Authors: Mike Resnick
"I
like
the lighter gravity,” enthused the Kid. “I feel like I'm floating.” Suddenly he paused. “You have to make adjustments every time the gravity changes, right?"
Lomax nodded. “On a world like this, your tendency is to shoot too high."
"Yeah,” mused the Kid. “I hadn't thought of that.” Another pause. “Maybe I can come up with some chips that will make all the worlds feel the same to you."
"You come up with a chip like that and you'll never run out of friends,” replied Lomax.
"Where are we going?” asked the Kid, watching a monorail race above them.
"To see where Jason Cole used to live."
"He's the guy with the laser in his finger?"
"That's right,” said Lomax.
"Then what?"
"Then I ask some questions.” Lomax turned to the Silicon Kid. “You don't have to come along. We can make an arrangement to meet somewhere."
"And miss the chance of seeing you in action?” said the Kid, watching a pair of silent hovercrafts race for a single landing space atop a nearby roof. “Not a chance."
"Not much action involved in asking questions."
"What if they don't answer?"
Lomax stepped aside as two young boys raced past him, toy guns blazing. “Cole's dead. Why shouldn't they?"
"Maybe whoever he lived with will be just a little upset that you killed him,” answered the Kid.
"I didn't kill him."
"Maybe they won't believe you,” said the Kid. “After all, you're the Gravedancer."
Lomax grimaced. “If he lived with anyone, they must have known what kind of work he did.” He lit a thin cigar. “In this business, if you go out often enough, there comes a time when you don't return. That's a given."
"I'll come along anyway,” said the Kid. “You just might need some help."
Lomax shrugged. “It's been known to happen."
The Kid frowned as they passed a multi-environmental hotel that seemed to specialize in chlorine-breathers. “You know,” he said, “every time I think I've got you pegged, you come up with an answer that throws me."
"Oh?"
"You're the
Gravedancer
! You shouldn't want help from anybody."
"You see enough men get blown to bits and before long you find that you're willing to take all the help you can get,” answered Lomax, checking each street sign as they came to it.
"Well, it
seems
wrong."
"I suppose it'd make a lousy video,” agreed Lomax with an amused smile.
"It sure as hell would,” agreed the Kid seriously.
"Welcome to the real world."
They rode in silence for a few more minutes, until Hector Boulevard crossed Helen Street. Lomax managed the change of slidewalks easily, but had to reach out and steady the Silicon Kid, who had never been on a slidewalk before and almost lost his balance.
"Thanks,” muttered the Kid. “That'd be a hell of a way to get killed, my first day on a new world."
"Don't jump,” Lomax cautioned. “Just step onto the thin strip of pavement between them with one foot, and then step onto the next slidewalk."
"Stupid way to travel."
"Easier than walking five miles,” answered Lomax.
"Do all the Frontier worlds have these things?"
"Hardly any of them do,” said Lomax. “Olympus isn't really a Frontier world."
"The charts say it is."
"Oh, it's in the Inner Frontier,” agreed Lomax. “But it's too built up, too civilized. The
real
Frontier keeps moving toward the Core, while the Democracy keeps absorbing the worlds on the outskirts."
"That's what I want to see,” said the Kid. “The real Inner Frontier."
Lomax jerked his thumb in the direction of a travel agency they were passing. “Be my guest."
"I can wait a few days."
"How comforting.” Lomax checked a street number. “We're coming to another change of slidewalks. Get ready."
This time the Kid moved as gracefully as Lomax, and after a short interval they stepped onto the pavement in front of the Hotel Apollo.
"Is this the place?” asked the Kid, looking at the steel-and-glass structure confronting them.
"If my information is correct,” said Lomax.
The Kid grimaced. “Who could live in buildings like this? There's no room to turn around."
Lomax looked amused. “Oh, no more than thirty or forty trillion people. You belong to a race of social animals, Kid."
"Not
me
,” answered the Silicon Kid. “Living like this would drive me crazy."
Lomax walked up to the main entrance. The Kid was about to try to step into the lobby, but Lomax reached out a hand and restrained him.
