Mack Reynolds - Code Duello

“Seems is correct,” Cesare said. “I don’t trust him.”

“But we all inspected and tried out the two weapons before they were sealed in that carrying case, last night.” The scientist looked at Jerry in compassion. “You certainly picked the most deadly short-range weapon come down through history.”

Zorro said abruptly to their Florentine companion, “Look, isn’t there any way for the rest of us to get out of this? It’s bad enough that Jerry, here, has obviously had it, but…”

Shut up, lover,” Helen snorted.

He glared at her darkly. “We don’t win any prizes by going down in noble defeat. If there’s anything we can do to help Jerry, very well. But if we can’t, our job is to survive and carry on the work. Maybe Marconi has some place we could hide.”

But Cesare Marconi was shaking his head. “Forget about it, Juarez. I’m possibly the most observed man on Firenze. They haven’t cracked down on me in the past, because of my family connections, but, as Antonio said the last time we saw him, they aren’t amused by my professions of being an Engelist. They know that I know the whole tiling is a fraud, that there are no Engelists. I couldn’t hide you. I couldn’t even hide myself.”

“There must be some way we can get out from under,” Zorro said.

There was a blare of anachronistic clarions.

There was a great animation at the opposite end of the hall, a great stirring. All, save the Section G operatives and their single Florentine adherent, came to formal attention.

Down the center of the auditorium, stiff-legged, the stride of the cavalryman long used to high military boots, came Antonio Cesare Bartolemo d’Arrezzo, First Signore of the Free Democratic Commonwealth of Firenze. He looked to neither left nor right at the perfectly aligned men at arms who flanked his march. In that multitude of the uniformed, his was the simplest garb of all, a simple black duelist’s costume, the shirt open at the neck, rubber-soled sport shoes on his feet.

Immediately behind him were his seconds, Alberto Scialanga, the Third Signore, and another high ranking officer, unknown to the otherworldlings until the formalities of the meeting had been gone through.

Cesare Marconi cleared his throat, an element of apology there. “All right,” he said. “Here we go. We advance to within five paces, the stipulated distance. Jerry, you stop at that point. Dorn and Zorro, you advance to make last preparations with his seconds, and to receive Jerry’s weapon. We went over the details last night. I’ll be immediately behind you, as adviser, in case you have questions.”

Helen said, “I don’t know what the rules are, but I’m coming along.”

Cesare Marconi scowled down at her, began to say something, shook his head, and closed his mouth.

They marched out to meet the First Signore and his people.

Jerry Rhodes’ opponent stood there, five correct paces away, his black-clad legs slightly parted, his hands behind his back. His two seconds approached. Dorn Horsten and Zorro Juarez met them halfway, Marconi immediately to their rear. The Third Signore carried an elaborately decorated flat box, the other second a golden key with which he ceremoniously unlocked the container.

Inside were two Sten guns. On the handle of one, in gold inlay, was lettered SIGNORE RHODES, on the other, SIGNORE D’ARREZZO.

The box was extended to Dorn Horsten, who took forth Jerry’s weapon and returned with it to his principle.

“Are there any questions, Signori?” Alberto Scialanga said to Horsten and Zorro.

“None,” the scientist said unhappily.

The First Signore’s men returned to him and proffered the box. He took forth his own weapon, balanced it in his hands as though he had handled such a gun all his life.

A highly decorated officer, the judge, stepped forward. As he did, guards and witnesses shifted out of the line of fire.

He said, his voice loud and clear for the sake of the Tri-Di technicians who were zeroed-in on the scene: “The Signori are familiar with the agreed procedure. Both Signori will turn their backs to each other. I shall count three. On the last, the Signori shall turn and fire at will. Is all understood?”

The First Signore bit out, “Yes.”

Jerry said, “I guess so.” He looked down at the Sten gun, as though he had never seen a firearm before and had never truly expected to.

All except the two duelists cleared away.

“This is murder,” Zorro muttered.

Dom Horsten looked at him. “We’ll have a chance, later,” he growled in frustration.

The judge began: “One… Two…”

All in that great auditorium took deep breath.

“Three!

The First Signore blurred into a spinning crouch, the Sten gun up at waist level, the finger on the trigger already exerting pressure.

A strange expression washed over his face. His eyes had been on the more slowly turning Jerry Rhodes, but now they shot down to his weapon, unbelievingly. His finger tensed again, in a jerky movement this time.

Jerry had brought his own weapon up, his eyes blinking rapidly. His own finger tensed.

The liquid that jetted from the barrel of Jerry’s vicious looking gun hit the ultimate head of Firenze full in the face. It was a yellowish, thickish liquid and inclined to drip and ooze, rather than splatter.

A delicious aroma began to permeate the vicinity.

The visage of Antonio d’Arrezzo fell in complete bewilderment. He shook his head. He stared down at his gun. His eyes, in bewildered shock, registered utter disbelief. His tongue inadvertently came out and licked around his slack, twitching mouth. One hand came up, two fingers touched his moisture bespattered face; he brought them away, stared at them, brought the fingers to his mouth.

It was the judge who giggled first.

But it was the Third Signore who first began to guffaw.

“Luck!” Helen snarled at Jerry Rhodes.

“Why, sure,” Jerry said. “Who ever heard of such luck?”

“Luck!” she all but screamed. “It took me half the night to get into that damned room where they had those guns stashed in that supposedly locked box. It must have taken me an hour to pick that lock. And what did I find? They’d got there first and extracted the firing pin from your Sten gun. It took me another hour to figure out how to field strip those confounded primitive shooters, and switch matters around so it was his firing pin that was missing, and the necessary parts of my toy water pistol installed in yours, loaded with Chartreuse. And you call it luck!”

“Well,” Jerry said placatingly. “That’s what I mean. It sure was lucky for me you did all that.”

“Oh, shut up!” she snarled. She turned back to where Dorn Horsten had his massive body hunched over the Section G communicator. The faces of both Sid Jakes and Lee Chang Chu were in the screen, both of them a little on the wide-eyed side.

Horsten was summing it up.

“… and obviously a farce is what the First Signore and his gang could stand the least, especially on the eve of this pseudo-election of theirs. Nothing will come of it this time, perhaps, but by the next election, if not sooner, Cesare Marconi and his people will have their chance.”

“What people?” Sid Jakes demanded. “I thought you said he was the only Engelist on the whole planet.”

“Well,” Dorn Horsten explained plausibly, that’s why we’re going to have to stay on for awhile. We were sent to end the Engelist movement on this planet. But, actually, we’re going to have to get it underway. A real underground movement, that is.”

Lee Chang Chu murmured, “Talk about Special Talent!”

They sat around, still later, in the living room of the penthouse suite of the First Signore and worked out their situation, over drinks.