by Paul Darrow
7
The Earth city of Lupus, cradle of Federation civilization, perched on a great mountain, was a brilliant example of architectural genius old and new. Buildings evoking memories of bygone eras stood closely ranked with modern hi-tech edifices that in no way overwhelmed them.
To an outsider, an alien perhaps, the city would appear to be fitting to the greatness of which Homo sapiens is capable.
Within, however, the species bustled about like ants on a hill. Man here was bloated by corruption. Quivering with greed, envious and cruelly eager, most inhabitants sought their own ends with a ruthlessness and carelessness of others that would have made Rome under Nero seem idyllic.
Maco, true to his word, introduced Avon to the system. The young man, a product of that very system, was undismayed.
The Seventh family’s banking interests were housed in one of the newer buildings. Meagrely staffed, the financial house depended on its computer banks. Many of them of advanced design.
Provided he had the skill, the time and Maco as his sentry, Avon would enter their programs and disarrange them to his advantage.
Maco made certain that he alone instructed his protégé, that they would not require the assistance of others, that they would not socialize. This arrangement seemed acceptable to the family.
Avon studied the computer models. He read and researched. All the while, the machinery twinkled at him. Only the soft hiss of its workings disturbed his concentration.
At last, after some twenty days, he found a way.
He explained his scheme to Maco. He tapped one of the older computer models with his fingers. “I learned on one of these at the Iron School,” he said. “It’s possible, if properly conceived, to overlay one or more of its programs.”
Maco sniffed. “Assume that I am ignorant. Keep your explanation simple,” he said.
Avon smiled. “I intend to insert an alternative program. I will superimpose it on a present one. Rather like using a transfer paper or rubbing brass. Of course, there are safety devices, booby traps. But, thanks to you, I have had access to all the computer manuals and I have found a method of disarming it. What I will do is lift off the first program and mingle it, as it were, with my own. Naturally, the computer will be confused and react accordingly. Because I’ve succeeded in disarming it, it will accept my insertion as legitimate and adjust to the new input. The original program will alter, assuming some of the characteristics of mine. It will continue to function quite normally, but with an almost imperceptible difference. The new program will instruct this computer to talk to its brother on Jupiter. It does that anyway. The information it will pass on will cause small amounts of currency to be syphoned off into a bogus company. It’s really very simple. The Seventh family would be expected to conduct business with any company prepared to deal in funds obtained from the drug market.”
Maco nodded approvingly. “Entry into that forbidden arena is long overdue. Made possible by the timely departure of Pel Gros.”
Avon patted the machine as if it were a faithful dog. “There are other models similar to this. I will insert simultaneous programs. By the time we reach Jupiter, the combined efforts of these computers will have placed a sizeable sum with our non-existent but apparently legitimate company.”
“How much?” Maco couldn’t restrain his curiosity and excitement.
“Upwards of five hundred million credits.”
Maco whistled through his teeth. “Enough to buy ten Starships.”
“Enough to buy sanctuary from the Children.”
“Quite! Can you be sure this will go undetected?”
“For a while. Look at it this way. What do you possess in Federation credits?”
Maco looked foxy. “Approximately two hundred thousand.”
“There! You say, ’approximately.’ It may be two hundred thousand and one. You are unlikely to concern yourself if that ’one’ does not appear in your accounts. I have instructed the computer to transfer small sums from every account in the system. A credit here, perhaps two credits there. Once accumulated, our rich account is created.”
Maco laughed. “Ingenious!”
“Hardly!” Avon said dismissively. “It’s been done before. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if it wasn’t being done right now. Not on the same scale perhaps. There’s no doubt that I will be found out sooner or later. There are no fools here. But, with your help, when I am discovered, I’ll be long gone and well out of Federation reach.”
