As McCade accepted it he saw it was a cigar. "It may be a bit stale," Walker said apologetically. "I don't smoke. My predecessor did though, and left it behind."
McCade thanked him, and eyed the other man thoughtfully as he puffed the cigar into life and took a seat opposite Walker. "Your predecessor?"
"Yes," Walker answered. "We keep a one-man station on Worm. That's how we found out about the prince."
McCade felt his pulse quicken as he blew out a thin stream of gray smoke. Maybe he was about to get somewhere. "No offense, but it would really help if you could start at the beginning. First of all, who's
we?
"
Walker looked surprised. "You mean you don't know? I'm sorry, I guess I just assumed you did. I'm a Walker of The Way. That's why they call me Walker. Have you ever heard of us?"
McCade shook his head.
"Well, that's not too surprising," Walker said. "We avoid publicity. Simply stated we're a loosely knit group of sentients who follow The Way."
"It's a religion then," McCade suggested.
"No, not in the conventional sense," Walker replied. "For example, The Way isn't written down anywhere, it's discovered through the process of living and therefore accessible to all. We have no rites, no layers of priesthood to separate us from the truth, and we don't attempt to proselytize. In fact, we don't interfere with those around us unless asked, and even then there are severe limits on what we can do. That's why Torb and his guards tolerate me. Besides, I suspect he thinks I'm a useful figure, sort of a priest, or father confessor figure for the men. Frankly, I've encouraged them to view me that way . . . even though our organization doesn't have priests."
McCade shrugged. "Sounds good to me . . . although I've got enough problems in the here and now, without worrying about the hereafter. You said you maintain a station on Worm? Whatever for? Especially if you're not trying to convert the prisoners."
Walker smiled. "There was a need. I told you earlier that others have abilities far beyond my own. Well, some of them can read what they call the flux, which is simply the ebb and flow of cause and effect. I won't attempt to describe how they do it, because I don't understand it myself, but basically it amounts to a heightened form of meditation. Somehow they momentarily step out of their bodies and can see the complex patterns and relationships which flow out of all that we do. By studying these patterns they can predict trends and probabilities as to what may come. And sometimes, not often, but sometimes, we can use that knowledge for the greater good."
McCade tapped the ash off his cigar, and resisted the temptation to ask how they knew what the "greater good" was. Historically mankind had used religion, and the concept of "the greater good," to perform unspeakable acts of cruelty and barbarism on each other, usually because their leaders got their own personal "good" all mixed up with everyone else's.
Unaware of McCade's skepticism, Walker continued to speak. "Many years ago, one such read the flux, and discovered that Worm would eventually become a significant place in human events. So a call went out for volunteers to sit on Worm and wait. Each had the same orders. 'Watch, wait, help to whatever extent you can, but do nothing to change the status quo.'" Walker smiled. "That last order was necessary, for slavery offends all of us, and the temptation to interfere had been very strong. But to do so would change the flux, and that might erase our chance to accomplish an even greater good, so we have obeyed. And it's good that we did, because during my predecessor's stay the prince arrived, and suddenly we understood. Eventually the emperor would die, and if Alexander was allowed to die on Worm, his sister would inherit the throne. And given her beliefs, Claudia might start a war which could swallow all sentient life in this part of the universe."
There was silence for a moment, and then McCade cleared his throat. "How did your predecessor know Alexander's true identity? He didn't announce it, did he?"
Walker laughed. "No, he didn't. He arrived calling himself Idono H. Farigo, like 'I don't know how far I go.' Get it?"
"Yeah, I've got it," McCade acknowledged dryly. "The prince is a thousand laughs. Then I suppose he did his 'I'm just one of the guys routine.'"
Walker shrugged philosophically. "Alexander was determined to live through the experience without recourse to either his father's power or position. But his actions quickly separated him from the rest—just as yours did—and my predecessor gradually learned the truth."
"Well," McCade said, watching his cigar smoke curl up through the light of Walker's lamp, "if it's any comfort, Naval Intelligence agrees with the conclusions of your flux readers. But since Naval Intelligence is usually wrong, that doesn't mean much. Nonetheless, just to be on the safe side, we might as well grab the prince and get out of here."
