Hosato studied the group as he approached them. Suzi floated silently at his side, her disapproval displayed by the absence of her traditional comments and observations.
Three of the men were obviously the Scale brothers. Their flashy, stylish clothes disguised neither the family resemblance nor the arrogant slouch of habitual bar toughs. They were long-limbed and broad-shouldered; their build and manner set them apart from the fourth man, even more than their obvious difference in color.
The fourth man stood slightly apart from the others. He was bald and Negroid, his ramrod-stiff posture marking him as military. His face was impassive, but his well-muscled, compact body and poised readiness were enough to cause anyone to give him wide berth. It was obvious to the most casual observer that the worn holster of his blaster had not been purchased used, but had aged the hard way.
The bald man moved forward to meet Hosato. “Mr. Mathers?” he asked.
“I am Hayama,” said Hosato. “I have been retained by Mr. Mathers to settle this affair.”
The bald man swept him with a speculative glance before replying. “I am Moabe, Mr. Hayama. I have been asked to serve as umpire.”
Hosato inclined his head slightly in formal acknowledgment.
“Hey. Are you one of Mathers’ seconds?”
Hosato turned to face the speaker. “Might I ask whom I am addressing?” he queried.
“I’m Harry Scale, the challenger. These are my brothers, Casey and Tom.”
Hosato inclined his head to them. “I am Hayama.”
One of the brothers, Tom, snorted derisively. The other studied Hosato carefully.
“You didn’t answer Brother Harry’s question,” he commented quietly.
“I have been retained by Mr. Mathers to settle this affair,” Hosato replied. “He sends his regrets over last night’s incident and states he is ready to make public apology under any condition you might set forth.”
Tom grinned and began making clucking noises like a chicken.
Harry was more to the point. “No deal, Hayama. He’s not getting off the hook that easy. I challenged him and he accepted, so he’s going to have to fight. You just go back and tell him we’ll wait here one more hour. If he isn’t here by then, we’ll come and get him.”
Hosato smiled. “That will not be necessary. As I said, I have been instructed by Mr. Mathers to settle the affair. If possible, this was to be done with an apology. If not…” He shrugged and let the sentence hang in the air.
“What do you mean—?” Harry began.
“He’s taking Mathers’ place,” interrupted Casey.
“What?” exploded Tom, finally coming to life. “He can’t do that. Mathers was challenged, and he’s got to be the one to fight.”
Hosato looked at the umpire.
“It is not without precedent,” Moabe ruled, “for a challenged party to appoint a champion to fight in his stead.”
The brothers bit off their objections and huddled together for a quick conference.
Hosato smiled to himself. He found a certain ironic justice in the situation. If thugs tried to use the format of a duel to cloak a murder, it was only fitting they find themselves bound by the rules and traditions governing that form of combat. He caught Moabe’s eye. The black looked at him impassively for a moment, then slowly closed one eye in a conspiratorial wink. Hosato was not the only one present who appreciated the humor of the situation.
“Okay, Hayama!” Harry called. The huddle was breaking up. “It’s your funeral. If you want to die instead of Mathers, that’s your privilege. We’re willing to settle this with you.”
Moabe was suddenly between them, one hand on the butt of his blaster.
“A duel is individual combat,” he said levelly. “The seconds are to serve as witnesses only, and are not to take an active part in the battle,”
“Hey, Moabe!” Tom protested. “Remember, we’re the ones who are paying you.”
“That’s right,” Moabe retorted, “and you’re paying me to umpire this duel, which means I guarantee the rules are strictly followed by both sides.”
“Shut up, Tom!” Casey interrupted. “Don’t worry, Moabe. This is Harry’s fight. He’d probably shoot us himself if we interfered.”
His smile was not convincing.
“Very well, gentlemen,” Hosato replied, as if there had been no interruption. “As representative of the challenged party, I believe I have choice of weapons. I choose epees.”
“What?” bellowed Harry.
“Epees,” said Moabe. “Swords. Not only is it an acceptable dueling weapon, it is one of the original dueling weapons.”
