Code Duello

“I wanna go home!” Helen shrilled.

The driver turned back to his duties and hunched his shoulders.

Zorro Juarez cleared his throat and said to the Florentine, as though seeking a subject with which to clear the air, “What is an Engelist?”

It was evidently the wrong subject to have chosen.

The other said, “You don’t know what an Engelist is? What kind of world you come from?” And then in confused contradiction of himself, “You live on some sort of Engelist government world?”

Zorro said, in unwonted mildness, “I’m from Vacamundo. We don’t have any Engelists, or whatever you call them, there. What’s an Engelist?”

They were almost to the entry of the official building. However, the driver took Zorro in with a slow calculation. “How do I know you’re not some undercover police, trying to egg me into indicating I got unusual interest in the Engelists?”

Zorro shook his head at him in true puzzlement. “Come again on that?”

The driver turned his back abruptly, and did things with his cart controls.

They pulled up before the short flight of stairs which mounted to the building’s portals, and the driver dropped the lift lever and disembarked to open doors for them. His face was darkly suspicious and he spoke no further. Helen, when her father wasn’t looking, stuck her tongue out at him before tripping after the rest.

At the top of the stone stairway were three guards, two of them bearing muffle rifles. They came to the salute, eyes straight ahead. A trim sub-officer, a quick-draw holster at his hip, came forward, his face expressionless.

The second officer of the Half Moon had evidently been through Firenze routine before. He stepped out and presented a clipboard of papers.

“Four passengers from the Half Moon. Origin, Earth. Visas for Firenze entry in order.”

The sub-officer looked at Blinker carefully. He took the clipboard. Before looking at it, he weighed the four in question, one by one, with care. Finally, he looked down at the papers. He took his time perusing them.

He said at last, “Very well, follow me.” He turned and led the way to the entry. The party from the Half Moon trailed behind.

Zorro growled under his breath, “Some welcome for a bunch of newcomers.”

Dorn Horsten said, an edge of irritation in his voice, “See here, I expected someone from the University…”

The Florentine said, “After clearance.”

The big scientist pushed his pince-nez glasses back onto his nose. “Stuff and nonsense,” he muttered.

The sub-officer paused. “Are you criticizing the institutions of the Free Democracy of the Commonwealth of Firenze, or me, personally?”

But Helen was in there again. She pointed a finger at the Firenze official, her other small fist on her hip. “You leave my daddy alone,” she said in warning.

The sub-officer looked at her. He frowned puzzlement. He looked back at her father. Dorn Horsten stood there scowling, but evidently unrepentant.

The Florentine started over again. “I will brook no criticism of the institutions…”

Helen took a half skip forward and let him have it on the shins. “I told you to leave my daddy alone, you nasty thing. My daddy didn’t bother you.”

“Helen!” Horsten blurted.

Zorro Juarez scooped her up and held her under his left arm. He tapped his tranca against his trouser leg. “Let’s get on with it,” he said.

“Lemme go!” Helen shrilled.

The Florentine sub-officer stood there, either counting to himself or communicating with whatever gods he followed. He had closed his eyes in mental, rather than physical, anguish.

Finally, he opened them and said emotionlessly, “Follow me.”

Zorro kept his grip on the kicking Helen.

“I don’t like this place. I wanna go home,” she howled.

The sub-officer held the door open for them. Zorro, laden down with Helen, passed through last. The sub- officer closed his eyes again, when she went by. It was just as well; she was sticking her tongue out in impotent rage.

Immediately inside the door was a large desk, behind it an older and more elaborately uniformed Florentine. He took them all in, including the sub-officer, without speaking. When the sub-officer put the clipboard of entry papers before him, he scanned it very slowly. The four passengers from space lined up before the desk, the second officer of the Half Moon slightly ahead of them.

The official looked up finally and stared at Jerry Rhodes, who was at the far right of the lineup. Jerry, hands nonchalantly in his pockets, was looking about the large entry hall.

The Florentine rapped, “Are you, or have you ever been, an Engelist?”

Jerry Rhodes brought his eyes to him, in unfeigned lack of comprehension.

“Me? What’s an Engelist? Listen, how do I go about finding a deluxe hotel? The very best. Some place with decent food and some action.” He winked at the other, dropped his voice slightly and spoke from the side of his mouth. “You know, nice nightspot, vintage guzzle, pick up a good looking…”

The sub-officer clipped, “Answer the Tenente’s question!”

Jerry blinked. “Me? No. I don’t even know what a… whatever you said… is.”

The tenente went on down the line. And got the same response from Dorn Horsten and Zorro Juarez. That is, a denial that they were or had ever been, Engelists.

The tenente brought out papers and got their signatures to that effect. The papers were added to the clip- board. He handed the clipboard to the sub-officer, who saluted. The tenente returned the salute. He had one last word to say to the newcomers to Firenze.

“In landing upon this planet you foreswear recourse to your own world, or to the United Planets, insofar as political activities are concerned. That is, if it is found that you participate in Firenze internal affairs, such as Engelist subversion, you are subject to our laws and to the government of the First Signore. Is that understood and accepted? If not, you must return to the”—he looked down at the paper before him—“the Half Moon, and depart Firenze.”

Zorro Juarez said, “You mean, if we get in trouble, we can’t appeal to the United Planets Embassy?”

The tenente said, “Why should you get in trouble? You have declared that you are not an Engelist, haven’t you?”

Jerry Rhodes said, “Is that the only kind of trouble you can get into on this world?”

“Are you attempting to be amusing, Signore, uh… Rhodes?”

Jerry said plaintively, “So far, I haven’t found anything to be amusing about on this planet. All I want to know is where I can find some decent food and a little action. After a week of Tuesdays on that so-called passenger freighter, what I need is…”

Helen, who at long last had been set back on her own feet again, whined, “I don’t like this place, Daddy. I wanna go home.”

“Now, Helen, be a good girl.”

The sub-officer had closed his eyes again, when Helen opened her trap. The tenente said, “That will be all. Take them to customs.”

At this point Helmut Brinker called it quits. His duties, evidently, took him no further. He shook hands, even with Jerry Rhodes, patted Helen carefully on the head, as though half suspicious that she might bite him, and set off for the spaceport cart.

Helen held on to Zorro’s hand on the way to the next stop. He growled at her from the side of his mouth, “Aren’t you overdoing this?”

She looked up at him balefully and snarled in a low voice, “The way I look at it, so far I’ve stopped two duels. And if you three overgrown clods don’t keep your traps shut, I doubt if we’ll ever get to the hotel without one of you getting ventilated, or whatever they do in the way of dueling here.”