Code Duello up-4

by Mack Reynolds

  Jerry grinned condescendingly at her.

  Helen snorted disgust.

  The maggiore had bid them temporary addio, promising to look in to ascertain their needs, after they had become established. So it was that an assistant manager with a host of subservient bellhops saw them to their quarters.

  Jerry said airily to that worthy, “See that these lads are suitably recompensed and the item added to my bill. Be generous, of course. I’m notorious for overtipping.”

  The hotel official bowed gently, his face expressionless. “I have been informed of otherworld usage, Signore, however, on Firenze, the gratuity is not accepted.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  The other flushed. “But I am, Signore.”

  “You mean these… boys… aren’t interested in, say, an interplanetary credit, split up between them?”

  “That is what I mean.”

  Jerry scoffed overbearingly. “Oh, you’re crazy.”

  One of the bellhops stepped up to the assistant manager. “If the Signore direttore requires a second…”

  Another of the bellhops stepped up.

  Dom Horsten hurriedly lumbered forward and took the hotel junior official by an arm. He beamed in all friendliness. “Ah, thank you ever so much. Wonderful hotel, you have here, Signore. Wonderful hospitality.” He was propelling the other toward the door. “How well staffed! How immaculately clean!”

  Zorro held the door open.

  When the Florentine and his bevy of bellhops were gone, Zorro leaned back against the door and ran a hand over his forehead. “Whew,” he whewed. Then he allowed himself a glare at Jerry.

  Jerry said, “When I’m told to play a playboy, I play a playboy.”

  Horsten and Helen were both making faces at him. Helen held a tiny finger to her lips, then showed her teeth at him.

  Jerry Rhodes blinked.

  Helen tossed her hatbox to a chair, turned Gertrude bottoms-up pulled up the doll’s skirt, and twisted something on the toy’s back. Helen then handed the doll to her large partner.

  Horsten, in turn, took it about the room, holding it toward the light fixtures, the decorations, the furniture, here, there, everywhere, and when one room was done, the next.

  The other three followed him, the why-of-it-all becoming obvious even to Jerry Rhodes.

  At long last the scientist halted, his face puzzled. “No signs of the place being bugged whatsoever,” he rumbled.

  Helen, frowning, deactivated the doll, then snapped her fingers. “You know what?”

  They all looked at her.

  “It’s the suite used by the First Signore, when he’s in town. Don’t you see? The last place on Firenze that would be bugged.” She snorted. “What luck.” Then she glared at Jerry. “I take that word back.”

  Jerry chortled. “Why?” he said. “Here we all are, in the most comfortable quarters in the city. All together, which makes our work that much the easier. And with the perfect excuse for being all together. Where’s the bar? There must be a bar in a layout like this. I wonder what kind of guzzle they have on Firenze.”

  “I noticed one in the main living room,” Zorro said. He led the way.

  No one was opposed to settling down in a comfort chair or couch. Jerry played host, taking their orders and making up their drinks. As was to be expected, the bar, though not large, was supplied with the most exquisite potables to be found on all the most hedonistically inclined worlds of United Planets.

  “This is the life!” Jerry announced, his glass up in a gesture of toast.

  Horsten was looking at Helen who had chosen a chair so large that her chubby little legs failed to reach the edge of the seat. She was sitting there with a monstrously big champagne glass and gulping it with considerable satisfaction.

  The outsized scientist shook his head. “I’ll never get used to it,” he said.

  Helen finished off about half her drink and then turned to Jerry, her eyes fishy. “Well,” she snarled. “What was the stupid idea of dropping that Section G badge right in front of those damned customs men? You trying to get us all shot?”

  Jerry was taken aback. His mouth took on an expression that was just short of a pout “I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said plaintively.

  “I thought we’d agreed to leave everything that might possibly connect us with the Department of Interplanetary Justice back at the Octagon. Suppose they’d searched us.”

  Jerry looked like an adolescent who’d just been scolded. “Aw,” he said. I’m pretty proud of being a Section G agent. I wanted to carry my badge.”