“Go ahead, Harry,” called Casey. “It’s like using a long knife.”
“But I don’t have a sword,” protested Harry.
Hosato was already at Suzi’s side, opening one of her many storage compartments.
“I happen to have a matched set of dueling epees.
Mr. Moabe, if you would be so good as to inspect them for acceptability?”
He passed the weapons to Moabe, who examined them closely. The Negro’s eyebrows shot up with surprised appreciation before he caught himself and restored his normal unmoved expression.
“Yes. These weapons are acceptable,” he ruled. “Mr. Scale, as your opponent has provided the weapons, you have first choice.”
He offered both weapons to Harry, who scowled suspiciously, then made a large show of examining them closely before choosing.
“My client will accept first blood in settling this matter,” Hosato announced.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom demanded.
“Duels may be settled by first, second, or third blood,” Moabe informed him. “First blood means just that—the duel is ended when blood is drawn, however trivial. Second blood means the duel will be fought to the first serious injury. Third blood is a duel to the death, and the fight will continue until one of the combatants is dead, even if it means the seconds have to hold a wounded duelist up until the death blow is struck.”
“Oh!” said Tom, properly mollified.
Casey had been studying Hosato suspiciously throughout the exchange. “You seem to know an awful lot about this stuff, Hayama,” he commented.
“This is not my first duel,” Hosato admitted.
“Hayama!” Harry exploded in sudden recognition. “Hey. I’ve heard of you. You’re a professional duelist!”
Hosato inclined his head in acknowledgment. There was a pregnant moment of silence as the brothers exchanged glances.
“Mr. Scale,” said Moabe, stepping forward, “do you wish to reconsider accepting Mr. Mathers’ apology?”
Harry started, then brandished his sword. “Why?
I’m not scared of him. Come on, Hayama. Let’s get this thing over with.”
Mentally, Hosato cursed Moabe. If he had just kept his mouth shut for a few more minutes, Harry might have backed down on his own. But Harry was a bully, and would never back away from a fight on someone else’s suggestion. Well, there was no getting out of it now. With a sigh Hosato stepped forward and struck a pose, legs straight, sword and sword arm extended level at shoulder height.
Harry regarded the stance suspiciously.
“If you will come en garde, Mr. Scale,” Moabe prompted. “Extend your sword until its point touches that of Mr. Hayama’s. I will then give the signal to begin.”
Harry shot a black look at the umpire, then awkwardly initiated Hosato’s stance and extended his sword.
“Ready, gentlemen. Fighting for first blood. Begin!” It was over almost before it started. Harry plunged forward, trying to overwhelm and surprise his opponent, but he made a mistake. Like most novices, he ignored his opponent’s arm and tried to attack deep, going for a body hit. As he closed the distance, Hosato’s sword point floated out and plunged deep into the bicep of his sword arm.
Harry recoiled, dropping the sword and grasping his wounded arm.
“Halt!” called Moabe.
Hosa
to stepped back and relaxed his guard.
“First blood has been drawn,” Moabe intoned. “The matter is settled.”
“Not so fast!”
All heads turned toward the source of the voice.
During the skirmish, Casey had drifted back and taken up a position behind Moabe. He was there now, but his blaster was out and leveled at the umpire.
“Harry didn’t agree to this first-blood bull.”
“He entered into combat after the terms had—”
“Shut up, Moabe. What do you say, Harry?”
“Come on, Casey. I’m hurt!”
“Casey glared at his brother for a moment, then turned his gaze to Hosato. “Hayama,” he said, “I know you wouldn’t want to take advantage of Harry’s condition, so what say you switch that sword over to your left hand. Now!”
Slowly Hosato complied with the order.
“Okay now, Harry?” Casey called.
“Okay. Come on, Hayama. Just you and me.”
Hosato advanced slowly to meet him.
