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?”