Ben Bova: The Dueling Machine

Odal saw a Star Watch instructor sadly shaking his head at his/Hector’s attempts to command the bridge of a training ship.

Standing at attention, face frozen in a grim scowl, while the Leader harangued an assembly of a half-million troops and citizens on the anniversary of his ascent to power.

Running after the older boys, trying to get them to let you into the game; but they say you’re too small, too dumb, and above all too clumsy.

Holding back the tears of anger and fright while the captain slowly explained why your parents had been taken away. He was almost using baby talk. He didn’t like this task, didn’t like sending grown-ups to wherever it was that they put bad people. But Mother and Father were bad. They had said bad things about the Leader. And now he would become a soldier and help the Leader and kill all the bad people.

Playing ball in zero gee with four other cadets, floating in the huge, metal-ribbed, spheroidal gym, laughing, trying to toss the ball without flipping yourself into a weightless tumble.

Smashing the smug face of the upperclassman who called his parents traitor. His bloody, surprised face. Kneeing, clubbing, kicking him into silence. No one will mention that subject again.

Standing, shaking with exertion and fear, gun in hand, wanting to kill, wanting to please the girl who screamed for death, but looking into the face of the downed man and realizing that nothing, NOTHING, warrants taking a human life.

Clubbing the moon-faced Dulaq, smashing him down into shrieking blood as the six of you hammered him to death, telling yourself he’s an enemy, an enemy, if I don’t kill him he’ll kill me, if I don’t kill him the Leader will find someone else who will.

Half-thoughts, emotions, snatches of memory. A mother’s face, the special smell of your own room, the sound of laughter. The forgotten past, the buried past, the warmth of the fireplace at home after a day in the snow, the fragrance of Father’s pipe, the satisfied purring of the soft-furred kitten in your arms.

Leaving home saying good-by, Dad still unconvinced that you belonged in the Star Watch. Driving off with the captain, away from the house that was empty now. Fumbling, faltering through training, somehow passing, but always by the barest margin. Being the best, first in the ranks: best student, best athlete, best soldier. Always the best. Learning the real mission of the Star Watch: protect the peace. Learning how to hate, how to kill, and above all, how to revenge yourself against Acquatainia.

Meeting and merging, spiraling together, memories of a lifetime intertwining, interlinking, brain synapses flashing, chemical balances subtly changing, two lives, two histories, two personalities melting together more completely than any two minds had ever known before. Hector and Odal, Odal/Hector—in the flash of that instant when they met in the dueling machine they became briefly one and the same.

And when one of the Kerak meditechs noted the power surging through the machine and turned it off, each of the two young men became an individual again. But a different individual than before. Neither of them could be the same as before. They were linked, irrevocably.

“What is it?” Kor snapped. “What caused the machine to use power like that?”

The meditech shrugged inside his white lab coat. “The Watchman is in there alone. I don’t understand…”

Furious, Kor bustled toward Hector’s booth. “If he’s recovered and escaped, I’ll…”

Both doors opened simultaneously. From one booth stepped Hector, clear-eyed, straight-backed, tall and lean and blond. His face was curiously calm, almost smiling. He glanced across to the other booth.

Odal stood there. Just as tall and lean and blond as Hector, with almost exactly the same expression on his face: a knowing expression, a satisfaction that nothing would ever be able to damage.

“You!” Kor shouted. “You’ve returned.”

For half an instant they all stood there frozen: Hector and Odal at opposite ends of the dueling machine, Kor stopped in mid-stride about halfway between them, four meditechs at the control panels, a pair of armed guards slightly behind Kor. Kerak’s wan bluish sun was throwing a cold early-morning light through the stone-ribbed chamber’s only window.

“You are under arrest,” Kor said to Odal. “And as for you, Watchman, we’re not finished with you.”

“Yes you are,” Hector said evenly as he walked slowly and deliberately toward the Intelligence Minister.

Kor frowned. Then he saw Odal advancing toward him too. He took a step backward, then turned to the two guards. “Stop them…”

Too late. Like a perfectly synchronized machine, Odal and Hector launched themselves at the guards and knocked them both unconscious before Kor could say another word. Picking up a fallen guard’s pistol, Odal pointed it at Kor. Hector retrieved the other gun and covered the cowering meditechs.

“Into the prisoners’ cells, all of you,” Odal commanded.

“You’ll die for this!” Kor screamed.

Odal jabbed him in the ribs with the pistol. “Everyone dies sooner or later. Do you want to do it here and now?”

Kor went white. Trembling, he marched out of the chamber and toward the cell block.

There were guards on duty at the cells. One of them Odal recognized as a member of Romis’ followers. They locked up the rest, then hurried back upstairs toward Kor’s office.

“You take this pistol,” Odal said to the guard as they hurried up a flight of stone steps. “If we see anyone, tell them you’re taking us to be questioned by the Minister.”

The guard nodded. Hector tucked his pistol out of sight inside his coveralls.

“We’ve only got a few minutes before someone discovers Kor in the cells,” Odal said to Hector. “We must reach Romis and get out of here.”

Twice they were stopped by guards along the corridors, but both times were permitted to pass. Kor’s outer office was empty; it was still too early for his staff to have shown up.

The guard used Kor’s desktop communicator to reach Romis, his fingers shaking slightly at the thought of exposing himself to the Minister’s personal equipment.

Romis’ face, still sleepy-looking, took shape on the desktop view screen. His eyes widened when he recognized Odal.

“What?…”

Hector stepped into view. “I escaped from your ship,” he explained swiftly, “but got caught by Kor when I tried to get to the dueling machine here. Odal jumped back from Acquatainia. We’ve got Kor locked up temporarily.

If you’re going to move against Kanus, this is the morning for it. You’ve only got a few minutes to act.”

Romis blinked. “You… you’ve locked up Kor? You’re at the Intelligence Ministry?”

“Yes,” Odal said. “If you have any troops you can rely on, get them here immediately. We’re going to release as many of Kor’s prisoners as we can, but we’ll need more troops and weapons to hold this building against Kor’s private army. If we can hang on here and get to Kanus, I think most of the army will go over to your side. We can win without bloodshed, perhaps. But we must act quickly!”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the two young blond faces on his bedside view screen, Romis struggled to put his thoughts in order.

“Very well. I’ll send every unit I can count on to hold the Intelligence Ministry. Major Odal, perhaps you can contact some of the people you know in the army.”

“Yes,” said Odal. “Many of their officers are right here, under arrest.”

Romis nodded. “I’ll call Marshal Lugal immediately. I think he’ll join us.”