“How can you tell, Rolf?”
“Raw ore doesn’t shine like that, Mr. Jimenez. Or have a smooth shape like that. That is some sort of refined metal, probably an alloy. And before you ask, no, these dead miners didn’t bury it. I think they exposed it. The dig pattern and surrounding terrain are undisturbed…well, except for the shockwave damage from the explosion, but everything below ground level was protected from the blast. There is also a lack of dirt and debris that had to have been removed from the hole. I think all that must have gone into the M/E converter and caused the overload.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll have to dig it up,” Jimenez said. “I’ll authorize a company excavation team from Science Division to do the heavy lifting on this one.”
“Are you sure Mr. Grego will go for that?” Gerd asked.
“Well, I’m responsible for Science Division expenditures, so I don’t need Victor’s approval, but this might be a major scientific discovery. I’m sure he’ll agree that it’s better we find it than somebody else, especially after last time.”
“Last time?” Rolf asked.
“The Fuzzies,” Gerd explained.
Rolf laughed. “Yeah, Mr. Grego would definitely rather be in front of a new discovery than learn about it after the fact.”
* * * * * * * * *
In accordance with Colonial and Federation regulations, the park was cordoned off and only the seconds and witnesses and those directly involved in the duel were allowed in. Gus Brannhard and Mark Szymanski signed the dueling papers as the seconds, followed by Larry Wolvin and Peter Davis as witnesses. A professional referee was retained to oversee the duel. Among the other witnesses were Chief Harry Steefer, Pancho Ybarra, Colonial Marshal Max Fane and Akira O’Barre. Peter Davis was asked to attend by Gus Brannhard as he knew neither of the dueling parties personally and could be completely impartial. There was also an ambulance in attendance as required by colonial law. The Fuzzies were told to stand behind the police tape, but they had to be watched carefully. They knew that Pappy Jack was in some sort of trouble and wanted to help.
With the papers signed by the seconds and attending witnesses, Frank Marshal, the referee, met with the duelists and seconds to discuss the rules. “Gentlemen, as I understand it, this duel is a matter of Freyan honor and tradition. Is this correct?”
Everybody nodded in the affirmative.
“As such, are we to go by Freyan rules of conduct?”
Gus discussed the matter with Jack, then both men agreed. Morgan and Szymanski simply nodded.
“Very well. In accordance with Freyan tradition, the duelists will face each other at a distance of twenty meters. The guns will remain holstered until I fire my starter gun. At that time both men are to draw and shoot a single round. In the event that neither party sustains injury, you will both be asked if you wish to continue. Freyan tradition allows that honor is settled if both men have fired once and agree not to continue. If you choose to continue, then guns will again be holstered until I fire the starter gun a second time. We will repeat this procedure until either one of you chooses to withdraw, or one of you is no longer able to continue.
“In the event one or both of you are injured, will you both agree that honor is satisfied and withdraw from the field?”
Both parties discussed this and finally agreed. First blood would be acceptable.
“Very good, sirs. Now, understand that anybody firing a second shot during any round will be disqualified and removed from the field. As it violates Terran Federation law and Freyan rules of conduct the transgressor can be charged with a felony. I could prevent this by removing all but one bullet from each of your guns and piecing them out one at a time per round. I will not do so as I have it on good authority that you are both men of honor and good character. Additionally, any man firing before I discharge my starter gun can be charged with homicide, or attempted homicide, depending on the accuracy of the shot. In this event the opposing second is within the law to fire upon the transgressor. Is this understood?”
Both parties nodded in the affirmative.
“Very well.” Frank Marshal produced and opened a black box containing two pistols. “The challenged party will choose his weapon first, then the challenger will take the remaining pistol.”
Jack selected the pistol closest to him. Morgan took the second weapon without comment.
“The seconds will now inspect the weapons and, if they so choose, fire a test round into the ground.”
Gus and Mark accepted the pistols, fired a round into the ground, reloaded the weapons and returned them to their primaries who then holstered them.
“The seconds will now escort the primaries to their positions.”
