Authors: Margaret Weis
A trifle
romantic, but it sounded impressive. And perhaps the assassin was
impressed, for he made no protest against Brother Daniel, and when
they started walking in the direction of the Cafe, Sparafucile fell
into step at the young priest's side.
"You not
kill, eh?" the assassin asked.
Brother Daniel,
encountering difficulty in using the grav boots, shook his head. He
had not learned the trick of rolling forward on the foot or "peeling"
the foot off the ground, as the technique was known. Attempting to
lift each foot with each step, he looked like a bird performing some
bizarre mating ritual.
"Ah, but if
I try to kill you, you would try to kill me. Yes?" Sparafucile
pursued.
"No, I
wouldn't," Brother Daniel replied. He studied the assassin
walking beside him, attempting to emulate his rolling gait.
Sparafucile
considered this statement, then nodded. "I understand. Your
God—He kill for you."
Maigrey,
listening to the conversation, wondered how Brother Daniel would slog
his way out of this theological morass. She hoped he would realize
that this was neither the time nor the place for a sermon and that he
would do nothing or say anything to cause the assassin to begin to
doubt him—and consequently doubt all the rest of them.
"'We have
made a covenant with death,'" quoted Brother Daniel, " 'and
with hell are we at agreement.
Sparafucile made
a grunting noise that seemed to indicate he was impressed, though he
probably had only a vague understanding of the priest's words. As for
Brother Daniel, he spoke of "death" and "hell"
glibly enough, but Maigrey knew he didn't understand either, not yet.
Well, she
thought grimly, entering the air lock that was the gate into Hell's
Outpost, he will. Soon.
The Exile Cafe
was the largest structure on Hell's Outpost. A huge dome several
kilometers in diameter, it was the central point in town. All roads
led to it. All the domed structures built up around it supported it,
in one way or another. And all people, human and alien, they met, as
they walked toward it, were either heading that direction themselves
or leaving.
No one raised a
hand (or any other appendage) in greeting; no one said a word to
anyone, even if (especially if) the other person was known or
recognized. Hell's Outpost had its own special code of etiquette and
honor, a code that had been developed over the years of its operation
for a reason—to protect the privacy and the lives of those who
came to Hell's Outpost to conduct business. The code was broken only
at one's extreme peril.
A single door
led into Exile Cafe. Another, at the rear, led out. The Cafe proper
was designed to accommodate humans, its primary guests, but special
rooms had been equipped to handle vapor-breathers and other
life-forms if they desired a more familiar and homelike atmosphere.
Weapons were not
checked at the entrance, disputes were prohibited—a part of the
unwritten code. The Exile Cafe was neutral ground. Mortal enemies,
sworn to kill each other on sight, who met in the Cafe were expected,
by the code, to buy each other a drink. Weapons were worn for show,
for advertising purposes. No weapon had ever been drawn in anger
during all the long years that the Exile Cafe had been in business.
Maigrey had
never been to the Exile Cafe—or Hell's Outpost—before,
but Sagan had and, as was customary with him, he had also amassed an
extensive file on it and its operations. She knew how to act,
therefore, and what to expect.
She entered the
lobby. All rooms in the Exile Cafe were circular with domed ceilings,
resembled eggs that have been cut in half. The largest of these
"eggs" was the Cafe itself, which occupied the center of
the dome. Private meeting rooms, located on the four levels
surrounding the Cafe, looked out over it, providing the occupants
with a view of all those who entered.
Before one
obtained access to the Cafe, one had to pass through the lobby. And
before one entered the private meeting rooms, one had to pass through
the Cafe.
Maigrey walked a
pace ahead of her cohorts, indicating that she was the leader. She
alone would speak for the group. The others ranged in a row behind
her—Agis and Sparafucile flanking Brother Daniel; the centurion
prepared to muzzle the priest if he seemed likely to make a social
misstep. Fortunately, having been raised in the strict discipline of
the monastery, Daniel was accustomed to silence and passive
obedience.
