The Dueling Machine sw-3 Page 9

  Leoh put a hand out to Hector, to steady himself.

  “Must be some sort of grav field along the shell,” the Watchman said, pulling one boot tackily from the floor.

  “For the fainthearted, I suppose,” Leoh said.

  The other shuttle passengers were streaming past them and launching themselves like swimmers away from the air lock, coasting gracefully up into the huge chamber.

  Looking around, Leoh saw refreshment bars spotted along the shell, and more floating overhead. He turned back to Hector and said, “Why don’t you go look for Geri, and I’ll try to find Harold.”

  “I sort of think I should stay close to you, Professor. After all, my job is to, uh, that is…”

  “Nonsense! There are no Kerak assassins in this crowd. Go find Geri.”

  Grinning, Hector said, “All right. But I’ll be keeping one eye on you.”

  With that, Hector jumped off the floor to join the weightless throng. But he jumped a bit too hard, banged into a rainbow-clad Acquatainian who was floating past with a drink in his hand, and knocked the drink, the man, and himself spinning. The drink’s cover popped open and globules of liquid spattered through the air, hitting other members of the crowd and breaking into constantly smaller droplets. A woman screamed.

  The Acquatainian righted himself immediately, but Hector couldn’t stop. He went tumbling head over heels, cleaving through the crowd like a runaway chariot, emitting a string of, “Wh… whoops… look out.… gosh… pardon me… watch it…”

  Leoh stood rooted to his spot beside the air lock, staring unbelievingly as Hector barreled through the crowd. The weightless guests scattered before him, some yelling angrily, a few women screaming, most of them laughing. Then they closed in again, and Leoh could no longer see the Watchman. A trio of servants took off after him, chasing across the gigantic globe to intercept him.

  Only then did Leoh notice a servant standing beside him, with a slim belt in his hands. “A stabilizer, sir. Most of the guests have their own. It is very difficult to maneuver weightlessly without one… as the Star Watchman is demonstrating.”

  Leoh accepted the belt, decided there wasn’t much he could do about Hector except add to the confusion, so he floated easily up into the heart of the party. The sensation of weightlessness was pleasant, like floating in a pool of water. He got himself a drink in one of the special covered cups and sucked on the straw as he drifted toward a large knot of people near the center of the globe.

  Suddenly Hector pinwheeled past him, looking helpless and red-faced, as a couple of servants swam after him as hard as they could. The party goers laughed as Hector buzzed by, then returned to their conversations. Leoh put out a hand, but the Watchman was past and disappeared into the crowd again.

  Leoh frowned. He loathed big parties. Too many people, too little activity. People talked incessantly at parties, but said nothing. They ate and drank despite the fact that they weren’t hungry. They spent hours listening to total strangers whom they would never see again. It was a mammoth waste of time.

  Or are you merely bored, he asked himself, because no one here recognizes you? They seem to be having a fine time without the famous inventor of the dueling machine.

  Leoh drifted toward the transparent wall of the satellite and watched the glowing surface of the planet outside, a huge solid sphere bathed in golden sunlight. Then he turned and floated effortlessly until he got a good view of the stars. The Acquataine Cluster was a jewel box of gleaming red and gold and orange stars, packed together so thickly that you could barely see the black background of space.

  So much beauty in the universe, Leoh thought.

  “Professor Leoh?”

  Startled out of his reverie, Leoh turned to see a small, moon-faced, balding man floating beside him and extending his hand in greeting.

  “I am Lal Ponte,” he said as Leoh shook his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.”

  “An honor for me,” Leoh replied with the standard Acquatainian formality.

  “You are probably looking for Sir Harold, and I know the Prime Minister would like to see you. Since they’re both in the same place, may I take you to them?” Ponte’s voice was a squeaky tenor.

  Leoh nodded. “Thanks. Lead the way.”

