Authors: Mike Resnick
"Have you any loyalty to the Democracy?” asked Praed Tropo.
"None."
"If they asked you to lie for them, would you?"
"It all depends."
"On what does it depend?"
"On what benefits I would derive from lying."
"Economic benefits?"
"That's right."
"And have you lied to me?"
He means during this interrogation. He's not referring to anything I said on the ship. That's obvious. He means have I lied while I was hooked up to the machine. The question only applies to this interrogation, only to the machine.
"No."
Praed Tropo checked the machine and then nodded to one of his underlings, who removed the disks from the Iceman's neck and wrist.
The Iceman stood up, suddenly realized just how uncomfortable the chair had been, and stretched the knots out of his muscles.
"Satisfied?” he said.
"For the moment,” replied Praed Tropo.
"Then we'd better get busy, because Chandler's got a hell of a head start on us."
"Head start?"
"An advantage,” explained the Iceman. “He's been here for days. For all I know, he's within striking distance of the Oracle right now."
"The Oracle is in no danger,” answered Praed Tropo.
"I've already told you that this man is the best assassin in the Democracy."
"It makes no difference. The Oracle cannot be killed."
The Iceman saw an opportunity to display his ignorance of the Oracle, and took it. “Any Blue Devil can be killed."
Praed Tropo's face contorted into what the Iceman assumed was a look of amusement. “She is not of my race,” it said, “but of yours."
"Then what's she doing on Alpha Crepello III?"
"That is not for you to know."
"Well, if she's human, that's all the more reason to protect her,” said the Iceman. “If there's one thing Chandler knows how to do, it's kill humans."
"He cannot kill her,” repeated Praed Tropo.
"If you're so damned sure of that, why did you let me land?” asked the Iceman.
"Because an assassin is loose on the planet, and he must be apprehended."
The Iceman forced a puzzled frown to his face. “But if you're convinced he can't kill the Oracle, why—?"
"Because he can kill those members of my race who are in daily contact with the Oracle."
"What makes the Oracle so immune to assassination?"
Praed Tropo ignored the question, and ushered him back down the long, crazily-winding corridor to the building's entrance. Then it stopped and turned to the Iceman.
"We have no human foodstuffs here. You will be escorted to your ship, where you will bring supplies sufficient for three days."
"What if it takes more than three days to apprehend Chandler?"
"Then I will reassess the situation."
"Just a minute,” said the Iceman. “If you don't have any human food, what does the Oracle eat?"
"We have no food for you,” answered Praed Tropo.
You're operating under deep cover, Whistler, so the odds are you can't find out who delivers her food. But if the Injun isn't lost in some seed-chewer's dreamworld, he'll have figured it out by now. And that means he's closer to her than you are, and I can expect him to show up first—if he's stayed off the seed.
And that means that if I have to sacrifice one of you, it will probably be the Injun, who I'll claim to be you—which is just as well, because it's been years since I was good enough to kill you, if indeed I ever was. I just wish I knew what the hell the Injun looks like.
"Once I get my food, what then?” he asked aloud.
"Then I will take you to a place where we can call up the holographs of every human known to be on the planet,” answered Praed Tropo, “and if Chandler is among them, we will arrest and incarcerate him."
"What if he's not among them, or if I identify his holograph but we can't find him?"
"Then we will alert our security forces, and when he approaches the Oracle, we will apprehend him."
"May I make a suggestion?” said the Iceman.
"You may."
"Chandler's too good at his trade to be taken that easily. Maybe I'll spot his holograph and maybe I won't, but the odds are that he's already working his way to wherever it is that the Oracle resides. And he won't approach her directly: only a fool would do that on a planet where every human is suspect.” Only a fool, or perhaps a gimpy old man who's so far past his prime that he can no longer operate covertly, he amended silently.
"What is the point you are making, Mendoza?” asked Praed Tropo.
