Mack Reynolds - Code Duello

“What’s a crediter?” the Great Marconi said, taking another pull at his Grappa Sour.

“A crediter, a crediter,” Jerry said. “A credit card, an exchange card, a debenture I.D. What do you call them on this planet?”

The other was looking at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jerry said impatiently, “What do I pay for this drink with?”

“With money,” the Florentine said.

“You mean actual money?”

“It’d better not be counterfeit.”

Jerry said, “Heyl” and grabbed his drink back from Helen. “You’re too young for that kind of stuff.”

“Oooo,” Helen said. “That’s strong.” The glass was almost empty.

The Great Marconi stared at her, took in the glass. “You’d better get her back to your hotel. Grappa Sours are sold only one to the customer. They’re potent.”

Jerry began to growl, “You don’t know this…” but then cut it short, to cover. He cleared his throat glared at Helen and said, “I suppose you’re right. Since I don’t have any of the local exchange, can you pay for this?”

“No.”

Jerry looked at him.

The other said, “I thought it was on you.”

“You’re great, all right,” Helen muttered.

He smiled winningly at her. “The greatest, Signorina.”

Jerry looked around for the waiter, gave up. He snarled, “Listen, you bum, you never did answer my question. Why do you call yourself the Great Marconi?”

The Great Marconi’s face lost its amiability. “Because I am the greatest tutor on all Firenze, Signore. Now as to your designation…”

Helen said, “Tooter what?”

The Florentine looked at her. “Little Signorina, I have taken a great attraction to you, in spite of the oafishness of your companion with whom I shall deal in a moment. Any child who can put down a Grappa Sour in a split second…” He cleared his throat. “But to answer your question. I tutor gentlemen who have been called out.”

His eyes went back to Jerry Rhodes. “I am, without doubt, the greatest fencer, the best shot, on all Firenze.”

Jerry snorted disbelief. “Then why’re you on your uppers, Citizen Great Marconi? If you were such a stute of a duelist, you’d be on top of the heap. Here, you can’t even pay for a couple of drinks.”

“And a ice cream,” Helen added for a clincher.

The Great Marconi twisted his expressive face into a moue. “They are afraid to come to me,” he admitted. “They should form lines at the door of my studio, but they are afraid.”

Jerry and Helen looked at him.

He grunted disgust. “Because I am an Engelist,” he said.

“What!” Jerry blurted.

“You wouldn’t understand. Local politics.”

Jerry Rhodes’ usually all but vacuous expression took on a suddenly alert quality. “An Engelist!” he blurted.

Helen grabbed up her doll. “Easy, easy,” she crooned. “Take it easy, darling Gertrude.”

The Great Marconi said, “You wouldn’t understand. As an Engelist, I am a minority element. Very highly discriminated against.”

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure,” Jerry said, ignoring Helen, who was now kicking him under the table. “Look, I’d like to find out more…”

“I feel sick,” Helen announced. “I wanna go to my daddy.”

“Shut up,” Jerry said. Then, back to the Florentine: “Listen, ever since we set down on this planet, we’ve been hearing about the Engelists, but you’re the first one we’ve met. I’d like a chance, along with some friends, to find out more about your, uh, program and all. How you expect to overthrow the government, and all.”

“Oh, you would?”

Helen closed her eyes in mute anguish.

“Yes,” Jerry said definitely. “I’d like to know all about ft. So would my friends. You’d be surprised.” He began looking for the waiter again, snapping his fingers.

“That’s interesting,” the Great Marconi said, his face expressionless now.

It occurred to Helen that this particular face was more at ease, expressionless, than it was carrying the air of joviality it had up until this point. Inwardly, she groaned. “I wanna go back to my daddy,? she bleated.

“Shush,” Jerry told her. “As soon as I take care of the bill, we’ll all go back to the hotel.”

She closed her eyes again. “Oh, great. Sucker every-l body else in, too.”

“What?” the Great Marconi said.

“ I said, I wanna go back to my daddy.”

The waiter appeared.

Jerry said, “Look, I feel lucky. Tell you what I’ll do. We’ll flip this coin.” He brought his French franc from a pocket. “If I can call it, I don’t pay. If I can’t, I’ll pay you five times the tab.”

“Five times?” the waiter said.

“Right.”

The waiter said, “It’s a deal if you’ll let me flip the coin.”

“All right. It doesn’t make any difference.”

The Great Marconi was eyeing Jerry. “What if you lose?”

Jerry ignored him, handed the coin to the waiter.

“You’ll pay five times the bill?” the waiter said.

“Right,” Jerry said impatiently. “Flip it. I want to get going.”

The waiter flipped the coin high. While it was still in the air, he called, “Tails!”

The coin hit the table.

Jerry got up without bothering to look, and said to Helen and his newly acquired Engelist friend, “Come on.”

The waiter said, “Just a minute. You owe me six and a half silver lire.”

“What?” Jerry said.

The waiter pointed.

Jerry Rhodes bug-eyed the coin. He looked up at the waiter blankly. Finally, he got out, “But… but I haven’t any… any money.”

“No money!” The other was enraged. “Why, you I damned Engelist! Trying to get something for nothing! I took my chance, eh? But you’re unable to pay, now you have lost.” He spun and yelled, “Gino, Gino!

Come here, please. I wish this… this Signore to be arrested and hauled into the Court of the People! He refuses to pay his bill!”

Jerry Rhodes looked about desperately.

The Great Marconi had disappeared.

Dorn Horsten peered through the bars. “Where is Helen?” he demanded.

“How would I know?” Jerry growled.

Maggiore Roberto Verona, suave as ever, said smoothly, ” I am sure the little ragazza is safe. This is all most distressing. What in the world happened, my dear Signore Rhodes?”

Jerry said in exasperation, “Nobody’d listen to me. I forgot to make arrangements for exchange. I didn’t know my Interplanetary Crediter wouldn’t be legal tender on this half-baked, backward planet.”

The maggiore’s voice was suddenly chill. “I am sure you are distressed, Signore Rhodes, and shall ignore your derogatory comments.” He flicked his hand at a jailer who came forward and opened the cell door.

Dr. Horsten was staring at the accommodations Jerry was departing. “A cell,” he exclaimed. “Wonderful. Imagine, in this day and age. A jail. Guards and everything. I can’t wait to tell my colleagues on, say, Avalon, or Earth, or… well, just about any place.”

He turned to Maggiore Verona and beamed. “And my daughter. You have her in, uh, durance vile , as well? Oh, wonderful! What an experience.” He looked at his disgusted younger colleague. “Jerry, how unfortunate you aren’t a journalist, eh? What a story for Interplanetary Press. Ah, tell me again. Just what was this, uh, romp , as the gangsters call it on the Tri-Di shows?”

The Florentine official was taken aback. “But, really, Doctor, this is all a terrible misunderstanding. Your daughter…”

“Oh, I am sure Helen can take care of herself.” Horsten said in growing enthusiasm. “I dote on the historical fiction gangster shows. My only relaxation. I can just see it all. Jerry, here, dashing up in a low-slung, black hovercar. Mufflegun in both hands. Ah, where did it happen, Jerry, my boy?”