Oracle (12 page)

"That's me,” answered the Injun, declining to return the young driver's snappy salute.

"I'm here to take you to your quarters at the embassy."

"The sooner the better,” grunted the Injun. He looked around. “Where the hell's my luggage?"

"It's still being examined, sir,” said the driver. “Another member of the staff will retrieve it when it's been cleared."

"What do they think I'm smuggling, anyway?"

"Nothing, sir. It's just their way of emphasizing their independence from the Democracy.” The driver paused. “By the way, I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Daniel Broussard, and I am at your disposal for the duration of your stay on Hades."

"Jimmy Two Feathers,” replied the Injun.

"That's a curious name, if I may be permitted to say so, sir."

"Cherokee."

"Cherokee? Is that a planet?"

"Not exactly,” said the Injun. “Let's get the hell out of here. You can tell me your life story on the way."

"Follow me, sir,” said Broussard.

"Just a minute, son,” said the Injun.

"Sir?"

"My name is Jimmy. That's what people call me; that's what I respond to. You say ‘sir’ and my first inclination is to turn around and see who's standing behind me.” He paused. “If you get tired of Jimmy, you can call me Injun. I'll answer to either."

"Yes, sir,” said Broussard.

"Kid's a real quick study,” muttered the Injun under his breath.

"He is to be your liaison, Jimmy. Don't start by offending him."

"He didn't hear me."

"I beg your pardon, sir ... Jimmy?” said Broussard.

"Just talking to myself,” answered the Injun. “I do it all the time these days. Don't pay me any attention."

"As you wish, sir.” Broussard caught himself. “I'm sorry: As you wish, Jimmy."

"Okay. Lead the way."

The Injun followed Broussard through the small spaceport and out into the hot air of Hades, where a land vehicle was waiting for them.

"You're supposed to sit in back,” said Broussard as the Injun opened the front door.

"I like it up front. Better view."

"Please, sir—I'll get in trouble if they see you riding up front."

"Who's the enemy, anyway?” muttered the Injun. “The embassy or the Blue Devils?"

"You know who the enemy is. There's no point in making more."

The Injun climbed into the back of the vehicle, and Broussard started driving through twisting streets that suddenly widened and narrowed for no discernable reason. The buildings bore no relation to each other, nor to any other structure the Injun had ever seen. No two looked remotely alike: some were tall, others were squat; some were round, some needle-shaped, some trapezoidal, some possessed so many sides and angles that he doubted there was a mathematical term in existence that could properly describe them.

The street itself was as strange as the buildings. It began as a gleaming, super-hardened ceramic near the spaceport, became a pothole-filled rubble in the midst of what seemed to be a commercial section, constantly changed grades and inclines, and moved from ceramic to dirt to gravel to plastic and back again for no reason that he could discern.

"How the hell do you find your way around this madhouse?"

"It takes getting used to,” answered Broussard, swerving to avoid a Blue Devil who was strolling aimlessly in the middle of the street. “I've been here almost two years, and I myself needed a guide for the first ten months or so. None of the buildings are numbered, and none of the streets are identified, not even in their native language.” He paused. “Most alien cities have a Human Quarter that makes some sense by our own standards, but we have such a marginal presence here on Hades that our embassy is right in the middle of their financial district. If I were you, I wouldn't wander out alone until I was sure I could find my way back; once you're out of sight of the embassy, you could get lost for weeks."

"The city's not big enough to get that lost in."

"It's not the size but the structure, sir,” said Broussard. “Many of these thoroughfares bear a striking resemblance to a mad city planner's notion of a mobius strip; they keep turning in upon themselves, and though you're sure you've been walking in a direct line for a mile, you suddenly discover that you're right back where you started."

"Where's the embassy from here?” asked the Injun, as they passed a building that seemed tall enough to act as a landmark.

"It's no more than half a mile away, though I'll have to cover about five more miles of these streets before we reach it.” Broussard grinned. “Actually, you could walk to it much faster than I can drive to it.” He paused. “You won't find it too disconcerting once you become acclimated."