Maco looked around furtively, but they were unobserved. “The date for the combat is set,” he said. “Once you have killed Reiss, I will arrange for you to be lifted out of the combat zone and brought back here to Lupus. We will meet at an address I will give you. Anna will join us there. Then we’ll take flight to Jupiter. Now, listen carefully. The combat is scheduled to last three days. If neither man is dead by then, the Iron Guard will kill both of you. Those are the rules. You must ensure that you win on the first day. By the time it becomes known we have fled to Jupiter, it will be too late for Vasht or anyone else to do anything about it.”
“That doesn’t seem long enough.” Avon said.
“Trust me!”
Avon looked at him, his eyes hardened. “It would seem I have no choice. Don’t betray my trust. You would not appreciate the consequences.”
Maco smiled placatingly. He touched Avon’s arm, the gesture paternal. “I’m in this as much as you are.” Someone was walking over to them.
“How long will it take to insert the fraudulent programs?” Maco asked in a whisper.
Avon whispered back, “I’ve already done it.”
Another employee of the financial house, a member of the family, drew closer. He was about Avon’s height, age and build. He had the face of a choirboy. He was called Tynus.
“Vasht wants to see you.” Tynus said. His eyes, like a snake’s, flicked from Avon to Maco and back again. “I hope your enterprise is thriving,” he added.
Avon nodded and smiled coldly. “And yours.”
Tynus frowned, then reassumed his angelic expression, bowed to each in turn and backed away.
“He knows?” Maco was aghast.
“He suspects.”
“How?”
“Because he’s up to exactly the same tricks. And he knows I know.”
“Will he keep silence?”
“Long enough for us to do what we have to do. We have an unspoken agreement. I’m doing him a favor by pretending not to know what he’s up to. He’s prepared to return the compliment.”
“I don’t like the look of him,” Maco said.
“Funnily enough, he said exactly the same thing about you!”
Maco smiled. “Still, I might find a use for him. In the meantime, we must not keep Vasht waiting. Come with me.”
Avon obeyed and the two men rode a monorail to the castle grounds. The officer who had beaten Avon on the day they first arrived at Lupus was there to meet them. He escorted them into the building, along the wide marbled corridor to the Council chamber.
Vasht, seated at the great desk beneath the Bosch painting, rose to greet them. She dismissed the officer with a gesture bordering on contempt. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Avon. “I’m sorry we have not met before,” she said courteously. “I’ve been busy.”
“Murder and mayhem can be time consuming.” Avon said.
Vasht smiled. “You may leave us Maco.”
“But!”
“But me no ’buts.’ Leave!”
Maco, after a moment’s agitated hesitation, obeyed. Vasht perched on the edge of the desk, lit a long cigar and blew smoke rings in the air.
“That’s a bad habit,” Avon said.
“It’s not my only one!” She fluttered her eyelashes. Avon smiled.
“You strongly resemble your father,” Vasht said.
“I never knew him.”
“No, of course not. Have you ever seen Axel Reiss?” she asked coyly.
“No.”
“H
e too resembles your father.”
Avon tensed. “In what way?”
“They were half-brothers. Didn’t you know?” Vasht said innocently.
Although the day was warm, Avon felt chilled to the marrow. He could not bring himself to answer.
“Ironic isn’t it?” Vasht continued. “I must admire Axel. He has used the Universe as his battleground for the conduct of a family feud.”
“Why?” Avon’s voice croaked.
Vasht frowned. “If you kill him, you may find out. If not, you may never know.” She stubbed out her cigar. “Tomorrow, you will be transported to the killing zone,” she said. “It is in the North, where your father died. Where he died by Axel’s hand.” Her eyes flashed like diamonds, challenging him.
Avon did not react.
Vasht seemed disappointed. “Reiss is there already. You have three days to resolve the combat. After that, the Iron Guard will hunt you down and kill you. If you should win, be at an appointed place with evidence of Reiss’s death and you will be welcomed back into Federation society as a valued member.”
Avon snorted.
