Authors: Mike Resnick
"How did they ever confine you here in the first place?"
"I was very young, and very naive,” said the Oracle.
"I'll agree that you were young,” replied the Iceman. “I find it difficult to believe that you were ever naive."
"But it is true, Iceman,” she said. “I came here with the Mock Turtle. We stopped to refuel on the way to a planet where I was to grow up, shielded from all outside influence, and learn to use my powers to their fullest extent.” She paused. “And then I made a mistake."
"What was it?"
"I could foresee that the ship would fail to function if a minor gasket was not replaced, and I let them overhear me telling that to the Mock Turtle. He practically worshipped me, if you'll recall, and he immediately insisted that their mechanics fix the flawed gasket. When they found that it indeed was cracked, they told us that because their ships worked on different principles, it would take them some weeks to import the part. And because my abilities were immature, I could not see far enough into the future to know that the part would never come, and I believed them."
"And they imprisoned you here?” asked the Iceman.
"They explained that it was a protective device, and indeed it is,” she replied. “For just as I cannot pass through the field, neither can you.” She paused again, as if the past were much more difficult to summon than the future. “By the next morning I realized that we were prisoners, but since I had no interest in the Mock Turtle's world anyway, and all my needs were provided for, I decided that this was as good a place to mature and grow strong as any."
"Why did you help the Blue Devils stay out of the Democracy?” he asked. “They can't mean any more to you than the Mock Turtle did."
"They thought, and probably still think, that I am helping them in the hope that they will someday release me, but in fact it was a chance to test my growing powers,” answered the Oracle. “And I have no love for the Democracy. It was the Democracy that took me away from my parents, and tried to turn me into a laboratory animal that would perform on command, and it was the Democracy that sent scores of bounty hunters after me when I escaped.” She paused. “No, I have no love for the Democracy at all.” She met the Iceman's gaze with her own, and she seemed once again to be looking not at him but months and years past him. “I have plans for the Democracy, Iceman. I have interesting plans, indeed."
"And now you think you're ready to put them into effect?” asked the Iceman.
"I am an adult woman now. I am no longer Penelope Bailey, nor am I the Mock Turtle's Soothsayer. I am the Oracle, and it is time for me to go abroad in the galaxy."
"What happened to the Mock Turtle?"
"He died,” she said with an unconcerned shrug.
"How?"
"Why do you care?"
"I'm curious,” he answered. “I can't believe you couldn't have kept him alive if you wanted to."
She smiled once more, a smile that should have been very attractive, but which instead seemed cold and distant. “You are very perceptive, Iceman."
"Did you just get tired of being worshipped?"
"What god tires of being worshipped?” she replied.
"How did he die?"
"He was only concerned with what I could do for his insignificant race. It was all he talked about, all he thought about, all he cared for. He kept urging me to escape and return to his home world with him.” She paused. “Eventually he grew very tiresome."
"And?"
"And one day his heart stopped,” she concluded.
"You made it stop, of course."
"You still do not understand, Iceman,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “I do not cause things to happen. I choose the future in which they have already happened."
He frowned. “That sounds like a contradiction."
"Why?"
"Because things can't have already happened if you're looking into the future."
She seemed amused. “Perhaps not in your future,” she replied. “But then, you are just a Man."
She raised her left hand above her head, held it in place for perhaps five seconds, then lowered it.
"And what future did you choose just now?” he asked.
"I am bringing about a confluence of futures this night,” she said. “Any explanation would be beyond your understanding."
"Try me."
"I prefer to use you, Iceman."
"How?"
"It is time for me to leave my confinement,” she said. “You will play an essential part in that."
"Not if I can help it."
She chuckled in amusement. “But you can't help it, Iceman. That is why you are here, in this place, at this moment."
The Injun left the darkened vehicle about half a mile south of the Oracle's compound, then began silently approaching the rocky overhang that he had pinpointed as the most likely means of ingress.
