"Code Duello" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

Chapter Two

Irene Kasansky, as always, briskly efficient, had arranged their cover.

Helen and Dorn Horsten were easy enough. She was to be his daughter. He was the noted algae specialist, making a tour of the member planets of United Planets, coordinating the most recent developments in the field. While on Firenze he would visit the larger universities.

Helen had looked at him and snorted, “Daddy.”

Jerry Rhodes said, “If you were only six inches taller, we could do you up like a mopsy and you could go as my mistress.”

She glared at him. “If I was six inches taller, I’d clobber you. In fact, I’m thinking of doing it anyway.”

Dorn Horsten chuckled. “I’ll never get used to it,” he said.

She turned her glare on her pseudo-parent. “What’s so funny, you overgrown ox?”

“All right, all right,” Irene said. She looked at Zorro, twisted her mouth, looked down at the report on him once again. “You’ll go as a representative of the cattle industry of your home planet. You’ll attempt to sign up some of the Firenze entrepreneurs to import and breed cattle. On these free enterprise planets, especially, there’s always a luxury market for such things as real beef. It’s a status symbol.”

Zorro had nodded. “Should be easy enough.”

Irene Kasansky turned her eyes to Jerry Rhodes, who, after his little verbal bout with Helen, had lapsed back into easy-going bemusement. She said, “What excuse could you possibly have for going to a frontier world such as Firenze?”

He thought about that. Finally, “For fun?”

She didn’t bother to answer. She looked down at the dossier on him. “Where did Supervisor Chu ever locate you?” she muttered.

“At a race track.”

She looked up at him and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He said, as though in apology, “I had just bet on a horse.”

All had their eyes on him now.

He cleared his throat and said, as though this explained all, “It broke its leg.”

No one said anything.

He said, “However, it won.”

“It won?” Zorro blurted. “You just said it broke its leg.”

“Well, yes, but you see, well, worse things happened to the other horses and jockeys. It was, well, sort of a mess there at the end. But my horse, well, kind of limped over the finish line.”

“Don’t tell me any more,” Irene Kasansky said. “I don’t want to hear it. How is this? You’re a rich young nincompoop from the planet Catalina. They’re taxing your family too much in building that Welfare State of theirs. So you’re coming to Firenze to look into the possibilities of transferring your father’s variable capital to that frontier world. No, mother’s would be better; a father wouldn’t leave it in your hands.”

Jerry nodded, evidently not displeased by the implication. “Sort of a playboy, eh?”

Helen snorted contempt.

Irene thought about it. “I suppose you could handle that sort of cover. All right, a playboy, a kind of ne’er-do-well.” She became brisk again. “I’ll have Wardrobe and the others start working on it all. Be ready to be lobbed over to New Albuquerque Spaceport on the shuttle by Monday morning.”

Their information on the subversive organization which was keeping Firenze in a state of dither was minimal. In fact, the agent who had been killed there had been due to make a lengthy report immediately before his demise. The report hadn’t been forthcoming, and this was one of the first matters Sid Takes had suggested they check.

Not knowing what facilities the underground organization might have available, they had decided to take maximum security measures themselves, to the point of pretending on the space freighter Half Moon not to have known each other, previous to embarking.

They went through the motions of meeting, somewhat stiffly at first. Went through, the pretense of Jerry and Zorro reacting negatively to each other. Went to the pretense of Helen getting a childish crush on Zorro.

Only when there were none of the ship’s officers in the lounge did they relax to the point of discussing the ramifications of the assignment.

On the third day out, Earth time, Dr. Horsten sat characteristically in a comfort chair, scanning a tape, oblivious to all. Helen had wriggled herself up onto Zorro’s lap. Jerry Rhodes had taken on the Second Officer, a burly and surly spaceman, at battle chess. The Second, Helmut Drinker by name, had made the mistake of insisting on stiff wagers, and was finding satisfaction in the fact that obviously his opponent hadn’t the advantage of long years of time killing, whilst off watch, devoted to the game.