  Helen rolled her eyes upward.

  Jerry said brightly, “Wasn’t it just my luck that earthquake came along? And the customs man, Rudolf, forgetting that the badge dropped out of my jerkin?”

  “Earthquake!” Horsten muttered. “I damn near broke my back, shaking that room.”

  “Forgot!” Helen snarled. “You think it was a cinch, my scratching that Florentine with a memory-wash hypo? He’s had three hours cleaned out of his memory. Just keep your fingers crossed some suspicious medico doesn’t give him a thorough checking out. That Maggiore Verona can’t be as foolish as he looks. If he knew somebody’d gone to the trouble of memory-washing friend Rudolf, he’d want to know why. And they’d go through our luggage like mineral oil.”

  Horsten winced at her language.

  Zorro worked away at his drink and said thoughtfully, “I wonder what would happen if we just came right out and let this Roberto Verona know why we were really here. After all, we’re on his side. We’re present to help get rid of these Engelists that are evidently bedeviling the planet to the point where nothing can be accomplished.”

  Dom Horsten said, “How do you know he’s not an Engelist himself?”

  Zorro looked at him.

  The doctor said impatiently, “Holy Ultimate, man, it’s not unprecedented, you know. Evidently, Firenze’s underground has infiltrated everywhere. Who is to say they aren’t even represented among the First Signore’s cabinet, the Second Signore, right on down to the Tenth? For all we know, any or all of them might be Engelists, not to speak of their staffs, such as this Maggiore Verona.”

  Helen said, “It’s no mistake that former Section G operatives have pulled a zero here. This underground is efficient. And you know at what point an underground really gets efficient?”

  “When?” Jerry said.

  “Just before it takes over,” Helen said. “This assignment of ours is going to be accomplished but fast, or we’ll wind up with chaos on this planet.”

  Horsten said unhappily, “Just about anything can happen when a revolution breaks out. The whole planet could be devastated, set back a century or more, so far as progress is concerned.”

  Zorro finished his drink and chuckled. “I just thought of a wonderful idea for Section G to wrangle its way on just about every planet in the U.P. confederation.” He got up from his chair and went to the bar for a refill.

  They looked after him, waiting.

  He gestured with his glass. “We latch onto one of those matter converters the Dawnworlders have. And we take it to any planet where they still utilize money. Suppose platinum is the means of exchange. Fine, we take one ingot along and duplicate it, over and over again. With it, we bribe every official on the planet, from king, president, holy theocrat, or whatever, down to dog catcher, into the form of socioeconomic system we want.”

  The other three laughed dutifully.

  “Sounds great,” Jerry said.

  Zorro said, “Just where are these Dawnworlds located, anyway? I was kidding, but you know, it’s an idea. If Section G had one of those things at its disposal, what a secret weapon it would be.”

  “Forget about it,” Helen muttered. “In that direction is disaster—for the whole race.”

  Horsten said, “Where the Dawnworlds are is a top secret, even in Section G. Somewhere beyond the planet Phrygia, of course, but that’s almost meaningless, so far as directions are concerned. Phry
gia is—or was—the farthest in toward the center of the galaxy that man has thus far settled. But with no more navigating direction than that, you could seek the Dawnworlds forever.”

  Zorro grunted, only half interested. “Well, somebody must know where they are. After all, a spaceforces ship or so has been out there. What was his name, who handled it?”

  “Ronny Bronston,” Helen supplied. “Bronston and Agent Birdman.”

  “Where’s Birdman and Bronston now?”

  “Birdman’s dead, and Ronny’s in the hospital,” Helen said sourly. “I understand he used to be an easy-going, nice boy type. Now he’s Sid Jake’s favorite triggerman, one of the best. Don’t let that exterior of Sid Jakes fool you. You have to watch these dedicated people. They’ll wind up getting you clobbered. There was a guy named Joshua who came from an obscure town called Nazareth. Very dedicated. He had eleven particularly keen followers, but history doesn’t record that any of them did so well.”

  “Very funny,” the dark complected agent said.

