Mack Reynolds - Code Duello

All four of his subordinates were frowning at him.

Sid Jakes grinned. “Ronny Bronston is still in the hospital, but his office was broken into early this morning.”

“Broken into?” Helen said. “Bight there in the Octagon?”

“He didn’t answer her directly. His grin turned rueful. “Somebody stole the starchart.”

Jerry said. “The starchart giving the location of the Dawnworlds?”

Sid Jakes looked at him, his head cocked slightly. “How did you know?”

But at that moment a voice from the entryway boomed, “His Zelenza, the First Signore of the Free Democratic Commonwealth of Firenze!”

“On, OH,” Sid Jakes said, in the tiny screen, “you people have times there, don’t you? Let me know later. Off.” His grinning face faded.

But the four were already staring at the entry.

There were two ultra-efficient looking guards with unfamiliar type of handweapons at the ready, flanking the door. Their eyes were straight ahead, their expressions those of the goon down through the centuries.

He of the booming voice stood between them. Though in mufti, he was obviously to uniform born. His eyes swept them, swept the room in quick check. He stepped back, a double step, and faced the door, as though deity were about to enter.

Maggiore Roberto Verona and one other came through it. Whoever the other was, he obviously outranked the maggiore. His uniform was magnificent and well bespattered with decorations.

Helen had adjusted well enough to say sotto voce to Jerry, “The fewer the wars, the more medals the big brass wear.” She had scooped up the disguised communicator and placed in it Gertrude’s toy hands.

The man who was obviously none other than the First Signore came striding in, quite obviously at his full ease.

“Apologies everyone, apologies,” he called, his voice casual. “Maggiore, I believe you are acquainted with our friends from overspace. The honors, please.”

Tim First Signore was a man barely in his mid-thirties but bore the air of command as though it had been with him since the cradle. But his, also, was the ages-old face of the politician; the open friendliness, the so evident sincerity, the obvious integrity, the love of his fellow man.

“Already, I don’t like this guy,” Helen muttered.

“Shh,” Horsten hissed.

Maggiore Verona said, his voice indicating the degree to which he was overwhelmed by being in the presence of his ultimate chief, “Your Zelenza, may I present the celebrated Dr. Dorn Horsten, and the Signorina Helen Horsten?”

“An honor, Your Zelenza,” the doctor said, bowing to the exact extent a noted scientist would be expected to, to a chief of state of a member world of U.P.

Helen stared, put her thumb in her mouth, caught herself, pulled it out and stuck both her hands behind her back, and continued to stare, her little feet toeing in.

“The honor is mine, Doctor. I am informed your work is known from one extent of the confederation to the other.” The First Signore bowed. And to Helen, “My, what a pretty dolly you have there.”

“His Eccellenza Gerald Rhodes, entrepreneur from the planet Catalina.”

Jerry said, projecting the fact that in his time he had met many a bigwig, “A pleasure, Your Zelenza.”

The First Signore eyed him appraisingly. “My pleasure, Signore Rhodes. I am told you visit our world with the possible intention of taking advantage of its many opportunities.”

Maggiore Verona continued, the heartiness in his voice fading somewhat. “His Eccellenza, Zorro Juarez, of the planet Vacamundo.”

The chief executive of Firenze said, “Ah yes, Signore. I understand that you have already had an unfortunate experience with our necessarily stringent regulations against dissident elements.”

Zorro said defensively, “I was simply trying to find out something about these Engelists everybody talks about.”

“Of course. Unfortunately you went about it in the wrong manner. One of my council heard of the matter and took care of it. I, personally, shall be happy to give you any information you may require, when opportunity permits.”

His eyes swept the four of them in hospitality, and he strode toward the bar, saying over his shoulder, “Maggiore, please explain the situation.” He took up a glass and let his eye run over the collection of bottles.

Maggiore Verona had followed him into the living room proper, leaving the other newcomers still in the entrada.

“Dr. Horsten, Signori,” he said. “There has been a change in the plans of His Zelenza. He has decided, after all, personally to attend the pseudo-election.”

Helen looked at Jerry from the side of her eyes and murmured softly, “Ha. The Rhodes luck. Tossed out on the street.”

“However,” the anti-subversion officer hastened to add, “His Zelenza insists that all efforts be made to secure other quarters for you.”

His Zelenza, not bothering to listen, was holding up to the light the bottle which Zorro and especially Helen had been drawing upon for refreshment. In his left hand was a tiny glass, on his face an expression of shock. He said, “My Betelgeuse Chartreuse!”

Horsten was exploring the situation with the un-happy Roberto Verona, assisted by Zorro Juarez. However, Jerry Rhodes was of more practical stuff. He approached the ultimate head of the Firenze state, nonchalantly flipping his French franc.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, Your Zelenza.”

“Yes, Signore?”

“It occurs to me that there are seven bedrooms in all in this suite.”

“Oh?” The other frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever counted. Seven, eh?”

“Seven,” Jerry said definitely. He flipped the coin, caught it. “It occurs to me that possibly you are a man not unaccustomed to taking a chance now and then.”

“A chance?”

“A bit of a gamble.”

The First Signore tore his eyes from his bottle. “You have touched on my weakness, Signore. But I am not sure I follow.”

Jerry flipped the coin again. “I am willing to wager a flat hundred thousand interplanetary credits against my being allowed to remain in my room, here in the suite, that I can call the flip of this coin.”

“A… hundred… thousand … interplanetary… credits!”

Jerry flipped the coin, caught it, flipped again, a great nonchalance in his air.

This time it was the First Signore who cleared his throat.

“I’ll flip the coin,” he said flatly. “You call it.”

“Right.” The coin changed hands.

His Zelenza looked at both sides. “This is heads, this is tails, eh? Very well.” He flipped it, caught it, slapped it down on the back of his left hand, covered it with his right.

Jerry said, “Heads.”

The other peered, scowled, shook his head. “You win.”

Jerry put his hands in his pockets. “Same bet,” he said. “This time for the right of Dr. Horsten and his daughter to remain in their rooms.”

“I say, you are a sportsman.”

“One hundred thousand interplanetary credits.” Jerry nodded.

“You’re on,” the First Signore said. He flipped, caught the coin again, peered at it suspiciously.

“Tails, this time,” Jerry said.

The scowl deepened. “You’ve won again.”

“And now…” Jerry began.

“Your Zelenza!” Roberto Verona blurted.

His Zelenza was scowling unhappily at the coin.

The maggiore said quickly to Zorro, “Unfortunately, the First Signore’s staff is such that additional room simply can’t be spared. Happily, there is, down in the basement, an emergency room vacated by an assistant janitor…”

“Oh, no,” Zorro protested.

The Firenze chief of state returned the coin, albeit reluctantly. He said to Jerry Rhodes, “Given time, I must introduce you to my own favorite game, poker.”