Gus walked with Jack to the white box chalked onto the grass. “Jack, I know this is supposed to be your son, but you can’t hold back. It’s either him or you. Don’t let it be you.”
Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know, Gus. Don’t worry. I plan on being around for a while longer. I have a family to take care of, you know.” Jack nodded to the mob of Fuzzies behind the police tape.
“Damn straight,” the Colonial Prosecutor agreed. “Why did you choose the Baldurs? You normally use a much heavier sidearm.”
“Yeah, but I’m experienced with lighter pistols, too. You ever see that cannon John Morgan lugs around?”
“Heard about it. 0.457, right?”
Jack nodded. “I figured the lighter gun might throw his aim off a bit. Besides, I imagine either one of us can take an 8mm round and survive, provided the other guy doesn’t get lucky.”
“You’re planning on winging him.” It was a statement, not a question. “That’s real risky. Hell, why not just fire a round into the air?”
Jack chuckled. “Facing him at all is risky. Firing into the air is against Freyan rules. The thinking is that if you didn’t want to shoot the guy, you shouldn’t be in a duel in the first place. Winging is the best I can hope for. He’s my son, Gus.”
“Let’s hope he feels the same way.”
Jack pulled two envelopes out of his shirt. The referee saw this and started to protest until he saw what it was and stayed silent. Duelists often gave important documents to their seconds; like a last will and testament. “Give this letter to John after…well, just after. The other letter is for you; my power of attorney and living trust with instructions of what to do in the event I can’t speak for myself. I tried to cover every eventuality.”
Gus accepted the letters and stuffed them in a pocket. “You get yourself killed out here and I’ll kick your cold dead ass myself, damn-it.”
“Duly noted. I’ll try to save you the trouble.”
At the opposite position Mark was giving Morgan a pep talk. Morgan had selected Mark to be his second because of his background of working on Freya and his understanding of the culture. “I’ve heard how good you are from Akira. Don’t let it make you cocky. Holloway has killed more men than cancer from what I’ve heard.”
“Didn’t Terra cure cancer?”
“Yeah, about three hundred years ago. It still killed a helluva lot of people before then. Don’t let his age fool you, either. He spent a lot of time in hyperspace jumping from planet-to-planet. He might actually be ten years younger than his birth certificate suggests. And Terrans don’t age the way Freyans do. Medical science keeps us healthy long after our natural expiration date.”
“Freyans enjoy those same benefits since we joined the Federation, you know.”
“Are we going to talk about the man who could kill you or history? Now, remember that the last man he killed, a Kurt Borch, I think, had a gun pointed at the broad of his back and Holloway still put three in his chest before Borch fired a single shot. Do not underestimate him. It could be very hazardous to your health.”
“Don’t worry, Mark. I plan on making it at least to his age.”
“You sure picked a strange way to go about it, John. May the gods be with you.”
The seconds withdrew and
the duelists faced each other. Behind each man was erected a temporary wall designed to catch and hold any bullet that failed to hit its target. This was for the protection of the general public. It also removed any distractions that might enter into the background during the fight.
Frank Marshal called for silence then addressed the duelists. “In accordance with Federation Law and Freyan tradition I ask one last time if both parties wish to continue or withdraw in favor of an alternate solution to your disagreement.”
Both parties agreed to continue.
“Very well. When I have fired my pistol, both parties may draw and fire. I wish you both luck.”
Unlike the dueling weapons, Frank Marshal’s starter pistol was loaded with blank rounds. This was for two reasons: so that he could not aid one of the duelists with an ‘accidental’ discharge, and to allow him to fire into the air without fear of hitting a bystander with a falling round. Marshal raised his pistol into the air, mentally counted to three, then fired.
When asked about the duel later, the witnesses would swear that the guns almost magically appeared in Holloway and Morgan’s hands. They would also swear that the two men fired simultaneously.
The only thing they would be unable to agree on was who fell first.
XXVI
"Yeah I’m waiting for word on how it turned out, Gerd. As Colonial Governor I’m not allowed to be around duels or shooting in general, according to Max.”
