Code Duello up-4

by Mack Reynolds

  But Helen was feeling more than usually argumentative, even for Helen. “That word freedom is on the elastic side. Wait’ll I think of the classic example I memorized back when I was going to school. It’s a dilly.” She thought for a moment, pink tongue stuck out the side of her mouth.

  “Yeah. Here it is. You need the background. The Spanish conquest of Mexico and the Aztecs. The quotation comes from Fransisco de Aguilar, one of Cortes’ Conquistadors . It goes: ‘Sometimes the captain gave us very good talks, leading us to believe that each one of us would be a count or duke and one of the titled; with this he transformed us from lambs to lions, and we went out against that large army without fear or hesitation… We had a courageous captain and soldiers who were determined to die for freedom.’ ”

  In spite of himself, Dorn Horsten had to laugh. He said, “I’ve got a better one. From the state where my people originated, Texas.”

  “Texas? I thought you came from some planet with a one point four gravity. Texas? Didn’t it used to be a political division back on Mother Earth? The only thing that comes to my mind is an old saying, ‘If there had been a back door to the Alamo there wouldn’t have been a Texas.’ ”

  Horsten winced. “Luckily for you, I am several generations removed from the old sod. At any rate, the area used to Belong to Mexico. Immigrants from the southern United States were invited in to help populate it. However, after a couple of decades they revolted, desiring freedom.”

  “Freedom?”

  “Freedom. First, it seems as though the Mexicans, way down in the capital, Mexico City, wanted to tax them as any other Mexicans. But that wasn’t the worst abridgment of freedom. It seems as though Mexico had abolished slavery and the newly arrived emigrants weren’t allowed the freedom to own slaves. Happily with the aid of Volunteers’ from America, such as Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie, they threw off the Mexican yoke and established a new country whose laws allowed slavery. They applied for entry into the United States and when it was granted submitted to paying the taxes to Washington which they had refused to Mexico City, half the distance away. So the freedom to own slaves was evidently the more germane freedom for which they fought.”

  Helen snorted. “But, let’s get back to freedom here on Firenze. We’ve got to get cracking, or we’re going to pull a zero for poor Lee Chang. And, thus far, we know precious little more about these Engelists than we did when Ross Metaxa briefed us.”

  “Do you think Zorro and Jerry will be able to make some sort of contact? Frankly, I got exactly nowhere with my local scientists. I could be mistaken, but the impression I got was that none of them belonged to the underground. In fact, none of them seemed interested in the movement, even when I dropped a few hints.”

  Helen said, “Zorro’ll make his contacts today with agricultural elements. Possibly they’re more politically minded than your double-domes.”

  If he can stop thinking about the Dawn worlds long enough. See here, what do you think about Jerry?”

  “’What is there to think about Jerry? Lee Chang pulled a blank when she brought that one into her Department of Special Talents.”

  “I don’t know. How do you explain the phenomenon of his luck?”

  “It’s that damn morale of his. That air of knowing perfectly well that everything is going to work out for him. It simply never occurs that it could be otherwise. Suppose you’re playing poker. You’ve got, say, four queens and the pot’s gigantic. You look over at him, knowing his reputation for luck. He’s got this idiotic confidence on his face. You have inner qualms. Still wearing that complete rejection of the classic poker face, he raises. Now you know he’s got at least four kings and probably a straight flush. Your own morale shattered, you fold. Actually, what he’s probably got is a pair of deuces.” She snorted disgust again.

  Horsten looked at her. “Suppose you called him instead of folding?”

  “You don’t. That’s what makes you so furious, afterwards. Did you ever play poker with him?”

  The big man shuddered. “I wouldn’t bet him it was Tuesday, on Tuesday. As a scientist, I don’t believe in time travel, and I’d hate to be the one to prove myself wrong.”

  “Why, Dorn, you old fuddy-duddy. You made a funny.”

  He suddenly sat erect. “Poker!” he exclaimed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Where’s Jerry?”

