Code Duello up-4

by Mack Reynolds

  “Eh?” Antonio d’Arrezzo was still staring at the plastic ball, nestled in slot eighteen. “Oh. No limit.

  Why… yes, of course.” He had been in the process of shoving two stacks of chips, eighteen to the stack, in Jerry’s direction, with his croupier stick.

  Jerry pushed them all over onto number eighteen.

  Cesare Marconi shot Horsten an incredulous look. “You mean he’s going to wager thirty-seven hundred thousand interplanetary credits on one spin of the wheel? One chance in thirty-eight of it coming up?”

  Horsten shook his massive head. “I told you he was lucky.”

  “Nobody’s that lucky.”

  The First Signore plucked the ball from the eighteen slot and looked at it He hefted it. He seemed to shrug infinitesimally, then spun the wheel again. He tossed the ball as he had before.

  Jerry said, “A bet of thirty-seven hundred thousand credits at odds of thirty-six to one. Why, I’d have to figure it out Mother’ll be pleased. Mounts to a sizable chunk of that ’ranium industry. We’ll go to work on transportation, next.” He looked at the Tenth Signore. “Didn’t you say that was one of the nationalized industries?”

  “Yes.”

  Cesare Marconi glowered a look of disgust at the young man, turned and went back to refresh his glass. But he had returned by the time the ball was bouncing from slot to slot.

  “Eighteen!” Jerry chortled. He looked at Dorn Horsten, as though soliciting approval. “Now isn’t that luck?” He turned his shining face to the Florentine Minister of Treasury. “How much of the ’ranium industry do I have now?”

  “You own it,” the Tenth Signore moaned.

  “Now look here…” Horsten began, and was completely ignored.

  Jerry said, in a burst of enthusiasm, “Let ’er ride again!”

  The First Signore shook his head. “But… but if you won again, I wouldn’t have the chips to… to pay off.”

  Jerry upended his drink, tossed the empty glass over his shoulder. “Chips, snips,” he slurred. “All or nothin’. One more rolla the wheel. If it comes up eighteen, you lose. Everything. I own all the nationalized industry on Firenze.”

  For long moments, silence reigned. The First Signore was breathing deeply. So deeply that he sounded as though he had but finished the climbing of a considerable peak.

  “Your Zelenzar The Tenth Signore groaned.

  “Quiet!” d’Arrezzo ground out. He turned to his opponent and whispered, “You’re on.”

  He picked up the plastic ball, stared at it for a long moment, hefted it slightly. He shook his head, and spun the wheel.

  There was commotion at the entry. The door banged open.

  The First Signore looked up to glare.

  Zorro, in the hands of two of the brawniest of the Florentine guards, was being dragged along, in the trail of a gaudily uniformed officer of what the Section G representatives now recognized as the Ministry of Anti-Subversion. The officer held something in his right hand, and there was an air of triumph in his every move.

  “What is the meaning of this!” d’Arrezzo barked.

  “Your Zelenza!” the newcomer returned, completely uncowed. “They’re subversive spies! All spies. We captured this one sending a report to his superiors back on Earth. We were able to tape most of it.” He held up that which he had been carrying in his hand.

  “Hey!” Helen bleated from across the room where she had retreated with her doll. “That’s my Gerturde’s Tri-Di Dolly Set. You give me that back!”

  It was a good try, but without any response whatsoever.

  “Report?” the First Signore snapped. His glare encompassed the otherworldlings.

  “Yes, Your Zelenza. Most of it is unintelligible. Something about Dawnworld planets. However, we have enough to prove that these”—with a sweeping hand he indicated Jerry, the disgruntled Zorro and Dorn Horsten—“are all operatives of Section G, evidently some espionage agency of the Octagon.”

  “I see,” the First Signore said.

  Helen had come up to take her stance next to Horsten, at the roulette table, her doll under her arm.

  Gertrude began to go Beep, beep, beep .

  Chapter Twelve

  The sound was audible enough for all to hear. The Florentines were not the only ones to scowl.

