Talk:XX: A Matter of Honor

XX: A Matter of Honor

The entire concept of “law” is vain and fallacious, for what shall we have accomplished by enacting one? Those who agree with it will obey it, as they did before it existed. Those who disagree will break it, so it has no effect upon them. We have been occupied in an empty gesture of which but two consequences shall follow: those who take comfort in such things will be comforted, and those who derive perverted pleasure by enforcing their will upon others may now find positions among the police.

—Lysander Spooner

First Inaugural Address, 85 A.L.

Liberty Hall emptied in stunned silence, leaving Lucy and me behind. I’d lived all my life with a nuclear sword dangling over my head; it’s something else to be informed suddenly, to be shown, that your whole world’s slated for flaming destruction. That, or abject surrender, and Confederates didn’t strike me as the kind to lie down and spread their legs, even threatened with holocaust.

Gallatinopolis would be a quieter, more thoughtful city tonight. I’d like to report that I spent the night swashbuckling over the rooftops, wrenching the whereabouts of my friends from the villains, but I won’t. It was past three in the morning; Congress would reconvene at nine. I’d had a long day: the Palace kidnapping, eleven hours of parliamentary games, the sudden ominous appearance of Burgess—

As we staggered out of the assembly hall through the portrait gallery, there were a dozen blinding flashes. I was suddenly showered with difficult questions: “Mr. Bear! Are you from another planet?” “Mr. Bear! Isn’t this whole thing an elaborate hoax?” “Mr. Bear! Is your planet radioactive?” “Mr. Bear! How do you like Confederate women?” “Mr. Bear, is that an atomic-powered gun?”

“What can I do, Lucy? I want to go to bed!” I squinted against the glare. Didn’t they realize it hurts?

“Son, these vermin used to juggle, paint their faces up, and stand on their heads a few centuries ago. Treat ’em like any other morons—ignore ’em when you can, humor ’em when you can’t. You could holler ’Privacy,’ but—”

“Great! I’ll—”

“It won’t help our side much. Lemme handle this.” She waved her hands, hollering. “All right! All right! Lieutenant Bear’ll answer all reasonable and intelligent questions, but let’s make this an orderly stampede!” We found an unoccupied caucus room off the hall; I sat up front, Lucy riding shotgun, and did my best, while my sack-time evaporated. Toward the end, I don’t even remember what I said. Anyway, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

“Sam Hayakawa, Interplanet News. With me is ‘Win’ Bear, focus of the Seventh Continental Congress. Lieutenant Bear, may I call you Win? Would it be accurate to say you’re from another dimension?”

“I haven’t figured it out myself. I come from a place—a time, really—where history’s different, where—”

“I’m sure that’ll interest our technical-minded viewers, heh, heh. For us laymen, what’s it like to escape from a Federalist dictatorship, and win free to—”

“Now wait a minute! In the first place, I didn’t escape, I was pushed. In the second place the United States isn’t a dictatorship, it’s—”

“Win, since arriving here, you’ve left a wake of shootings behind you. We ordinarily expect perhaps a dozen murders per decade. You’ve killed that many in a month, and—”

“Friend, I’m going to explain this once: I didn’t ask to be here; I didn’t ask your Hamiltonians to—”

“Well, how many people have you killed, then?”

“Nobody who didn’t have a weapon out and pointed. Until now. I’m thinking of making an exception in your—”

“Umnh, one more question, Win …”

“Call me Lieutenant Bear.”

“Erh … since your nation-state—is that correct?—has a long history of atomic warfare, do the ruins of your once-great cities really glow in the—”

“How’d your viewers like it if I took the mike and shoved it right up your—”

“This—this is S-sam Hayakawa, Inner—Interplanet News. G-goodnight!”

TUESDAY, AUGUST 4, 1987

I tried to get up. The ‘com buzzer was wrecking my hearing. I found a thousand places where it hurt just to exist. Slipping a leg off the bed, I fell to the floor, gun butt digging painfully in my ribs. Even through the drapes, daylight was drilling straight into my skull. I reached up, groping along the edge of the keyboard, and must have hit the right button. The ’com suddenly squawked. “Win! Where are you, boy? What’s wrong?”