"He's a cautious man,” continued the Iceman. “He won't make a move until he knows the function and schedule of every Blue Devil who guards the Oracle.” The Iceman paused. “Now, if you beef up your security forces around her, he'll just outwait you. I don't know how much he's being paid for this job, but it's got to be enough so that he can spend a year or two waiting for the right opportunity.” He turned to Praed Tropo. “But he knows me, and he has no reason to distrust me. If you'll put me in a conspicuous position somewhere near the Oracle's headquarters, I think he'll contact me before he acts."
"Why should he?"
"Because I have no business being here, and he'll be curious. He'll want to know if we're business rivals, or if I bear some new instructions from his employer, or just what reason I have for being on the planet."
"How will this benefit us?” asked Praed Tropo. “You are an old man; he is a professional assassin. How can you possibly take him into custody?"
"I can't,” answered the Iceman. “But there is a chance that I can lead him into custody. I can tell him that there's been a change in plans, and that we have to go to some predetermined place to discuss it—a place where you will be waiting for him."
"Why should he believe you?” queried the Blue Devil.
"Why shouldn't he?"
"Because, as you say, you have no business being on Alpha Crepello III. Your presence alone may serve to alarm him."
"It's a possibility,” admitted the Iceman. “But what can he do? You assure me that the Oracle is invulnerable. If my plan works, you'll have him in custody an hour later. If it doesn't, if my presence alarms him, he'll almost certainly go back into hiding, and then your task will be no different than it is now, except that you'll know the general area that he's hiding in."
"And what if he kills you?” asked Praed Tropo.
"I'm getting paid a lot of money to take that chance."
"I will have to consider your proposition very carefully,” said Praed Tropo. “I do not like giving you such freedom of action."
"If we're going to work together,” said the Iceman, “we're going to have to trust each other."
"You are a Man,” replied Praed Tropo. “That is reason enough not to trust you."
"But your own machine confirmed that I was telling the truth."
"You answered my questions truthfully,” acknowledged the Blue Devil. “But it is possible that I did not ask the right questions. You are a Man, and yet you have allied yourself with an alien race to kill another Man. There is no question in my mind that had I not given you permission to land your ship, you would have sought some covert means to land on Alpha Crepello III. This assassin knows and trusts you, and you plan to deceive him and lead him into our hands. How am I to know what other motivations you might have, what other reasons you might possess for being here?"
You're smarter than you look, Tropo. Any minute now you're going to think of asking the Oracle what to do about Chandler. You'll be afraid to bother her with what you still think of as a wild goose chase, but eventually—maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that—you'll muster up the courage, and when you do there's every likelihood that you'll mention my name. I'm afraid you're destined for an early death, Praed Tropo.
"Well, if you come up with a better plan, let me know,” said the Iceman.
"I shall."
"Just don't take too long. Remember: this man is an accomplished killer, and he's been on the planet long enough to pinpoint the Oracle's location. A lot of lives depend on our moving quickly."
Including mine.
Praed Tropo still had not decided what course of action to take by the end of the day, and the Iceman requested permission to spend the night aboard his ship, which was cooler and possessed a comfortable human bed. The Blue Devil at first objected, but finally gave his permission.
Once he had climbed aboard and triggered his security system, he activated his subspace radio.
"32 here,” said the voice at the other end.
"It's me,” said the Iceman. “And you'd damned well better be right about this frequency being beyond their capacity to pick up."
"It is. Where are you—on one of the moons?"
"I'm on Hades."
"You're on Hades itself?” exclaimed 32, surprised. “I knew I had the right man when I sent that woman out to approach you! You should never have farmed out the job."
"Then you'd have been trying to kill me,” replied the Iceman dryly.
There was an awkward pause.
"Have you learned anything yet?” asked 32.
"I haven't found out anything about the Whistler, if that's what you mean."
"What about Jimmy Two Feathers?"
"I don't know where he is, but if he's kept off the seed, I know where he'll show up."
"He's not the one we're worried about. He'll either assassinate the Oracle, or he'll fail and probably get himself killed. It's Chandler we've got to stop."