Walker only smiled.
McCade said, "Uh-oh, I've got a feeling I'm not going to like this."
Walker looked at him sympathetically. "The prince has been gone for some time I'm afraid."
McCade groaned. "Then why are you still here?"
"That's simple," Walker responded earnestly. "I've been waiting for you."
"Come on," McCade insisted. "I'll give you people credit for predicting something important would happen here on Worm, your presence seems to prove it, but there's no way you could've known I was coming."
Walker smiled patiently. "Not
you
personally. I was waiting for someone
like
you. No offense, but if it wasn't you it would've been someone else. Just as the flux predicted Alexander's coming, it also foretold your arrival. That's how I know the Emperor is dead. Only his death would force those who oppose Claudia to find out if the prince is still alive, and if he is, to place him on the throne. You were picked for the mission, and the trail led you here."
The way Walker put it, everything sounded so simple, and lacking any other way to explain the man's presence and knowledge, McCade was forced to believe him. At least until a better explanation came along.
"So where is he?" McCade asked.
"On a planet called the Wind World," Walker replied. "My organization has a monastery there. Alexander spent a great deal of time talking with my predecessor and, after a good deal of soul searching, asked permission to go there and study. His request was approved."
McCade dropped his cigar into some worm slime where it hissed and went out. "Aren't you leaving something out? Like how Alexander managed to get off this pus ball?"
Walker grinned. "That was quite simple actually. One day Alexander went into the tunnels and was eaten by a worm. He's a bit of a ham, you know, and his screams sounded quite realistic. Afterward they found only his headlamp and one boot. Very touching, and very convincing, since no one willingly parts with their headlamp."
"And then you got him off-planet," McCade finished. "Very slick. And that brings us to the present. Are you willing to give me some help as well?"
Walker's light bobbed up and down. "That's why I'm here. Now that his father's dead, it's imperative that you reach Alexander and convince him to accept the throne."
McCade frowned. "Why me? He obviously respects you and your organization. Why not convince him yourselves?"
Walker shrugged and spread his hands. "We cannot interfere without risking negative changes in the flux. Besides, our role is to facilitate, not control. And while his father lived, there was no reason to force the issue. Now we can only hope that when you tell him of his father's death, he will see the need to assume the throne, and do so of his own free will. But the decision is his. We will not try to force him."
"Terrific," McCade responded sourly. "Thanks a lot. Well, let's get on with it. Have you got a radio?"
"A good one," Walker replied, "though I have to be careful how often I use it. Torb's under the impression that I rely on his."
"Good," McCade said. "I've got some friends and a ship just off-planet. At least I hope I do. If you'll call them they'll come and pick me up. First, however, we'll have to stage my death like you did Alexander's."
Walker agreed, producing a stylus and a small notebook into which he wrote the frequency and code words which would allow him to contact Rico and Phil on
Pegasus.
"Just let me know a time and where to meet," McCade added.
"No problem," Walker said, getting to his feet. "I'll try to set it up for tomorrow or the next day. Meanwhile you'd better start working your way back, before Whitey decides you're taking a nap."
McCade stood, and the two men shook hands. "See you soon," Walker promised, and hurried up the tunnel. McCade watched until his bobbing light disappeared around a gradual curve.
With almost half the shift still left to go, McCade took his time working his way back up the tunnel, swearing when he lost his footing on the slippery floor, and watching the wall for color changes. But he felt good knowing that Alexander was still alive, and apparently living like a monk on some backward planet. It was just his style. Gambler, slave, and now a reclusive mystic. The guy never quit.
If he hadn't been thinking about Alexander, McCade might have noticed a liquid grinding noise, or felt a slight vibration in the surrounding rock, but he didn't. Therefore it scared the hell out of him when solid rock parted with a loud crack, and the right side of the tunnel caved in. As the hole appeared, it was filled with an obscene bulge of glistening gray flesh, and McCade felt a lead weight drop into the pit of his stomach.
