Code Duello up-4

by Mack Reynolds

“Yes, what did he do?” Dorn Horsten said.

  The major said, “He went into the public library and attempted to secure books on the Engelists.”

  The otherworldlings stared at him.

  The maggiore elaborated patiently: “He conducted himself ridiculously. How he expected to elude the Anti-Firenze Activities officers I couldn’t say. He went into the main branch of the city library and asked for books, pamphlets, tapes, or whatever might be available on the Engelist movement.”

  Jerry said, not quite understanding, “Well, what did they give him?”

  “Give him! The librarian he consulted immediately phoned the Bureau of Security and the Anti-Firenze Activities Ministry. He was arrested within moments.”

  The three looked at him.

  “See here. Suppose someone wanted to find out about the Engelists. How would he go about it?” Horsten said.

  The maggiore’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he want to find out about the Engelists?”

  The scientist shrugged. “How would I know? Perhaps he wishes to write a book about them.”

  “There are already sufficient exposes on the underground traitors, written by competent authorities on the subject.”

  “Well, why didn’t this librarian give them to Citizen Juarez? He obviously was simply curious.”

  “He didn’t want the volumes available. He claimed he wished to consult original sources. He wanted books written by the Engelists themselves!” The maggiore was being patient.

  They held another moment of silence.

  It was Horsten who took up the ball again. “You mean there is no manner in which a, well, student of the subject can simply go to the public library and take out books about the Engelists, written by Engelists, rather than by their critics?”

  It was the major’s turn to be bewildered. “Do you think His Zelenza’s government is insane?”

  Jerry said, “Look. How can anybody combat these subversives if they don’t even know what they stand for?”

  “We know what they stand for,” the maggiore said indignantly.

  “What?” Helen said. She was seated on the floor, her hatbox full of toys before her.

  Dr. Horsten stepped in quickly. “Out of the mouth of babes, eh?” He chuckled. “But, actually, I have the same question. What do they stand for?”

  “Forcible overthrow of the legitimate government and the imposition of a dictatorship!”

  “Well, yes, we already gathered that. But how do they expect to go about all this? How do they attempt to appeal to the people? How do they operate?”

  The maggiore said, “You seem strangely interested in the Engelists for strangers.”

  Dorn covered. “Well, it’s partly pure curiosity, since we’re hearing so much about them. And partly in view of the fact that our companion, poor Zorro, has been arrested as one. All of which seems ridiculous to me. He’s never even been on Firenze before. He knows nobody here. Has no interest in your politico-economic system.”

  The maggiore thought about it. Finally, he said, “Well, here’s an example, although I am actually committing an indiscretion.” From an inner pocket he drew forth a four page leaflet, printed on cheap paper and, by the looks of it, on some primitive equipment. He handed it over hesitantly to the scientist.

  Dorn Horsten scowled down.

  “Florentines Ariser he read. “Overthrow the Tyranny of Representative Govemment!

  “Come again on that one?” Jerry said.

  Horsten ignored him and read on. ” Establish the People’s Democratic Dictatorship!

  “It wouldn’t really be democratic,” the maggiore injected. “All they want is to seize power for themselves.”

  “Fellow citizens of Firenze, adopt the following program . One. Infiltrate the army and police forces and kill your officers. Two. Boycott the elections. Three. Destroy the machines directed at …”

  The scientist stopped, flabbergasted. He said to Maggiore Verona, “Where in the world did you get this?”

  “It’s one of their propaganda leaflets.”

  “Obviously. But… well, do you mean they pass these out indiscriminately on the streets?”

  “When we can’t catch them, they do.”

  Horsten shook his massive head. “These people could use some lessons,” he muttered. He went back to the propaganda leaflet, still registering disbelief. He shook his head in despair and, putting the pamphlet aside, turned to the Florentine.

  “See here. We hardly know Citizen Juarez. However, as fellow strangers to Firenze and former shipmates on the Half Moon, I, at least, feel some duty toward him, to the extent that I feel bound to see he is adequately legally represented.”