Jerry, dressed in his foppish Catalina playboy garb, couldn’t have cared less, on the face of it, but his men were in precipitate retreat before the onslaught of four of Blinker’s tanks.

At the crucial moment, the ship gave an unprecedented lurch and the pieces on the board scrambled. The Second goggled at the disaster. He looked up at the door, toward the ship’s bridge, shook his head unbelievingly, stared down at the mess again. He looked up at Jerry accusingly, but then shook his head again.

“It was a sure thing,” he said. “And that’s the second time.”

Jerry said mildly, “The first time, you knocked them over yourself with your sleeve. This time I was just about to counterattack.”

The Second goggled at the disaster. He looked up at Jerry.

“I could reconstruct the game.”

Jerry said sadly, “It’s not the bet, it’s the principle of the thing. I’m sure I couldn’t reconstruct it, and I doubt if you could.”

Helmut came to his feet, poorly suppressed rage obvious. Without another word, he stomped from the lounge.

Zorro said to Helen, “Look. You better get off my lap.”

“Why, Uncle Zorro, whyever for?” She looked into his face, in childish innocence.

“Get off my lap, you little witch. Maybe to that burro Brinker you look like a little girl, but I know better.”

Jerry said, “Hey, Helen, you can sit on my lap if you want.”

She snorted at him, even as she jumped to the floor. She went over to where Jerry was setting up the board again and stood there, her tiny fists on her hips.

“How’d you do that?” she demanded.

“Do what?”

“Twice, when he had you clobbered, right when you didn’t have a move to your name, all the pieces fell off.”

“Just luck, I guess.”

“Just luck my foot.” She hopped up on the chair the Second Officer had vacated. “Listen, how do you explain it?”

He put down the pawn he had in his hand and thought about that. “Well, I have one theory.”

Horsten looked up from his tape. “I’d like to hear it.”

Zorro said, “Me too.”

Jerry said, “Well, it’s just luck.”

The other three grunted in unison.

Helen sneered at him. “Oh, great. Now we understand the whole thing. However, when we sit down to eat, all the steaks are tough except yours. How come?”

“Luck,” Jerry said, his face serious.

Helen snorted disgust.

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “There is luck, you know. Some people are luckier than others.”

Dorn Horsten pushed his pince-nez glasses back higher on the bridge of his nose and said, “As a scientist, I have never seen data on the hypothesis.”

Jerry Rhodes fished a coin from his pocket. “You’ve heard of the Laws of Chance?”

“So-called.” Horsten nodded.

“All right. Now suppose I flip this coin of mine a hundred men flipping coins. Out of them, some will—

Zorro, his dark, handsome face interested, supplied the answer. “It comes up fifty times heads and fifty times tails, by the Laws of Chance.”

“On an average,” Jerry said. “But suppose you have a hundred men flipping coins. Out of them, some will,, flip, say, forty-five heads and fifty-five tails. That doesn’t conflict with averages, since some of the others, say will come up with forty-five tails and fifty-five heads. The Laws of Chance are still working.”

“What are you getting at?” Helen demanded.

Jerry went on, a sort of dogged element in his argument. “Suppose, instead of a hundred men flipping coins, you have a billion men. Okay, now still not upsetting the Laws of Chance, you might well come up with a few of them flipping one hundred straight heads, and no tails at all. It would be balanced, of course, by others doing the exact opposite.”

He looked around at them. “You see what I’m driving at?”

“No,” Helen said flatly.

“Well,” Jerry said. “That’s how it is with luck. Most people average out. That is, good and bad luck balance for them. One day, they’re lucky and find a valuable ring, or win at the races, or whatever. The next day, they lose something or have a setback of some type. It all averages out. Good luck and bad.”

Dorn Horsten was scowling at him. “Go on.”

“Well, it’s like flipping the coins. The Laws of Chance aren’t disturbed by the fact that some people are luckier than others. You know very well, from your own experience, that some people go through life as though the road had been paved to their particular specifications. Another has such lousy luck that he’ll break his arm picking his nose.”