  “He was going to wait until the First Signore came back to the suite and go through the pretense of looking into investment opportunities. There’s always the off chance that some of these Engelists are in the highest places, among d’Arrezzo’s own financial advisers. It wouldn’t be the first time a revolt has been sponsored from the top down. Look at Franco, look at Hitler…”

  “Poker?” Horsten ejaculated, coming hurriedly to his feet.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  He grabbed her by the hand and took off in the direction from which they had come. Her short legs had to blur to keep up with his pace.

  “Why do you think our friend Antonio d’Arrezzo was so compliant about letting Jerry—and us—remain in his personal suite?”

  “He bet with Jerry, and lost! Slow down, damn it!”

  He looked desperately up and down the street, even as he hurried. Passersby now looked at them, startled. Gertrude was being dragged along by one leg; Helen’s hair streamed back.

  “Aren’t there any hovercabs in this confounded town!” he complained. “How do you know the First Signore lost that bet?”

  She blinked up at him.

  “Jerry didn’t look. He never looks. He automatically assumes he’s won. You didn’t see the coin, I didn’t. Nobody saw it but d’Arrezzo. Are you sure Jerry won?”

  “What are you driving at? Look out!”

  Dom Horsten, in blind hurry to get back to the hotel, had started across a street. A small, two-seat sports hovercar was upon them, its klaxon blurting hysterically.

  Horsten straight-armed it with his left, and the hood accordioned in a crash and moan of ruptured metal. Not even bothering to look back, he hustled Helen on.

  “Didn’t you get those questions about Jerry’s supposed resources? What form he has his capital in? And you know what we’ve briefed Jerry to say.”

  “What’re you talking about!” she wailed. Only her acrobatic training was keeping her on her feet and saving her from being dragged by the agitated scientist. “Large amounts of cash, and Firenze is a planet that’s evidently short of negotiable exchange. Jerry supposedly has an almost infinite amount of variable capital deposited on Geneva, famed for its numbered accounts. Famed for the politicians and treasurers who have taken it on the lam from the planets where they held office.”

  “Oh, oh,” Helen said. “He asked Jerry if he knew how to play poker!” She reached up and snagged her companion’s belt, hit her heels against the sidewalk and gracefully bounded to the other’s shoulder. “Get a move on, horsey!”

  No cab was forthcoming and they were forced to retrace the whole way back to the Albergo Palazzo on foot. At the main entrance, Dorn Horsten came to a quick halt. The Great Marconi was emerging.

  The self-named Engelist beamed at them. “Ah, the celebrated Dr. Horsten. I was just refused entrance to your quarters. But here you are.”

  “What did you want?”

  Cesare Marconi negligently let his eyes go back and forth, checking their vicinity, before saying, “On considering you and your associates at greater length, it occurred to me that we might exchange further information.”

  The big scientist hesitated. “Look. Come along. Perhaps we could use an extra witness—a Florentine witness.”

  The other’s eyebrows went up, but he trailed along. He murmured, “Very well, but believe me, my most fervent oath to veracity is as though written on expanding gas, in this town.”

  On the way to the private elevator which led to the penthouse suite, Marconi said, “And what is the great emergency?”

  Helen, still perched on Horsten’s s
houlder, her arms around his neck, said, “My daddy thinks maybe Mr. First Signore is gonna try and gyp my Uncle Jerry.” She added, “He doesn’t know my Uncle Jerry.”

  Cesare Marconi looked at her thoughtfully. He murmured, “And I am afraid your Uncle Jerry doesn’t know Cousin Antonio. One does not become a chief executive on any world without certain devious qualities. Certainly, one does not become First Signore without them.”

  “My Uncle Jerry is lucky,” Helen announced.

  “So is my cousin Antonio. He’s lucky somebody hasn’t shot him already. It’s high time he got out from under.”

  They reached the penthouse, to be greeted by a host of the First Signore’s bodyguards. The officer in charge scowled at Cesare Marconi. “Signore, I have already informed you that His Zelenza…”

  Dorn Horsten bit out, “Citizen Marconi accompanies me. I am His Zelenza’s guest.”

  “But the First Signore has ordered that he not be disturbed!”

  The small group was hustling past him to the door of the suite. Horsten said, “Don’t be an ass, my good fellow. I live here.”