  “Legally represented?” Verona said, puzzled. “But he’s accused of being an Engelist.”

  Jerry poured another dollop of drink in his glass. He still stood at the room’s bar. “Something missed me there. From what you said, all he’s accused of is trying to get some books on Engelism. I might’ve done that myself, if I’d thought about it.”

  The maggiore said, “I would not advise it, Signore Rhodes. Perhaps it is true that your mother owns half the Catalina-Avalon planet complex, however, you are a long way from there, and here on Firenze we are very conscious of the subversives who wish to destroy our whole way of life.”

  Horsten said, “To get back to Zorro’s legal representative. Ordinarily, undoubtedly he would have appealed to the United Planets Embassy, since it seems unlikely that Vacamundo would be represented diplomatically here. However, since the U.P. Embassy has been discontinued…”

  “Undoubtedly, new representatives, uncontaminated by Engelist doctrine, will shortly be sent from Earth.”

  “Yeah, but meanwhile Zorro’s in the jug,” Helen said.

  The Florentine looked at her.

  Horsten said hurriedly, “Helen, you spend too much time looking at the Tri-Di historical crime shows.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Helen muttered. She went back to her box of toys.

  Horsten said, “But what about Zorro’s lawyer?”

  “I told you,” Maggiore Verona explained. “He’s accused of being an Engelist. Obviously, no reputable attorney would represent him.” He looked from Dorn Horsten to Jerry Rhodes, as nothing could be more obvious. “What would people think of a supposedly loyal Florentine who would represent an Engelist?”

  “Not an Engelist,” Jerry blurted. “Somebody accused of being an Engelist.”

  “Well,” the other said stiffly. “You must admit, there’s precious little difference. A mere technicality.”

  Jerry slugged down his drink. “I don’t know,” he said, a wild element in his voice. “I continually get the impression on this planet that everybody’s kidding.” He looked at the Florentine anti-subversion officer. “You sure you don’t want a drink? Listen, something just occurred to me. You introduced yourself as attached to the Third Signore’s staff. What did you say the Third Signore is in charge of?”

  “Anti-subversion.”

  “What’s that got to do with us? Why’re you spending your time with us?”

  The maggiore was a bit embarrassed, but still suave. “My dear Signore Rhodes. Surely it is the same on other worlds. Until evidence is presented to the contrary, we must operate on the, uh, possibility…” He let the sentence fade away.

  Jerry grabbed up the bottle and poured himself another stiff one. “I’m beginning to think you people’ve been chasing these subversives so long you’ve gone drivel-happy.” He gave the bottle a half wave in illustration. “You know what I ran into today at that sidewalk cafe? A guy who…”

  Helen came up with a little plastic gun from her hat box. She snarled at Jerry, pointing the gun, “Put down that bottle stranger. You had enough.”

  The maggiore laughed condescendingly. “Ah, little ragazza, you should never point a loaded weapon, unless you mean to use it.”

  Helen turned a beady eye on him. She swung the gun barrel in his direction. “Stick ’em up,” she order
ed. “You put my Uncle Zorro in the jug.”

  “Helen!” her father said in exasperation.

  The Florentine was chuckling. He said in mock seriousness, “I refuse to stick ’em up. We loyal officers of the Third Signore never surrender.”

  “You asked for it,” Helen said flatly and pulled the trigger.

  “Helen!” her father blurted, rising from his chair in horror.

  But the stream of water caught Maggiore Roberto Verona full in the face. He sat there frozen as it splattered over him. The water dribbled down over his lower face and onto his natty uniform.

  Dr. Horsten was on his feet, a handkerchief in hand. He dabbed at the besoaked Verona, roaring over his shoulder, “Helen! Go to your room! Immediately!”

  Helen dropped the water pistol and, wailing, headed for the back rooms of the suite.

  Maggiore Verona took a deep breath and collected himself with effort. He stood, holding up a hand to restrain the good doctor’s efforts, and said shakily, “It is nothing. All apologies are accepted. She is but a little”—it took him an effort to bring out the last—“child.”

