Code Duello

the historical fiction Tri-Di shows. Those final scenes, where the two top gunmen come down the main street and shoot it out. It never happened, you know. You must read up on it some time. Very educational. In actuality, men of the Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid gunman level took full care not to step on each other’s toes. Very professional about it. It was much easier to shoot unarmed men down in the O.K. Corral and later brand them rustlers, since you were a marshal and who could say you nay? Or to run up your score of twenty-one notches from ambush, like our famed juvenile delinquent.”

Zorro, his handsome face grimacing, said, “What’s all this about you being an Engelist? All we hear about on this screw-box world, is the Engelists, but you never see one.” The Vacamundo cattleman was absently pounding his tranca in the palm of his left hand.

“Now you have the exception that proves the rule,” the Florentine said. “In me, you meet an Engelist.”

Jerry said, “Do you mean to say you really think you’ve got a chance of overthrowing this government? Why, half the population spends its time sniffing out subversives. Look at that cabinet of the First Signore. Ten men and all but one of them working on internal security. Go to the library and ask for a book on Engelism, and they throw you in the jug. Open your mouth about the Engelists, and thirteen bystanders howl for the police.”

Cesare Marconi again let his mask slip momentarily, and there was the drawn seriousness. “Signore Rhodes, don’t be overly impressed by the efforts governments make to prevent their institutions from being subverted. Social revolution can be equated to the fundamental change involved in an egg becoming a chick. Let us say that there might be some elements who are desirous of having the egg remain an egg. To that end, they may paint the shell of the egg with crosses, angels and cherubs. Or they might paint it red, white and blue, or other patriotic colors of other ages. They might inscribe it with all sorts of speeches and slogans, dreamed up by the most competent speech writers and advertising men available. However, that chick cannot long be put off.”

“Gosh,” Helen said.

Cesare Marconi looked at her thoughtfully before going on. “So it is with social change. If one is pending—I am not speaking of mere military revolt, or of overthrowing one group of opportunists for the benefit of another, while basic institutions are retained—than those who oppose have their work cut out. You can spend endlessly, paying your educational system from school-marms to professors to teach the young why it’s no-go.

You can subsidize ministers of every denomination to thunder against it in church and synagogue, temple and black mass coven. Alleged great thinkers can write lengthily on why it is against human nature, or whatever, but if it’s pending, you’d best have it.”

Helen said, in her child’s treble, “Or what happens, Mr. Great Martini?”

“Marconi!”

“If the little chick doesn’t break the shell, huh? What happens?”

He took her in, an edge of bafflement there. “It either breaks the shell, when the breaking is due, Signorina, . or it dies.”

Jerry said, “How does that fit in with your analogy?”

“In comparison with society? In society, when a social revolution is pending and is put off, then reaction is the inevitable alternative—usually bloody reaction, Signore Rhodes.”

The Florentine came to his feet deliberately, and looked about at them. “And now, you must pardon me.”

Suddenly there was an evil looking, black compact weapon in his hand. Its muzzle swept them, obviously in the grip of a more than ordinarily competent user.

His voice was dangerous now. “I am interested in taking a very thorough look at your luggage, Signori.”

There was a flicker in the hand of Zorro Juarez, even as Dorn Horsten snapped, “Zorro, no!”

Too late. A tendril flicked from the end of the tranca. Almost lazily, the speed deceptive, it reached and curled about the small arm. As quickly as it had appeared a split second before in the beautiful quick draw of the Florentine, that quickly the gun vanished from his hand. Magically, it was in the grasp of Zorro Juarez, who was looking mockingly at Cesare Marconi.

That duelist, smiling faintly, put his hands in his pockets and nodded. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

He looked from Zorro to Dorn Horsten, to Jerry Rhodes, each in their turn. “I didn’t know which one it would come from, or how. But I got the impression that when somebody yells, ‘stick ’em up’ at this little group, it doesn’t react exactly as surface appearances might indicate.” He looked down at Helen. “I can’t figure out where you come in,” he said.

Helen stuck her tongue out at him.

He turned and headed for the door.

“Stop!” Zorro snapped, the gun at the ready.

Cesare Marconi took his turn at a mocking grin.

“’Why?” he said, over his shoulder. “I found out what I came to find out. Now I want to think about it.” He twisted his mouth at the threat of the weapon. “You wouldn’t dare use that.”

“Wait long enough for a question or two,” Horsten said, after glaring his disgust at Zorro. “Where did you get the gun?”

“Wondering how I got it past the guards, eh?” Marconi shook his head. “You needn’t suspect that I’m a plant they let by with the shooter because we’re in cahoots. It was stashed in the bar. My beloved cousin keeps them about his quarters—an assassin complex. I don’t blame him.”

“Are you really an Engelist?”

The Florentine smiled wryly. After a thoughtful pause, he said, “Yes.”

“Why did you hesitate?”

The mouth was still wry. “Perhaps, some day, I’ll tell you.”

Zorro said to the scientist, “Scop?”

“Shut up.”

Cesare Marconi was mocking of voice again. “You’re really not what you seem, are you?” He looked at Zorro. “So you have truth serum on hand. Naughty, naughty.”

Zorro said, “One last question. What do you know about the Dawnworlds?”

Horsten’s face froze in disapproval. Jerry Rhodes’ eyebrows went up.

For the first time since his arrival, the self-named Great Marconi seemed out of his depth. “Dawnworlds? Never heard of them.”

Horsten said, “Evidently, some new planets that might eventually join up with our confederation.”

The Florentine scowled his puzzlement at Zorro Juarez, shrugged and turned, saying over his shoulder, “And once again, for the present, Signorina and Signori, farewell.”

This time, they made no effort to halt him as he left.

When he was gone, Horsten glared at Zorro. “Have you gone completely around the bend? Didn’t you have sense enough not to take his gambit when he pulled that gun? What was the hurry? Any one of us could have taken him, at any time.”

“Given luck,” Jerry said.

Zorro was embarrassed. “I acted without thinking. Sorry. It makes me nervous, somebody with a shooter in his hand.”

Helen snorted, matching her big companion’s disgust. “Nervous people don’t make good Section G operatives,” she said. “But what in the name of the Holy Ultimate was the idea of asking him about the Dawnworlds?”

Zorro flared up defensively. “Damn it, none of you seem to realize that something’s off-beat about this Dawnworld thing. You know what one of those over-muscled goons asked, on the way down to that two-by-four room they’ve boxed me into?”

He had all eyes.

“One of them mentioned the fact that I was from overspace and asked me, in off-hand curiosity, if I’d heard anything new about the Dawnworlds. I tried to draw him out, without saying anything myself, and came up with a rumor he’d heard. Evidently, some outfit, somewhere, is getting together an expedition to raid these Dawnworlds. Not connected with any government, mind you. Some private pirate gang.”

“What? Horsten blurted.

Zorro threw up a hand in a gesture of disgust. “All I’m telling you is what I heard. That’s why I asked this Marconi character if he knew anything. We’ve blown our cover with him anyway. We might’ve learned