  Of a sudden, Dorn Horsten moved. He took two lumbering steps, grasped hold of the gigantic roulette wheel, and heaved. It came up in his huge hands, and he rested it on one side on the floor. As all watched, taken aback, he pulled away the metal sheathing which covered the bottom. Beneath was a bed of wires and miniature power packs.

  “Ah ha,” the doctor snorted.

  Cesare Marconi whinnied amusement “Why Cousin Antonio, a rigged wheel? No wonder you were surprised when you didn’t win, and no wonder you won so often before at your parties to raise campaign funds.”

  But the First Signore, in his rage, was having none. He whirled on Jerry Rhodes, now completely sober.

  “An agent of Section G, I have heard rumors of this Section G and its subverting of member worlds of the United Planets. All a farce! You have no unlimited wealth on Geneva. You would have cheated me!”

  “Hal” Helen snorted. “Look who’s talking.”

  The open palm of Antonio d’Arrezzo lashed out across the face of the younger man. Jerry Rhodes, off guard, staggered back.

  “We will meet on the field of honor!” the First Signore snapped. “Name your weapon!” He turned his glare on the scientist and then went on to Zorro Juarez. “And when I have finished with this make-believe interplanetary tycoon, then you, and you!”

  The Firenze chief of state turned his glare on Cesare Marconi. “And then, perhaps you. I am not amused by you befriending these enemies of the State, nor, for that matter your professed adherence to the Engelists.” He turned back to Jerry, still fuming. “Your choice of weapons, Signore.” The term “signore” came out a sneer.

  Jerry blinked at him, still not quite accommodated to the last few moments of developments.

  “Uh, Sten guns,” he said. “Sten guns at five paces.”

  Antonio d’Arrezzo whirled to his guard officer. “He has chosen. Make immediate arrangements!” Stiff-legged, he strode for the entry and the doorway, the Tenth Signore bustling along behind him.

  The suite had emptied save for the Section G operatives and Cesare Marconi. The latter was eyeing Jerry Rhodes laconically. He turned to the bar, began making himself another drink with his cousin’s precious Betelgeuse Chartreuse. “What,” he said, “is a Sten gun?”

  Jerry, rubbing his face where he had been slapped, in the classical challenge to duel, laughed in self-deprecation. “That’ll stop him,” he said.

  Zorro, Helen and Horsten all looked at him, even as they gathered themselves.

  He said, in rueful explanation, “I took a page from the Doc’s book, when that university scientist challenged him. I named an impossible weapon.”

  Marconi bent an eye on him, even as he poured. “Impossible?”

  Jerry allowed himself a chuckle. “A Sten gun. I saw one in a Tri-Di historical show once. Second or Third World War, back on Earth. Anyway, they used to drop them to the partisans behind the lines. Very simply constructed submachine gun.”

  The Florentine said, in interest, “What’s impossible about it?”

  Jerry scowled. “Why, it’s almost as ancient as Dom’s Macedonian pike. There are no such things any more.”

  Cesare Marconi looked at him. “I have unfortunate news for you. Way-out weapons are quite a fad on the Firenze field of honor. There is an amazingly complete library on them in the archives of the College of the Code Duello.”

  Zorro said, speaking for the first time since he had been hauled so unceremoniously into the room. “You mean they’d make up a couple, to order, just for this one duel?”

  “Yes. In practically no time at all.”

  Jerry flinched. “But… but the ammunition, and so forth.”

  “They’ll make that
too. Do you know what a Sten gun fires?”

  “I… I think they fire bullets. A clip of twenty or so.”

  “At five paces?” the Florentine said. “Holy Ultimate, you’ll both be hamburger. No, only you. I have no great respect for my highly placed cousin, but he has perhaps the fastest reflexes on the planet Firenze. It is no mistake he is the First Signore.”

  Helen said, “Look. While you’re over there, make me one of those king-size drinks too, will you?”

  They used the heavy table, which a few moments past had been utilized for the roulette layout, for their conference. The wheel lay to one side, where Dorn Horsten had let it drop upon revealing its crooked nature. Zorro had swept the felt layout board to the floor as well, and all had brought up seats, save Helen who remained in the comfort chair she had made her own.