Zorro laughed sourly at that.

Helen said, “Okay, what’s all this got to do with you?”

Jerry held up his two hands as though all was explained. “There are more than a trillion persons now living on some three thousand United Planets worlds. It all averages out, but some have good luck, some have bad luck. In that whole number is the one person who has the best luck of all.”

They looked at him.

“Me.”

Dom Horsten slumped back into his chair, a wry expression on his face.

Helen snarled in disgust, “Yeah, but it could switch at any time, and you’d start flipping tails, you silly jerk.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m lucky.”

Zorro cleared his throat. “Look,” he said. “Not to change the subject, but now we’re alone I’d like to bring up something.”

“Please do,” Helen said, looking her disgust at Jerry Rhodes, who shrugged apologetically.

Zorro Juarez said, “This is my first assignment for Section G and Supervisor Lee Chang Chu has sent me out on it before I got a lot of the orientation agents usually have. I know our department is awfully hush-hush, but, purely in the name of effectiveness on my part, I think I ought to be checked out on a couple of points.”

“Such as what, Zorro?” Horsten said.

“Well, what’s all this about the Dawnworld planets? I know that the raison detre of Section G is to spur progress on all the member worlds of United Planets, so that when the human race finally confronts intelligent alien life—if ever—it will be as strong as possible.”

“Well, that’s it, friend,” Helen told him, her voice dead serious. “The time has come. We’re confronting it And, frankly, the race isn’t ready.”

Zorro scowled at her. “You mean these Dawnworld planets I’ve heard rumors about support an intelligent alien life form?”

“Not exactly,” Horsten said. “You’re wrong on two counts, or, at least, Helen is. One, we’re not confronting them. We’re desperately avoiding them. We’re not ready even to attempt communication. They’re so pathetically in advance of our technology that our scientists boggle. For instance, they have fusion reactors, in short, unlimited power. They also have matter converters. They can, literally, convert any form of matter into any other form they wish.” He dropped the bombshell. “However, the term intelligent-alien-life-form does not apply. Evidently they aren’t intelligent.”

Zorro bug-eyed him.

The doctor shook his head. “I reacted the same way, when Sid Jakes revealed the existence of the Dawn-worlds to me. However, given enough time even a very low level mentality could develop an advanced technology. For that matter, some life forms do fantastically well with no intelligence at all—as we know it. Take the Earth insect, the ant. They accomplish wonderful engineering feats, they milk their own type cattle, they store up provisions for the future, they conduct military actions; I could go on. But is the individual ant intelligent?”

The younger man was shaking his head. “But matter converters…”

Dorn Horsten shrugged. “There’s another possible explanation. On his way toward Utopia, man needed intelligence. He needed it in the caves to survive, he needed it in the days of early breakthroughs such as fire, agriculture, the domestication of animals. He needed it all through such socioeconomic systems as primitive communism, chattel slavery, feudalism, capitalism. The race was escaping from the bonds of nature, trying to achieve food, clothing, shelter and the other necessities, and finally the luxuries, for all. But when Utopia is achieved? When we have matter converters and unlimited power? Ah, then possibly the need changes. Intelligence might even become a disadvantage. The gifted are inclined to rock the boat, and, given Utopia, the average man, the ungifted, doesn’t want the boat rocked.”

Jerry Rhodes said, “I see what you mean. They could attempt to breed the gifted out of the race.”

“That’s one possible explanation.” Horsten shrugged. “However, whatever the explanation, there the Dawn-men are. And far, far in advance of the human race.”

Zorro puzzled along with it. “If they’re not intelligent, a really sharp human should be able to take them.”

“How do you mean?” Jerry said.

Zorro looked over at him. “Well, for instance, if we could get hold of that method of constructing fusion reactors, or a sample of one of those matter converters, they wouldn’t be so far ahead.”

Helen snorted. “It was tried by some smarties from the planet Phrygia.”

