Finally the tedious and careful weapons check was done. The pistols were packed and ready, and the bulky and archaic armor fitted in place. The seconds retreated out of the line of fire. Jupiter raised his black hand and opened it, displaying the white palm. Montrose raised his hand more slowly.

Norbert raised the baton. To the naked eye, there was no difference, but to the three ghosts watching from his coat through electronic systems, the images of the two duelists blurred and vanished.

Norbert dropped the baton. Two black clouds of chaff erupted from the heavy barrels of the monstrous dueling pistols, hiding both duelists in an expanding smog of twinkling particles. Thin lines of aiming laser flickered out of one cloud mass and into the other, passing rapidly in and out of the visible reaches of the spectrum.

The baton struck the ground. The explosion of gunfire seemed simultaneous, but Norbert played back the sense impression with several parts of his mind. Neither one had fired prematurely.

Norbert counted the memory playback. Fifteen shots had been fired: two main bullets, and thirteen escort shots. That meant three escort bullets had not fired.

Jupiter had discharged his chaff in a cone, as if he expected Montrose to shoot straight without feinting. Montrose had ignited his chaff in a smoke ring, showing he expected Jupiter to fire deceptively, feinting and then correcting.

The echo of the deafening gunshots slowly faded in the dark air. Io and Cazi stood motionless, their eyes wide. Del Azarchel was grinning. The Swan with a wand gathered a white and dark surgical worm-thing off each of his two trees. The worms gripped the wand in a double spiral.

The smoke of the chaff was pushed to one side by the wind, but the same wind stirred up the fog, so an eerie combination of black and white swirls hung over the scene. Cazi, in girlish fashion not in keeping with the rangy masculine body she wore, put her hands to her mouth and screamed.

Montrose was standing, his right arm coated with blood, his shoulder armor broken in pieces. Jupiter had attempted a difficult shot, concentrating fire on the foe’s gun hand in hopes of igniting his powder magazine.

Jupiter was on two knees and one elbow. His helmet was cracked. Puking noises and a wash of blood and lung matter issued through the cracks in the face slit. There was a gaping hole in his chest armor, and blood poured out in spurts, the sign of a major vein severed. With a stiff, painful movement, Jupiter straightened his left arm, so now he was swaying on his knees. His gun hand still held the heavy pistol. His left fist he now shoved into the entry wound, applying pressure, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Norbert called out, “Blood has been shed! Honor is satisfied! Gentlemen, will you withdraw?”

Montrose said something in curt tones to Cazi. Cazi called across the field, “Have him turn on the braking laser, and he can live! He can always make a backup copy of himself later, once civilization has gathered the energy to do it!”

Io stepped into the line of fire, rushing to aid Jupiter. She beckoned toward the Great Swan Sgaire, who thawed his legs and stepped forward. Both were halted by a sudden cry from Jupiter.

“I do not agree!” shouted the kneeling figure. “I have one bullet left. Clear the field!”

Io, looking troubled, called out, “But my lord! To die for such a frivolous reason! He is a lesser being, a mere animal!”

“Better to die than to admit defeat to an animal! Praetor Norbert! I demand the field be cleared! I fire again!”

Montrose waved Cazi back out of the way. Only Io was standing between the two men. Montrose said to Jupiter, “I’ve got two bullets left, you poxy dumb damn machine! One to parry your bullet and one to kill you. Our chaff is thinned out, and your armor is cracked. You are dead if you do not drop your pistol. I will extend you gentle right, and allow you to withdraw.”

Jupiter cried out, “Never! We fire again!”

Montrose spoke to Cazi. She turned and called, “Judge of honor! My principal demands that the duelist communicate to Jupiter himself, and let the planet decide his fate. This is suicidal. Planet Jupiter should not be forced to destroy himself because his dueling puppet malfunctioned!”

Jupiter said, “Not so! We all agreed the decision was mine!” And he coughed up more blood, which seeped through the cracks in his faceplate, and dripped to the grass.

Cazi shouted, “You were hit in the head and cannot think straight!”

Norbert said to Cazi, “I cannot call for the hour delay needed to send a signal to Jupiter and back after one party has been wounded. He would bleed severely, giving your principal the advantage.”

Io said in a voice of great reluctance, “My principal agrees that he could be placed in biosuspension, so that he does not bleed further, provided his body is returned to the exact condition it is in now, wounds and all, to continue if the Power of Jupiter so agrees.”

Montrose said, “I don’t want to shoot a bleeding man on his knees! Blackie, talk to your crazy machine!”

Del Azarchel raised his hands. “And spoil the show? I am merely here to see that no one cheats.”

Cazi said, “Wait a minute! I think Jupiter is cheating! He has a hole wider than a church door and deeper than a well in him! How come he can still talk and keep himself upright? That is not a real human body like we agreed! He lowered his pain threshold!”

Sgaire stepped over to the kneeling Jupiter with long strides. He spoke for the first time, his voice like an oboe. “I attest the body is human, and the nervous system is within the defined parameters.”

Del Azarchel called out from the sidelines, “I am just a damned bit tougher than you imagine, Cowhand.”

Sgaire said, “I also object. It is a violation of my Hippocratic Oath to slumber a wound and then to revisit that same wound on a patient.”

“Overruled,” said Norbert. “You are in violation of your oath by agreeing to be here at all, Swan. We are all conspirators in death. Jupiter! Communicate with the seat of your soul back on the planet. No one will move. However, by that time, the sun will be risen, giving Montrose an untoward advantage, because you are facing east.”

“Advantage or no, I will fight on,” said Jupiter in a voice of ringing pride.

It was the last thing he said. The Swan paralyzed both duelists, and suspended their life processes, and an hour went by. No one moved, except that Del Azarchel brought out a small paper bag from under his cloak and ate the white puffs of corn it held.

There was nothing said aloud. A scroll some thirty yards high came floating over their position. In the middle of the scroll was no writing, but an image of the planet Jupiter, looking strangely nude without its rings and moons, which had withdrawn to a safe distance. The bands of cloud in the upper atmosphere were whirling and writhing. Some of the swirls to either side of the Great Red Spot formed themselves into the Monument curls and sine waves, spelling out an angry and abrupt sign for assent. The duel would continue.

“Madness,” whispered Cazi. “He’s gone insane. How can he go insane if he is so smart?”

Del Azarchel, hearing her, said, “His passions grew to godlike stature as his intellect grew. The loves and hates of higher beings are incomprehensible to us.”

“No,” said Cazi. “No, they are not. That is what is so horrible. Fear in a man or a dog or an angel is all the same fear, or love, or hate, or rage.”

Sgaire, his eyes sad and his face expressionless, raised his slender hand, and Montrose and Jupiter came to life again.

Norbert said, “Fire at will, gentlemen.”

A simultaneous report rang out. The first bullet from Montrose struck the bullet from Jupiter a glancing blow, but enough to send it tumbling, so that it struck Montrose offcenter, striking his armor with a noise like iron thunder, knocking him from his feet. Jupiter was also flung up and back as if kicked by a horse to fall supine when struck by the second bullet from Montrose’s gun, which he had no bullet left to parry.