The machine could carry on two conversations at once. Or a thousand. Over Montrose’s amulet he said, “Yes…?”
“I don’t want Vardanov to be the judge. See if you can have him moved to a safe distance.”
“I thought she would appreciate if I freed three of her men from militia custody.”
“He can pick from his men: I trust him. Uh—for things like that, I trust him.”
“It will be Hermeticists. No one else is old enough to remember or respect the Code of Duels.”
“Fine.”
“The Spanish custom was to have three men, and abide by their vote.”
“Fine.”
Three black-garbed figures climbed from the trenches, and walked with slow deliberation over to the area midway between the two armored men. The three judges were none other than Reyes y Pastor, his chin high and eyes bright; Sarmento i Illa d’Or, like a mountain of muscle, but stepping lightly as a heifer, his face stoical and grim-lipped; and Melchor de Ulloa, slouching and looking embarrassed.
Father Reyes raised his hand and called out in a loud voice, “I must ask and abjure you that this quarrel should not proceed, for Our Heavenly Father has commanded all the faithful sons of His Church to peace. Gentlemen, I call upon you as baptized Christian men to turn aside from this wrath, to shake hands and make amends. Is there anything that can be done or said to reconcile you, that this contest might be resolved to the satisfaction of both parties, and with no dishonor?”
Reyes y Pastor was dressed in his priestly vestments, which he had nonchalantly worn to a battlefield, and seemed to show no discomfort in acting in his role as a judge over a duel, either. Montrose decided that the man must have no respect at all for his office.
Montrose said in a loud voice, “Blackie, if you can hear me, we don’t need to go through with this.”
The voice of Exarchel came from his wrist, “Learned Montrose, if you wish me to act as your second in this, please respect the forms. All communication must go through me.”
“Invite him.”
“Where?”
“Up! Tell him to come to the stars with us. The three of us, together again, aboard the Hermetic. He can use the Bellerophon to hold the world hostage, we can go to the Diamond Star together, and it will be a century or more Earth-time before we get back. He abdicates to the Advocacy, and the people will know there is more contraterrene on its way, and that should sooth things down. The world peace he wants is preserved, and he don’t have to trust his mechanical version, uh…”
“Meaning me.”
“Meaning you. Give D’Aragó the message.”
No doubt Del Azarchel heard the words from D’Aragó’s wrist as clearly as did Montrose, but D’Aragó nevertheless took the time to walk slowly back over to Del Azarchel, bend his head to the helmet, and exchange words with Del Azarchel.
D’Aragó walked too slowly. Montrose sighed, because there was no subtle way to do this, and he did not want to lift his pistol to use the muzzle camera, lest the gesture be mistaken. His helmet was not designed to turn, so he had to lift his heavy legs, and with clanking footsteps, turn his whole body in order to look behind him. The tether of the topless tower was bent, and from the curve it was clear that several cars were already climbing the cable.
Clank, clank, went his feet as he turned back again.
“Hey, X.”
“Sir?” said Exarchel.
“Give him another message. Tell him to get his men down out from the tower, or I will kill them all. This point is not open to negotiation.”
His earphones picked up the voice of the machine, again coming from D’Aragó’s wrist, repeating the message. D’Aragó whispered to the helmet, and nodded, and raised the wristband to his face, and spoke.
Exarchel said, “The Learned D’Aragó states that his principal has no interest in receiving such demands from you, since they are military matters outside of the scope of this duel. There is rebel activity in China and Australia, and it is standard procedure to secure such locations as may prove to be military assets in time of insurrection.”
“Plague his chancrous dangle! Tell him their blood is on his hands. What’d he say about coming with us?”
“He declines the offer, preferring to face you in combat. Really, Cowhand, I could have told you that. As your second, you should have consulted me before issuing it.”
“Yeah, but you’re rooting for him, ain’t you?”
The machine made a noise like a scratched record. Unlike its sighs and laughs, which had to be played out of a speaker as artificially as a harpist making a harp sing under her fingers, this sounded like an actually spontaneous nonverbal expression from the machine. “Zzxxxtk-K! You don’t think I want his hands on her any more than yours, do you? From my viewpoint, you are both monkeys, and for either to lay with her is bestiality. No, the optimal outcome for me is to have you kill each other.”
“What do you care? You can’t have her.”
“My love is regrettably Platonic, but nonetheless as real as yours.”
“If we kill each other, will you let her go?”
The Iron Ghost did not answer.
“If you love her, you have to want what is best for her, what she wants, right? Blackie, the real Blackie, wants her as an angel in a birdcage, or a prize on his mantelpiece, or something. Is your love for her like that? I am asking you to promise not to help him chase her, if I die.”
“I cannot make such a promise. The Learned D’Aragó announced that his principal will be satisfied, without a duel, if you sue for a divorce from the Princess, and agree to enter biosuspension until such time as after he dies a natural death.”
“Those terms are not acceptable.”
Father Reyes now raised his handkerchief. Montrose and Del Azarchel both raised their left hands, and the left gauntlets were white on the wrist fingers and back, but jet-black on the palm, so that when they opened their hands to show “ready,” the sign could be clearly seen.
Reyes called out. “Gentlemen! You are within your rights to ask your opponent to empty and repack his weapon here and now, if you suspect any unbecoming practice.”
Del Azarchel through D’Aragó, and Montrose through Exarchel, both admitted the other man was a trustworthy gentleman, and waived the right.
That tickled Montrose’s suspicion. Del Azarchel was trying to stall, delay, and draw things out. A careful repacking of chaff could take an hour—so Blackie must have some good reason to not want Montrose to see how he had packed. Non-regulation chaff? Or, now that he was a posthuman, and the best damn mathematician on the planet, some radical new way to solve the Navier-Stokes equation? That was Del Azarchel’s special field of study, after all.
Montrose grimaced. The same reason why Del Azarchel was trying to lengthen the time, Montrose had to shorten it. But now he ached to know what Del Azarchel had secretly done while packing his chaff and shot.
“Even now, if an accommodation can be reached, both parties may withdraw in honor. Gentlemen! Will your principals seek reconciliation? Have all measures to avoid this conflict been exhausted?”
The Seconds confirmed that no reconciliation was possible.
Reyes called out. “Gentlemen, see to your countermeasures!”
In his pistol-cameras, Del Azarchel blurred into a translucent shape, twisting and shimmering, a shattered mirror.
Reyes called, “Gentlemen, ready your weapons! On peril of your honor, do not fire before the signal! Ah! Learned Montrose, you still clench your fist even though your honorable opposition shows black palm. Are the gentlemen prepared to exchange fire?”
Montrose shouted out: “Not until he calls his men down from the tower. They got to come down, and I mean now, and I ain’t buggering around with him.”
Del Azarchel shouted back: “Montrose, tell me what you are planning.”