"Let's have it."
"The only certain way to get all of the conspirators was to wait until they showed themselves. Nor will it be necessary to try them-an unsatisfactory process at best. This way they will be exterminated to the last man."
Hamilton thought about it. "It does not seem to me that the policy makers are justified in risking the whole state by delaying."
"Policy makers take a long view of things. Biologically it is better to make sure that the purge is clean. But the issue was never in doubt, Felix."
"How can you be sure? We're in a sweet spot now, as a result of waiting."
"You and I are in jeopardy, to be sure. But the society will live. It may take a little time for the monitors to recruit enough militia to subdue them in any key points they may have seized, but the outcome is certain."
"Damnation," complained Hamilton. "It shouldn't be necessary to wait to stir up volunteers among the citizens. The police force should be large enough."
"No," said Mordan. "No, I don't think so. The police of a state should never be stronger or better armed than the citizenry. An armed citizenry, willing to fight, is the foundation of civil freedom. That's a personal evaluation, of course."
"But suppose they don't? Suppose these rats win? It's the Policy Board's fault."
Mordan shrugged. "If the rebellion is successful, notwithstanding an armed citizenry, then it has justified itself biologically. By the way, be a little slow in shooting, if the first man comes through your door."
"Why?"
"Your weapon is noisy. If he is alone, we'll gain a short delay."
They waited. Hamilton was beginning to think that his time-piece had stopped, until he realized that his first cigaret was still burning. He glanced quickly back to his door, and said, "Psst!" to Mordan, and shifted his watching to the other door.
The man entered cautiously, weapon high. Mordan led him with his gunsight until he was well inside and had stepped out of direct line of sight of the door. Then he let him have it, neatly, in the head. Felix glanced at him, and noticed that it was a man he had had a drink with earlier in the evening.
The next two came in a pair. Mordan motioned for him not to shoot. He was not able to wait so long this time; they saw the body as soon as they were in the doorway. Hamilton noted with admiration that he was unable to tell which one had been shot first. They seemed to drop simultaneously.
"You need not honor my fire the next time," Mordan remarked. "The element of surprise will be lacking." Over his shoulder he called, "First blood, ladies. Anything doing there?"
"Not yet."
"Here they come!" Ba-bang! Bang! Hamilton had fired three times, winged three men. One of them stirred, attempted to raise himself and return the fire. He let him have one more bullet, which quieted him. "Thank you," said Mordan.
"For what?"
"That was my file secretary. But I would rather have killed him myself."
Hamilton cocked an eyebrow at him. "I think you once told me that a public official should try to keep his personal feeling out of his work?"
"That's true ... but there is no rule saying I can't enjoy my work. I wish he had come in my door. I liked him."
Hamilton noted that Mordan had accounted for four more, silently, while Hamilton was so noisily stopping the rush at his own door. That made five at his door, one in between, and four at Mordan's. "If they keep this up, they'll have a barricade of living flesh," he commented.
"Formerly living," Mordan corrected. "Haven't you been at that same loophole a bit too long?"
"I stand corrected on both counts." He shifted to another spot, then called back, "How is it coming, girls?"
"Martha got one," Phyllis sang out.
"Good for her! What's the matter with you?"
"I'm doing all right."
"Fine. Burn 'em so they don't wiggle."
"They don't," she stated briefly.
There were no more rushes. A portion of a head would peek out cautiously, its owner would blast once quickly without proper aim, the man would duck back. They returned the fire, but with little expectation of hitting anything. The targets never appeared twice in the same spot, and for split seconds only. They crept back and forth along the balcony, trying to enfilade the rooms beyond, but their antagonists had become cagy.
"Claude ... I just thought of something funny."
"So?"
"Suppose I get killed in this. You get your own way in our argument, don't you?"
"Yes. What's the joke?"
"But if I get knocked over, you'll probably be dead too. You told me my deposit was listed only in your mind. You win and you lose."
"Not exactly. I said it was not on file. But it's identified in my will-my professional executor will carry out the plan."
"Oh, ho. So I'm a papa anyhow." He fired once at a shape that suddenly appeared in his door. There was a yelp of anguish, and the shape drew back. "Lousy," he deplored. "I must be losing my eyesight." He banked a slug off the floor in front of his door, letting it thereby ricochet loosely in the room beyond. He did the same through Mordan's door. "That's to teach 'em to keep their heads down. Look, Claude-if you had your choice, which would you prefer: for both of us to be knocked over and thereby insure your own way about my hypothetical offspring, or for both of us to get through it and be back where we started?"
Mordan considered the question. "I think I would rather try to argue around to my viewpoint. I'm afraid there isn't much of the martyr spirit in me."
"That's what I thought."
Somewhat later Mordan said, "Felix, I think they have taken to drawing our fire. I don't think that was a face I shot at last time."
"I believe you're right. I couldn't have missed a couple of times lately."
"How many shots have you left?"
Hamilton did not need to count; he knew-and it had been worrying him. He had had four clips when he left for the Hall of the Wolf-three in his belt, one in his gun, twenty-eight shots in all. The last clip was in his gun; he had fired two shots from it. He held up one hand, fingers spread. "How about you?"
"About the same. I could use half charge for this sparring." He thought a moment. "Cover both doors." He crawled rapidly away through the stacks to where the two women kept guard on the rear door.
Martha heard him and turned. "Look at this, chief," she insisted, holding out her left hand. He looked-the first two joints of the forefinger were burned away and the tip of the thumb-cleanly cauterized. "Isn't that a mess?" she complained. "I'll never be able to operate again. No manipulation."
"Your assistants can operate. It's your brain that counts."
"A lot you know about it. They're clumsy-every blessed one of them. It's a miracle they can dress themselves."
"I'm sorry. How many charges have you left?"
The picture was no better here. Phyllis's lady's weapon had been only a twenty-gun to start with. Both Mordan's and Monroe-Alpha's were fifty-guns, but the gun expropriated from Monroe-Alpha had started the evening even more depleted than Mordan's. Phyllis had withdrawn Martha from anything more than stand-by when she had been wounded, planning to use the gun herself when her own was exhausted.
Mordan cautioned them to be still more economical with their shooting and returned to his post. "Anything happened?" he asked.
"No. What's the situation?"
Mordan told him.
Hamilton whistled tunelessly, his eye on his target. "Claude?"
"Yes, Felix."
"Do you think we are going to get out of this?"
"No, Felix."
"Hmmm ... Well, it's been a nice party." A little later he added, "Damn it-I don't want to die. Not just yet ... Claude, I've thought of another joke."
"Let's have it."
"What's the one thing that could give life point to it-real point?"
"That," Mordan pointed out, "is the question I've been trying to answer for you all along."
"No, no. The question itself."
"You state it," Mordan parried cautiously.