The lobby was a
smallish room, brightly lighted, with walls of plush red velvet. A
'droid made to resemble a human male of the clerk variety stood
behind a desk of curved, blond wood. Above the 'droid's head,
numerous vidscreens provided constantly shifting pictures of those
who were already inside, these photos having been taken when they
entered the lobby. Maigrey knew, as she walked up to the desk, that
her own image and those of her companions was being transmitted on
the thousands of vidscreens throughout the Exile Cafe.
Looking at the
vidscreen, Maigrey guessed her group must be occasioning quite a bit
of comment inside. Her bloodsword gleamed brightly in the light,
showed up well on camera. Those keeping tally inside would see that
sword—capable of being used only by the Blood Royal—and
would mark their scorecards accordingly.
Agis to
Maigrey's left, stood tall, straight-backed, square-shouldered, face
impassive, gaze cool, unimpressed, appraising. The scorecards would
read: highly trained, highly skilled combat veteran.
Directly behind
Maigrey, Brother Daniel. Silent, his face grave and solemn, he had an
air of serenity about him that, in this place, was extremely
daunting, disconcerting. Those keeping score would put down question
marks.
At Maigrey's
right and slightly behind her shambled the assassin, looking more
like a pile of rags someone had dumped in an alley than a living
being. He moved with a shuffling gait, shoulders slumped, malformed
head continually oscillating, attempting to focus the misaligned
eyes.
The shuffling,
the shambling, the lethargic movement—all an act, intended to
deceive the careless, the unwary. The scorecards for those who knew
him would read: one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy.
An interesting
mixture, one that—she hoped—would cause the right people
to sit up and take notice.
The door through
which they had entered slid shut behind them. Only single individuals
or allied groups were permitted in the lobby at one time.
"Welcome to
the Exile Cafe," said the 'droid in a programmed, mechanical
voice, devoid of expression. "I will explain the house rules."
The 'droid
greeted all those who entered the Cafe in the same manner, no matter
how many times they may have been there. Again, part of the code.
Once you left the Exile Cafe, it was as if you had ne^er entered.
The rules were
simple: Weapons could be worn but not used. No fights, arguments, or
brawls were permitted on the premises or within a hundred meters in
any direction of the premises. Maigrey listened, indicated that she
understood and would abide by the rules, agreed that she would accept
the penalty if she did not. The penalty—instant
annihilation—had never, as far as anyone could remember, been
exacted.
"And now,"
said the 'droid when the formalities were complete, "how may we
serve you?"
"I want a
private room," Maigrey replied.
The 'droid
assured her that this request could be fulfilled.
"I want the
upper room. Six hours," she added.
"One
hundred thousand golden eagles," said the 'droid.
Maigrey agreed,
ignoring a slight gasping sound that came from behind. Brother
Daniel, no doubt.
The 'droid slid
forth a credit machine. Maigrey entered Sagan's account number. The
'droid approved.
"Look into
this," it ordered, pointing out a scanning device.
Maigrey did so.
A tiny ray of intense light shot out, pierced her right eye,
momentarily blinding her. The device shut off. She stepped back,
blinking, trying to see through the black dot of an afterimage.
"The effect
will pass in a few minutes," said the droid. A segment of
red-velvet wall slid aside, opening into a narrow corridor filled
with white-blue light. "That way to the Cafe. Two-drink
minimum."
They entered the
corridor. A door slid shut behind them. It would not reopen. From
this point, everyone moved on into the Cafe. The exit was located on
the opposite side of the dome, obtainable only by passing through the
Cafe.
The corridor
they entered was a tube of steel about six meters long. The only
light came from the far end, a round patch of darkness, surrounded by
a circle of bright blue neon lights.
"If the
drink prices are on a level with the room rates, I doubt if even the
Warlord's bank account will cover more than a couple of rounds,"
Agis murmured, coming up to walk at her side.
"Such a sum
would buy the Abbey," said Brother Daniel in disapproving tones.
"And we are offered only a single room?"
