Zach Hughes - For Texas and Zed

The Captain called a crew meeting. "Fleeters," he said, standing tall in his finest dress uniform, "for those of you who have not dueled, I will explain. At the given moment, the Grus will go into normal space at a prearranged point. The enemy will blink in at the same instant. Should there be a slight discrepancy in blink times, there is a short period of adjustment allowable. When both ships are on station, armed, screened properly, a signal will be exchanged. That is when the reactions of the gun crew become of utmost importance. The gun crew which reacts quickest to the signal will be victorious. I have the utmost confidence that it will be you." He looked directly at Lex, who was on the main battery control on the bridge because of his superior reaction time.

There was more about honor and duty to Empire and Lex was sitting there thinking that something was wrong with the entire setup. Here they were, about to go willingly into a situation where they would be at a disadvantage. Even if they had been evenly matched it seemed foolish to him to fight on prearranged terms. He'd never been in a fight to the death, but he'd faced a couple of tough old Bojack farls and when you're up against something or someone who is trying to kill you you don't give advantage. You take advantage if you can.

He thought about it through the waiting period and then, just before he knew that the ship was going to be called to battle stations, he went down into the navigator's room where his friend, the Tech Chief, was working feverishly on the computer.

"How is it?" Lex asked.

"I won't guarantee it," the Chief said. "There's a galloping decay in that damned lobe."

"What happens if we miss the appointed coordinate?"

"They start blasting, if they can. If they can't, they call in a fleet. There's one standing by a blink away. Either way if we miss it we've had it."

"And we're going to miss it, just as we've missed each blink point for the last few weeks," Lex said.

"Bet your ass on it," the Chief said.

"It's the only ass I've got," Lex said, putting his hand on a heavy wrench, lifting it, carefully demolishing the sick lobe.

"Now bypass that bastard," he said, as the crew stood there, shocked.

They had no other choice.

There was no time to test the jury-rigged computer. It was time to defend the honor of the Emperor. Captain Arden Wal sounded stations. The Grus came alive, quivered. At the appointed second she blinked and came out on the nose with the Cassie Vandy sitting within point-blank range getting ready to put up her screens for the duel.

There was a ritual for it. Wal sent his greeting. His greeting was returned gravely in the voice of a Cassiopeian. The next order was to be, "Screens up." After that there would be the mutual signal and the duel would begin.

Only it didn't go that way.

When he got into position, on the instant of blinking out, Lex was already arming his battery. He punched it in, programmed it. He could see the Cassie with his naked eye. At that range, with her screens not yet in place, she was a sitting duck. The Cassie didn't know what hit her. She vaporized and was no more.

There was a stunned silence on the bridge. Arden Wal's face went white. For three hundred years the honorable duel had been the accepted method of keeping a war relatively cool, of testing new weapons, of providing a victory for either side to propagandize. Now, at the hands of one crewman, the entire concept was shot down. He was shocked into momentary immobility, then he turned his attention to the scanners. By all rights there should be a Cassiopeian battle fleet blinking in at that very moment. However, space was empty. After five minutes of tense waiting, Wal concluded that the Cassie had not sent a signal to the waiting fleet, that the suddenness of its destruction had prevented a report of the unbelievable action of the Empire Vandy.

He had time, then, to walk slowly to Lex's station. Lex was retiring his weapons, clearing charge on them,

Returning them to their pods. "Congratulations, son," Wal said in an even, tired voice. "You've killed us." Lex looked up. "If I may speak, sir?"

"Yes," Wal said wearily.

"I think I saved our lives, sir."

"For the moment," Wal said. "However, we have violated the Military Code of Honor as it has never been violated before. Every action, every signal is recorded in the ship's Automatic Record. That record will be inspected when we return to port. There is no way of erasing it. Tampering with an Automatic Record is a death offense, just as violating the Code is a death offense."

The First Officer stood at Lex's back, hand weapon pointed at Lex's head. "Shall I put him in the brig, sir?"

"Why bother?" Wal said.

"Damned Texican," the First Officer said, his hand white on his weapon.

"Texican?" Wal asked.

"This is the one, sir, the outworlder."

"Yes, yes," Wal said. "I've been meaning to have a chat with you." Actually he'd been putting it off. He had been afraid, having been harmed twice through contact with Texicans, that he would, face to face with one, lose his control. He knew, now, that Texicans had precipitated the Battle of Wolf's Star, where he'd lost his fine middleguard cruiser. He knew that the Texicans had led him into the Cassiopeian ambush, as a result of which he'd lost a splendid Vandy. It was because of Texas and Texicans that he was in command of a junk ship. And now, because of a Texican, he, as Captain and therefore responsible, would share this boy's guilt for blasting an enemy in violation of the Code.

And now that he was face to face with the Texican, he felt only an overwhelming sadness, and a hint of curiosity.

"Please bring him to my cabin," he said, turning his back. "And resume patrol." Halfway out the door leading from the bridge, he turned. "And you may say, in your report home, that we have emerged victorious in a duel with a Class-A Cassiopeian Vanguard destroyer."

He would at least have the rest of his patrol time to live. There was no reason to go rushing back to face sure conviction.

Chapter Six

"I did it, sir," Lex said, standing at attention in the Captain's cramped quarters, "because someday I'm going to be free to go home, back to Texas."

"Is Texas so heavenly that a man will violate his honor for her?" Wal sat, slumped tiredly over his small writing desk.

"Sir, with all respect, it was not my honor which I violated, it was yours. Or the Empire's. Or something. I mean, sir, that I wasn't the one who made the rules."

"The rules, fleeter, are the result of centuries of tradition. Till now, they've worked fairly well to keep us all alive."

"They wouldn't have kept us alive, sir," Lex said. "In fact, they seemed sure to get us dead."

"Rules are designed for the good of all," Wal said. Why, he asked himself, was he so calmly debating with this outworlder? "Is it every man for himself on Texas?"

"No," Lex said. "On Texas it's all for one and one for all, sir. And they, meaning that nebulous 'they' which we use when we talk about people we don't really know, people who have life-and-death power over us, don't make rules which would devalue the life of a single Texican as our lives were devalued by the situation wherein we faced a superior force and were forced to fight on terms not of our choosing."

"An interesting thought," Wal said, "in keeping, I think, with the rather incredible story which has been told about the Battle of Wolfs Star. I have heard that a Texican fleet moved to save one individual."

"It's true, sir."

"But they sent you out into the Empire to take your punishment," Wal said.

"I was given a choice, sir."

The Captain looked at Lex with knitted brows. He was trying to imagine a like situation in the Empire. He knew that the individual involved would not even be consulted, not given a voice, much less a choice. "Sit down, Gunner. Tell me about this Texas of yours."