  Ponte took off across the satellite, worming his way around knots of people—many of them upside down. Leoh followed. Like a freighter being towed by a tub, he thought of the sight of his bulky self tagging along after the mousy-looking Acquatainian.

  Leoh searched his memory. Lal Ponte: the new Secretary of Interior Affairs. Until a few weeks ago, Ponte had been an insignificant member of the legislature. But in the hectic voting for a new Prime Minister, with four possible candidates splitting the legislature almost evenly, Ponte had risen from obscurity to bring a critical dozen votes to General Martine’s side. His reward was the Cabinet position.

  Ponte glided straight into an immense clot of people near the very center of the satellite. Leoh followed him ponderously, bumping shoulders and elbows, getting frowns and mutterings, apologizing like a latecomer to the theater who must step on many toes to reach his seat.

  “Who’s the old one?” he heard a feminine voice whisper.

  “Ah, Albert, there you are!” Spencer called as they got to the center of the crowd. With that, the crowd flowed back slightly to make room for Leoh. The mutterings took on a different tone.

  “General Martine,” Spencer said to the new Prime Minister, “you of course know Albert Leoh, the inventor of the dueling machine and one of the Commonwealth’s leading scientists.”

  A buzz of recognition went through the crowd.

  Martine was tall and slim, wearing a military uniform of white and gold that accentuated his lean frame. His face was long, serious, with sad hound’s eyes and a prominent patrician nose. He nodded and put on a measured smile. “Of course. The man who defeated Kerak’s assassin. It is good to see you again, Professor.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Leoh responded. “And congratulations on your election.”

  Martine nodded gravely.

  “I have been trying to convince the Prime Minister,” Spencer said in his heavy public-address voice, “that Acquatainia would benefit greatly from joining the Commonwealth. But he seems to have reservations.”

  Martine raised his eyes to look beyond the crowd, out toward the satellite’s transparent shell and the golden planet beyond.

  “Acquatainia has traditionally remained independent of the Commonwealth,” Martine said. “We have no need of special trade advantages or political alliances. We are a rich and strong and happy people.”

  “But you are threatened by Kerak,” Leoh said.

  “My dear Professor,” Martine said, raising himself slightly and looking down on Leoh, “I have been a military man all my adult life. I had the honor of helping to defeat Kerak a generation ago. I know how to deal with military threats.”

  Far across the satellite, at one of the air lock entrances, Hector—wearing a stabilizer belt now—hovered above a crowd of latecomers as they came through the air lock, searching their faces. And there she was!

  He rushed down into them, accidentally pushing three Jeweled and cloaked businessmen into an equal number of mini-gowned wives, stepping on the foot of a burly Acquatainian colonel, and jostling through the new arrivals to get to Geri Dulaq.

  “You came,” he said, taking both her hands in his.

  Her smile made his knees flutter. “I hoped you’d be here, Hector.”

  “I… well,” he was grinning like an idiot, “I’m here.”

  “I’m glad.”

  They stood there at the air lock entrance, looking at each other, while people elbowed their way around them to get into the party.

  “Hector, shouldn’t we move away from the air lock?” Geri suggested gently.

  “Huh? Oh, sure.… He walked her toward a slightly sweaty servant (one of the posse who had chased Hector across the satellite) and then took a stabilizer belt from h
im.

  “You’ll need one of these belts before you try to float Otherwise it’s, eh, kind of tricky trying to maneuver.”

  The servant gritted his teeth and glared.

  Geri blinked her large brown eyes at Hector. “Will you show me how it works? I’m terribly poor at things like this.”

  Restraining an impulse to leap off the floor and do a triple somersault, Hector said simply, “Oh, there’s really nothing to it…” he glanced at the sweaty-faced servant, then added, “once you get the hang of it.”

  Spencer was saying, with some edge to his voice, “But when you defeated Kerak, you had the Szarno Confederacy and several other star-nations on your side. Now your old alliances are gone. You are alone against Kerak.”