  Horsten finished his drink and set his glass down on a cocktail table. “So much for jabber,” he said. “Let’s get down to our program of action. What’s first on the agenda?”

  “We’ve got to locate this subversive underground,” Jerry said. “And with my luck…”

  “Bounce it.” Helen sneered.

  The door hummed and they looked up, frowning.

  Zorro said, “I wouldn’t think Verona would be bothering us this soon.

  Horsten lumbered to his feet and walked in the direction of the entry. Helen skipped along beside him, holding a hand. It made a charming scene.

  The door was old-fashioned and without visor, in keeping with the decor of the Albergo Palazzo . Horsten opened it and looked out, politely inquisitive.

  Two stood there. It took a moment for Helen and her supposed father to recognize them. They had changed from their uniforms into very formal looking clothing. They were two of Chief Customs Inspector Grossi’s men.

  Horsten frowned. “Yes?”

  They bowed formally. “The Signore Juarez is without doubt here?”

  Helen stuck a thumb in her mouth. “You mean my boyfriend Zorro?” she said around it.

  “That will be all, dear,” Horsten said. Then to the newcomers, “Why, yes. Citizen Juarez is here.”

  The other one spoke, his voice as formal as his partner’s. “We call on a matter of honor,” he announced. “Undoubtedly, the Signore Juarez will have someone to act for him.”

  PART TWO

  Chapter Five

  Dr. Dorn Horsten looked at the newcomers. “Matter of honor?” he repeated.

  The committee bowed with fine formality.

  He who had spoken first said, “The inspector is desolated, Signore. He realized, only after the departure of Signore Juarez that he had practically given the He to the Signore’s claim to gentle blood upon the planet of his origin, the status of, uh, Gentleman Gaucho.”

  Helen caught on first “You mean,” she said, “that silly inspector wants to doodle my Zorro?”

  The two stood stiffly, looking straight ahead.

  Horsten muttered, “Zen!”

  The second customs man said, “Perhaps the Code Duello differs somewhat on Vacamundo. Suffice to say that our custom has it that choice of weapons, place and time of meeting is to be set by the Signore challenged and to be arranged by the respective seconds of the Signori involved.”

  The algae specialist said hurriedly. “Now, see here. Perhaps this can all be settled without further difficulty.”

  The two eyed him coldly.

  Helen said, “Why don’t you go home?”

  The first said, “Perhaps the Signore Juarez should, at this point, name the seconds he wishes to represent him.”

  Horsten thought about it quickly. “Look,” he said. “Wait here a minute.” He turned and strode back to the living room.

  “What’s up?” Jerry said from where he slouched in a comfort chair.

  Horsten looked at Zorro. “The inspector has been thinking it over. He’s decided he insulted you, by impugning your status as a Gentleman Gaucho, or whatever you are when you carry one of those hide-away whips.”

  Zorro looked at him. “My tranca? They’re nothing. Everybody carries one. I made it up as I went along.”

  “Great. Well, now you’re stuck with the story.”

  Zorro grunted irritation. “Then just tell him I accept his apology.”

  “He isn’t apologizing, exactly. He’s sent two of his men as seconds. Evidently, he figures that not to offer you a chance to clobber him is a reflection on the Firenze code of honor.”

  Zorro was flabbergasted. “What do we do now?”

  Jerry said, “Refuse him, and you lose face, or image, or whatever it is you lose when you back down before a challenge.”

  Horsten said, “You’re supposed to be a rough and tough cattleman, here to do business. Your cover will be under suspicion if you try to wiggle out, particularly after that haughty Gentleman Gaucho show you put on.”

  Zorro said disgustedly, “What do they want right now?”

  “For you to name two seconds, to get together with them and arrange for the duel.”

  “All right, so you’re my seconds. Go make a date to confer with them and we’ll figure out what to do later.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “What else can we do, damn it?”

  Jerry got to his feet. “There ought to be some pun I could make on the fact that I’ve never been a second before, always first.”

  “Very funny,” Zorro growled.

  Horsten and Jerry Rhodes went back to the entry.