  Cesare Marconi, somehow, had automatically become a member of the group. He said to Dorn Horsten, “What’s this Section G? My friend, Bulchand, just before he was killed in a put-up duel, revealed he belonged to it, and that undoubtedly new representatives would be coming to replace him from Earth, if he was killed. It’s why I contacted you. You seemed unlikely, but you were the only travelers from Earth in some time.”

  The scientist looked at him quizzically. Finally, he said, “All I can tell you is that its purpose, so far as Firenze is concerned, is to get this planet back on the road to progress.”

  “That sounds good enough to me.”

  Helen said, “I’m beginning to think I know the answer to this already, but just for the record, if you’re in favor of progress on Firenze, what’re you doing in the ranks of the Engelists?”

  Marconi eyed her in speculation. “I’m beginning to think I know the answer to this question already too, but you’re an adult, aren’t you?”

  Helen snorted and looked at Zorro and Jerry. “Evidently more so than my two colleagues, here.” She looked Marconi full in the face. “What’re you doing in the ranks of the Engelists?”

  “Ranks of the Engelist? I am the Engelists.”

  Dom Horsten was scowling at him. “What in the name of the Holy Ultimate is that supposed to mean?”

  Helen looked at her large partner. “Isn’t is obvious? What he’s saying is, there are no Engelists on this crackpot planet. There are none, never were any.” A speculative look came to her face. “I was about to add, and never will be.”

  “Nothing’s making sense around here!” Zorro complained. “What do you mean, there are no Engelists? We were sent here, all the way from Earth to…”

  Helen overrode him. “Get stute, love. It’s all phony. The powers that be on this zany world maintain themselves with a police state camouflaged as a democratic regime that has to curtail all liberties, civil and otherwise, in the supposed fight against subversion. It’s not the first time witch hunting has been resorted to, when there were precious few witches, in order to maintain the status quo. This is just the most complete example known in history.”

  Jerry said, “You mean everybody on Firenze spends practically all their time looking for subversives that aren’t there? How about that leaflet Maggiore Verona showed us?”

  Horsten grunted. “Obviously, the government itself printed them up. Which explains how stupidly it was worded. No, Helen’s right. It’s a sort of reverse of the old Roman adage. When confronted with possible revolt from your people at home, stir up trouble abroad. In this case, the powers that be pretend the need to unite the country against subversives when their real interest is to preserve themselves in control. Only those on the very highest levels are in on the secret. Not even that colonel in the Anti-Subversion Ministry, whom Helen and I interrogated, knew the real situation.”

  Zorro growled, “What gets me is that when you arrive at the top, the First Signore—not to mention that silly little member of his council, the Tenth Signore—you draw a small-time crook, and not a particularly smart one, at that.”

  Dorn Horsten said, “That’s one of the mistakes the man in the street has made down through the ages. He simply can’t realize that those in ultimate power are not, necessarily, competent to exercise power. And that applies to the most highly evolved societies as well as the backward.” He snorted. “Take the first caesars, following the founders of the Empire, Julius and Augustus. From Tiberius, through Caligula and Claudius to Nero. Sex deviates, sadistic monsters, playboys, mass murderers. Caligula was actually quite mad. The end of the Julain line? Nero, who fiddled around until the Empire burned and they were heading to lynch him when he committed suicide.

  “It’s not the only example. History teems with them. But can you imagine some sincere Centurion, stationed at an important outpost on the Parthian frontier, being told that the God-Emperor, back in Rome, had made one of his racehorses a Consul, and made prostitutes of his two sisters? He simply wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, believed it. You don’t have to go that far back. Would a good British subject of the early Nineteenth Century have believed you, had you told him his monarchy was. crazy? Did the American people of the Twentieth Century have an idea, really, of the true competence of some of their elected presidents?”

  Jerry said, “But this isn’t just a matter of an incompetent getting to power. Sure, that’s happened before, (specially when rulers inherited their jobs, but even when they could get elected to them because they happened to have a photogenic face for TV, or oozed sincerity, politician style. But this whole government, the whole planet, is a farce.”