“My money is on Jack, Ben,” Gerd said from the viewscreen. “Back to this suspicious dig, I was wondering if you could ask the TFN if they would like to poke around and maybe provide some extra security. We haven’t rounded-up all the search volunteers and the police are still spread pretty thin.”
“Sure thing. I’ll call Pancho Ybarra and see what he can do. I’ll have to wait until he gets back from the duel, though. Hopefully, he’ll bring good news.”
* * * * * * * * *
John Morgan awoke in the hospital amid the smells of disinfectant and the soft beeping of the medical monitor above his head and a sharp pain in his shoulder. The last thing he remembered was being hit by Jack’s bullet. He had gone down bleeding heavily. Morgan assumed that he had passed out either from blood loss or shock.
Morgan was also more than a little surprised that he was still alive. Jack Holloway didn’t usually leave his targets breathing from what he had heard. He thought harder and vaguely remembered that Jack also fell to the ground.
Did I kill him, or is he in another room here at the hospital? Federation medicine could repair almost anything short of a direct hit to the heart or brain.
A nurse walked in and saw he was awake. “How are we feeling, Mr. Morgan?”
Morgan grimaced at the plurality of the question. A Freyan would have simply asked how he was. “I can’t speak for you, but my shoulder feels like somebody shot me.”
The nurse laughed. “Indeed, and with impressive accuracy. The bullet hit you right in the middle of a rather large bruise. It looked like you were hit with a hammer, then shot. The doctor was amazed you could even raise that arm with all of the swelling you had, there.”
“Yes, well, a 12.7 Martian Express hammer, in fact,” Morgan replied. “It wasn’t quite that bad, but I do think it may have slowed my draw or messed up my aim a bit.”
“You’ll have to leave that kind of thing alone for a while, Mr. Morgan. The surgical team repaired the damage, but you’ll need time to heal before you go around shooting anything, especially something as heavy as a twelve-seven.” She checked the readout over Morgan’s bed and nodded in satisfaction. “Are you feeling up to some visitors?”
“I guess so.” Morgan shrugged and instantly regretted it as pain shot down his arm and side. The nurse walked out and Akira O’Barre practically flew in, almost falling onto the bed with him. Morgan reflexively caught her with his good arm, though his hand landed on a surprising location on the young woman’s chest.
“Hey!” Akira recovered her balance and Morgan’s hand fell away. “None of that until you recover. Maybe not even then. I should slap you for taking a chance like that.”
“I…didn’t mean…it just…you fell, and I…”
“Not that, you Freyan idiot,” Akira said. John Morgan was a very intelligent and capable man, but in some ways he was so much like a little boy. “Dueling with Jack Holloway. I’ll bet you’re the only person he ever shot that’s still breathing. Don’t you dare take another chance like that.”
“Yes, Akira.” Morgan nodded, then winced as more pain shot through his shoulder. “I don’t have any other affairs of honor to settle, so I think I’ll be able to avoid dueling for a while. Provided nobody insults my lady, of course.”
Tears welled up in Akira’s eyes. “I can take care of myself, John. Terran women aren’t all helpless little flowers like the women on Freya…”
Morgan laughed, then grunted in pain. “I can see you never met a Freyan woman. How long have I been here?”
“Just since yesterday.” Akira explained about the surgery and sedation afterwards. In all, Morgan was unconscious for about sixteen hours.
The nurse returned. “Miss O’Barre, I am afraid you will have to go, now. Mr. Morgan’s readings suggest that you are over-exciting him.”
“You bet she does,” Morgan said with a wink. “We’ll talk later, Akira.”
“You better believe it, Bubba!” Akira gave him a soft kiss then walked out of the room. Morgan noticed that she gave an extra wiggle as she left.
“I know a taxi driver that calls people ‘Bubba’,” mused the nurse. She again checked the readings over the bed. “If you can behave yourself, I’ll let another visitor in. Normally I wouldn’t do this, but he claims that it is extremely urgent.”