"May I point out that I've only been on the damned planet for three or four hours?” said the Iceman. “If he was that easy to stop, I wouldn't have hired him, and you wouldn't have had to hire me."
"I'm sorry,” said 32 with a marked lack of sincerity. “It's just that we're very anxious about this whole project."
"'We'?” repeated the Iceman. “Have you got some kind of pool going on who lives and who dies?"
"Just be careful,” admonished 32. “If we did have a pool, the Oracle would be the favorite."
"I know,” said the Iceman. “But if you'll let me speak to one of your demolition experts, maybe I can lower the odds."
"I'll get one in here right away."
"The sooner the better. I still don't trust this frequency."
The expert arrived a few minutes later, the Iceman put a number of questions to her, received the answers he needed, and then deactivated the radio. He waited a few minutes to make sure that no one had monitored his conversation and was coming to arrest him, then spent the next two hours working with the information he had received. Finally, physically and emotionally drained from the events of the day, he lay down on his bunk and was asleep almost instantly.
Praed Tropo contacted him via radio the next morning just after sunrise, and demanded his presence. It was already hot outside, and getting hotter by the minute, and the Iceman took a broad-brimmed hat with him to shade his eyes from the sun.
"I have considered your proposition very carefully,” said Praed Tropo as they walked toward a waiting vehicle, “and I have decided to let you attempt to stop the assassin."
"Thank you."
"There is nothing to thank me for, Mendoza,” answered the Blue Devil. “We are confronting a dangerous situation. You are risking your life to resolve it."
"As I told you, I'm being well-paid,” responded the Iceman.
Praed Tropo's expression indicated what he thought of a race that would do anything for money, but it made no reply.
"Where are we going?” asked the Iceman as they reached the vehicle and Praed Tropo motioned him to climb into it. Four armed Blue Devils were waiting for him, and Praed Tropo joined them a moment later.
"Where you want to go,” answered the Blue Devil. Suddenly the windows all darkened, and a light came on, illuminating the interior of the vehicle.
"The Oracle's headquarters?"
"That is correct,” said Praed Tropo. “Since you have no need to know its location, I have made the windows opaque."
The vehicle began moving, and the Iceman leaned back on his seat, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. For the first time since arriving on Hades, he became aware of the unpleasant, almost bitter odor of the Blue Devils. The vehicle wasn't air-conditioned, for the Blue Devils had evolved to cope with the intense heat, and his mouth suddenly felt dry. After a few minutes he found himself sweating profusely, and shortly thereafter his clothes were drenched, and his foot squished uncomfortably in his boot.
"How much longer?” he asked hoarsely.
"Perhaps an hour,” said Praed Tropo. “Perhaps two."
"Wonderful,” he muttered.
"You are uncomfortable?"
"Very."
"Oh,” said Praed Tropo, with no show of concern.
The vehicle sped on, and the Iceman finally found that he was less uncomfortable if he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in his hands. After about ten minutes his back began to ache, and he straightened up again, aware that he was causing the Blue Devils untold satisfaction, if not outright amusement.
"Are we heading toward a city?” he asked, hoping that conversation would take his mind off his discomfort.
"Why should you think so?” answered Praed Tropo.
"Because her headquarters would be harder to pinpoint if they were surrounded by hundreds of other buildings."
"She has no reason to fear attack."
"Tell me about her."
"Why?"
"I'm risking my life to save her, so naturally I'm curious,” answered the Iceman.
"She is in no danger. You are here only to prevent any members of my own race from being harmed."
"Why is she called the Oracle? Does she make mystic pronouncements?"
"'Oracle’ is a Terran word,” replied Praed Tropo. “She chose it herself. I do not know what it means."
"Why is she living among you?"
"It is not necessary for you to know that."
"What does she look like?” asked the Iceman.
"Like any other member of your race."
"Every other member of my race can be killed. What makes you so certain that she can't be?"
"You ask too many questions, Mendoza,” said Praed Tropo.