Ben Bova - The Dueling Machine

They associate Leoh with safety and victory. And while they are toasting him and listening to his pompous speeches, we will strike!”

Even though his presence in the room was only an image, Odal saw clearly what was in Kor’s mind: bigger prisons, more prisoners, more interrogation rooms filled with terrified, helpless people who would cringe at the mention of Kor’s name.

“Now then,” Kor said, “new duties await you, Major. Not quite so unpleasant as committing suicide. And these duties will be performed here in Kerak.”

Odal said evenly, “I would not wish to interrogate other army officers again.”

“I realize that,” Kor replied, frowning. “That phase of our investigation is finished. But there are other groups that must be examined. You would have no objection, I trust, to interrogating diplomats… members of the Foreign Ministry?”

Romis’ people? Odal thought. Kor must be insane. Romis won’t stand for having his people arrested.

“Yes, Romis,” Kor answered the major’s unspoken question. “Who else would have the pigheaded pride to lead the plotting against the Leader?”

Or the intelligence, Odal found himself thinking. Aloud he asked, “When do I return to Kerak?”

“Tomorrow morning a ship will be ready for you.”

Odal nodded. Then I have only tonight to find the Watchman and crush him.

Hector paced nervously along the narrow control booth of the tri-di studio. Technicians and managers bent over the monitors and electronic gear. Behind them, shadowed in the dimly lit booth, were a host of visitors whom Hector elbowed and jostled as he fidgeted up and down.

Beyond the booth’s window wall was the well-lit studio where Leoh sat flanked by a full dozen of Acquatainia’s leading newsmen and political philosophers.

The old man looked very tired but very pleased. The show had started by running the tape of the duel against Odal. Then the panel members began questioning Leoh about the duel, the machine itself, his career in science, his whole life.

Hector turned from the studio to peer into the crowd of onlookers in the dimly lit control booth. Geri was still there, off by the far corner, squeezed between an old politician and a slickly dressed female advertising executive. Geri was still pouting. Hector turned away before she saw him watching her.

“It seems clear,” one of the political pundits was saying out in the studio, “that Kanus can’t use the dueling machine to frighten us any more. And without fear, Kanus isn’t half the threat we thought he was.”

“I disagree,” Leoh said, shifting his bulk in the frail-looking web chair. “Kerak has made great strides in isolating Acquatainia diplomatically…”

“But we never depended on our neighbors for our own defense,” a newsman said. “Those so-called allies of ours were more of a drain on our treasury than a help to us.”

“But Kerak now has the industrial base of Szarno and outposts that flank Prime Minister Martine’s new defense line.”

“Kerak would never dare attack us, and if they did, we’d beat them just as we did the last time.”

“But an alliance with the Commonwealth…”

“We don’t need it. Kanus is a paper tiger, believe me. All bluff, all dueling machine trickery, but no real strength. He’ll probably be deposed by his own people in another year or two.”

Something made Hector shift his gaze from the semicircle of sonorous solons to the technical crews working the cameras and laser lights. Something made him squint into the pooled shadows far in the back of the studio, where a single tall, slim man stood. Hector couldn’t see his face, or what he was wearing, or the color of his hair. Only the knife-like outline of a figure that radiated danger: Odal.

Without thinking twice about it, Hector pushed past the crowd in the control booth toward the door. He stepped on toes and elbowed technicians in the backs of their heads in his haste to get out into the studio, leaving a wake of muttering, sore-rubbing people behind him. He went right past Geri, who stepped back out of his way but refused to say anything to him or even look directly into his eyes.

The door from the control booth led into a small entryway that had two more doors in it: one to the outside hallway and one to the studio. A uniformed guard stood before the studio door.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in while the show’s in progress.”

“But… I saw someone come in the back way… into the studio…”

Shrugging, the guard said, “Must be a member of the camera crew. No one else allowed in.”

Hector blinked once, then went to the hall door. The corridor outside circled the studio. At least, he thought it did. He followed it around. Sure enough, there was another door with a blinking red light atop it, labeled STUDIO C. Hector pushed the door open. Inside, in the focus of a circle of lights and cameras, a man and woman were locked in a wild embrace.

“Hey, who opened the door?”

“Cut! CUT! Get that clown out of here! Can’t even tape a simple scene without tourists wandering into the studio! Of all the…”

Hector quickly shut the door, closing off a string of invective that would have made his old drillmaster back at the Star Watch Academy grin with appreciation.

Which studio are they in?

As if in answer, farther down the hall a door opened and Odal stepped out. He was not in uniform; instead he wore a simple dark tunic and slacks. But it was unmistakably Odal. He glanced directly at Hector, a sardonic smile on his lips, then started walking the other way. Hector chased after him, but Odal disappeared around a bend in the almost featureless corridor.

A door was closing farther down the hall. Hector sprinted to it and yanked it open. The room was dark. He stepped in.

In the faint light from the hallway, Hector saw row after row of life-sized tri-di viewscreens, each flanked by a desk of control and monitoring equipment. A tape viewing room, he reasoned. Or maybe an editing room.

He walked hesitantly toward the center of the room. It was big, filled with the bulky screens and desks. Plenty of room to hide in. The door snapped shut behind him, plunging the room into total darkness.

Hector froze rock-still. Odal was in here. He could feel it. Gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He turned slowly and began retracing his steps toward the door, only to bump into a chair and send it clattering into its desk.

“You defeated me in the dueling machine,” Odal’s voice echoed calmly through the room. “Now let’s see if you can defeat me in real life. This room is soundproof. We are alone. No one will disturb us.”

“Uh… I’m unarmed,” Hector said. It was hard to trace the source of Odal’s voice. The echoes spoiled any chance of locating him in the darkness.

“I’m also unarmed. But we are both trained fighting men. You have no doubt had standard Star Watch hand-to-hand combat training.”

The painful memory of fumbling through the rough-and-tumble courses at the Star Watch Academy surged through Hector’s mind. What he remembered most vividly was laying flat on his back with his instructor screaming, “No, no, no!” at him.

Odal stepped out from behind a full-length view screen. “You seem less than eager to do battle with me. Perhaps you’re afraid that you’ll hurt me. Let me demonstrate my qualifications.”

Odal’s foot lashed into one of the desk chairs, smashing its fragile frame against the tough plastic of the view screen. The chair disintegrated. Then he swung an edge-of-the-hand chop at the top of the nearby desk: the metal dented with a loud crunk!

Hector backed away until he felt another desk pressing against his legs. He glanced behind him and saw that it was some sort of master control unit, long and filled with complicated switches’ and monitor screens. Several roller chairs lined its length.