"What's the matter?” asked the Kid.
"Wait,” said Lomax. “You're not on Greycloud any longer."
An alien doorman, reddish and mildly humanoid, nodded a pleasant greeting and uttered a single command, dispersing the energy field that protected the entrance.
"Welcome to the Hotel Apollo, the finest hostelry on all of Olympus,” it said in heavily-accented Terran. “How may I be of assistance to you?"
"We've come to visit a friend,” said Lomax.
"Excellent,” said the doorman. “Everyone should have friends."
"His name is Jason Cole."
"Alas, Jason Cole is not in residence at this moment."
"We'll wait."
"He has been gone for 23 days,” answered the doorman. “He may be gone for 23 more."
"No problem."
"I am afraid that we empty the lobby every night at midnight,” continued the doorman. “You cannot wait here."
"That was never our intention,” said Lomax. “We'll wait in his room."
"That is not permitted."
"Sure it is,” said Lomax, pulling out a large bankroll and thumbing through it.
"Hardly ever,” said the alien.
"You're sure?” asked Lomax, peeling off a pair of bills.
"I am almost certain."
"What a shame,” said Lomax, adding a third bill to the two.
"Except on special occasions,” answered the alien, grabbing the bills and tucking them into its uniform. “How lucky for you that this is a special occasion."
"What's his room number?"
"I will take you there myself,” said the doorman.
"It's not necessary."
"Ah, but it is."
"Why?"
"Because if you do not need my help to gain entrance to Jason Cole's room, then I cannot permit you to wander the corridors of our establishment without supervision."
Lomax smiled. “We'll follow you."
"This way, please,” said the alien, waddling off to the airlift. They floated up to the 43rd floor, then emerged into a slow-moving corridor that took them past a number of rooms until they reached the one they wanted and stepped off.
"We are here,” it announced, allowing the door's sensors to examine his palm and retina. Finally it uttered a code in its own tongue, and the door dilated, revealing the interior of a small apartment.
"I will leave you now,” said the alien. “But I must warn you that I will have our security forces monitor your movements once you emerge from Jason Cole's apartment."
Lomax nodded. “I would expect no less from the finest hostelry on all of Olympus."
The alien bared its teeth in what passed for a grin.
"One question,” said Lomax, as the alien was about to leave.
"Yes?"
Lomax held up another banknote. “Who is Jason Cole's employer?"
The doorman eyed the note with almost human sadness. “I do not know, sir."
"Pity,” said Lomax, putting the bill back into one of his many pockets.
He and the Kid entered the room, and a moment later the door closed behind them.
"Well,” he said, “let's see what we can learn about the late Mr. Cole."
Lomax walked into the bedroom and checked the closet. There were two rather gaudy outfits there, and nothing else. The dresser had some undergarments, but three of the four drawers were empty. The bathroom looked like it had never been used; the medicine cabinet was completely bare.
He walked back into the living room, where he found the Kid going through a holodisk library.
"The guy liked pornography,” announced the Kid. “If he had any other interests, you can't prove it by what's here."
"You checked the kitchen and the foyer?” asked Lomax.
"Yes."
"What do you find?"
"There's some beer in the kitchen, nothing else; and a pair of thermal garments in the closet. Either this world has a hell of a winter, or he sometimes goes to a planet that's a lot colder than this one."
Lomax double-checked the rooms the Kid had inspected. “As far as I can tell,” he said at last, “he just used this as a mailing address, and maybe a place to spend an occasional night when he was on the planet.” His gaze fell on a computer screen that was built into the wall. “Okay, let's check his mail.” He walked over to the screen. “Computer, activate."
"Activated,” replied a metallic voice.
"Please bring up all mail that you've received since I last activated you."
"There are 87 parcels, Mr. Cole."
"Eliminate all advertisements."
"There are two parcels, Mr. Cole."
"Read the oldest of them."
"Working ... ‘Once you have proof that your assignment has been successfully carried out, report to me in person at my office, and payment will be made in the usual way.’”
"Who signed the letter?"
