gravitating towards one another through thesuddenly quiet crowd. Winfree, like the other men, civil and BSG, stoodat attention; but as he felt Peggy's arm slip through his he spoke outof the corner of his mouth. "Get back to the car, Peggy," he said."Drive like hell out of this chivaree. I'll meet you at your dad'splace. Now git!"
"You think maybe I had my fingers crossed when I promised to have andhold you?" she asked. "You're my man, Wes. If you get beat up, I want myeyes blackened to match yours."
The anthem drew to a close just as a new instrument, the siren of afiretruck, joined in. "Stop that truck!" one of the insurgent consumersshouted. "Don't let 'em touch our fire."
* * * * *
The mob went back into action in two task-forces; one dedicated to theextirpation of the BSG-men currently available, the other clusteredaround the firetruck, thwarting the fire-fighters' efforts to coupletheir hose to the hydrant. One youngster, wearing the black leatherjacket and crash-helmet of a Potlatch Party, ran from the fireworkswarehouse with a thermite grenade. Pulling the pin, he tossed thesputtering bomb through a window of the burning building. "Stop him!"the white-helmeted fire-chief shouted.
"Stop him, hell!" a consumer replied. "Man, we got a rebellion going.Don't you guys try to throw cold water on it unless you'd like to besquirted solid ice with your own hose."
* * * * *
The fire-chief, his hands raised in despair, turned to his colleagues."Stand by, boys," he said. "Nothing we can do till the cops get here toquell this bunch."
"Pretty, isn't it?" one of the firemen remarked, dropping the canvashose. "We never get to see a building burn all the way. Think of all thepapers in there, file-cabinets full of government regulations, lists ofall our birthdays, quota-forms; all curling up and turning brown andreaching the kindling point. Nice fire, Chief."
The fire-chief faced Headquarters, a new look replacing his anxiety. "Itis kind of pretty," he admitted. He turned to the consumer ringleader."OK with you if we throw a little water on the fireworks warehouse?" heasked.
"Sure," the man said. "We don't want to blow up the old home-town; weonly want to put the BSG out of business." His band of consumers steppedback from the yellow fireplug to let the firemen hook up their hoses,toggle on the pressure, and begin playing water over the blank face ofthe fireworks warehouse.
Captain Winfree was buried in hard-fisted civilians, all seeminglyintent on erasing him as the most familiar symbol of the Bureau ofSeasonal Gratuities. Winfree bobbed to the surface of the maelstrom fora moment, waving his saber, and shouted, "MacHenery! Get these jokersoff my back before I'm knee-deep in cold meat." He thwacked another ofhis assailants across the pate with the flat of his blade.
MacHenery, using his saber as a lever, pried himself a path through thecrowd. As he reached Captain Winfree, he raised his saber. The crowdabout the two men retreated. "These folks have suffered a lot from you,Captain," MacHenery said. "Think maybe they're due to see a littlebloodshed?"
"OK by me," Winfree said, panting, "if you don't mind shedding it." Heraised his saber in salute--the only fencing-movement he'd becomeproficient in--and jumped into a crouch. MacHenery closed, and the twoblades met in a clanging opening. Peggy's father, for all his handicapof twenty years, was a fencer; Winfree, in his maiden effort as asabreur, used his weapon like a club. He allemanded about MacHenery, nowand then dashing in with clumsy deliveries that were always met by theolder man's blade.
Those firemen not immediately concerned with spraying the warehousewall mounted the racks of their truck to watch the duel. BSG-men and-women, huddled close to the warmth of the burning building, watchedunhappily as their champion was forced to retreat before MacHenery'stechnique. "He'll kill him!" Peggy shouted. She was restrained fromtrying to break up the fight by two burly consumers.
* * * * *
Winfree, trying a gambit he'd seen in one of MacHenery's books but hadnever before attempted, extended his saber and flew forward towardMacHenery in a fleche. MacHenery caught Winfree's blade on his own andtossed it aside. He brought back his own weapon to sketch a line downthe Captain's right cheek. The scratch was pink for a moment, then itstarted to bleed heavily. The crowd shouted encouragement, theBSG-troops groaned. "Keep cool, Wes," MacHenery whispered to hisopponent as they dos-a-doed back into position. "I have to make thislook fierce or they'll insist on lynching you."
"Don't make it look too good," Winfree panted. "Cover yourself--I mighthurt you out of sheer clumsiness." His chin and throat were covered withblood, now; blood enough to satisfy the most indignant consumer. Themoment the measure was set again, Winfree lunged, trying to slip hisblade beneath MacHenery's guard to strike his arm. His foible met theflash of the other man's forte, and his blade bounced aside like asprung bow.
MacHenery slammed his saber into Winfree's, spinning the weapon out ofhis hand into the crowd. He lunged then, delivering his point againstWinfree's chest. Peggy, released from her captors, burst from the crowdto throw herself against her father. "Stop it, Daddy!" she pleaded,"please stop!"
MacHenery raised his saber in salute. "All right, Pocahontas," he said."Take your John Smith home and patch up that cut. It's no worse thanwhat he gets shaving." He turned to the crowd, his saber still raised insalute. "Potlatch is over forever!" he shouted.
Urged by a delegation of music-loving consumers, the tubist raised hisravaged horn. The other members of the BSG Band-and-Glee-Club gatheredround him, all ragged, some with one eye closed by a purple fist-mark;and they began, on the tubist's signal, "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen."The District Headquarters building, gutted, was glowing like anabandoned fireplace. The firemen joined the singing as they coiled theirhoses. The Potlatch Riot was over.
Winfree led his wife to their car. The _Just Married_ sign was still inplace, but the car's train of shoes and milk-cans had been ripped off tofurnish ammunition in the fight. "Let's go home, Peggy," Winfree said."I yearn for a fireside and some privacy."
Kevin MacHenery spoke from the back seat. "You deserve them, Wes," hesaid.
"What are you doing here?" Peggy demanded, twisting to face her father."After you cut up my Wes you should be ashamed to show us your face."
"I want to apologize for that unfortunate necessity," MacHenery said."But if I hadn't scratched him, Peggy-my-heart, the mob might have donemore radical surgery. I saw one consumer with a rope, trying differentknots."
"Apology accepted," Winfree said. "Now, if you don't mind, Mr.MacHenery, Peggy and I'd like to be alone."
"Of course," MacHenery said. "First, though, I'd like to present you adecoration to commemorate your part in this skirmish, Wes." He took thelittle white feather from his hatbrim and attached it to Winfree'stattered, blood-stained tunic.
"What's this for?" Winfree asked.
"For services rendered the Rebellion," MacHenery said. "I've oftenwondered why it's only the Tom Paines and the Jeffersons who get honoredby successful rebels. There's many a revolution, Wesley, that would havefailed except for the dedicated tyranny of the men it overthrew."
"I don't understand, Daddy," Peggy protested.
"Wes will probably explain to you sometime how he brought this all onhimself," MacHenery said, opening his door to get out. "Now I expect youtwo have other things to talk about. Thank you, Captain Winfree, forplaying so excellent a George the Third to our rebellion."
"Thank you, sir," Winfree said, raising his hand in salute. "I wish youa Merry, nine-letter Christmas."
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ September 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
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