took my chance, eh? But you’re unable to pay, now you have lost.” He spun and yelled, “Gino, Gino!
Come here, please. I wish this… this
Jerry Rhodes looked about desperately.
The Great Marconi had disappeared.
Chapter Seven
Dorn Horsten peered through the bars. “Where is Helen?” he demanded.
“How would I know?” Jerry growled.
Maggiore Roberto Verona, suave as ever, said smoothly, ”
Jerry said in exasperation, “Nobody’d listen to me. I forgot to make arrangements for exchange. I didn’t know my Interplanetary Crediter wouldn’t be legal tender on this half-baked, backward planet.”
The maggiore’s voice was suddenly chill. “I am sure you are distressed, Signore Rhodes, and shall ignore your derogatory comments.” He flicked his hand at a jailer who came forward and opened the cell door.
Dr. Horsten was staring at the accommodations Jerry was departing. “A cell,” he exclaimed. “Wonderful. Imagine, in this day and age. A jail. Guards and everything. I can’t wait to tell my colleagues on, say, Avalon, or Earth, or… well, just about any place.”
He turned to Maggiore Verona and beamed. “And my daughter. You have her in, uh,
The Florentine official was taken aback. “But, really, Doctor, this is all a terrible misunderstanding. Your daughter…”
“Oh, I am sure Helen can take care of herself.” Horsten said in growing enthusiasm. “I dote on the historical fiction gangster shows. My only relaxation. I can just see it all. Jerry, here, dashing up in a low-slung, black hovercar. Mufflegun in both hands. Ah, where did it happen, Jerry, my boy?”
“At a sidewalk cafe,” Jerry growled in disgust. “How do we get out of this hole?”
“This way,” the maggiore said hastily, trying to stem the universally renowned scientist’s tirade.
“Up to the, uh, what do they call them? Pay booth, cash register… ?”
The Florentine groaned softly under his breath. “… threatening all with his weapon. Dash it, I wish I had been there. Romantic, eh? Jerry, just what was it you did?”
Jerry said sourly, “Couldn’t pay my bill. Six and a half silver lire, or whatever. If this ever gets back to Mother, she’ll probably buy this town, just to plow it under.”
Maggiore Verona looked at him from the side of his eyes, a certain respect there. “Ah, Signori, if you’ll just come this way.”
He led them down a sterile corridor, the doctor still excitedly proclaiming the romanticism of it all, Jerry scowling darkly. They emerged into a well furnished office in which there were half a dozen Florentines, including two women, obviously matrons by their attire. Helen was seated on a desk, Gertrude under one arm, holding forth with a highly superior air and a treble voice on the shortcomings of the planet Firenze. Her audience, all in uniform, all on the brawny side—even the feminine contingent—were obviously fascinated. On spotting her supposed father and his companions,
Helen wound it up. “An” when me and Gertrude grow up, if we’re still on this dump planet, we’re gonna become Engelists.”
“What!” the anti-subversion maggiore blurted.
“Me and Gertrude both,” Helen said definitely. She looked at her father and switched gears. “I don’t like being here,” she wailed. “I wanna go home!”
Horsten said hurriedly, “Now, Helen, everything will be all right. We’ll return immediately to the hotel.”
“I don’t wanna go back to that dump hotel. I wanna go home!”
Maggiore Verona was looking bleakly at the Florentines. “What’s been going on here?”
One official, who had come suddenly to his feet when the maggiore had entered the room, stuttered an answer. The child had been taken care of with silken gloves. Ice cream had been brought, chocolate for the little girl, strawberry for her doll, who, Helen had claimed, would eat nothing else.
“Very well, very well,” Verona finally cut off the tirade. He turned to Horsten and Jerry Rhodes. “My vehicle is waiting. I shall be happy to return you to the hotel, Signori.” He looked at Helen, suppressing distaste. “And you too, of course, Signorina.”
Helen snorted and tucked Gertrude more firmly under her arm.
On the way back to the
“Huh!” Jerry grunted.
“Signore Rhodes?”
Jerry said, “It’s the only thing anybody ever talks about on Firenze. Everybody talks about the Engelists, but nobody ever says anything about them. What they stand for, who they are, what they want. I came here to Firenze with the idea of investing some variable capital. But the planet’s in a confusion worse than Catalina. I think I’ll go back and…”
The maggiore said smoothly, “My dear Signore Rhodes, we have checked your credentials, and have also made preliminary investigation of the situation that prevails on your home planet. Tell me, are there others who feel the same way as you do in regard to the, uh, desirability of transferring their investments elsewhere?”
Jerry bent an arrogant glare on him. “I am not sure that is your business, Citizen Verona.”
The assistant to the Third Signore contemplated his fingertips. “Only indirectly, Signore. I will be happy to refer you to members of the First Signore’s administration who are in a better position to advise you on Firenze investment opportunities. I might say, however, that they are all but unlimited.”
“In spite of the Engelists?”
“Perhaps because of them,” the other said smoothly. “But here we are at the hotel.”
They remained silent until they had regained the penthouse suite usually reserved for the First Signore, now retained by Jerry Rhodes and his guests.
Jerry, projecting a continuation of his indignation over spending an hour or two behind bars, strode immediately toward the bar. He said ungraciously over his shoulder, “Anybody else like a drink?”
Dorn Horsten said, ‘“f you and the maggiore are involved in personal affairs, perhaps I should adjourn.”
“No, stay where you are,” Jerry said. “Maybe you’ll find out something about this off-beat world, too.”
The massive scientist shrugged and settled down in a chair. “Frankly, I am a bit nonplussed,” he admitted.
“I had been thinking in terms of recommending that an interplanetary research center be established here on Firenze devoted to the
The major looked at him. “And…”
“Well, one of my local colleagues from the university seemed to differ with my opinions. I answered his objections, but evidently he took umbrage at my vocal inflection.”
They were all looking at him.
The algae specialist cleared his throat. “Briefly, he challenged me.”
“Challenged you!” Jerry blurted. “Now you?”
“Well, he was a somewhat, shall we say feisty, little fellow. Ah, say, five and a half feet tall or so. He somewhat shrilly called upon me to choose weapons, and when I mentioned the Macedonian sarissa…”
“Sarissa?” the maggiore said blankly.
Horsten turned to him and beamed. “The Macedonian phalanx was based on a pike, called the sarissa, which was some twenty feet in length. A conception attributed to Philip. It proved effective.”
