Code Duello

“You’re scheduled for the day after tomorrow—we couldn’t postpone it any longer—in the Parco Duello, at dawn.”

“Oh, fine. A great couple of seconds, you two are. Why didn’t you apologize?”

“How could we apologize?” Jerry said reasonably. “You hadn’t done anything.”

Horsten said, “We’ve got two days to figure something out. We’ll check with Maggiore Verona. There’s undoubtedly some manner in which to duck out of a duel.”

“Do you mind telling me what kind of weapon you decided to let me get killed with?”

Horsten said, “Well, we should have checked with you on that. We didn’t know what you were handy with— besides a bullwhip.”

“So…?

“So we chose swords.”

“Wonderful! I’ve never had a sword in my hand in my life.” Zorro slammed the door behind him.

They had a glum breakfast together.

Zorro, in a foul humor, complained, “Why’d they send us off from the Octagon with no more to work on than this? We should have been given some sort of lead, some sort of takeoff point.”

Helen said, “For one thing, Ross Metaxa doesn’t want us to succeed.”

Dorn Horsten looked at her, between bites of toast, his eyebrows high.

Helen said, “The Special Talents group is a pet of Lee Chang’s but Metaxa doesn’t like it. It louses up the atmosphere of dignity he’d like to associate with his beloved Section G.”

Jerry Rhodes said, “He’s the boss. Why not just eliminate us special talents agents?”

“Because Lee Chang’s one of his favorite supervisors and one of his best. He can’t just slap her down. Besides, Sid Jakes more or less backs her project.”

Horsten said, “Then you think if we flunk this assignment, Lee Chang’s whole idea will go by the board?”

Helen sipped her pseudo-coffee. “Of course. That was the arrangement.”

Zorro growled, “You wonder what side Ross Metaxa is on. But what gets me is we’re evidently expendable. It’s all fine for him, sitting there in the Octagon waiting for us to blow this job and get ourselves killed off in duels so he can prove a point to Lee Chang and Jakes. So to accomplish it, we get insufficient material with which to work.”

Horsten said uncomfortably, “We don’t know that’s true. The situation is unique. Bulchand was the sole Section G agent, and he was killed and his files taken. Ross Metaxa had nothing to do with all that. Don’t be bitter, Zorro.”

Helen smeared jam on her toast to a thickness that made her supposed father wince. “I hate a bitter man,” she said.

Jerry Rhodes said, “I bitter woman, once.”

Zorro, his mouth tightly shut, came to his feet and threw his napkin to the table. He glared around at them, then turned and left the room abruptly.

Jerry said to his remaining two companions, “Sorry. I guess I’m not as funny as I think I am.”

The scientist pushed his pince-nez back to a more comfortable spot on his nose and said, “He’s got that confounded duel on his mind. He doesn’t want to kill that inspector—he has no reason to—and, on the other hand, doesn’t want to get killed himself.”

Helen shrugged tiny shoulders. “Maybe. However, I’m beginning to get the impression that friend Zorro figures everybody is expendable but Zorro.”

Horsten looked at her. “You two have a run-in?”

“Not particularly. He’s just a bit on the cold-blooded side for little Helen.”

Dorn Horsten said, “Remember, he’s part of the team. His being around might mean the difference between your neck and its wringing, someday.” He looked at his watch and switched subjects. “We’re going to have to get some lead on this underground outfit. The desk phoned a little while ago and I have an appointment to meet Academician Udine from the university. He’s not a complete stranger; we met during my past brief visit here. It comes to mind that he will undoubtedly feel more at ease with me, than with a fellow citizen of Firenze. Perhaps I can draw him out.”

“On the Engelists, eh?” Helen said.

“Uh huh. If there’s this much underground activity on Firenze, then the universities should be hotbeds of subversion. It’s when man is young and idealistic that he rebels against the status quo.”

Jerry said, “If rebellion is called for or not?”

Helen finished off her pseudo-coffee. “Jerry, my lad, rebellion against the status quo is almost always called for. A culture shouldn’t be allowed to become static. Wasn’t it that old-timer Thomas Jefferson who thought they ought to have a new revolution about every twenty years?”

Jerry grunted. “Then why’re we here on Firenze trying to foul up these Engelists?”

Dom Horsten came to his feet. “Because they’re a little too previous. It’s not as though the present government is in decadence. It’s never been allowed to get underway. They want to be progressive, but this confounded underground won’t let them get started.”

He looked at his wrist chronometer again. “At any rate, I’ll see if I can get a line on the Engelists through my colleague Udine.”

“How about me?” Helen said.

He scowled at her. “I can’t take you along. He wouldn’t open up in front of a child. He’d think you couldn’t be trusted not to repeat something.”

Jerry said, “Helen and I can go out on the town and find what we can find. Possibly, we’ll be lucky and stumble on something. Suppose we meet back here for lunch.”

“What’s happened to Zorro?”

“Who knows?” Helen said. “I heard the door open and close a few minutes ago.”

“For lunch it is, then,” the massive scientist said, leaving them.

When he was gone, Jerry and Helen sat alone. Helen looked at him unblinkingly for a long moment.

Finally he began to get apprehensive. “You’re going to come up with something,” he accused.

She said, “I’ll bet you a hundred interplanetary credits.”

“On what?”

“What do you care? You said you always win a bet?”

“All right, all right. I always win a bet, but one of the reasons I do is that I don’t push it beyond reason. I wouldn’t bet, for instance, that I could be in two places at once.”

“Trying to crab out, eh?”

“What’s the bet?”

Helen said slowly, “I’ll bet you one hundred credits that Zorro gets killed in that duel.”

He said finally, “All right. I’ll bet you a hundred he doesn’t.”

At the desk, in the lobby of the Albergo Palazzo, Jerry Rhodes, the look of a martyr on his face, stopped long enough to say to the concierge, “Look, for this morning I’m saddled with a babysitting routine, understand? But I’d appreciate it if you’d make arrangements for me tonight. A limousine, some suggestions for nightspots. You know, where the action…”

“Nightspots?” the concierge said.

Jerry, who had Helen firmly by the hand as he talked, said, aggrieved, “Nightspots, nightspots, whatever you call them on Firenze. Cabaret, cafe dansant, music hall, nightclub.” As the other’s face remained blank, his voice went pleading. “… saloon, gin mill, pub, bistro, beer hall…” The other’s face was still blank. “… speakeasy! blind tiger!”

The clerk held up a hand to stem the tide. “I know what you mean. But the curfew.”

It was Jerry’s turn to be blank. “Curfew?”

“Let’s go, Uncle Jerry,” Helen whined, pulling at his hand. She had her doll under her left arm.

The concierge said, “At ten o’clock, all public establishments must be closed. At eleven o’clock, all citizens must be off the streets.”

Jerry said, ” Why?”

The clerk’s face and voice turned cool. “Signore, are you criticizing the measures taken by the First Signore