Just before he reached the base of the rock, he sensed another presence. Drawing his laser pistol, the most silent of his weapons, he crouched down and remained motionless, peering into the darkness and listening intently.
He saw nothing, heard nothing, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone out here with him. It could have been a Blue Devil, of course, but no Blue Devil would feel the need to be so silent unless he had already been spotted and they were after him, and he knew that he was too good at his craft to have given himself away yet. It had to be the Whistler, who had finally made his way to Hades from one of the moons.
The Injun realized that he needed his peripheral vision in this situation, and so, for the first time in days, he removed his eyepatch. It took him a moment to adjust to having a broader field of vision and renewed depth perception, and so he remained where he was for another few minutes, until he was certain that he wouldn't be disoriented by what he saw.
Suddenly he felt that the mysterious presence was no longer in his immediate vicinity, and he climbed, catlike, to the top of the rocky overhang. This afforded him a view of the far end of the compound, where two armed Blue Devils guarded the driveway, waiting to inspect or turn back any approaching vehicles.
He flattened himself out on top of the rock and spent another few minutes observing the yard, and pinpointed the locations of three more guards. He peered into the shadows cast by outbuildings and monuments, trying to spot the Whistler, but couldn't find him.
Finally he crawled to the edge of the overhang. It was only eight or nine feet above one of the metal beams that supported the quartz roof, and he gently lowered himself down until his feet were only twenty inches above it. Then he released his grip and landed lightly on the beam.
He walked along the beam until the shadow of the overhang hid him from any Blue Devil who chanced to look up, then pulled a cloth out of his pocket and wiped off his hands and face, which had become covered by sweat from his efforts in the warm Hades night. When he was finished, he tucked the cloth back into his pocket.
He didn't want to walk across the quartz, because he didn't know how much weight it would hold, so he continued walking down the beam until he came to an acute angle that meant he had either reached the end of the roof, or at least the end of this particular level of it. He lowered himself to his belly and leaned his head over the side, looking for a window ... and saw one, far larger than a typical door, about five feet below him and twelve feet to his right. He pulled himself along the beam until he was directly above it.
He was now some thirty feet above the ground, and he carefully lowered himself until his feet could touch the window. It had looked hinged to him, and he tried putting some gentle pressure against it. It resisted for a moment, then swung inward.
He waited to see if anyone inside the darkened room would walk to the window to see what had happened. When no one appeared after twenty seconds, he released his grip on the beam, landed lightly on the window ledge, and jumped into the room, almost in one single motion, then closed the window behind him.
The room was shaped like an equilateral triangle, some fifteen feet on a side, and perhaps ten feet high. It was totally devoid of furnishings, and served no purpose that he could determine. There were two rough-hewn wooden posts in the middle of the room, perhaps six feet high and five feet apart. He inspected them briefly, but their purpose remained totally incomprehensible to him.
He then turned his attention to the door. It did not recede as he approached it, nor could he find a handle or a computer lock on it. Finally he reached out and tentatively pushed against it, and it slid up out of sight so quickly that he jumped back, startled.
He drew his laser pistol once again, prepared to incinerate anyone who happened to see the door open, but when he stepped out into a corridor that widened and narrowed as pointlessly as had the street in the Blue Devils’ sector of Quichancha, he found that it was empty.
The door snapped shut behind him as he turned to his left and began walking, only to come to a dead end before he passed any doors, stairways, or airlifts. He turned back and retraced his steps, walked past the room through which he had entered, came to a corner, turned right, and finally came upon a ramp that led down to a lower level.
He walked down it cautiously, then heard low voices up ahead, and crouched down, weapon at the ready. The voices were speaking in one of the guttural Blue Devil dialects, and when they neither approached nor vanished after he had waited for a full minute, he began descending the ramp again.