Vasht looked up sharply. “That is a rule of the game,” she said tersely. “In the event that you do win, it’s a rule I’d like to break. Unfortunately, I am bound as you are.”
Avon stood quite still as Vasht eased herself off the edge of the desk and walked round him as if assessing his value in a slave market. “For what it’s worth,” she said finally, “I think you’ll lose.”
Avon grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She struggled, but his grip was like iron. “There are forces gathering to oppose you,” he said quietly. “When I win, your lover and protector will be dead and in hell. I suspect you will join him there quite soon.” He released her and pushed her away from him. For a moment, they faced each other like two cats in an alley, ready to dispute each other’s territory.
Vasht smiled. “Like father, like son,” she said.
“But not like dear uncle!” Avon replied.
“A pity.”
Avon smiled. “You’d like to play both ends against the middle, wouldn’t you? Whoever wins in the North, you would like to have him on your side. I could become your creature in place of Reiss. I’m younger, I might last longer in the service of your purposes. But you could never trust me. Reiss is a better bet for you.”
Vasht sighed. “I wish we had met before. You’re right, of course. My days are numbered. The old Federation is crumbling about us. To be replaced by those with a liberal conscience. Conscience makes for cowards. In time, someone like me will seize power again. And so it will go on.”
“It’s not a very edifying prospect.”
Vasht laughed, then was silent for a while. She turned away from him, walked to a tall window and looked out. “You had better leave,” she said. Then added in a whisper, “Or stay if you will.”
She whirled round. Avon had gone.
8
The heliplane flew low over the snowbound wastes. The pilot was the same Death Squad officer who had kicked Avon into consciousness and who had later introduced him to Vasht. His name was Raher.
Avon sat beside him in the narrow cockpit of the plane. He was dressed in a black coverall patched with leather. For the moment, he was unarmed. Only when he left the aircraft would Raher pass to him his twin-bladed knife with serrated edge.
Axel Reiss, deposited the previous day some hundred kilometers to the East, would be similarly armed. On a given signal, the two combatants were required to march to meet each other. The rules of the game were strict on these matters.
“In three days,” Raher was saying, “I will land close by the ice obelisk. We fly near it. I’ll point it out to you. The victor must rendezvous with me there. If no one comes within six hours of the appointed time, the Death Squad will be ordered in and whoever is still alive, perhaps both of you, will be hunted down. It’s as well to be clear on this point. However, I expect Reiss to finish you quickly,” he sneered.
Avon was studying the terrain beneath them.
“If you win,” Raher went on, “You must bring me evidence to confirm your success.”
“Such as?”
“Why not bring me Reiss’s head? He brought your father’s to Vasht!”
Avon turned his head very slowly and stared at him like a basilisk.
Raher, disconcerted, swung the controls so that the aircraft ducked and dived before resuming a steady course. Neither man spoke again until they reached their destination, some four hours flying time from Lupus.
They were visiting the exact spot where Reiss had slaughtered Rogue Avon more than twenty Earth years before. Nothing had changed.
Raher set the heliplane down on the soft, glistening carpet of snow and Avon jumped out of the cockpit onto the ground. The pilot threw him his sheathed knife. Immediately he had done so, he revved the machine’s engines, reactivated its rotors and took off. Dipping the nose of the plane in salute, he flew off in the direction from whence they had come.
Avon stood alone in the midst of a white, wide space. Dressed in black, he stood out like a monument. A perfect target.
However, he knew that Reiss was a hundred kilometers away. Even if he was nearer, he would not have a long gun.
Avon looked westward. Some six kilometers distant was a stand of fir and pine trees.
“Find cover in the trees.” Maco had said. “Reiss will be expecting you to move towards him so that you can fight at some halfway point. Don’t! Stay where you are and make him come to you.”
“How can you be sure of the place?” Avon had asked.