“Why nothing, Lucy. I was just admiring the carpet. Such color, such texture, such—you ever been hung over without drinking anything?”

“Politics, son, hazard of the profession. It’s ten forty-five. Ready for another round? We got ’em on the ropes already!”

“At least,” I groaned, “they have ropes to hold them up. What—”

“One thing at a time. I just talked to Forsyth, back at Madison’s place. When Burgess took off yesterday, they loaded a lot of stuff onto a freighter and—”

“Burgess is here. Where did the freighter go?”

“South along the Greenway. They were gone before Forsyth could get a team on ’em, worse luck.”

I got up painfully, sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s Madison up to?”

“Nothing. Maybe a dozen guns around his rooming house, and we’ve got people watching them. Haven’t even used the Telecom since they got here.”

“Lucy!” I said, “Surveillance? Wiretapping? Next you’ll tell me you’ve been out all morning collecting taxes!”

“Don’t talk dirty, boy. Sure, we been watching those snakes. They can sue me. I’ll forfeit everything, even take a nice long asteroid vacation if I have to. What damages you suppose Ed and Clarissa could collect from Madison?”

“Not a cent, I hope!”

“See your point, son. Change your socks ’n get over here. Things’re about t’pop!”

I took longer than that, but even after I met Lucy in Liberty Hall, things still weren’t about to “pop.” A few were eating Telecom breakfasts. The guy to our left was napping again. If I hadn’t seen his chair empty last night, I could have sworn he hadn’t moved. I ordered another glass of milk and waited, thinking about “Anarchist Standard Time.” Shortly after noon, Olongo used a brand-new gavel to hammer things back into shape. Jenny looked fresher than the day before. Politics agrees with some people. “In the light of what we witnessed yesterday, I move a state of extreme emergency!”

“Point of information, Olongo, dear.”

“What this time, Mrs. Grundy?”

“What does Jenny mean emergency? Are we declaring war on this United State?”

“States, Mrs. Grundy, plural. A point well taken, I confess. Jenny?”

Jenny took the microphone again. “Oh dear. I guess we mainly intended to warn everyone. I certainly don’t want to declare—”

“Wait a minute!” I surprised myself by jogging forward.

“Lieutenant Bear.” Olongo recognized me, perhaps a bit gratefully.

“Thanks,” I said, climbing up beside the shaggy vice president. “Listen, folks, I have friends in trouble. This whole world’s in trouble!” Scattered approval, and one or two boos. “I’m not a delegate or anything, but back home, the lowliest ward-heeler would have everything doped out by now, from appropriations and troop movements to a little graft for himself.” General amusement, and a purplish scowl from Buckley F Williams. “Maybe I can tell you what would happen, and whatever you don’t like, you can throw out—including me, if necessary. Whatever you do like, one of you could propose formally, and we can get on with it.”

“That might be permissible, if there are no objections. Do I hear—”

“Objections?” shouted Madison. He and his entourage were just coming in. “If this person is who he claims, he has no right to address this body, not being a citizen of the Confederacy! Or, he’s a criminal impostor, to be ejected immediately! In either event—”

“Sez who, Madison?” Lucy hollered. “Call me a citizen, you’ll get a Dakota pine cone planted where it’ll germinate quick!”

“Order! Lucy, deplore as I might the way you express it, I must say I agree. We will not have guards at our borders, nor papers to establish who belongs. There are no citizens here, Mr. Madison, nor subjects, nor serfs. Lieutenant Bear, do you live and work upon this continent?”

“I guess I do now, Mr. Vice President. Say, I have a bank account in Laporte. Does that help?”

The great anthropoid smiled. “I’ve no better qualification, myself. I don’t believe anyone would challenge my right to speak in this assembly. Would you, Mr. Madison? Good. Please continue, Lieutenant.”

“Okay. First, go ahead, declare your emergency. It’ll get people off the pot. Back home, we’d raise a lot of money, get working on the Broach so it can be used militarily, or prevented from being used. I know you can’t collect taxes, but … . Second—third, I mean, because first you should arrest Madison—I don’t know about declaring war. The United States has enough problems already, and SecPol is one of them. There are a few people over there who see things your way, too. You used propaganda in the Mexican War, and the war with the Czar. With Propertarian help, you can probably do it this time, too. The main thing’s to arrest this gang, and bend them until they tell us where my friends are. Will that do for a start?”