  Helen made a face at the security man.

  Inside, they pulled up abruptly. Exactly what Horsten had dreaded finding wasn’t clear, but not this.

  Space had been cleared for a big table in the living room’s center. Two or three of the faceless staff which accompanied the Florentine chief of state were busily at work on it. To one side Jerry Rhodes and’ their host, Antonio d’Arrezzo, glasses in hand. With them stood a newcomer to the Section G group. He was a smallish man, evidently nervous by nature and with added worries currently besieging him.

  The First Signore scowled. “Cesare! I thought I…”

  Cesare Marconi made his usual sweeping bow. “The good doctor insisted I accompany him.”

  Horsten looked about the room, even as he lowered Helen to the floor. “What transpires?”

  Jerry said, “The First Signore is being kind enough to introduce me to one of his favorite games.”

  “Poker?” Helen blurted inadvertently. She was ignored.

  At that moment, four of the goon guards came staggering in from a rear room. Between them they carried a large and weighty wheel-like object. They manhandled it to the table, heaved together and settled it to one end.

  “Roulette!” Horsten said.

  “Ah,” the First Signore said, turning his attention from his black sheep cousin. “Then you are acquainted with my secret vice, Doctor. I would invite you to participate but I suspect, that as a scientist, you are slightly out of your financial depth. The Signore Rhodes and I, ha ha, have had words. We have challenged each other to play for, ha ha, sizable stakes.”

  “Ha ha, is right,” Helen muttered, meandering off in the direction of the bar, Gertrude slung under her left arm.

  Jerry took a pull at the glass he held in his hand. His voice was slightly hazy. He said, “Great opportunity. I was telling His Zellensidor…”

  The nervous little man standing next to the First Signore looked pained.

  “…about having my capital stashed away on Geneva, an’ he pointed out he had a lotta interests here on Firenze such as my mother sent me over to take a look at. ’Ranium mines, and all. So the Tenth Signore, here, just by coincidence, like, turned up. An’ he can handle the whole thing. So we’re gonna have a friendly game, an’ maybe Tony…”

  The Tenth Signore looked pained again.

  “… maybe Tony’ll get some of my negotiable capital, or maybe I’ll get some of his securities.”

  Horsten said quickly, “But, Jerry, have you considered all this? Your mother and all. Axe you sure it’s fair? That is…”

  Jerry waved the hand in which he held the glass, spilling only a few drops. “Oh, I warned ’em. Didn’t I, Tony? Told him I was lucky.”

  The First Signore beamed over his shoulder at Horsten. He was supervising the final setting-up of the roulette layout. “I, too, am inordinately fortunate,” he told the scientist.

  Horsten looked at the small confederate of the First Signore. He said, “If I understand it, you carry the Treasury portfolio in His Zelenza’s government.”

  The other bobbed. “That is correct, Signore.”

  “So I suppose that if your chief is the fortunate one, you can deposit his winnings to a numbered account on Geneva.”

  Cesare Marconi said mockingly, “Why, Antonio, aren’t you ashamed?”

  His cousin straightened and turned in anger. “Who let you in, Cesare? I warn you…”

  Horsten said, giving up trying to convey unspoken messages to his young colleague, “I brought him along, Your Zelenza. Aside from you and your staff, Citizen Marconi is about the only Florentine we have met since setting down on the planet I was in hopes he could tell me something of the workings of this rather, if you’ll pardon me, unexampled world.”

  The Florentine leader said coldly, “I am afraid his ramblings will avail you little in that regard, Doctor.” The roulette table was now operative. He snapped his fingers at the half dozen aides and guards present and they scrambled.

  “Well, well.” The First Signore rubbed his palms together briskly. “Who shall take the bank?” jerry Rhodes finished his drink, but his expression was blank. “Remember, I’ve never played.”

  Horsten said, “The percentage is with the bank, Jerry.” He was ignored.

