Ben Bova: The Dueling Machine

“But we’ve got to get Kanus before he can bring the main force of the army into action,” Hector said.

“Yes, yes of course. Kanus is at his retreat in the mountains. It’s not quite dawn there. Probably he’s still asleep.”

“Is there a dueling machine there?” Odal asked.

“I don’t know. There might be. I’ve heard rumors about his having one installed for his own use recently…”

“All right,” Hector said. “Maybe we can jump there.”

“Not until we’ve freed the prisoners and made certain this building is well defended,” said Odal.

“Right,” Hector agreed.

“There’s much to do,” Odal said to the Foreign Minister. “And not a second to waste.”

“Yes,” Romis agreed.

The tri-di image snapped off, leaving him looking at a dead-gray screen set into the side of his bed table. Romis shook his head, as though trying to clear it of the memory of a dream.

It could be a trap, he told himself. One of Kor’s insidious maneuvers. But the Star Watchman was there; he wouldn’t help Kor. Or was it the Watchman? Might it have been an impersonator?

“Trap or not,” Romis said aloud, “we’ll never have another opportunity like this… if it’s real.”

He made up his mind. In three minutes he placed three tri-di calls. The deed was done. He was either going to free Kerak of its monster, or kill several hundred good men—including himself.

He got up from bed, dressed swiftly, and called for an air car. Then he opened the bed-table drawer and took out a palm-sized pistol.

His butler appeared at the door. “Sir, your air car is ready. Will you require a pilot?”

“No,” said Romis, tucking the gun into his belt. “I’ll go alone. If I don’t call you by noon, then… open the vault behind the bed, read the instructions there, and try to save yourself and the other servants. Good-bye.”

Before the stunned butler could say another word, Romis strode past him and out toward the air car.

Kanus was abruptly awakened by a terrified servant.

“What is it?” the Leader grumbled, sitting up slowly in the immense circular bed. The sun had barely started to touch the distant snow-capped peaks that were visible through the giant room’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

“A… a call from the Minister of Intelligence, sir.”

“Don’t stand there, put him through!”

The servant touched an ornamented dial next to the doorway. Part of the wall seemed to dissolve into a very grainy, shadowy image of Kor. He appeared to be sitting on a hard bench in a dimly lit, stone-walled cell.

“What’s going on?” Kanus demanded. “Why have you awakened me?”

“It has happened, my Leader,” Kor said quietly, unemotionally. “The traitors are making their move. I’ve been locked in one of my own cells…”

“What?” Kanus sat rigidly upright in the bed.

Kor smiled. “The fools think they can win by capturing me and holding the Intelligence Ministry. They overlooked a few details. For one, I have my pocket communicator. I’ve monitored their calls. Romis is no doubt on his way to your palace right now, intent on killing you.”

“Romis! And you’re locked up!”

Raising his hands in a gesture of calm, Kor went on.

“No need to be overly alarmed, my Leader. They are merely exposing themselves, at last. We can crush them.”

“I’ll call out the army,” Kanus said, his voice rising.

“Some parts of the army may turn out to be disloyal to you,” Kor answered. “Your personal guards should be sufficient, however, to stop these traitors. If you could detach a division or so to recapture the Ministry building, and have your own dueling machine there guarded, that should take care of most of it. Romis is flying into your hands, so it should be a simple matter to deal with him when he arrives.

“My dueling machine? They’re coming through my dueling machine?”

“Only two of them: the traitor Odal, and the Watchman.”

“I’ll have them killed by inches!” Kanus roared. “And Romis too!”

“Yes, of course. But it will be important to recapture the Intelligence Ministry and free me. And also, you should be ready to deal with any elements of the army and space fleet that refuse to follow your orders.”

’Traitors! Traitors everywhere! I’ll have them all killed!”

Kanus banged the control stud over his bed and the wall screen went dark. He began screaming orders to the cringing servant, still standing by the doorway. Within minutes he was robed and hurrying down the hallway toward the room where he had his own private dueling machine.

A squad of guards met him at the door to the dueling machine room.

“Keep that machine off!” Kanus ordered. “If anyone appears inside the machine, bring him to me at once.”

The guard captain saluted.

Another servant appeared at Kanus’ elbow. “Foreign Minister Romis has arrived, my Leader. He…”

“Bring him to my office. At once!”

Kanus strode angrily back to his office. Two guards, armed and helmeted, stood at the door. He brushed past them and stalked inside. Romis was already there, standing by the window alongside the elevated desk.

“Traitor!” Kanus screamed at the sight of the diplomat. “Assassin! Guards, cut him down!”

Startled, Romis reached for the gun at his waist. But the guards were already inside the office, guns drawn.

Romis hesitated. Then the guards took off their helmets to reveal two blond heads, two lean, grinning faces.

“We arrived at your dueling machine sooner than you thought we would,” Odal said to Kanus. “It was a simple matter to overpower the guards at the door and take their uniforms.”

“We left when your squad of guards arrived,” Hector added, “and came here, just a few steps ahead of you.”

Kanus’ knees boggled.

Romis relaxed. His hands dropped to his sides. “It’s all over, Chancellor. You are deposed. My men have seized the Intelligence Ministry; most of the army is against you. You can avoid a good deal of bloodshed by surrendering yourself to me and ordering your guards not to fight their countrymen.”

Kanus tried to shriek, but no sounds would come from his throat. Wild-eyed, he threw himself between Odal and Hector and dashed to the door.

“Don’t shoot him!” Romis shouted. “We need him alive if we’re going to prevent a civil war!”

Kanus raced blindly down the halls to the dueling machine. Without a word to the startled guards standing around the machine, he punched a half-dozen buttons on the control board and bolted into one of the booths. He slapped the neurocontacts to his head and chest and took a deep, long breath. His pounding heart slowed, steadied. His eyes slid shut. His body relaxed.

He was sitting on a golden throne at the head of an enormously long hall. Throngs of people lined the richly tapestried walls, and the most beautiful women in the galaxy sat, bejeweled and leisurely, on the cushioned steps at his feet. At the bottom of the steps knelt Sir Harold Spencer, shackled, blinded, his once proud uniform grimy with blood and filth. No, not blind. Kanus wanted him to see, wanted to look into the Star Watch Commander’s eyes as he described in great detail how the old man would be slowly, slowly killed.

And now he was floating through space, alone, unprotected from the vacuum and radiation but perfectly comfortable, perfectly at ease. Suns passed by him as he sailed majestically through the galaxy, his galaxy, his personal conquest. He saw a planet below him. It displeased him. He extended a hand toward it. Its cities burst into flames. He could hear the screams of their inhabitants, hear them begging him for mercy. Smiling, he let them roast.