Maco had smiled his secret smile. “If Reiss has a weakness, I can guess what it is. There’s a streak of sentiment in him. He will be glad to kill you on the ground where he killed your father. Logic! He and Vasht have arranged this together and Reiss calls the tune in that duet.”
“So, he’ll expect me to wait?”
“Yes.”
“What if you’re wrong about the location?”
“Then you have a problem that you will have to solve yourself. But I’ll wager my life I’m right!”
Avon had smiled wryly. “Actually, it is my life you are wagering!”
Now he silently complimented Maco. His had been an educated guess that Avon, in his own heart, knew would be accurate.
He sat and waited. Silent, still and watchful, he allowed five hours to pass before the distant drone of a small heliplane’s engines caused him to spring to his feet. Within minutes, the aircraft appeared as a mere speck in the far sky but, rapidly approaching him, it soon assumed its proper proportions.
The craft had been selected by Maco because it was the smallest available and capable of avoiding most detector systems.
There was no way its pilot could fail to see Avon’s black garbed figure silhouetted against the white background of snow.
The plane hovered close by, tilted slightly and a roll of canvas fell from its cockpit to the ground.
The pilot dipped the aircraft and, through a glass cocoon, Avon saw Tynus was at the controls. His fellow conspirator smiled angelically, then pulled hard on a lever in front of him and the plane jumped like a flea into the sky. It turned and sped away.
“It’s an excellent plan,” Maco had said. “The rules are very strict and command utmost respect. No one would dream that you would cheat.”
“Rules are made to be broken,” Avon had replied.
He ran across the snow and retrieved the bundle. It was not heavy and he continued running until, breathless, he reached the stand of trees.
He slit the canvas with his twin-bladed knife and discovered that the roll contained a compass, a small phial of nitrogylcerine and an old-fashioned, six projectile hand gun which was fully loaded. There was also a brief message from Maco. In stark lettering, his mentor had written: “Beware Steljuks!”
Avon shivered involuntarily. He knew what Steljuks were. Half man, half beast, nomadic snow dwellers.
All the equipment with
which he had now been provided was wrapped in a light coverall similar to the one he was wearing. With one important difference—it was white.
Avon stripped and exchanged one garmet for the other. Despite the fact that it was a dry, bright day, during the few moments he was naked, he felt a terrible chill.
When he was prepared, he once more settled down to wait.
He had now been in the North for six hours. According to the scheme that he and Maco had concocted, he could allow himself eighteen more in which to kill Reiss.
If his opponent was as crafty as he had surmised, he would not wait for Avon to make a move towards him. After all, he had been deposited one hundred kilometers distant a full twenty-four hours before. If Avon was willing to bend the rules of the engagement, Reiss would certainly follow suit and set out after his prey a full day ahead of schedule. Thus, he had had thirty hours grace. It would not be long before he put in an appearance.
Avon found a place beneath overhanging branches of fir trees and buried himself in a mound of snow. To a casual observer, he was now a part of the landscape.
He calculated that his adversary would probably cover the ground at a rate of four kilometers an hour. Allowing him rest periods of six hours, he guessed Reiss would take one more hour to reach him. This was his first mistake. Reiss was already there.
Avon was disturbed by a slight rustling sound in the trees behind him. “Bastard!” he thought. He now knew that Reiss had moved much faster than anticipated and had circled around him. He waited, hardly daring to breathe.
“Did you really think I’d fall for that old trick?” A deep voice called out.
Axel Reiss stepped out of the trees and stood facing his hideout. Not more than fifty metres away, he was hefting his double-edged knife, which glittered in the sunlight.
Almost shamefaced, Avon stood and brushed clinging snow from his clothing.
“That’s better,” Reiss said. “Now I can see you properly.”
Clearly surprised by the fact that Avon was wearing white when he should have been wearing black, Reiss took a few steps away from him. His eyes searched all around. Satisfied that they were alone, he relaxed slightly. “Come closer,” he said, beckoning Avon forward.