  Martine sighed like a man being forced to exert great patience. “I repeat, Sir Harold, that Acquatainia is strong enough to defeat any Kerak attack without Star Watch assistance.”

  Leoh shook his head, but said nothing.

  Lal Ponte, floating beside his Prime Minister and looking like a small satellite near a large planet, said, “The Prime Minister is making plans for an impenetrable defense system, a network of fortified planets and star-ship fleets so strong that Kerak would never dare to attack it.”

  “And suppose,” Spencer countered, “Kerak attacks before this defense line is completed? Or attacks from a different direction?”

  “We will fight and win,” Martine said.

  Spencer ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Don’t you realize that an alliance with the Commonwealth—even a token alliance—will force Kanus to pause before he dares to attack? Your objective, it seems to me, should be to prevent a war from starting. Instead, you’re concentrating on plans to win the war, once it begins.”

  “If Kanus wants war,” Martine said, “we will defeat him.”

  “But he can be defeated without war,” Spencer insisted.

  Leoh added, “No dictator can last long without the threat of war to keep his people frightened enough to serve him. And if it becomes clear that Acquatainia cannot be attacked successfully…”

  “Kanus wants war,” Martine said.

  “And so do you, apparently,” Spencer added.

  The Prime Minister glared at Spencer for a long moment, then turned and said, “Excuse me, I am neglecting my other guests.”

  He pushed away, accompanied by a half-dozen followers, leaving Spencer, Leoh, and Lal Ponte in the middle of a suddenly dissipating crowd.

  Geri and Hector floated close to the transparent shell, looking out at the stars, barely aware of the music and voices from the party.

  “Hector.”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you promise me something?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  Her face was so serious, so beautiful, he could feel his pulse throbbing through his body.

  “Do you think Odal will ever return to Acquatainia?”

  The question surprised him. “Uh… I don’t know. Maybe. I sort of doubt it. I mean, well.…”

  “If he ever does .…” Geri’s voice trailed off.

  “Don’t worry,” Hector said, holding her close to him. “I won’t let him hurt you… or anybody else.”

  Her smile was overpowering. “Hector, dearest Hector. If Odal should ever return here, would you kill him for me?”

  Without a microsecond’s thought, he replied, “I’d challenge him as soon as I saw him.”

  Her face grew serious again. “No. I don’t mean in the dueling machine. I mean really. Kill him.”

  “I don’t understand the Prime Minister’s attitude,” Leoh said to Spencer and Lal Ponte.

  “He has great pride,” Ponte answered, “the pride of a military man. And we have great pride in him. He is the man who can lead Acquatainia back to glory. Dulaq and Massan… they were good men, but civilians, too weak to deal with Kanus of Kerak.”

  “They were political leaders,” Spencer rumbled. “They realized that war is an admission of failure. War is the last resort, when all else fails.”

  “We are not afraid of war!” Ponte snapped.

  “You should be,” Leoh said.

  “Why? Do you doubt that we could defeat Kerak?”

  “Why run the risk when you could avoid the war altogether?”

  The little politician waved his arms agitatedly, a maneuver that caused him to bob up and down weightlessly. “We are not afraid of the Kerak Worlds! You assume that we are cowards who must run under the skirts of your Terran Commonwealth at the first sign of danger!”

  “Lack of judgment is worse than cowardice,” said Leoh. “Why do you insist?”

  “You accuse the Acquatainian government of stupidity?”

  “No, I…”

  His voice rising higher and higher, Ponte squeaked, “Then you accuse me of stupidity… or the Prime Minister, perhaps?”

  “I am only questioning your judgment about.…”

  “And I accuse you of cowardice!” Ponte screeched.

  People were turning to watch them now. Ponte bobbed up and down, raging. “Because you are afraid of this bully, Kanus, you assume that we should be!”

  “Now really…” Spencer began.

  “You are a coward!” Ponte screamed at Leoh. “And I will prove it. I challenge you to meet me in your own dueling machine!”

