Young Rissa (18 page)

“I don't blame you. All right, it's a short hop — or would you rather walk? You can see the building from here.” He pointed; she recognized it.
 

“Let us walk. The exercise will loosen my nerves and muscles.”
 

 

They walked into the Provost's office without knocking or announcement. Hawkman said, “You know me, dal Nardo. You also know Tari Obrigo. I'm here to inform you that she is a Hulzein connection, though not of blood or marriage — so you can't set a hired duelist on her without answering for it. That's my message; from now on I merely observe the formalities.”
 

Dal Nardo's heavy cheeks flushed; he drew breath, but as the cold lump at Rissa's stomach dissolved into heat, she spoke. “Since Hawkman is not immunized, you may feel free today to threaten me all you like. But there is no need for threats. I have an offer for you — and if you refuse it, another.”
 

“If you offer to lie down, be buried, and let me plant frost grain over you, I accept. But don't think to placate me with an apology.”
 

“I had no such thought. My first offer is to accept an apology from
you
— a courteous one, judged suitable by Hawkman Moray — and leave here and disturb you no further.”
 

The man shook his head and smiled broadly. “I'm fascinated; I've never heard such long-winded fertilizer.”
 

“Well. So much for that one. My second offer is this: I challenge you.”
 

“You challenge
me
? Ah, I see — for first blood or some such trifle, to avoid my own challenge. A silly trick — I refuse it.”
 

“You mistake me, dal Nardo. I challenge to the death, unless you make plea for lesser terms.”
 

Again he shook his head. “There is some deception here.”
 

Hawkman spoke. “There's none. I'm here to see to that.”
 

“This girl challenges me to the death? You say that, Moray?”
 

“
She
says it. Talk to her, not to me.”
 

“Then I accept — I accept! And if you think you have some advantage with a new weapon, let me tell you that only weapons familiar to this world are allowed.” He shrugged. “As for me, I prefer to use none at all.”
 

“That is good,” said Rissa. “For that is my choice also.”
 

“You
want
to die — I knew you must be crazy, to insult me in my own place.”
 

“Stay with business; I am not yet done.”
 

“Ah, I see it — you'll specify protective suits. They won't — ”
 

“No, dal Nardo — we will fight nude. No weapons, no suits — only ourselves.”
 

His eyes narrowed. “It won't work, what you're thinking.”
 

She laughed. “If you knew what I am thinking, you would make the apology I asked.”
 

“Oh, no — you don't have — never mind. When do we meet?”
 

“Our seconds decide that, I believe. Hawkman — will you represent me and help choose suitable officals?” He nodded. “Then name your own seconds, dal Nardo; have them call Hawkman and arrange terms.” She looked into the man's eyes; his gaze was equally fixed upon her. “All right,” she said. “We are finished here; I will next see you when and where it is agreed.” She turned away. “Shall we go, Hawkman?”
 

“Good-bye, fertilizer,” said Stagon dal Nardo.
 

She looked around and said, “It is well for the planet's soil that you are so much larger than I.”
 

The door closing behind them muffled dal Nardo's retort. Rissa took Hawkman's arm and said, “You mentioned lunch? I have truly worked up an appetite!”
 

 

The restaurant was high-ceilinged and drafty. “The food's plain here,” said Hawkman, “but good. Or it had better be — we own the place.”
 

Rissa smiled. “After eleven years of Welfare food, I am hardly a gourmet. Even Erika could not train my tastes so quickly. If food is fresh and flavorful, I like it.”
 

Hawkman ordered for them; she did not recognize his choices by name, but when the food arrived, its tastes lived up to its aromas. She fed until sated and still could not clean her platter.
 

“It
was
good, Hawkman.”
 

He grinned. “The way you picked at your food, I'd never have guessed.” Then, sobering; “About dal Nardo — are you sure you know what you're doing?”
 

“I am building a plan into my mind so that I will perform it mechanically. It is flexible, with alternatives for moves that fail. More than that I cannot do. But I think my plan will suffice.”
 

“But he's so damned powerful! And faster than you'd think.”
 

“Let my adrenaline subside, Hawkman — it serves no purpose now and might hamper digestion of this excellent meal. But I will say this — on Earth, combat techniques have improved from what dal Nardo could have been taught here. How many years' advantage I have of him in that way, I cannot know — but there will be some. Also, for physical combat, he would do well to carry less belly.”
 

“Don't count on — no, you're right — let's change the subject.” He poured wine and told her of the city. “Population's well into six figures — nearly a fifth of the planet's total. Do you know why it's called One Point One? I guess you'd have to have been here.”
 

She thought. “No — I see it — the planet, Number One. The town, One Point One. Named, after all, by officers of Escaped Ships — with mathematical orientation and, it seems, a sense of humor.”
 

“I wish more of that humor survived among the colonists.”
 

She moved the glass in her hands, swirling the wine gently and watching the light it refracted. “Yes — your world is as much cutthroat as Earth, in some aspects. Are we humans good for no other way?”
 

“I don't know; competition seems to be our middle name. That's not all bad — but we don't seem to know where to stop. Well, what more would you like to know about our city?”
 

From the air, she had noticed that One Point One was loosely patterned, with areas of open ground scattered throughout. Now she learned that here was the planet's only major star base, the one port capable of fully servicing interstellar ships. “So that's why Hulzein Lodge is where it is,” said Hawkman. “Quite a distance from our major landholdings. And — ”
 

She waved a hand. “Thank you, Hawkman — but I am as filled with facts as with food — and need time to digest both.”
 