“And?”

Dorn Horsten took over again. “These Dawnworld inhabitants don’t take kindly to being intruded upon. They have no need for trade, no desire for intercourse with other-worldlings. So when somebody comes along and stirs up their… anthill, if you will, they take measures.”

“Such as what?”

“They evidently have a little trick of tracing the’ intruders back to the world, or worlds, of their origin and making a slight switch in the atmosphere. Phrygia, which once had a human population of a couple of billion, now has a methane-hydrogen-ammonia atmosphere which proves difficult to breathe. In short, there are no more Phrygians.”

Zorro shifted in his chair unhappily. “Still, there should be some way. Evidently, these burros from Phrygia antagonized the, uh, Dawnworlders, or showed their hand in some manner or other.”

“Evidently,” Helen said, complete with sarcasm, “but I wouldn’t want to be the next to try. I wouldn’t even want to be a citizen of the planet from which the next who tries hails. And according to Ronny Bronston and Phil Birdman, the two Section G agents who handled the case, it was nip and tuck whether or not the Dawn-men finished off the whole three thousand planets we humans have colonized so far. Happily, for some reason, they seemed to think Phrygia would be enough. But next time?”

“It’d have to be done right,” Zorro argued stubbornly.

“It sure as hell would,” Helen said. “So forget about it.” She shivered. “Just thinking about messing around with those zombies gives me the willies.”

Zorro said, “Where are the so-called Dawnworlds located, anyway?”

“They aren’t on the starcharts,” Horsten told him. “That’s certain. The big wigs at the Octagon are scared silly that some scatterbrains will hear about such items as the matter converters and get all steamed up with man’s oldest dream.”

“Oldest dream?” Jerry said.

“The philosopher’s stone. The old alchemy bit. Changing base metals to gold. Evidently, the Dawnmen go them one further, they can change anything to gold, or anything else. I suppose you could put a Rembrandt in one end of it and bring out a perfect twin from the other, or any number of them.”

“What’s a Rembrandt?” Zorro Juarez scowled.

“An old, old Earth painter. I believe some works still to be found in museums are attributed to him. At any rate, Ross Metaxa and the other powers that be are afraid that with a trillion or so people in our confederation of planets, there’ll be some avaricious enough to pull down the roof on all of us, in their greed to sneak a matter converter from under the noses of the Dawn-men.”

“Well… if they’re not intelligent…” Zorro muttered.

Helen snarled at him, “Don’t be dense, lover. They don’t have to be intelligent to push a button or throw a switch. They’ve got defenses we’ve never even dreamed of.” Her voice took on a childish treble.” I don’t want to marry anybody else, Uncle Zorro. I wanta marry you.”

Zorro Juarez did a double take.

From the doorway, Helmut Brinker said, “Citizen Rhodes, you wanted to be shown around the hydroponics compartments. I didn’t have time, yesterday.”

“Oh, sure.” Jerry Rhodes came to his feet.

With a skip and a jump, Helen had bounced onto Zorro’s lap and threw her arms around his neck. He rolled his eyes up in resignation.

Dorn Horsten said, “Now, Helen, you’re pestering Citizen Juarez.”

“No I’m not, Daddy. Am I, Uncle Zorro? Uncle Zorro is going to marry me. Everybody has to marry somebody, don’t they, Uncle Zorro?” Without waiting for an answer to that, she added definitely, “Uncle Zorro is gonna marry me. He likes girls. Don’t you, Uncle Zorro?”

“Stop squirming, you little witch,” he growled under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Sometimes.”

She said, her eyes wide, “You like boys better than girls, Uncle Zorro? I like boys better than girls, but I thought maybe you liked girls.”

Not even his darkish complexion completely hid the red creeping up the unfortunate’s neck.

Jerry Rhodes was chuckling as he joined the second officer of the Half Moon. He said, “I thought possibly you came back to try another round of battle chess.”

The ship’s officer didn’t answer that but rather turned abruptly and led the way from the ship’s lounge.