Harry was lying. It wasn’t just the two of them. It was becoming increasingly apparent to Hosato that if he succeeded in killing Harry, one of the other brothers would gun him down, rules or no rules. He had been afraid something like this would happen. That’s why he had a small, flat two-shot blaster secreted in his pocket. Casey had timed his move well, however, and there was no way to reach the weapon without drawing fire from the other two brothers.
Harry plunged forward again. Hosato parried and bounded backward, ignoring his chance for a fatal riposte.
“Not so good with your left hand, are you, Hayama?” Harry sneered.
“Get him, Harry!” Tom called from the side.
As a matter of fact, Hosato was almost as good with his left hand as he was with his right, but he didn’t dare act. Tom’s shout fixed the third brother’s location in his mind, though, and gave him the germ of an idea.
Steeling himself, Hosato darted forward, on the attack. Harry batted the lunge clumsily aside, but didn’t attempt a counterthrust as Hosato slipped past him.
“Pretty fancy, Hayama,” he admitted grudgingly.
Hosato mentally heaved a sigh of relief. The move had been risky. If Harry had been an experienced fencer, he wouldn’t have dared try it for fear of the reflexive counterthrust. But he had gambled, and it worked. Now he was in position. Harry advanced again, but this time Hosato gave ground, backpedaling away from his opponent.
“Ready, Moabe?” he called.
“Ready for what?” Tom demanded.
For a reply, Hosato whirled and plunged his epee into Tom’s chest.
“Hey!” shouted Casey.
That was all the distraction Moabe needed. Dropping to the ground and drawing his blaster in one smooth motion, he cut Casey down with one shot.
Harry had dropped his sword and was drawing his own blaster as Casey fell. “You bastard!” he screamed, leveling the weapon at Moabe’s back.
Hosato’s shot took him as he squeezed the trigger stud, the two blasts sounding as one.
Silence echoed over the field.
“Moabe?” Hosato called at last.
“He has ceased to function,” Suzi informed him.
Hosato hung his head in fatigue and sorrow. He had liked Moabe, however short their acquaintance had been.
Suzi retrieved Harry’s sword and floated silently to his side. Hosato sighed and began to secure the weapons in her storage compartment. He didn’t chide Suzi for not assisting in the fight. However human she seemed at times, she was still a robot, and therefore incapable of killing or injuring a human.
“Someone’s coming,” Suzi announced.
Hosato raised his head and saw a man approaching from the spaceport. This man was of a different cut than most, his conservative clothes, like a uniform, identifying him as a corporation man. He gave the strewn bodies no more than a casual glance, striding purposefully toward the survivor.
Hosato studied him with mild curiosity as he approached. He had been hired as a duelist by corporate men before, but not often.
The man came to a halt at a slight distance. “May I ask whom I am addressing?” he inquired.
“I am Hayama,” Hosato replied.
A vague ripple of relief crossed the man’s face. “Excellent. My name is Reilly. I represent the Raven-steel Corporation, and we are interested in retaining your services.”
Hosato’s eyebrows went up. “Am I to understand it would be the corporation and not yourself individually who would be retaining my skills?”
“That’s right. Why. Is something wrong?”
“No. I just can’t imagine why a corporation would require the services of a duelist.”
“We don’t.” Reilly smiled. “You see, we at Ravensteel are aware that despite your obvious abilities, dueling is not your main livelihood, just as Hayama isn’t your real name. Your name is Hosato, and you are a freelance spy and saboteur, one of the best, according to our sources. Ravensteel needs a saboteur, and we need one badly. The fact you can fence is merely frosting on the cake.”
“Mr. Mathers?”
The bartender turned at the sound of Hosato’s voice. “Hayama!” he exclaimed.
“It is settled,” Hosato said quietly.
“They accepted my apology?”
“No.”
“But you said… Oh.”
“Harry Scale will not trouble you again. Neither will his two brothers.”
Mathers stood regarding Hosato with a new respect.
“I see. Well, I guess you want the rest of your money.”
He went to the cash register, and returned with a handful of bills. Wordlessly he counted them onto the bar counter in front of Hosato.