“All right. Let's go — we'll take your gear to where you'll be staying.”
 

 

The sign on the squat beige building read “Maison Renalle.” Hawkman said, “It's not tops for luxury, but it's secure. The guard system's unobtrusive but effective. And the only bugged rooms — except for security monitor — are the ones Liesel's arranged specially, to plant suspicious characters in.”
 

“Thank you for the warning. I will be most discreet.”
 

“You? But — “ Then he saw she was laughing, silently. “Your character is not merely suspicious, Rissa — sometimes, as now, it's downright disreputable.
 

“No — “ He waved a hand. “I challenge you — to lunch again, next time I'm in town.”
 

Now she laughed aloud. “Hawkman, you are good for me.” She turned to him. “You are like — well, younger than my father whom I lost, and older than my brother who was destroyed — but somehow both of them. I am very glad to have come to know you.”
 

He would have spoken but she shook her head. “Let us go in now.”
 

 

Her room, not large, had an air of comfort — and even more, of safety. Her window, facing the Big Hills, looked thick enough to stop bullets. And she knew that the slanted metal flecks within it, that slightly hazed her view, would briefly diffuse a laser beam. The door, though it moved easily, was massive; the room's facilities were self-contained. Knowing Hulzein thoroughness, she trusted the thickness and composition of the walls.
 

“Notice the viewscreen terminal?” Hawkman said. “The red-inblue button gives direct communication to the Lodge. On scramble; it can't be tapped.”
 

“Very nice — I have never seen such a safety vault.”
 

“We try to take care of our own.”
 

“Do you really think I need such precautions?”
 

“Maybe not — but it's here, so why not use it? At the least, it will impress a few people.”
 

“All right — but after dal Nardo, I think I would prefer less fortified quarters.” She smiled. “Now bend down and let me kiss you thanks, and you can go home and forget all about me.”
 

They kissed; then he left her to herself.
 

 

After unpacking, she sat to reread some of her notes from the time at Erika's, and to add to those she had made since her arrival. Her comment to Hawkman had been accurate, she decided — some forms and customs differed, but in essentials Number One's power system resembled Earth's. It was newer and less rigid, yes — but from her viewpoint the only important difference was that part of it was on
her
side. Or, she added mentally, probationally so . . .
 

She watched twilight engulf the Hills and called to place her order for dinner. “A light meal,” she said. “For the meat, two grilled slices of loin from the — what is the word? — female bushstomper, at any rate. Leave it juicy, please. For the rest — a small plate of fruits and fresh vegetables — whatever kinds you recommend. And a bottle of upland red wine, please.”
 

She ate in dimming light and sipped wine until light and wine were gone. Then she turned a switch to brighten the room and wondered what to do with her evening. She switched the viewscreen to an entertainment channel, setting the alarm to notify her of incoming calls.
 

For a few minutes she watched a sports event — two manned captive kites in contest. The object was to down the other, kite and all. It looked dangerous, but somehow the loser caught air at the last instant and landed unhurt — or, at worst, bruised.
 

Then, after a series of announcements, some political and some commercial, came a drama. The characters did not interest her much, but a world's dramatic values can reflect its attitudes, so she watched and listened closely.
 

A middle-aged woman spent much time bemoaning the loss of her brother, gone to space. Her husband lost patience with her; now and then she took lovers, younger men. One evening she made overtures to a young spaceman; slightly drunk, he rejected and insulted her, so she challenged him and killed him in a duel. Rissa had guessed the ending — who could he be but the long-lost brother? She snorted — surely
she
could write better stories. Then she thought again: could she write to suit the tastes of this world? Probably not.
 

She reset the viewscreen to its normal communications function and sat brooding. She had not liked the story, but it nagged at her — what was important about it? What was its real theme? Not the foolish woman, not the trite coincidence — finally she had it. “The long view — of course! On Earth it touches very few, but here — “ Yes — on Number One it would be a fact of life, a preoccupation.
 

By her standards the hour was not late, but with the puzzle solved, she decided to go to bed. For a time she lay awake, belatedly tense and anxious. Dal Nardo
was
formidable — had she pushed her luck too far this time? Life was sweet . . .
 

Finally she visualized the man as standing in one small compartment of her mind. She closed that compartment firmly. Then she relaxed and slept.
 

 

She lay abed until nearly mid-morning, then spent considerable time in bathing, grooming, and eating breakfast. Finally she could no longer avoid the problem — what was she going to do with herself all this day? She voiced her thoughts aloud. “. . . not supposed to go out, probaly — but he did not
say
. . .” “Change identities? And probably compromise another one, if any watched Tari come in and — say — Lysse go out.” Abruptly she stood. “Oh, the hell with it. Why should I give them satisfaction by hiding?” She set the screen to record incoming calls and herself recorded a brief greeting for possible callers.
 

Looking out, she judged the morning to be cool, and put on a jacket. She went out by the main entrance — attempting no evasive, inconspicuous exit — into sunlight and clear, brisk air. Looking about, she decided to walk toward the city's central part.
 

In roughly fifteen minutes she reached a district of narrow streets and small shops. Here, walkways were unpaved — night rain had left mud and puddles. As she picked her way through a treacherous patch, someone bumped her from behind. Barely, she kept her balance — but heard a splash and a cry, and turned to see a brightly dressed young man flat in the mud.
 

“Oh, I
am
sorry — it is so slippery!” She bent to help him.