Sutton grimaced. "I suppose I have to. Mr. Benton will wait, I presume, until I buy a gun."
"No need of that," Herkimer told him, brightly. "I brought one along. Mr. Benton always does that. Just a courtesy, you know. In case someone hasn't got one."
He reached into his pocket and held out the weapon. Sutton took it and laid it on the table.
"Awkward-looking thing," he said.
Herkimer stiffened. "It's traditional," he declared. "The finest weapon made. Shoots a.45-caliber slug. Hand-loaded ammunition. Sights are tested in for fifty feet."
"You pull this?" asked Sutton, pointing.
Herkimer nodded. "It is called a trigger. And you don't pull it. You squeeze it."
"Just why does Mr. Benton challenge me?" asked Sutton. "I don't even know the man. Never even heard of him."
"You are famous," said Herkimer.
"Not that I have heard of."
"You are an investigator," Herkimer pointed out. "You have just come back from a long and perilous mission. You're carrying a mysterious-appearing attaché case. And there are reporters waiting in the lobby."
Sutton nodded. "I see. When Benton kills someone he likes them to be famous."
"It is better if they are," said Herkimer. "More publicity"
"But I don't know Mr. Benton. How will I know who I'm supposed to shoot at?"
"I'll show you," said Herkimer, "on the televisor."
He stepped to the desk, dialed a number and stepped back.
"That's him," he said.
In the screen a man was sitting before a chess table. The pieces were in mid-game. Across the board stood a beautifully machined robotic.
The man reached out a hand, thoughtfully played his knight. The robotic clicked and chuckled. It moved a pawn. Benton's shoulders hunched forward and he bent above the board. One hand came around and scratched the back of his neck.
"Oscar's got him worried," said Herkimer. "He always has him worried. Mr. Benton hasn't won a single game in the last ten years."
"Why does he keep on playing, then?"
"Stubborn," said Herkimer. "But Oscar's stubborn, too."
He made a motion with his hand.
"Machines can be so much more stubborn than humans. It's the way they're built."
"But Benton must have known, when he had Oscar fabricated, that Oscar would beat him," Sutton pointed out. "A human simply can't beat a robotic expert."
"Mr. Benton knew that," said Herkimer, "but he didn't believe it. He wanted to prove otherwise."
"Egomaniac," said Sutton.
Herkimer stared at him calmly. "I believe that you are right, sir. I've sometimes thought the same myself."
Sutton brought his gaze back to Benton, who was still hunched above the board, the knuckles of one hand thrust hard against his mouth.
The veined face was scrubbed and pink and chubby, and the brooding eyes, thoughtful as they were, still held a fat twinkle of culture and good-fellowship.
"You'll know him now?" asked Herkimer.
Sutton nodded. "Yes, I think I can pick him out. He doesn't look too dangerous."
"He's killed sixteen men," Herkimer said, stiffly. "He plans to lay away his guns when he makes it twenty-five."
He looked straight at Sutton and said, "You're the seventeenth."
Sutton said, meekly, "I'll try to make it easy for him."
"How would you wish it, sir?" asked Herkimer. "Formal, or informal?"
"Let's make it catch-as-catch-can."
Herkimer was disapproving. "There are certain conventions…"
"You can tell Mr. Benton," said Sutton, "that I don't plan to ambush him."
Herkimer picked up his cap, put it on his head.
"The best of luck, sir," he said.
"Why, thank you, Herkimer," said Sutton.
The door closed and Sutton was alone. He turned back to the screen. Benton played to double up his rooks. Oscar chuckled at him, slid a bishop three squares along the board and put Benton's king in check.
Sutton snapped the visor off.
He scraped a hand across his now-shaved chin.
Coincidence or plan? It was hard to know.
One of the mermaids had climbed to the edge of the fountain and balanced her three-inch self precariously. She whistled at Sutton. He turned swiftly at the sound and she dived into the pool, swam in circles, mocking him with obscene signs.
Sutton leaned forward, reached into the visor rack, brought out the INF-JAT directory, flipped the pages swiftly.
INFORMATION-Terrestrial.
And the headings:
Culinary
Culture
Customs
That would be it. Customs.
He found DUELING, noted the number and put back the book. He reset the dial and snapped the tumbler for direct communication.
A robot's streamlined, modernistic face filled the plate.
"At your service, sir," it said.
"I have been challenged to a duel," said Sutton.
The robot waited for the question.
"I don't want to fight a duel," said Sutton. "Is there any way, legally, for me to back out? I'd like to do it gracefully, too, but I won't insist on that."
"There is no way," the robot said.
"No way at all?"
"You are under one hundred?" the robot asked.
"Yes."
"You are sound of mind and body?"
"I think so."
"You are or you aren't. Make up your mind."
"I am," said Sutton.
"You do not belong to any bona fide religion that prohibits killing?"
"I presume I could classify myself as a Christian," said Sutton. "I believe there is a Commandment about killing."
The robot shook his head. "It doesn't count."
"It is clear and specific," Sutton argued. "It says, 'Thou shalt not kill.' "
"It is all of that," the robot told him. "But it has been discredited. You humans discredited it yourselves. You never obeyed it. You either obey or you forfeit it. You can't forget it with one breath and invoke it with the next."
"I guess I'm sunk then," said Sutton.
"According to the revision of the year 7990," said the robot, "arrived at by convention, any male human under the age of one hundred, sound in mind and body, and unhampered by religious bonds or belief, which are subject to a court of inquiry, must fight a duel whenever challenged."
"I see," said Sutton.
"The history of dueling," said the robot, "is very interesting."
"It is barbaric," said Sutton.
"Perhaps so. But the humans are still barbaric in many other ways as well."
"You're impertinent," Sutton told him.
"I'm sick and tired of it," the robot said. "Sick and tired of the smugness of you humans. You say you've outlawed war and you haven't, really. You've just fixed it so no one dares to fight you. You say you have abolished crime and you have, except for human crime. And a lot of crime you have abolished isn't crime at all, except by human standards."
"You're taking a long chance, friend," said Sutton, softly, "talking the way you are."
"You can pull the plug on me," the robot told him, "any time you want to. Life isn't worth it, the kind of job I have."
He saw the look on Sutton's face and hurried on.
"Try to see it this way, sir. Through all his history, Man has been a killer. He was smart and brutal, even from the first. He was a puny thing, but he found how to use a club and rocks, and when the rocks weren't sharp enough he chipped them so they were. There were things, at first, he should not by rights have killed. They should have killed him. But he was smart and he had the club and flints and he killed the mammoth and the saber tooth and other things he could not have faced barehanded. So he won the Earth from the animals. He wiped them out, except the ones he allowed to live for the service that they gave him. And even as he fought with the animals, he fought with others of his kind. After the animals were gone, he kept on fighting…man against man, nation against nation."