“So moved!” shouted Captain Couper.

“Out of order, I’m afraid,” Olongo said. “Jenny, will you accept Lieutenant Bear’s, and Captain Couper’s, amendment?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound very principled.”

“Well then,” I said, “I’ll make it a formal amendment.”

“SECOND!” The Neoimperialist delegation rose in unison.

“Mr. Vice President,” Madison said, “if we’re to be imprisoned, I’d like to hear the charges … and who the damaged parties are.”

“He’s got a point,” Jenny admitted. “Name the crime, name the victim—the basis for all adjudication.” Lucy was halfway down the aisle, and moving fast.

“What about Clarissa and Ed?” I shouted.

“Did we see these people snatch ’em?” Lucy asked, joining us up front. “Any witnesses to Madison’s threats?”

“What about Kleingunther? That shopgirl saw him take Clarissa!”

“Win, Madison’ll just disavow him, same as before.”

“Madame President! Mr. Vice President! Are these proceedings to be conducted among your cronies, in secret?” Madison stood, flanked by Burgess and the others. I began to get an idea.

“We are attempting,” Olongo enunciated icily, “to answer your question. Will you permit us to continue?”

Madison smiled nastily. “As you will, sir. Permit me to make a number of salient points, though. First, accepting only for the sake of discussion that all these accusations are correct, I’m afraid there is still nothing you could do about them.”

Jenny looked startled. “Why do you say that? You saw the films!”

He nodded, grinning even more. “Which, in theory, were criminally removed from my possession. However, forget that. If I intended to import foreign soldiers, by your own arguments I’ve done nothing wrong: you are attempting to restrict immigration!” He laughed while the rest of the room buzzed in confusion.

“Order!” Olongo bared his fangs. “Is there more of this?”

Madison affected a sweeping bow. “I’m getting to the meat, sir, but another illustration first: suppose I do intend to use atomic bombs. Who in this room will be the first to move against importation or possession of arms? I remind you that, pistols or nuclear weapons, the principle involved is precisely the same!”

There was even greater commotion; it took longer for Olongo to quiet them down. “Your point, Mr. Madison?”

The Hamiltonian was beaming. “Ah. I simply want you all to remember, over the coming weeks, that this highly-principled anarchism you’re so proud of renders you helpless to deter even threats of the most desperate nature. A more rational social order will have no such problems. That is why, in the end, we will triumph. I wish to thank you for an extremely entertaining two days, and bid each and every one a fond and anticipatory good—”

“Just a mind-forsaken minute, Madison!” Lucy ran toward the Hamiltonians. “I move a recess—sixty seconds!”

What was she up to? “Second!” I yelled, determined not to let her horn in on my action. She could even have Burgess. Madison was mine!

“Oh, very well,” Jenny said. “It’s been moved and seconded—I don’t have any idea why—that we recess for one minute. All in favor?”

Lucy gestured, there was a spatter of hesitant “ayes.” Without waiting for the gavel, she took the few remaining steps. “John Jay Madison, also known as Manfred von Richthofen, I accuse you of kidnapping and attempted murder. The victims: Edward William Bear of Laporte; Clarissa MacDougall Olson of same; and Edward William Bear of the United States of America. Also, Lucille Gallegos Kropotkin of Laporte, Lesser Coprates, and Ceres Central. Select a neutral adjudicator and post bond in the amount of five thousand gold ounces per complaint. Failure to do so will be proclaimed throughout the land, and you may be ostracized and banished from Civilization. What say you, John Jay Madison?”

“Nice try.” He punched out a bank transfer and tossed it at her. “There’s more where that came from, Your Honor. I’ll see you in court … in thirty days! Somehow, I suspect you won’t be able to make it.” He continued in a whisper, “I guarantee your cocomplainants won’t.”