  Helen sighed. “It’s not the first time there, either. Remember some of the supposed sovereign states, back before man reached into space. What was the one on the French Riviera? Monaco. A bit over three hundred acres. Half the size of Central Park, in the New York City of the time. But it had a supposed prince, princess and all the rest of the feudalistic foofaraw. Even that wasn’t the most ludicrous. Did you ever hear of the Sovereign Order of the Knights of Malta, which was contemporary with Monaco, the United States and the rest? It was a sovereign country with its own citizens, ambassadors, air force, license plates and so forth and it occupied the second floor of a villa in Rome, as its sole territory.”

  She changed the subject. “All right. Fine. Ross Metaxa, back in the Octagon, was sold a bill of goods, along with everyone else. There are no Engelists on Firenze and the present ruling class are incompetents, not patriots fighting an underground. But we’ve got more pressing problems.” She looked at Zorro. “How in hell did you get caught by those dimwits?”

  The dark complected Vacamundian was surly. “I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me that they’d have that cubicle of a room, occupied by a junior janitor, bugged. I thought the rest of you were wrong, that we ought to report on these Dawnworld developments, so I took your disguised communicator and called Sid Jakes. You know the rest.”

  “No use crying over spilled milk,” Jerry Rhodes said.

  All eyes went to him.

  Helen snarled, “I ought to spill some milk over you. What was the idea of getting into that stupid roulette game with the big shot? You knew damn well you didn’t have any real negotiable credits on Geneva.”

  Jerry was plaintive. “I couldn’t escape him. I couldn’t have got out of it without blowing our cover. He was hot to get his hands on hard exchange in a numbered account on Geneva, and he wasn’t going to take no.”

  Helen looked at Cesare Marconi, who had been absorbing it all, his face intelligently serious. “Why don’t you start talking?” she said.

  He nodded. “Obviously, my cousin was trying to get out from under while he still had his skin. He probably does not wish to go through even this next pseudo-election.”

  “Why not?” Zorro said.

  Marconi turned to him. “During the elections, the First Signore’s immunity to challenge no longer applies, at least in so far as other potential candidates within the ranks of the Machiavellian Party are concerned. Over the years, a man’s reflexes fall off. This is Antonio’s second term and he’s possibly afraid he wouldn’t live to
serve another.” He looked around at the others. “I can only be ashamed of the fantastically ridiculous institutions of my planet, that the Code Duello should play such a major part. It would seem impossible.”

  Horsten said, “It’s not as unprecedented as all that We were talking about the United States a moment ago. In its early days, two of its most prominent statesmen, both of presidential caliber, fought a duel. Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. One was killed, the other’s career was ruined by the results of the fight.”

  “At any rate,” Marconi said, “Antonio’s problems are probably solved. He’ll have his Anti-Subversion lads do up a good case against you. The fact that you’re from overspace makes it still better. This duel will be highly popular and”—he looked at Jerry glumly—“his killing you will undoubtedly result in his retaining his office. Hell be so popular that his opponents wouldn’t dream of opposing him openly.” His eyes went to Horsten and Zorro. “Then, he’ll take on you two, just to parlay his popularity to the skies.”

  Jerry cleared his throat. “Suppose I finish him, instead. I’m kind of lucky.”

  The Florentine shook his head. “Luck isn’t going to be involved. And, you being a subversive from overspace, if by the wildest chance you did win, the mob would find you and pull you down. If you’re lucky, there’ll be a quick death under Antonio’s fire, which is what will happen anyway. As I told you, his reflexes are admirable, possibly next to my own, the best on Firenze.”

  Zorro said, “If you’re so good, why aren’t you First Signore?”

  Marconi looked at him and said very slowly, “I told you I was the sole Engelist on Firenze. I am opposed to the present institutions. And that includes dueling as a method of achieving political ends.” He snorted self-deprecation. “In spite of the fact that events have made it necessary for me to take up tutoring fencing to make my living.”

  Helen popped up from her chair and strode over to the bar, the childish skip gone from her walk. She grabbed up the sole remaining bottle of Golden Chartreuse and returned with it to the table to pour herself a healthy slug. “What an aroma,” she murmured.