Morgan nodded then winced as he received a shock of pain. I have got to stop doing that, he thought. He received another shock, of a different kind, when his next visitor was shown in. It was the recently recovered Gus Brannhard.
“Thank-you, nurse,” Gus said. “Say, was that Darla Cross in the room across the hall? Is she getting more face work done, or something sucked out?”
“I can’t comment on other patients, Mr. Brannhard,” the nurse said, as she rushed out of the room. Gus noticed she went straight to Ms. Cross’ room.
Gus turned his attention to John Morgan. “I think she’ll be gone for a while, so we can talk privately. I have a letter for you from Jack. He told me to deliver it after the duel if he was indisposed.”
Morgan thought a moment then said, “Is he dead?” There was a surprising amount of emotion in his voice. He had grown to like the old man.
Gus picked up a chair and set it down by the bed and took a seat. “No. Not yet, anyway. Your bullet ricocheted off a rib and nicked his heart and collapsed one of his lungs. It barely missed hitting a vertebra as it exited. He lost a great deal of blood on the way to the ambulance, and they had a lot of trouble stabilizing him. Fortunately, they had plenty of synth-plasma and a blood oxygenator on board. They patched the lung and re-inflated it, and the heart is repaired enough that it will last until it can be replaced. Right now he’s in a coma. There’s talk of growing him a new heart and lung versus a mechanical replacement, or just doing a more permanent repair on the existing organs when he’s stronger.”
“Growing the heart and lung…That can take about three months, I believe.”
“That is what I thought, too,” Gus said. “My new liver took that long. But a heart is simply a muscle and easier to grow, or so the doctors tell me, and can be replaced in about a week. The lung is a little more complicated and will take six to eight weeks. Fortunately, Jack can get by with just one in the meanwhile if the patch job doesn’t hold. Assuming he makes it.”
“Assuming? Federation medicine can work miracles….”
“Jack isn’t a young man, anymore, and this isn’t the first time he’s taken a bullet. Not by a long shot. At one time or another he’s been shot, stabbed, beaten, poisoned, starved and, one time, nearly drow
ned in freezing water. There’s a lot of scar tissue he never had removed or repaired all over his body. Half of his teeth had to be regrown after six men ambushed him on Freya. That’s right, Freya!
“And that stupid Freyan rule of not giving a duelist medical aid until he is removed from the dueling field cost him a lot more blood than he could afford to lose. That means possible brain damage, and there’s damned little Federation medicine can do about that. We can’t grow and replace his mind, damn-it!”
Gus took a moment to regain his composure. “I have instructions to terminate medical treatment if his brain is irreparably damaged. Jack has no desire to spend his last days with the mental capacity of an Yggdrasil Khooghra. Or worse.” Gus extracted the letter from his shirt. He started to hand it over then remembered that Morgan’s right arm was immobilized. “I’ll open it for you. I haven’t read it and I’ll leave if you want privacy.”
“No. As his second you act in his place while he is incapacitated. Please, stay while I read this.”
Gus agreed and extracted several papers; an old parchment, three documents, several papers and a microdisc from the envelope.
The first document was a Freyan birth certificate for Donareus Honirdite. Gus could see the confusion on Morgan’s face as he reviewed the certificate. The second and third documents were death certificates for Donareus and Adonitia Honirdite. Morgan’s confusion quickly turned to anger. He snatched up the parchment, quickly read it and swore blasphemously in Freyan and Sheshan.
“It was all a lie, damn-it!” Morgan fought to keep the tears from his eyes. “I shot my father for nothing. Nothing! All because of my uncle.”
Gus was surprised at the outburst and unsure what to say. “What do you mean?”
Morgan held up the certificates. “This birth certificate isn’t mine. It’s my cousin’s. He was born a week after I was. Stillborn. He would have been my uncle’s only progeny had he lived, his only heir. These death certificates are my cousin’s and my mother’s. This letter,” Morgan held up the parchment, “is from my uncle explaining how both my mother and I died in childbirth. Jack didn’t abandon us, he was told we were dead!”
Fuzzy Ergo Sum Page 24