"There is no signature."
"Is there a return address?"
"No."
"Wonderful,” muttered Lomax.
"I'm delighted that you are pleased,” said the computer.
Lomax grimaced. “Now read the second letter."
"'Dear Mr. Cole: This is to inform you that you have exceeded your credit limit of 2,500 credits. Until this has been made good, we can no longer accept your custom. Please make arrangements to have the money transferred to our account #30337, First Planetary Bank of Olympus. Thank you for your prompt attention and payment.’”
"Is there a signature?"
"The Manager."
"Is there a return address?"
"The Blue Pavilion, 37 Achilles Street."
"Thank you. Deactivate."
"That's our next stop?” asked the Silicon Kid.
"I think so,” said Lomax. “Did you notice anything peculiar about the wording of the first letter?"
"Not especially,” answered the Kid. “Just that he's done business with this guy before."
"It sounded
formal
,” said Lomax. “Like whoever wrote it is a businessman, and makes this kind of assignment all the time."
"Probably he does,” answered the Kid. “After all, killing's a business, just like any other."
Lomax shook his head. “That's not what I meant."
"Then I don't follow you."
"I have a feeling that my employer is up against a very professional organization,” said Lomax, “the kind of organization that authorizes killings every day. Payment will be made in ‘the usual way', from some guy's
office
? That's the
last
place you'd want a killer to show up for his money—unless your primary business is hiring killers."
"That still doesn't tell us whether this guy is a middleman, or whether he's the one who initiated the assignment."
"I know."
"So what do we do now?” asked the Kid.
"Let's find out what Cole knew."
"How do we do that?"
"If we're lucky, we just ask the computer.” Lomax turned back to the screen. “Computer, activate."
"Activated."
"Please bring up the last letter I posted from this address."
"Working ... ‘Tell the Anointed One I accept the assignment, for the usual price.’”
Lomax frowned. “The Anointed One?"
"That is correct."
"What is the address on the letter?"
"Electronic mailbox #804432J."
"In whose name is it registered?"
"Working ... I am unable to retrieve that information, Mr. Cole. The owner of the box has asked that his name be unlisted."
"Is there any way I can find out who owns it?"
"If you are a legitimate creditor, you can go to Claims Court and fill out a Form 86-F. After an appropriate investigation, the authorities will release the name to you."
"There's no faster way?"
"No, Mr. Cole."
"Thank you, Computer. Deactivate."
"The Anointed One?” repeated the Kid as the screen went dark. “You ever hear of anyone with that name?"
"Never."
"What about your employer?"
"He'd have told me if he'd ever come across it."
There was a momentary silence, which was finally broken by the Silicon Kid.
"Now we go to the Blue Pavilion?” he asked.
Lomax nodded his agreement. “Now we go to the Blue Pavilion."
The Blue Pavilion was a nightclub atop one of the taller buildings in the city. An enormous glass wall, some forty feet high, afforded a breathtaking view of Mount Olympus; the other three walls were covered with mirrors that reflected the deep blue sky, the mountain, and the huge pool that dominated the middle of the club.
The pool itself was filled with dozen dolphin-like creatures that had been imported from Sylestria II; they were thought to be sentient, but as yet no common language had been developed, and, in common with all aquatic species, their inability to work with fire had hindered any attempts they might have made to develop a recognizable technology. Still, they were capable of intricate maneuvers that seemed almost like precision dancing, and just about the time the audience was becoming bored or jaded, a dozen nude girls dove into the water, climbed aboard the creatures, and rode them as they performed yet another water ballet.
There was a long chrome bar on one side of the room, and a number of tables, most of them filled with patrons who were dressed more for show than for comfort. Obviously the Blue Pavilion was a place to see and be seen.
Waiters and waitresses, all in elegant silken outfits, moved rapidly about the room, filling empty glasses, taking orders, occasionally bringing out dinners as well as drinks. A 6-piece orchestra hovered above the pool, their glittering platform floating in mid-air.
As Lomax and the Silicon Kid walked up to the entrance, a tall, formally-clad man approached them.