CONGRESS DIED WITH a whimper. There was nothing else it could do. Weeping openly, Jenny declared, “Individual rights are sacred. We can’t touch you, John Jay Madison, without destroying everything we believe. Perhaps, in the end, you will destroy us, but let it be said that we refrained from murdering the Confederacy ourselves … I will hear a motion to adjourn.”

“Quick, Lucy,” I said. “Do you have some gloves?”

“What?—oh, I see. You are a romantic. Wish I’d thought of it myself. Y’don’t need gloves, dear, just go to it!”

“So moved,” said a dispirited voice.

I hurried, trying to remember the appropriate customs.

“Is there a second to the motion?”

I began running, tripping over feet in the process, some of them mine. Others were heading the same way, probably with the same idea. Captain Couper, for one. I stopped to untangle my cloak from someone’s terminal, finally ripped it from my shoulders and left it, running as fast as I could.

“Second,” came the halfhearted reply.

“It’s been moved and seconded that Congress adjourn. All in favor, say ‘are.’”

I fixed my gaze on Madison and half a dozen others converging on him. Leaping the row of consoles, I strode along the table, not caring whose fingers I stomped. I leaned on Couper’s shoulder, braced myself, and raised a hand. Suddenly Madison was pushed aside. I struck the upraised arm of Oscar Burgess, who grinned. “Say your piece, so we can get it on, Bear!”

I ignored him. “Madison, my quarrel’s with you!”

Madison looked innocent. “Then why did you challenge Mr. Burgess?”

“What?”

“There are a thousand witnesses around us who saw it. Correct, Captain?”

Couper looked daggers at Madison, then: “Hope you shoot straighter than you punch, kid.”

“Madison, when I’m through with this dirt, you’re next. Or are you afraid?”

“Lieutenant, when you burglarized my home, you encountered a cabinet in which there are eighty silver goblets, one for each of my solo air victories during the War in Europe. All told, I have killed one hundred ninety-three men in single combat, just as Mr. Burgess is about to kill you. Whatever happens, no one will ever be able to say—”

“Enough talk,” Burgess spat. “Let’s do it.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs, leaving grimy creases.

“This Congress stands adjourned.” Slam! went the gavel. So did my stomach.

CONFEDERATE CUSTOM REQUIRES a cooling-off period between a challenge and its “execution.” As far as I was concerned, etiquette could take a flying leap, and a barbaric disregard for protocol seemed to suit Burgess as well. I remembered him so well from CLETA. How many times had he insinuated that killing is the same as, possibly better than, intercourse? How many times had we heard his sickening war stories—from Vietnam and the streets of America—always with a twisted sexual ending?

But to get at Madison, I had to go through Burgess. I was short on sleep, felt like something the Salvation Army would turn down, and I’d never been able to beat Burgess before. I was a dead man. Well, it had been an interesting life, if not a very edifying one.

The crowd began drifting back in. We were soon ringed with spectators, and technicians zeroing in their cameras. At least I’d go out in living color, on a nationwide hookup.

I tried to remember more. Burgess favored a Luger with a modified safety. My.41 Magnum gave me the edge in everything but speed. I was getting scared. My old instructor had a psychological advantage, and knowing it didn’t seem to help. My little engrams—not to mention my knees—weren’t listening.

They cleared the center of the hall. Once the dueling ground was oriented, people began making room at each end. We stood in clumps, Burgess with his friends, I with mine. Captain Couper offered to serve as referee. He called us to the middle, to examine our weapons. “You’re going to fight with these little things?” he asked. “If you want to hurt each other, I can scare you up some real guns.” We both refused. There’s something to be said for sticking with what you’re used to—I don’t know what, but something. “All right, we’ll do this by the book.” I scarcely heard him. My legs felt weak, I couldn’t see very well, and a dull ache was beginning where Clarissa had put the cast on my shoulder. Burgess grinned, flushed and excited. From his warped point of view, we were about to make love. I wanted to throw up.

“Each of you will take his position, preparing his weapon at my command. You will observe the handkerchief I hold out. When I drop it, draw from the leather and fire. Shoot again after your opponent has fallen, and I’ll personally splash your brains all over this auditorium.” He drew an Antarctic War-vintage .476. “After the drop, you may move in any way—duck, even charge and kill your opponent point-blank, if he doesn’t kill you first. But I will remind you once again, you are barred from shooting at a fallen man. Clear?”