  For the first time in years, Leoh felt his own temper flaring. “This is the most asinine argument I’ve ever seen.”

  “I challenge you!” Ponte insisted. “Do you accept the challenge, or will you slink away and prove your cowardice?”

  “Accepted!” Leoh snapped.

  4

  The sun was a small bluish-white disk high in the sky of Meklin, one of Kerak’s forced agriculture planets. Up here on the ridge, the wind felt chill to Odal, despite the heat in the valley farmlands below. The sky was cloudless, but the wind-rippled trees rustled a mosaic of gold and red against the blue.

  Odal saw Runstet sitting on the grass in a patch of sunlight with his wife and three small children. The oldest, a boy, could hardly have been more than ten. They were enjoying a picnic, laughing at something that had escaped Odal’s notice.

  The Kerak major stepped forward. Runstet saw him and paled. He got up to face Odal.

  “This is not what I want to see,” Odal said quietly. “You’ll have to do better.”

  Runstet stood there, rooted to the spot, while everything around him began to flicker, dim. The children and their mother, still laughing, grew faint and their laughter faded. The woods seemed to go misty, then disappeared altogether. Nothing was visible except Runstet and the fearful look on his face.

  “You are trying to hide your memories from me by substituting other memories,” Odal said. “We know that you met with certain other high-ranking army officers at your home three months ago. You claim it was a social occasion. I would like to see it.”

  The older man, square-jawed, his hair an iron gray, was obviously fighting for self-control. Fear was in him, Odal knew, but he also sensed something else: anger, stubbornness, and pride.

  “Inferior-grade officers were not invited to the… to the party. It was strictly for my old classmates, Major.” General Runstet accented the last word with as much venom as he could muster.

  Odal felt a flash of anger, but replied calmly, “May I remind you that you are under arrest and therefore have no rank. And if you insist on refusing me access to your memories of this meeting, more stringent methods of interrogation will be used.” Fool! he thought. You’re a dead man and yet you refuse to admit it.

  “You can do anything you want to,” Runstet said. “Drugs, torture… you’ll get nothing from me. Use this damnable dueling machine for a hundred years and I’ll still tell you nothing!”

  Unmoving, Odal said, “Shall I recreate the scene for you? I have visited your home in Meklin, and I have a list of the officers who attended your meeting.”

  “When Marshal Lugal learns how Kor and his trained assassins have treated a general
officer, you’ll all be exterminated!” Runstet bellowed. “And you! An officer yourself. A disgrace to the uniform you wear!”

  “I have my duty,” Odal said. “And I am trying to spare you some of the more unpleasant methods of interrogation.”

  As Odal spoke, the mist around them dissolved and they were standing in a spacious living room. Sunlight streamed through the open patio doors. Nearly a dozen men in army uniforms sat on the couches. But they were silent, unmoving.

  “Now then,” said Odal, “you will show me exactly what happened. Every word and gesture, every facial expression.”

  “Never!”

  “That in itself is an admission of guilt,” Odal snapped. “You have been plotting against the Leader; you and a number of others of the general staff.”

  “I will not incriminate other men,” Runstet said stubbornly. “You can kill me, but…”

  “We can kill your wife and children, too,” Odal said softly.

  The General’s mouth popped open and Odal could feel the panic flash through him. “You wouldn’t dare! Not even Kanus himself would.…”

  “Accidents happen,” said Odal. “As far as the rest of Kerak is concerned, you are hospitalized with a mental breakdown. Your despondent wife might take her own life, or your entire family could die in a crash while on their way to the hospital to see you.”

  Runstet seemed to crumple. He did not physically move or say a word, but his entire body seemed to soften, to sag. Behind him, one of the generals stirred to life. He leaned forward, took a cigar from the humidor on the low table before him, and said:

  “When we’re ready to attack the Acquatainians, just how far can we trust Kanus to allow the army to operate without political interference?”