When the door closed behind them, Helen vaulted down from Zorro’s lap and, hands on hips, looked after the two.

Zorro snapped, “Look, fun is fun, but I’m getting tired of this running gag. And just for the record, damn it, sooner or later that double innuendo of yours is going to get through to even somebody as dense as Helmut Brinker, and people are going to start wondering how a knee-high eight-year-old gets off cracks you usually hear in a burlesque revival.”

Helen ignored him. “I don’t like that.”

“You don’t like what?” Zorro growled.”

Dorn looked at her too.

“I don’t like that sorehead Brinker going off with Jerry. Jerry’s too easy-going. He doesn’t know a wrong guy when he sees one.”

Jerry Rhodes, hands in pockets, strolled easily after the ship’s officer, down the companionway. Keeping in mind his role as playboy and the need for practicing it, he kept going a running patter.

“Fascinatin’, you know,” he said. “Demmed fascinatin’. Never traveled on a passenger freighter before. Roughing it, eh? If Mother could see me now. Horrified, eh? Associating with characters such as this Zorro Juarez, eh? In trade, mind you. Peddles cattle, or some such. Beef cattle, he says. Always wondered, vaguely, where beef steaks came from. Evidently, they cut them off of animals. Fascinatin’.”

The second officer growled something coldly, not turning his head. He was in a fury but Jerry Rhodes chose to ignore it. There was a something in the heavy-set Brinker that egged you on, that made you want to needle him. Jerry Rhodes felt an edge of shame at himself, but there was a boring element in travel on the Half Moon and he couldn’t keep from provoking the other.

He pattered, “And associating with the crew, mind you. Ha, Mother! You can’t imagine, Mother!”

“That’s what you think,” Helmut Brinker muttered beneath his breath. “Here. Here’s the key hydroponics compartment. Nothing much to see, really.” He activated a metal door, and stepped forward.

Jerry Rhodes entered, too, and stepped past the other to stare at the level upon level of plants which filled the extensive room from bulkhead to bulkhead and from deck to overhead. “Fascinatin’,” he said.

“You know what they eat?” Brinker demanded. And then, without waiting for an answer, “Anything; Garbage, human excreta, wastepaper—anything. You know what’d happen if you fell into one of those tanks?”

“Holy Ultimate!” Jerry Rhodes grunted in amused protest.

Brinker grabbed him roughly by an arm and hauled him about.

“Listen,” he growled, “I’m short of credits, understand? I figure you owe me for those two games. I had them won.”

Jerry pulled away and took half a dozen steps to the rear. “Now look here!”

“I am looking at you. Right at you, you fancy molly. And I want those credits!”

Jerry Rhodes was not above indignation, even when confronted by these odds. He took another couple of steps backward, but put up his hands in an ineffectual display of defense.

“Not with these tactics,” he got out.

“All right,” the other said, rage growing. “You asked for this, smart pockets. That wrist chronometer you’re wearing alone…” He let the sentence dribble off as he shuffled forward.

Jerry Rhodes’ eyes widened.

Behind them, the compartment door swung open and Helen peered in, unseen by the enraged ship’s officer. She made a face at Jerry and turned her head, then disappeared.

“Now…” Brinker began, his hands reaching.

But Zorro Juarez was at the door, his expression amused. In his hand was his bullwhip. He flicked it, almost lazily. The leather snaked out in a blur, wound about the heel of the second officer’s right shoe. There was a quick upward tug, an unbalancing, a cry of utter surprise, a forward collapse, an unhappy crunch of chin hitting metal deck.

Jerry Rhodes looked down at the unconscious sorehead.

“Wow,” he said in awed wonder. “That sure was luck.”

“Luck!” Helen snarled at him, as she reappeared in the doorway. “Why, you stupid jerk! If we hadn’t followed, this overgrown pig would have clobbered you.”

“Um,” he told her, in heartfelt earnestness. “That’s what I meant. I sure am lucky you two showed up.”