Dianetically.

“Take your positions.” I walked to one end, Burgess to the other, perhaps twenty yards between us. “Turn your backs and check your weapons.” I wondered if Burgess would risk back-shooting me. Not with tough old Couper watching. I rolled out the cylinder. The 240-grain semiwadcutters glinted dully in my hand. I reloaded, closed, and holstered my weapon, leaving the safety strap unsnapped.

“Gentlemen, resume your places! I pivoted, facing Burgess—a ghastly skeletal leer on his face—and began having an idea (that last had landed me in this mess, I reminded myself). If you could move after the flag, then I knew what Burgess would do. He’d taught a variation on FBI tactics: draw, shift a fast yard to the right, and snap your shots. I’d trained under him, but now preferred to stand and slug it out, holding the revolver in both hands. It was riskier, but a hell of a lot more accurate. Works swell against paper silhouettes, anyway.

Burgess would assume I’d dodge, and fire to my right. I’d nail him, I hoped, before he got in a second shot. Lugers don’t have a lot of stopping power. If he didn’t miss, and I could stay on my feet after being hit, I might still be able to nail him.

I kept telling myself.

Couper raised the handkerchief. Everything became very still and clear. The cloth fluttered to the ground. I went for the forty-one, watching Burgess draw and shift. I brought my gun to bear, too late. Over my front sight, Burgess’s muzzle blossomed brightly. A sharp bite in my right forearm, and I knew I was hit. He’d corrected faster than I’d counted on. I pulled the trigger once, twice, hoping to connect before he fired a second shot. I pulled the trigger once again.

The Smith & Wesson bucked and roared, spewing fire at Burgess. Two fist-size crimson gouts splashed his shirt-front, and his head exploded in a hazy red mist. His feet left the floor, he slammed against a desk and sank, blood obscenely pumping from his wounds, head smoking hideously where the upper half had vanished, mocked by the smoking Luger in his hand.

I swayed, still holding my weapon extended, aware of the peppery powder odor hanging in the air. I looked along my arm for brittle ends of shattered bone, and was astonished. My sleeve was torn from wrist to elbow—a round brass button from my cuff was imbedded in the fleshy part of my forearm, a smeary dent in its top. I plucked the button out and stuck it in my pocket.

Fuck you, Burgess—another rattlesnake exterminated.

I pried the empties out and replaced them, holstering the S & W “Okay,” I rubbed my slightly damaged arm. “What now, Captain?” I glanced around, trying to locate Madison.

Couper shook his head. “You go on living for a while. Who’s going to clean up this mess?”

Slap! Slap! I wheeled around, unconscious that I’d drawn my still-warm revolver until its sights rose before my eyes. Above them, Freeman K. Bertram, an automatic in his outstretched hand, pointed not at me but at the crumpled ruin of Hermann Kleingunther’s face. I looked again for Madison. He was gone!

Bertram’s pistol thumped to the floor. “I couldn’t let him—” He collapsed. I covered the distance in three steps.

“Bertram!” I’d never seen a belly wound like that, the insides churned like goulash, the outer edges charred. Kleingunther had been a laser man.

“Win Bear!” Bertram whispered. I put an ear down to his face. Lucy and Couper were behind me, trying not to look away. “Never shot a man before. Your friends … Ham-Hamilton House. It’s so cold! Cold!” He stopped talking and gurgled. I knew that sound. I closed his eyes, holding them until they’d stay shut by themselves.

“Win, what the plague are you doing?”

“Can’t you see, Lucy? He saved my life. Now he’s dead!”

“We’ve got to get him into stasis,” Captain Couper said, lifting me away. “The ambulance is already here because of the duel.”

I looked at Lucy in disbelief. “He’ll be okay?”

“Will be if y’don’t put his eyes out.”

“You mean I’m going to have to kill Burgess all over again?”

“Are you kidding? Boy, you blew his head clean in half! Let me be the first to congrat—”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was busy puking in living color on a nationwide hookup.