Chapter 9

It was deep twilight when the groundcar slid to a halt on its cushions of compressed air before the Kerak Embassy.

“I still think it’s a mistake to go in there.” Hector said. “I mean, you could’ve called him on the tri-di just as well, couldn’t you?”

Leoh shook his head. “Never give an agency of any government the opportunity to say ‘hold the line a moment’ and then huddle together to consider what to do with you. Nineteen times out of twenty, they’ll end by passing your request up to the next higher echelon, and you’ll be left waiting for weeks.”

“Still,” Hector insisted, “you’re simply stepping into enemy territory. It’s a chance you shouldn’t take.”

“They wouldn’t dare touch us.”

Hector did not reply, but he looked unconvinced.

“Look,” Leoh said, “there are only two men alive who can shed light on this matter. One of them is Dulaq, and his mind is closed to us for an indefinite time, Odal is the only other one who knows what happened.”

Hector shook his head skeptically. Leoh shrugged, and opened the door of the groundcar. Hector had no choice but to get out and follow him as he walked up the pathway to the main entrance of the Embassy. The building stood gaunt and gray in the dusk, surrounded by a precisely-clipped hedge. The entrance was flanked by a pair of tall evergreen trees.

Leoh and Hector were met just inside the entrance by a female receptionist. She looked just a trifle disheveled--as though she had been rushed to the desk at a moment’s notice. They asked for Odal, were ushered into a sitting room, and within a few minutes--to Hector’s surprise--were informed by the girl that Major Odal would be with them shortly.

“You see,” Leoh pointed out jovially, “when you come in person they haven’t as much of a chance to consider how to get rid of you.”

Hector glanced around the windowless room and contemplated the thick, solidly closed door. “There’s a lot of scurrying going on on the other side of that door, I’ll bet. I mean ... they may be considering how to, uh, get rid of us ... permanently.”

Leoh shook his head, smiling wryly. “Undoubtedly the approach closest to their hearts--but highly improbable in the present situation. They have been making most efficient and effective use of the dueling machine to gain their ends.”

Odal picked this moment to open the door.

“Dr. Leoh ... Lt. Hector ... you asked to see me?”

“Thank you, Major Odal; I hope you will be able to help me,” Leoh said. “You are the only man living who may be able to give us some clues to the failure of the Dueling Machine.”

Odal’s answering smile reminded Leoh of the best efforts of the robot-puppet designers to make a machine that smiled like a man. “I am afraid I can be of no assistance, Dr. Leoh. My experiences in the machine are ... private.”

“Perhaps you don’t fully understand the situation,” Leoh said. “In the past week, we have tested the dueling machine here on Acquatainia exhaustively. We have learned that its performance can be greatly influenced by a man’s personality, and by training. You have fought many duels in the machines. Your background of experience, both as a professional soldier and in the machines, gives you a decided advantage over your opponents.

“However, even with all this considered, I am convinced that you cannot kill a man in the machine--under normal circumstances. We have demonstrated that fact in our tests. An unsabotaged machine cannot cause actual physical harm.

“Yet you have already killed one man and incapacitated another. Where will it stop?”

Odal’s face remained calm, except for the faintest glitter of fire deep in his eyes. His voice was quiet, but had the edge of a well-honed blade to it: “I cannot be blamed for my background and experience. And I have not tampered with your machines.”

The door to the room opened, and a short, thick-set, bullet-headed man entered. He was dressed in a dark street suit, so that it was impossible to guess his station at the Embassy.

“Would the gentlemen care for refreshments?” he asked in a low-pitched voice.

“No, thank you,” Leoh said.

“Some Kerak wine, perhaps?”

“Well--”

“I don’t, uh, think we’d better, sir,” Hector said. “Thanks all the same.”

The man shrugged and sat at a chair next to the door.

Odal turned back to Leoh. “Sir, I have my duty. Massan and I duel tomorrow. There is no possibility of postponing it.”

“Very well,” Leoh said. “Will you at least allow us to place some special instrumentation into the booth with you, so that we can monitor the duel more fully? We can do the same with Massan. I know the duels are normally private and you would be within your legal rights to refuse the request. But, morally--”

The smile returned to Odal’s face. “You wish to monitor my thoughts. To record them and see how I perform during the duel. Interesting. Very interesting--”

The man at the door rose and said, “If you have no desire for refreshments, gentlemen--”

Odal turned to him. “Thank you for your attention.”

Their eyes met and locked for an instant. The man give a barely perceptible shake of his head, then left.

Odal returned his attention to Leoh, “I am sorry, professor, but I cannot allow you to monitor my thoughts during the duel.”

“But--”

“I regret having to refuse you. But, as you yourself pointed out, there is no legal requirement for such a course of action. I must refuse. I hope you understand.”

Leoh rose from the couch, and Hector popped up beside him. “I’m afraid I do understand. And I, too, regret your decision.”

Odal escorted them out to their car. They drove away, and the Kerak major walked slowly back into the Embassy building. He was met in the hallway by the dark-suited man who had sat in on the conversation.

“I could have let them monitor my thoughts and still crush Massan,” Odal said. “It would have been a good joke on them.”

The man grunted. “I have just spoken to the Chancellor on the tri-di, and obtained permission to make a slight adjustment in our plans.”

“An adjustment, Minister Kor?”

“After your duel tomorrow, your next opponent will be the eminent Dr. Leoh,” Kor said.

The mists swirled deep and impenetrable about Fernd Massan. He stared blindly through the useless viewplate in his helmet, then reached up slowly and carefully to place the infrared detector before his eyes.

I never realized an hallucination could seem so real, Massan thought.

Since the challenge by Odal, he realized, the actual world had seemed quite unreal. For a week, he had gone through the motions of life, but felt as though he were standing aside, a spectator mind watching its own body from a distance. The gathering of his friends and associates last night, the night before the duel--that silent, funereal group of people--it had seemed completely unreal to him.