He emerged in a large, many-windowed room that was filled with alien furnishings. There were holograms and paintings of scenes no sane mind could have imagined, and chairs built not only for Blue Devils but also some for multi-jointed Lodinites and elephantine beings whose physical attributes were beyond his ability to conceive. A holo screen in one corner showed a disconcerting pattern of flashing lights, all in varying shades of gray, which he decided would have an almost hypnotic effect on anyone who concentrated on it.
He heard footsteps approaching and ducked behind one of the oversized chairs. A moment later a Blue Devil entered the room from the far side, walked through it, and left through a doorway off to the left.
The Injun stood up, looked at both doorways, and finally decided to follow the Blue Devil. At least it had some destination in mind, and if it ran into any of its companions, he would probably hear them exchanging greetings before he stumbled upon them.
He gave the Blue Devil a thirty-second head start, then passed through the doorway and entered a long, winding corridor. It passed a number of closed doors, then terminated in another large room, this one filled with computers and radios of alien design, and manned by four more Blue Devils.
The Injun knew he couldn't pass through it unobserved, and while he felt no compunction about killing every Blue Devil in the room, he doubted that he could do so before one of them got off an alarm or distress signal, so he retraced his steps until he came to the room where he had seen the Blue Devil and walked through the other doorway.
It looked like it was going to dead-end against a large yellow wall, but just as he was about to turn back, he saw an extremely narrow stairwell off to his right. On the assumption that anyone as valuable as the Oracle wouldn't be kept on the ground level, he opted for climbing up rather than down.
He ascended the stairs, found himself on a large, irregularly-shaped landing, and was trying to figure out what to do next when the smell of food—human food—wafted down a corridor. He followed the odor, and came to a small kitchen where a Blue Devil was preparing a steak of mutated beef and a small salad.
He crouched in the shadows of the adjacent room and waited. After a few minutes a Blue Devil entered the kitchen, passing within four feet of him, uttered a terse command, and left. The Blue Devil who was preparing the food walked to a glowing sphere hovering near the wall, said something into it, and shortly thereafter another Blue Devil, this one unarmed, entered the kitchen through another door, put the food on a tray, and left.
The Injun realized that he would have to pass through the kitchen if he was to follow the Blue Devil with the tray. He stood up, entered the kitchen, coughed once to get the chef's attention, and trained his laser pistol on it.
"Not a move, not a sound,” said the Injun in a low voice.
The Blue Devil stared at him and remained motionless.
"Where is the Oracle?” asked the Injun.
The Blue Devil made no answer.
"You heard me—where do you keep her?"
The Blue Devil said something unintelligible.
"Oh, shit!” muttered the Injun. “Don't tell me you can't speak Terran?"
The Blue Devil spoke again, and again the Injun couldn't understand a word of it.
He looked around, saw what appeared to be a half-opened storage closet, and, still pointing his weapon at the Blue Devil, he walked over to it and opened it.
"In here,” he said, gesturing the Blue Devil to enter the closet.
The Blue Devil looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"I haven't got any time to waste! Now, move!"
The Blue Devil remained motionless, and the Injun reached out and grabbed it by the arm. It immediately reached out for his throat with its other hand.
The Injun planted a kick against the Blue Devil's major leg joint, then brought his pistol crashing down on the creature's skull. It collapsed in a heap, and, not bothering to check whether it was alive or dead, he dragged it over to the storage closet and crammed it in, after which he closed the door. There was a computer lock on the door, and he turned his laser pistol on it, intending to burn out the lock's memory, but when he pulled the trigger, no beam came forth.
He examined the pistol, found that the blow he had struck the Blue Devil had broken the connection to the power pack, and placed it in a drawer. Then, realizing that he was almost a full minute behind the tray carrier, he raced out the far door after it.
The corridor in which he found himself was relatively straight, and it soon broadened out and became almost as wide as a room. Finally it turned sharply, and as he stuck his head around the corner, he saw five armed Blue Devils guarding a large door.