Hosato picked them up without checking the count and started to stash them in his tunic; then he hesitated. “Did you know Moabe?” he asked.
“The Negro. No, I didn’t know him and didn’t want to. The Scales always had a couple darkies hanging around with them. Never could warm up to them, myself.”
“I see,” said Hosato.
“Hey, nothing personal, you understand. You Orientals are all right. You’re quiet and polite. But Negroes well.you know how they are.”
Mathers smiled and winked knowingly.
Hosato regarded him for a moment, then put away the money and turned to leave.
“Hey. No need to hurry off, Hayama. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. I figure I owe you a little bonus.” Hosato left without acknowledging Mathers’ words.
Reilly was waiting in his hotel room as promised, and answered the door promptly when Hosato knocked.
“Come in, come in,” he invited. “I hope you don’t mind meeting in my room, but I thought it would be best if we weren’t seen together in public.” “It’s quite all right,” Hosato assured him.
“Well, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Not just now, thanks.”
After the abortive duel, Hosato wanted a drink badly, but thought it unwise to drink if business were to be discussed. He seated himself on the plush sofa and waited while Reilly poured himself a healthy glass of Scotch. He wished he could have brought Suzi along, but it would have been too hard to explain her presence and might have aroused suspicions as to her true capacities.
“You sure I can’t get you anything?” Reilly asked, smiling. He was obviously back in his own element again. The stiffness and formality he had displayed at the dueling ground disappeared now that he was in a hotel room with a drink in his hand.
Hosato had encountered his kind before. An aging pretty boy sincere smile and a firm handshake look you right in the eye: the trademark of a corporate field man. Hosato never really felt at ease around them. He preferred the company of the rougher set, who would throw back their heads and laugh or glare with suspicion. The unshakable joviality of the corporation types was a mask that successfully screened their true thoughts and reactions.
“Well, I guess you must
have a million questions, Mr. Hosato,” Reilly said, pulling up a chair.
“For the moment, just one.” Hosato smiled. “Who gave you my name?”
“Oh, that. A gentleman called the 'Hungarian' referred us to you.”
The Hungarian. That gave a certain air of credibility to the contact. Still…
“Did he send any messages to me?” Hosato asked.
“As a matter of fact, he did. I was going to mention it later, since it didn’t seem particularly important. He said to tell you his dog died.”
That was the fail-safe. The Hungarian never owned a dog in his life; in fact, he hated them. However, it served to confirm that Reilly had indeed been checked and forwarded by the Hungarian.
“Very well, tell me about this job you have for me. You mentioned sabotage?”
“That’s right,” Reilly confirmed. “What do you know about Ravensteel Incand Mc. Crae Enterprises?”
“Not much,” Hosato admitted. “They’re both based on Grunbecker’s Planet and they both make robots.”
Reilly smiled. “Mr. Hosato, you have an unsuspected talent for understatement. Still, that pretty much sums up the situation. The only major amendment I would make would be to point out that between the two of them, they produce eighty-five to ninety percent of the robots in use today.”
Hosato raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. He had no idea those two corporations dominated the industry to that extent.
“Now, then,” Reilly continued, “what do you know about the corporations themselves, particularly their interrelation with each other?”
“Mr. Reilly,” Hosato smiled to hide his annoyance, “you asked once what I knew about the corporations in question, and I told you. Now, why don’t you just tell me whatever you feel is important, instead of playing Twenty Questions?” Reilly took the rebuff smoothly. “Sorry,” he apologized. “My basic background is in marketing and sales—you know, 'get the customer involved'. Guess I’ve never really gotten over it.
“Well, to keep a long story short, the two corporations hate each other with a passion. Now, don’t mistake this for an ordinary business rivalry. That’s there, too, but it’s only part of the story. Originally they were all one company, IR. AM, a partnership. The two partners had a falling-out, and they split the company, forming two separate corporations. The main drive of each of the two has been to put the other out of business. So far, though, they’re about even.”
Mirror Friend, Mirror Foe Page 2