the only thing anybody ever talks about on Firenze. Everybody talks about the Engelists, but nobody ever says anything about them. What they stand for, who they are, what they want. I came here to Firenze with the idea of investing some variable capital. But the planet’s in a confusion worse than Catalina. I think I’ll go back and…”

  The maggiore said smoothly, “My dear Signore Rhodes, we have checked your credentials, and have also made preliminary investigation of the situation that prevails on your home planet. Tell me, are there others who feel the same way as you do in regard to the, uh, desirability of transferring their investments elsewhere?”

  Jerry bent an arrogant glare on him. “I am not sure that is your business, Citizen Verona.”

  The assistant to the Third Signore contemplated his fingertips. “Only indirectly, Signore. I will be happy to refer you to members of the First Signore’s administration who are in a better position to advise you on Firenze investment opportunities. I might say, however, that they are all but unlimited.”

  “In spite of the Engelists?”

  “Perhaps because of them,” the other said smoothly. “But here we are at the hotel.”

  They remained silent until they had regained the penthouse suite usually reserved for the First Signore, now retained by Jerry Rhodes and his guests.

  Jerry, projecting a continuation of his indignation over spending an hour or two behind bars, strode immediately toward the bar. He said ungraciously over his shoulder, “Anybody else like a drink?”

  Dorn Horsten said, ‘“f you and the maggiore are involved in personal affairs, perhaps I should adjourn.”

  “No, stay where you are,” Jerry said. “Maybe you’ll find out something about this off-beat world, too.”

  The massive scientist shrugged and settled down in a chair. “Frankly, I am a bit nonplussed,” he admitted.

  “I had been thinking in terms of recommending that an interplanetary research center be established here on Firenze devoted to the thallophytes.”

  The major looked at him. “And…”

  “Well, one of my local colleagues from the university seemed to differ with my opinions. I answered his objections, but evidently he took umbrage at my vocal inflection.”

  They were all looking at him.

  The algae specialist cleared his throat. “Briefly, he challenged me.”

  “Challenged you!” Jerry blurted. “Now you?”

  “Well, he was a somewhat, shall we say feisty, little fellow. Ah, say, five and a half feet tall or so. He somewhat shrilly called upon me to choose weapons, and when I mentioned the Macedonian sarissa…”

  “Sarissa?” the maggiore said blankly.

  Horsten turned to him and beamed. “The Macedonian phalanx was based on a pike, called the sarissa, which was some twenty feet in length. A conception attributed to Philip. It proved effective.”r />
  “Twenty feet?” the major said, still blankly. “And he is five and a half feet tall? A university professor? Could he even pick up such a weapon?”

  The doctor’s eyes were wide. “I wouldn’t think so,” he said.

  “But…”

  The doctor spread his hands. “Academician Udine began laughing. Professor Porsena began laughing. Dr. Luna was fractured, I believe is the old idiom. Shortly, we were all, uh, in stitches. It eventually came out very nicely.”

  The maggiore shook his head as though in utter disbelief and turned back to Jerry. “What did you mean, now you ?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said, when Dr. Horsten mentioned being challenged, Now you .”

  “Oh. Zorro Juarez, that cowboy from Vaca… Whatever the name of the place is. He’s scheduled to meet the chief customs inspector, Grossi, tomorrow morning at the Parco Duello, wherever that is. The doctor and I are his seconds.”

  The maggiore said, “No, he’s not.”

  “Yes, he is,” Jerry said. “We arranged it, the doctor and I.”

  The maggiore said, “The Code Duello, on the planet Firenze, applies to signori only. Criminal elements are not eligible to meet on the field of honor. That, of course, includes all subversives such as Engelists.”

  Helen, who had been following all, wide-eyed, as though understanding only about half of what the adults were saying, said shrilly, “What’s that got to do with my Uncle Zorro? Me and Gertrude’s gonna marry Uncle Zorro.”

  They ignored her, but nevertheless, the question was answered.

  The maggiore said, “Zorro Juarez has been arrested as a suspected Engelist. As such, he is not eligible to the honor of being called out under the Code Duello.

  “You mean he’s not allowed to duel tomorrow morning?” Jerry demanded.

  “That is correct.”

  “But what did my Uncle Zorro do?” Helen wailed.