  Helen was standing there, hands on hips, eyeing the two customs men dangerously. “I’m not going to let that silly inspector hurt my Uncle Zorro,” she was telling them.

  Their faces were pained, but they did their best to maintain dignity.

  Horsten said, “Helen, do be quiet This is adult business.”

  “Hal” Helen snorted.

  He said to the two, “Citizen Rhodes and I have been named seconds for Citizen Juarez. I suggest we meet tonight in the hotel bar. I assume there is a hotel bar?”

  There was a hotel bar.

  “At say, ten o’clock?”

  Ten o’clock that night in the hotel bar was acceptable.

  They bowed.

  Dr. Horsten bowed.

  Jerry Rhodes bowed.

  Helen stuck out her tongue.

  When the seconds of Chief Customs Inspector Grossi had gone, Horsten said, after a long thoughtful moment, “I hope this is what it looks to be on the surface,” he said.

  “How’s that?” Jerry asked him.

  “Is it simply the sort of nonsense that would prevail under any society that allowed an anachronism such as dueling? Or, is Zorro being deliberately eliminated by someone—perhaps the Engelists? Remember Bulchand?”

  “Bulchand?” Helen said.

  “The Section G agent formerly stationed here. He was challenged and killed.”

  Jerry said, in unwonted seriousness, “You’re right. A customs inspector would be in a good position to eliminate an undesirable. He’s one of the first to see a newcomer to Firenze. And with an off-beat planet like this, how many newcomers are there that wouldn’t pull what amounted to some sort of local boner right off the bat? Enough of a boner so that he could be challenged.”

  Horsten said, “You think it’s a put-up job?”

  “It was your idea, and it could be.”

  Helen said, “Let’s get back to Zorro. Mentioning Bulchand brings up the matter of our getting underway.”

  They went back to the living room where Zorro was discovered mixing himself another drink.

  “Everything settled?” he asked.

  “We meet them in the bar at ten,” Jerry said. Then to Helen, “What do you mean, getting underway?”

  Helen resumed her seat, crossed her plump legs and went businesslike. “Our only c
ontact here, since Bulchand is dead, is the office of Section G in the U.P. Embassy, whoever’s holding it down. So, let’s get around to a visit.”

  Horsten said, “You think it’s a put-up job?” report there and register as U.P. citizens from over-space, due to upset conditions prevailing on Firenze.”

  “What upset conditions?” Helen said.

  “The unsettled political situation occasioned by the underground,” Horsten said reasonably.

  “That makes sense,” Zorro said. “If anybody’s got any tails following us, we’ve got a perfect alibi for going to the U.P. offices. I’ll phone down to the desk and find out where the embassy is.” He put his glass on the bar and went out to the entry hall where there was a phone screen.

  Helen tossed back the rest of her drink, with a practiced stiff-wristed motion that made Dorn Horsten grimace. “I wish there was some way you could wear adult clothing when we were alone,” he complained. “Perhaps you’d look like a midget, but at least…”

  “Knock it, you overgrown lummox. It’d look fine, wouldn’t it, if I had a lot of adult clothing tucked away in my luggage for the first snoop to find?”

  “Well, at least look as though you’re sipping lemonade or something. You give me an ulcer tossing down that hard stuff as though you were practicing for your Interplanetary Alcoholics Anonymous lack-of-merit badge.”

  Helen snorted contempt of his opinion.

  Zorro came back, his face even darker than nature had tinted it.

  “What’s the matter?” Jerry said, yawning. ” I say, let’s call off everything and go out on the town. Stretch our legs after that Half Moon kettle.”

  “We might as well,” Zorro said. “If the U.P. Embassy was our one contact, then we’re contactless.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Helen said.

  “The representatives of U.P. on the member planet Firenze have just been sent a-packing,” Zorro told her.

  “Why?” Jerry and Horsten blurted in unison. “For being, and I quote, a hotbed of subversive activity.”

  The other three stared at him.

  Zorro said, “Whoever it was I was talking to, at the desk, was on the suspicious side that I should even ask about the U.P. Embassy.”