  He cleared his throat. “I must go. I must go change.” He attempted a military bow, which didn’t come off. “Signori, if you will excuse me.” He headed for the door.

  Dr. Horsten, continuing his chucking and incoherent apologies, saw him out, then returned to the oversized living room. There was storm in his expression.

  “Where’s that witch?”

  Helen stuck her head through the double door that led back to the master bedroom, which she had taken over as her own domain.

  “Coast clear?”

  “What in the name of the…” Horsten began in wrath.”

  “Knock it,” she muttered. She went over to the bar and ungraciously gave Jerry’s leg a shove. She clambered up on a stool and reached for a bottle and glass.

  “I had to shut him up some way,” she said defensively. She gestured with her head at Jerry, a motion which made her little-girl curls flare out winningly. “He was about to blab about an agent provocateur we ran into, in town today.”

  Jerry, scowling, said, “What’s an agent, whatever-you-said?”

  “Agent provocateur” Helen repeated, gurgling liquid into her glass until Horsten turned his head away to avoid the sight. “Have you ever heard the old Czarist Russian saying? When four men sit down to talk revolution, three are police spies and the other a fool.” Jerry just looked at her.

  “Well,” she said. “Undoubtedly, that’s our Great Marconi. Although I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “What are you talking about?” Horsten asked. She told him about the Great Marconi and he scowled. He said, “What did you mean, you’re beginning to wonder?”

  Helen took a slug of her drink and sat down on the bar stool—she had been standing on it—and crossed her legs.

  “Well, at first I figured he was secret police, trying to draw Jerry out, to see if he had any interest in Engelism.”

  “But now?”

  She said thoughtfully, “Now I’m beginning to wonder if possibly he wasn’t an Engelist pretending he was an Engelist.”

  “You threw that one too fast,” Jerry protested.

  Suddenly the front door of the penthouse suite opened and they turned to face it, all three frowning.

  Zorro Juarez entered, his face as dark as when he had stormed out that morning.

  He came up before them, his hands on his hips. “You know where I’ve just been?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Helen said.

  “That’s what I thought. How’d you get me out?”

  The three looked at him.

  “We didn’t,” Jerry said. “If I got this straight, you weren’t eligible to have a lawyer because you were accused of being an Engelist. How come you were silly enough to stick your neck out like that?”

  “Look who’s talking,” Helen said, taking another slug of her drink. “You’re hardly out of jail yourself.”

  Zorro was mystified. “Well, somebody evidently cut a lot of red tape, somehow. They had me in a sort of community cell, in a concentration camp. Everybody accused of subversion.” He went over to the bar and without looking at the label of the bottle Helen had poured her drink from, upended it over a tall glass and let the golden, thickish beverage gush down.

  “Engelists, eh?” Horsten nodded.

  “No.”

  “No? What other kind of subversives are there on Firenze?”

  Zorro took back a slug of his drink, looked down into the glass appreciatively, took another. “I wouldn’t know. But my fellow jailbirds were the most unlikely candidates for membership in an underground organization you ever set eyes on.”

  Jerry said plaintively, “I don’t know what there is about this evening. I don’t seem to follow any of the conversation. Were these people Engelists, or not?”

  The dark complected cowman growled, “If they were, they sure hid it from me. I tried to sound them out, individually and in groups. None of them knew anything about Engelism.”

  “Maybe they thought you were an agent provocateur,” Jerry said, in newfound wisdom.

  “What’s that?”

  Jerry looked at Helen from the side of his eyes. “A police spy stuck in with amateur revolutionists to draw them out.”

  Zorro thought about it. He shook his head finally. “No, that wasn’t it. They weren’t even particularly interested in the subject. Couldn’t even get them to talk about it.”

  Horsten was scowling. “What did they talk about?”

  “Mostly about the Dawnplanets.”

