above the bed.
'All right, now?' he asked.
Sutton raised a hand and passed it, bewildered, across his face.
'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I guess I am.'
'You passed out,' the man told him.
'Something I ate,' said Sutton.
The man shook his head. 'The trip, more than likely. It must have been a tough one.'
'Yes,' said Sutton. 'Tough.'
Go ahead, he thought. Go ahead and ask some more. Those are your instructions. Catch me while I'm groggy, pump me like a well. Go ahead and ask the questions and earn your lousy money.
But he was wrong.
The man straightened up.
'I think you'll be all right,' he said. 'If you aren't, call me. My card is on the mantel.'
'Thanks, doctor,' said Sutton.
He watched him walk across the room, waited until he heard the door click, then sat up in bed. His clothing lay in a pile in the center of the floor. His case? Yes, there it was, lying on a chair. Ransacked, no doubt, probably photostated.
Spy rays, too, more than likely. All over the room. Ears listening and eyes watching.
But who? he asked himself.
No one knew he was returning. No one could have known. Not even Adams. There was no way to know. There had been no way that he could let them know.
Funny.
Funny the way Davis at the spaceport had recognized his name and told a lie to cover up.
Funny the way Ferdinand pretended his suite had been kept for him for all these twenty years.
Funny, too, how Ferdinand had turned around and spoken, as if twenty years were nothing.
Organized, said Sutton. Clicking like a relay system. Set and waiting for me.
But why should anyone be waiting? No one knew when he'd be coming back. Or if he would come at all.
And even if someone did know, why go to all the trouble?
For they could not know, he thought…they could not know the thing I have, they could not even guess. Even if they did know I was coming back, incredible as it might be that they should know, even that would be more credible by a million times than that they should know the real reason for my coming.
And knowing, he said, they would not believe.
His eyes found the attache case lying on the chair, and stared at it.
And knowing, he said again, they would not believe.
When they look the ship over, of course, they will do some wondering. Then there might be some excuse for the thing that happened. But they didn't have time to look at the ship. They didn't wait a minute. They were laying for me and they gave me the works from the second that I landed.
Davis shoved me into a teleport and grabbed his phone like mad. And Ferdinand knew that I was on the way, he knew he'd see me when he turned around. And the girl — the girl with the granite eyes?
Sutton got up and stretched. A bath and shave, first of all, he told himself. And then some clothes and breakfast. A visor call or two.
Don't act as if you've got the wind up, he warned himself. Act naturally. Pick your nose. Talk to yourself. Pinch out a blackhead. Scratch your back against a door casing. Act as if you think you are alone.
But be careful.
There is someone watching.
V
Sutton was finishing breakfast when the android came.
'My name is Herkimer,' the android told him, 'and I belong to Mr. Geoffrey Benton.'
'Mr. Benton sent you here?'
'Yes. He sends a challenge.'
'A challenge?'
'Yes. You know, a duel.'
'But I am unarmed.'
'You cannot be unarmed,' said Herkimer.
'I never fought a duel in all my life,' said Sutton. 'I don't intend to now.'
'You are vulnerable.'
'What do you mean, vulnerable? If I go unarmed…'
'But you cannot go unarmed. The code was changed just a year or two ago. No man younger than a hundred years can go unarmed.'
'But if one does?'
'Why, then,' said Herkimer, 'anyone who wants to can pot you like a rabbit.'
'You are sure of this?'
Herkimer dug into his pocket, brought out a tiny book. He wet his finger and fumbled at the pages.
'It's right here,' he said.
'Never mind,' said Sutton. 'I will take your word.'
'You accept the challenge, then?'
Sutton grimaced. 'I suppose I have to. Mr. Benton will wait, I presume, until I buy a gun.'
'No need of that,' Herkimer told him, brightly. 'I brought one along. Mr. Benton always does that. Just a courtesy, you know. In case someone hasn't got one.'
He reached into his pocket and held out the weapon. Sutton took it and laid it on the table.
'Awkward-looking thing,' he said.
Herkimer stiffened. 'It's traditional,' he declared. 'The finest weapon made. Shoots a.45-caliber slug. Hand- loaded ammunition. Sights are tested in for fifty feet.'
'You pull this?' asked Sutton, pointing.
Herkimer nodded. 'It is called a trigger. And you don't pull it. You squeeze it.'
'Just why does Mr. Benton challenge me?' asked Sutton. 'I don't even know the man. Never even heard of him.'
'You are famous,' said Herkimer.
'Not that I have heard of.'
'You are an investigator,' Herkimer pointed out. 'You have just come back from a long and perilous mission. You're carrying a mysterious-appearing attache case.
Sutton nodded. 'I see. When Benton kills someone he likes them to be famous.'
'It is better if they are,' said Herkimer. 'More publicity'
'But I don't know Mr. Benton. How will I know who I'm supposed to shoot at?'
'I'll show you,' said Herkimer, 'on the televisor.'
He stepped to the desk, dialed a number and stepped back.
'That's him,' he said.
In the screen a man was sitting before a chess table. The pieces were in mid-game. Across the board stood a beautifully machined robotic.
The man reached out a hand, thoughtfully played his knight. The robotic clicked and chuckled. It moved a pawn. Benton's shoulders hunched forward and he bent above the board. One hand came around and scratched the back of his neck.
'Oscar's got him worried,' said Herkimer. 'He always has him worried. Mr. Benton hasn't won a single game in the last ten years.'