More and more rock continued to fall, and McCade knew if he didn't move soon, he'd be trapped. Fortunately this section of the tunnel was larger than most, so the initial cave-in had failed to completely block it. He eyed the narrowing gap between the top of the rockfall and the ceiling. If he was fast enough, he just might make it. Forcing himself to ignore the loop of slimy gray flesh which now protruded out into the tunnel, he backed off a few feet, and then ran full tilt toward the pile of rocks. A series of quick leaps carried him to the top, and a shallow dive took him through the small opening. He fell head over heels down the other side, hitting and bouncing off a variety of rocks, before finally coming to rest at the bottom. With a roar of falling rock, the rest of the ceiling caved in, and the small opening disappeared.
His right knee hurt like hell, and he didn't feel like getting up, but the large rocks which continued to roll down and crash around him suggested that he should. Besides, at any moment the worm might decide to join him. Forcing himself to his feet, he limped up the tunnel, trying to put as much distance between himself and the worm as possible. After about fifty feet or so, he was suddenly short of breath, and noticed that his oxygen hose had pulled loose from his nostril plug. As he stopped to fix it, he glanced back over his shoulder, half expecting to see the worm in hot pursuit. It wasn't. Maybe the rockfall had slowed it down, if so, good. Apparently the blasted thing had been busy creating another tunnel parallel to his own, when the thin rock wall separating the two tunnels had collapsed, causing the roof to cave-in as well.
By the time he emerged from tunnel thirty-four, McCade's right knee felt better, and his limp was almost gone. Making his way between the large rocks which littered the floor of the cavern, McCade caught occasional glimpses of the guards gathered around the makeshift console. When he got there, they would probably chew him out, and send him into another tunnel. After all, there were more than two hours left in the shift. But what the hell, maybe he could talk Whitey into giving him a break. It was worth a try. Either way, he'd soon be off Worm, and having a good meal aboard his own ship. Assuming of course that Phil and Rico had left anything edible in the galley. In the meantime he would do his best to take it easy, and avoid worms.
McCade put on his best hangdog expression as he approached the guards, and prepared to tell them a somewhat exaggerated version of his encounter with the worm. But much to McCade's surprise, all three ignored him in favor of Whitey's VDT. They glanced his way, but continued to talk excitedly among themselves, even allowing him to walk up and peek over their shoulders. Apparently his position as unofficial enforcer granted him a certain amount of privilege.
"Looks like the little creep's luck finally ran out," the black man said cheerfully. "I'll bet you ten Imperials he doesn't last another ten minutes."
The neanderthal grunted his agreement.
McCade saw that the object of their discussion was a flashing green dot in tunnel seventeen. Whitey was tracing its progress with an electronic arrow. Strangely enough the dot seemed to be moving down the tunnel away from the safety of the cavern.
"You're on, sucker," Whitey sneered, without taking his eyes off the screen. "Ten Imperials it is. Spigot's got a lot of tunnel savvy so I say he's good for twenty minutes easy. See . . . I figure the worm's right here"—Whitey pointed the red arrow at a spot just behind the green dot—"and Spigot's trying for this side passage down here." He pointed to a small tunnel which branched off from the larger one. "In fact, he might even loop in behind the worm and get clean away. How 'bout a side bet?"
But the black man didn't reply, because McCade chose that particular moment to crush his skull with a large rock. As the riot gun fell from the guard's lifeless fingers, McCade caught it and brought it to bear on the neanderthal. It pays to take out the worst of the opposition first. The big man wasn't too bright, but his reactions were just fine, and as his partner fell the neanderthal was already spinning in McCade's direction. But he was too late. His huge torso jerked three times, and fell over backward as McCade squeezed the trigger, and felt the heavy weapon buck in his hands. The sound was still echoing off the cavern walls as Whitey clawed for his sidearm with one hand, and tried to stop the slugs with the other. It didn't work. The automatic shotgun roared twice, taking his hand off at the wrist, and erasing his face. His body toppled sideways out of his chair and crashed to the ground.