  Chapter Eight

  If he had suddenly levitated to the ceiling, Zorro Juarez couldn’t have set them further aback.

  Zorro said, “I thought this alien intelligent life, the Dawnmen, were supposed to be a big United Planets secret.”

  Dom Horsten, his face registering complete disbelief, made his way over to one of the room’s overstuffed comfort chairs and sank down, dwarfing it.

  “Supposedly they were,” he said unhappily. “Helen and I didn’t tell you the whole story. Neither of us were with Section G at the time, but we were briefed on the situation. It seems that when the Dawnworlds were first contacted, Ross Metaxa, along with the President of United Planets and the Director of the Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs, brought together some two thousand of what they evidently thought were the most dependable chiefs of state of United Planets and laid the-situation in their laps. I suppose they expected the conference to lead to greater cooperation among the member worlds.”

  “And…” Zorro prompted.

  The scientist shrugged huge shoulders. “Evidently, the attempt proved successful with some. Metaxa tried to swear them all to secrecy. He should have known better. How can you swear two thousand highly individualistic men and women to secrecy?”

  “They blabbed?”

  “It would seem some of them did, from what you say. Otherwise, how would the man in the street, here on Firenze, know about even the existence of the Dawn-worlds?”

  Helen said in disgust, “Just how much were they aware of?”

  Zorro made a gesture of discomfort. “Remember, I only spent a few hours in the place. But they knew that the aliens live on a small confederation of planets located somewhere out beyond Phrygia. And they’d got the rumor that the Dawnmen had fabulous discoveries that would make any human unbelievably rich and powerful if he could get his hands on them.”

  Horsten removed his glasses and ran a weary hand over his face. “Well,” he said, “it’s not our immediate problem. We’re here to upset the Engelist applecart, and get Firenze back on the road to progress.”

  Zorro said, “Shouldn’t we get in touch with Sid Jakes and let him know about this development?”

  The big man shook his head. “They’re too confoundedly conscious of all the paraphernalia involving communications, bugs, eavesdropping and such, here on Firenze. The police probably have every device known in U.P. to tap any signals we
might send to Earth.”

  “Even a Section G communicator?” Jerry said. “I thought they were beyond tapping.”

  “There is no such thing as being beyond tapping,” Horsten told him. “Our laboratories come up with something today, supposedly perfect, but in a year or so, or even a week or so, and some stute, somewhere, figures out a method of listening in. Whether or not the security people on Firenze have a way of cracking our communications with Earth, we don’t know, but I don’t think we ought to take any chances, particularly with nothing more important than this. Let’s wait until we have something big, and well mention it, too, at the same time.”

  “It seems to me this is pretty big,” Zorro said. “What’s more important ultimately than the presence of the Dawnworlds?”

  “Ultimately, yes. But right now your assignment is to find out about these Firenze subversives and thwart them.”

  “So where do we start?” Helen said. She grunted disgust. “Thus far we know damn little more about them than we did when Metaxa briefed us back in the Octagon.”

  Jerry walked over to the vicinity of Dorn Horsten and sat down on the couch, his face in unwonted concentration. “You know,” he said. “I still wonder if what we shouldn’t do is go right to Roberto Verona and lay our cards on the table. If anybody knows anything about these Engelists, it’s his Department of Anti-Subversion.”

  Helen grunted disgust again.

  Zorro said, “I think we ought to get in touch with Sid Jakes and let him know about this Dawnworld development.”

  But Horsten was staring at Jerry. “You know,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “I am?”

  Helen said, “Have you slipped around the corner? We open our traps to Verona about being interested in the Engelists and bingo, we’re all in Zorro’s concentration camp.”

  “Um,” Horsten said, coming to his feet and looking at the chronometer on his wrist. “But we won’t open our traps to Verona. What time is it getting to be? Late enough to burglarize a government office?”

  “Oh, no,” Helen protested.

  “Oh, yes,” Horsten said, beaming at her. “As Jerry says, if anybody knows anything about these Engelists, it’s the Department of Anti-Subversion.”