"And that
for only six hours," Maigrey said. "Admittedly, I took the
most expensive. The Cafe has others that rent for less, but I'm not
only paying for the room, Brother, I'm paying for privacy, secrecy,
and prestige. This is no cut-rate job. I intend to hire the best and
I want everyone to know I can pay for it."
They reached the
entrance to the Cafe proper. It wasn't a door, but was rather like
stepping into a black hole. Complete, baffling, disorienting darkness
engulfed them. There was, suddenly, no floor beneath their feet, they
could feel no walls on either side. Maigrey, recognizing a
sensory-deprivation chamber, fought down an involuntary panic
reaction. Within moments, light was in her eyes, her feet were on the
floor. She had entered the Cafe.
A circular,
domed room that extended upward through all four stories, the Cafe
presented, at first glance, an eerie contrast of bright lights and
deep shadows. A gigantic circular bar, around which several hundred
people could have gathered, stood in the center. The bar was made of
clear acrylic, lit by white neon tubing that encircled its base three
times. The white light shone up through the bar, illuminating the
faces of all who sat there.
The remainder of
the Cafe's lower level was taken up by innumerable round tables, of
various sizes. A globe of light stood in the center of each table.
The globes were of differing colors, ranging from white to blue to
red to green. As Maigrey and her group entered the globes began to
change color, flashing from blue to red, from white to blue, from red
to green. Faces could be seen only by the light of the globes and
nowhere else. The remainder of the room was shrouded in darkness, lit
by the waiters—male and female—in various states of
undress, whose painted bodies gave off a phosphorescent glow.
Each table held,
in addition to the globe, a vidscreen. On these screens flashed the
faces of those who entered, or if so desired, the vids could be used
by those seated at the tables to communicate with those upstairs in
the private rooms.
Maigrey glanced
behind her to make certain her companions were following, worrying
that Brother Daniel might have been unable to cope with the sensory
deprivation chamber. He emerged apparently unscathed, although
appearing considerably bewildered, accompanied by Sparafucile, who
had a firm grip on the young priest's arm.
"Fun, eh?"
The assassin grinned.
"It was . .
. interesting," said Brother Daniel faintly.
Maigrey smiled
at him reassuringly, saw his eyes shift to a point behind her, widen,
and suddenly lower. His face burned red.
Maigrey turned,
was met by a 'droid, this time made to resemble a human
female—perfect in every detail as far as they could see, every
detail being more or less on display.
"Table for
four?" asked the hostess in programmed, seductive tones.
"No, we
have a private room. We'll go straight there."
"As you
wish. This way, please."
The hostess, her
half-naked body glowing a faint green, herself a walking lamp, led
the way, at a slow and languid pace, through the tables. Faces,
illuminated in the light, floated like disembodied heads in a sea of
darkness. Eyes stared at them, followed them.
Maigrey kept
herself aloof, allowed her gaze to meet no one's.
The hostess led
them to a cylindrical tube that stood at the rear of the Cafe,
opposite the entrance. Here was another round black hole that marked
the exit. Here, also, was the elevator that led to the upper floors.
"It is an
anti-gravator," said the hostess. "Take hold of the brass
ring when you arrive at your destination to stop your ascent, then
simply step out."
Maigrey nodded.
The hostess opened her hand. On the palm was located a small keypad.
Maigrey entered the account number and an amount for the tip. The
hostess cast Brother Daniel a teasing, provocative glance through
lowered, gold-gilded eyelids, and glided away.
Brother Daniel,
his gaze riveted to the floor, did not notice.
The gravator had
no door. Maigrey stepped inside and immediately began floating gently
upward. The rest followed after her; Sparafucile keeping close to
Brother Daniel.
An odd pair,
Maigrey thought, looking down on them. Having entered after her, they
were slightly beneath her. She could only assume, uneasily, that the
assassin was shadowing the priest out of distrust, which would
undoubtedly mean trouble sooner or later. It had been a mistake to
bring him, a superstitious weakness on her part. Agis certainly
thought that was true. God knew what, then, the cold-blooded assassin
must be thinking.