"I'm not disconcerted."

"That's surprising,” said Broussard. “Most newcomers are."

"You ever chew any seed, son?” asked the Injun.

"No, sir."

"You ought to try it sometime. Then all the streets look like this one.” He leaned back and relaxed. “It's like coming home."

"You're kidding me, right, sir?” said Broussard, a worried frown on his youthful face.

"Jimmy!"

"Right, Daniel."

They rode in silence through fifty more right angles and obtuse angles and hairpin turns, and finally Broussard pulled into the driveway of the one building that seemed to make any sense.

"Here we are, sir,” he announced.

"Doors, windows, everything,” said the Injun, looking at the large embassy building. “I wonder how the Oracle likes where she's living?"

Subtlety, Jimmy. Remember: they don't know why you're here."

"You ought to fire any of them who haven't guessed yet,” replied the Injun.

"Fire who, sir?” asked Broussard, confused.

"Nothing,” replied the Injun. “Let's go inside.” He waited until Broussard had entered the building, then muttered: “You keep talking to me and they're going to change their minds and think I'm here for the Cure."

He walked into a large, elegant, tiled foyer. The walls bore portraits of the last three Secretaries of the Democracy including the current holder of the office, plus an artistic rendering of the sprawling, planet-wide city that Deluros VIII had become.

Three uniformed men stood guard before a trio of doors, looking neither right nor left. Broussard escorted him to a large office where a black woman dressed in a severely-tailored outfit sat behind a polished chrome desk.

"Yes?” she said, not looking up at him.

"Lieutenant Jimmy Two Feathers, reporting for duty,” he said.

"We've been expecting you, Lieutenant,” she replied. “You are not on our duty roster, so you might wish to spend some time settling in and getting acquainted with the embassy and its staff."

"Is there anyone I'm supposed to report to?"

She glanced at a computer screen. “No. You are to make your reports to your superiors by your own means. The embassy is to feed and house you and provide you with a guide, and otherwise leave you strictly alone."

She dismissed him with a nod of her head, and Broussard led him out of the office and down a corridor to an airlift.

"Friendly sort, isn't she?” remarked the Injun sardonically.

"She doesn't have to be,” answered Broussard, as they floated gently up to the third level of the building. “She's Commander Ngoma, the embassy's Chief of Staff.” They stepped out into a corridor. “Your quarters are this way, sir,” said Broussard, heading off to his left. They passed four doors, then stopped before a fifth. “The computer lock is coded to your military ID number. Since I don't know what it is, I can't open the door for you."

"How does the room get cleaned?” asked the Injun curiously.

"There's a small household robot in each closet. Don't let its appearance startle you—it looks like a cross between a tree stump and a large snake."

"Thanks for warning me,” said the Injun. He approached the door and stared at the lock.

"293Y78Q1,” said the voice inside his ear.

He touched the appropriate numbers and letters, and the door receded into the paneling.

"Very nice,” he said, walking forward. The room was quite long, and very smartly furnished. To his right was a bed with a nightstand, to his left a sitting area with two cushioned chairs and a sofa, and straight ahead of him, facing a window that overlooked the carefully manicured grounds, was a desk with a small computer.

"This is the door to your closet,” said Broussard, “and this is the one to the bathroom. Each will slide away as you approach it, and the bathroom can be locked from within."

"Very nice indeed,” repeated the Injun. “My most recent accommodation"—he smiled—"was somewhat more confining."

"Any changes or additions to your standing orders will be stored in your computer,” continued Broussard. “It can be activated by your voiceprint and ID number."

"Okay, I'm impressed,” said the Injun. “Now let's get something to eat."

"The commissary is in the basement, sir. I'll be happy to escort you there.” He paused. “There's every likelihood that your luggage will arrive before we're through."

The Injun shook his head. “Aren't there any restaurants in the area?"

"Restaurants, sir?” repeated Broussard, surprised.

"Establishments where people who don't want to eat at home go for dinner,” said the Injun sardonically. “Possibly you've heard of the concept?"