  The First Signore took the younger man’s glass from his hand and turned to the bar. He began to refresh the drink. Inadvertently, his eyes went to the bottle from which he himself, had been drinking. He frowned slightly in puzzlement, put Jerry’s glass down and took up the bottle of Golden Chartreuse. He held it to the light, checking its level. He shook his head in bewildered disbelief, but then gave up his trend of thought and went back to mixing another portion for his guest, from a different bottle.

  “Doctor,” he said. “A beverage for you, as well?” And, grudgingly, “Cesare, since you are here, if I will it or not…”

  “I’ll make my own,” the Great Marconi said, and then, twisting the knife in the wound, “I have a predilection for that Betelgeuse drink of yours. I mix it with ginger beer and sugar.”

  The First Signore repressed a groan of pure soul agony but returned with the tall glass to Jerry.

  He stood in the croupier’s place at the head of the table and explained the game. “We have, here, this wheel and little ball. I spin the wheel and toss the ball in. There are thirty-eight slots, in all, into which it may fall; thirty-six of them numbers, one a zero, and one a double zero. Now then, on the table we have places to bet. One for each slot. If you bet on number eighteen, let us say, and the little ball drops into that slot”—he oozed charm—“then you win thirty-six times your bet.”

  “Wow,” Jerry said. “Now, that’s something. None of this one-to-one wager. Thirty-six times what you bet How can you lose? Fascinatin’.”

  Antonio d’Arrezzo cleared his throat unctuously. “You can lose if the little ball drops into some other slot. Now, there are several other ways in which you can wager. For instance, you will note that half the numbers are red, and half black.”

  Marconi and Horsten, both sighing, though through different motivation, drifted over to the bar. The Great Marconi took over the job of making them drinks, pouring them from the bottle of Golden Chartreuse. Its bouquet suffused the immediate vicinity.

  “Do you really mix gingerbeer with this stuff?” Horsten said.

  “No. I’m just trying to give Antonio ulcers thinking about it. See here, can that friend of yours afford to lose?”

  “He could sign a draft on any bank on Geneva to the extent of a billion interplanetary credits, and it wouldn’t faze him.”

  The Great Marconi whistled softly. “Why didn’t I see him first?”

  Horsten said, “But he’s not going to lose. Can your cousin afford a financial jolting?”

  “Theoretically, as First Signore, he has in his name the possession of all nationalized industry on Firenze. Theoretically h
e could sign over their ownership.”

  “What do you mean, theoretically?”

  “Under interplanetary law, his signature would stand up in the Department of Interplanetary Trade on Mother Earth.”

  “But…” Horsten prompted.

  Cesare Marconi looked at him. “Isn’t it obvious? If he signed away, in his position as chief of state, the public property, his neck would be in a noose before the day was out.”

  “Then why take the chance?”

  The Great Marconi pulled at his glass glumly. “He’s not going to lose.”

  The two, carrying their drinks, made their way back to the roulette table. The First Signore had just finished explaining the workings of the ages-old game. Jerry Rhodes stood at the table side, a stack of chips before him. Evidently, through the Tenth Signore, the two contestants had made some sort of financial arrangement so that they could wager.

  Jerry took a sip from his glass, set it down and took up a chip. “Well start off slow,” he said, his voice slurring only slightly. “Hundred thousand interplanetary credits on the very number you mentioned—eighteen.”

  “A… hundred… thousand… interplanetary… credits,” Cesare Marconi said.

  Dorn Horsten had given up.

  Antonio d’Arrezzo spun the wheel. He tossed the plastic ball so that it rolled, counter to the direction of the spin, about the edge of the bowl in which the wheel sat. All eyes were fascinated.

  The ball lost momentum, slipped from the rim, hit into the numbered slots, bounced out, bounced in again, seemed to have found its place in slot number thirty, but then gave one last feeble bounce.

  “Eighteen!” Jerry blurted happily.

  The First Signore stared disbelief.

  “Thirty-six to one,” Jerry said, grinning around at the small circle of them. “Tha’s what I call odds.” He looked to the Firenze strong-arm, pinch-hitting as croupier. “Let her roll.”

  It was the jittery Tenth Signore who said, “Let her roll?”

  Jerry Rhodes looked at the Florentine chief of state accusingly. “You said no limit, didn’t you?”