Mack Reynolds - Code Duello

Two of his men stepped forward and stood at his side at attention. One of them said, “If the Inspector requires seconds…”

Dr. Horsten said hurriedly, “Gentlemen, gentlemen. You are of different worlds and do not understand each other’s institutions. Certainly, you are both men of honor. All a misunderstanding…”

Jerry Rhodes suddenly broke into laughter.

All eyes went to him. All coldly, save those of Dr. Horsten, who expressed anguish.

The inspector said, “Yes, Signore, uh, Rhodes?”

Helen said shrilly, “Uncle Jerry, you stop laughing at the way I change Gertrude’s diddies.”

Jerry was looking at the other men, his eyes slightly wide. He looked down at Helen quickly. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “You change them very nicely.”

The inspector turned back to Zorro Juarez. “I am at your service, if you feel need of satisfaction. Undoubtedly, these gentlemen, your fellow travelers, will act for you.”

“Now…” Dorn Horsten began hurriedly.

There was a small clatter.

All eyes went to the floor.

There was a badge laying there.

It was a simple bronze badge, and the standing men could read of its inscription only, SECTION G, and less clearly, part of the smaller lettering, Interplanetary Department of Justice .

The chief inspector was bug-eyed.

“What’s that ?” he snapped.

Helen reached. “You can’t have my Junior Section G badge,” she howled, grabbing for it.

But one of the customs men was staring at Jerry Rhodes. “That badge dropped from…” he began.

From the open doorway, through which they had entered the room, Dorn Horsten roared, ” Earthquake! Everybody get under something! Helen, quick!”

Zorro Juarez was not slow on the uptake. He waved his arms frantically. “Under the doorway, or a desk. If the roof falls in, you’re safer!”

Dr. Horsten was swaying desperately, his arms holding onto the doorjamb, one on each side. “Earthquake!” he roared again. “Helen!”

The room was shaking. A picture on the wall of a stern faced, uniformed personage of obviously high rank was swaying pendulum-like back and forth.

The faces of the Florentines registered shock. They froze momentarily.

“Under something!” Zorro yelled. “If the roof gives way…”

Helen had darted a look of comprehension at her supposed father, then, screaming, flew to the customs officer who had, a moment earlier, begun to accuse Jerry Rhodes of something. She jumped up against him, throwing her chubby legs around his waist, holding onto him for dear life. “Save me! Save me!” And even as she screamed at that confused worthy, one of her deft tiny hands was extracting what seemed a safety pin from her little girl playsuit.

Moments later, Dr. Horsten, the celebrated algae specialist, let go of the doorjamb onto which he had been hanging for dear life, and took a white handkerchief from a jerkin pocket to wipe his forehead. He then took the pince-nez glasses from his nose and wiped them.

He sighed relief. “I’m terrified of earthquakes,” he announced.

The balance of the room’s occupants were disposed here and there. Zorro and the chief customs inspector were cowering under the doorway through which Helen and her father had departed for the ladies’ room earlier, and to which Zorro had dragged the other. Jerry was under the inspector’s desk, evidently on the verge of hysteria, since he was laughing madly. The other two customs men were below the long table upon which sat the baggage, Helen beside them and childishly giggling at the fun.

They began to crawl, or stagger, to the room’s center again.

“I once lived in Japan,” Horsten explained to all. “Only thing to do in an earthquake. Get below the overhead of a door. When the roof caves in, you’re comparatively safe.”

“That’s the way we do it on Vacamundo,” Zorro Juarez confirmed.

The inspector, his face slightly dazed, said, “Thank you, thank you, Signore. I’ve… I’ve never been in an earthquake before. It’s the first one I’ve ever even heard of on Firenze.” He shook his head. “What’s the matter with Rudolf?”

Rudolf was the examiner who had been chosen by Helen to save her, in the excitement of the quake. There was a glazed something in his face.

Dorn Horsten stepped nearer and looked into the man’s eyes. He reached out and pulled down one of the other’s eyelids.

“Shock,” he announced.

The inspector looked at him. “Are you an M.D.? I thought your doctorate…”

Dom Horsten puffed out his cheeks. “I have eight doctorates, my good man. My M.D. was taken in Vienna when I was but a lad. This man should be put to bed at once and covered warmly. Give him a double shot of, uh, the best of guzzle, whatever it is alcoholic you drink on this planet. He’ll be all right tomorrow.”

A new voice from the doorway that Horsten had just abandoned said, “What in the name of the Holy Ultimate is going on?”

The inspector turned, came to rigid attention, as did his men—save for Rudolf.

“Yes, Your Eccellenza. The earthquake. Was the damage bad?”

The newcomer was a man in his early middle years. He was physically fit, keen of expression and wore his clothes as though he had never known a suit out of press, a shirt with the slightest wilt, in all his days.

He looked about the room, then at each of its occupants, in turn. He eventually got back to the chief inspector. “What are you talking about, Grossi?”

Inspector Grossi said, “The earthquake, Eccellenza.”

“Are you mad?” But then his expression altered infinitesimally. “You know, I did feel, as I approached this room, a slight shaking.”

Horsten said, mopping his brow again, “That’s the way it is. Some people go right through a quake and don’t even recognize it.”

The newcomer considered him, then turned and stared at the wooden faced Rudolf. “What wrong with him?”

Zorro Juarez spoke up smoothly. “He was terrified. I was watching him. He must have some sort of phobia about earthquakes. He froze with fear.”

“That seems hard to believe. Earthquakes are all but unknown on Firenze. The only acquaintance I, myself, have had with them is through reading.”

Zorro shrugged. “Scared to death,” he said. He shook his head. “You Florentines seem to frighten easily.”

A chill went through the room.

The inspector and one of his men spoke simultaneously. “I demand satisfaction!”

But the newcomer held up a hand. “Please, Signori. These visitors from overspace are our honored guests. Besides, you are all obviously upset. See that this man”—he stared again, unbelievingly, at Rudolf—“is taken care of.”

He turned to the travelers, and to Dorn Horsten in particular. “Undoubtedly, Signore, you are the celebrated Dr. Horsten. May I introduce myself?” He clicked his heels, bowed ever so slightly from the waist. “Maggiore Roberto Verona, of the staff of His Eccellenza, the Third Signore.”

Dr. Horsten was not to be outdone in the amenities, his own bow was even slighter than the other, albeit, if anything, more formal. “Pleasure, Maggiore. And may I present my daughter, Helen…”

Helen, her eyes bright, took the hem of her very short skirt in her hands and dropped a perfect curtsy, ignoring the sigh that indicated relief from her father.

The maggiore, obviously to the manor born, bowed again more deeply. “Signorina.” He smiled. “I am ravished.”

Customs Inspector Grossi cleared his throat at that.

Dorn Horsten was saying, “And these gentlemen are fellow passengers from the Half Moon . Citizens, uh, Zorro Juarez, from the planet, uh…”