"I have, but the Blue Devils haven't, sir. To them, eating is as private and personal a function as, well, going to the bathroom is to us."

"You mean there's not a restaurant in the entire city?” demanded the Injun.

"Actually, there are three, sir,” answered Broussand. “But they're all in the grubbiest section of the city, a section where the Blue Devils rarely go, and they cater to all offworlders, not just humans. I don't think you'd enjoy the experience very much, sir."

"Choose one of the three and let's go. The government will pay for it."

"That might be unwise, sir,” said Broussard hesitantly. “We are not exactly the most popular race on the planet. There was an incident between a human and two Canphorites at one of the restaurants just last week..."

"I can't get the feel of the city by sitting here in the embassy."

"I'll be happy to drive you around and give you a thorough tour, sir."

"And I can't get it from the inside of a vehicle,” continued the Injun. “You don't have to come along if you don't want to. Just tell me how to get to the nearest restaurant."

"I won't let you go alone, and I haven't the authority to prevent you,” said Broussard with a sigh. “So I guess I'll have to accompany you, sir."

"Fine. Let's go."

They left the room, walked down the corridor, took the airlift back down to the foyer, and were soon outside in the incredibly hot air of Hades.

"Is it within walking distance?” asked the Injun. “I feel like getting a little exercise."

"Well, yes and no, sir,” answered Broussard. “It's probably no more than 400 yards away in a straight line. But we'll have to walk for almost a mile to reach it."

"A straight line could get mighty lonely on this planet,” replied the Injun. “Lead the way."

"Let me suggest one last time that I drive you, sir. You're not used to the heat, and it can sap your strength before you know it."

"This is the best way I know to get used to it."

They walked past a large, many-sided building that possessed neither windows nor, apparently, doors, then turned a corner and almost walked through the window of a crafts shop. Seventeen triangles of various woods and metals were on display, and the Injun queried Broussard about them.

"They're not exactly religious symbols,” was the answer. “I mean, they can't be equated with crosses. I suppose they're more of an emblem, they way you might display a flag or wear a military insignia. As near as we can tell, each substance and color denotes a different ethnic group, though I really don't know if the group represents a clan, a business, or even a military unit. But it's the most common symbol on Hades.” Broussard looked up the street, which contained perhaps forty Blue Devils, some walking purposefully, some window-shopping, a few simply standing still for no discernable reason. “You'll see that about half of them have the triangles, sir. Some wear them as pendants, some attach them to their clothing, some simply tie them around an arm or a leg."

The Injun stared at the nearest of the Blue Devils, then shrugged and continued walking. A sickening odor wafted out to him and he peered into the interior of a building, where he saw the corpses of a number of small, six-legged animals hung on what appeared to be meat hooks.

"Slaughterhouse,” explained Broussard. “The Blue Devils like their meat on the high side."

"Stupid place for a slaughterhouse. This looks like a retail area."

"Not really, sir,” said Broussard. “They don't cluster their businesses the way humans do. In fact, if there's any order to the way the city was laid out, I've yet to figure it out."

"Are there any businesses or shops around here that are run by humans?"

"No,” said Broussard. “The law doesn't forbid us to own a business on Hades, but as I said, we're not very popular here, and except for a medical center, no human enterprise has been able to obtain a license. The restaurants are owned by a Canphorite, a Lodinite, and a Mollutei.” He pointed to a spherical structure about one hundred yards away. “That's the medical center over there."

"It's too small for a hospital,” noted the Injun.

"We have our own medical facilities at the embassy, of course, but this is for non-embassy personnel. There are currently less than one thousand Men on Hades; the center is more than capable of handling those problems that arise beyond the embassy compound."

"You sound like you've been there."

Broussard smiled. “Not as a patient, sir. But the young lady I'm seeing is a doctor there."

"I hope my presence isn't damaging your romance."

"This is my job, sir. If I wasn't with you, I'd be escorting someone else."

"Good. I hate feeling guilty."

They continued walking through the tortuously twisting streets, with Broussard pointing out an occasional landmark or point of interest to the Injun, and finally they arrived at the restaurant.