Oracle (27 page)

"The Democracy is paying me a lot of money to save her,” said the Iceman. “That implies someone else spent a lot of money to have her killed. I'd like to know what makes her so valuable. Your claim that she is invulnerable seems like a good place to start."

"Be quiet, Mendoza,” said Praed Tropo. “I find your questions tiring."

"Then why not answer them and I'll shut up?"

"Because it has occurred to me, as it has doubtless occurred to you, that Chandler may have been paid more than ten million credits to assassinate the Oracle. Since you know who hired him, and since greed is the prime motivating force of all Men, I consider it quite likely that you yourself will attempt to kill the Oracle if you feel the opportunity has presented itself."

"But you've already told me it can't be done,” the Iceman pointed out. “Were you lying to me?"

"No,” said Praed Tropo. “But in the process, you could kill some members of my race, and since you landed here on my authority, I would be held responsible for your crimes.” He paused. “Therefore, I will tell you nothing about the Oracle. You are here to apprehend Chandler, and nothing more."

You know, thought the Iceman, when I was younger and stronger, I probably would have tried to cut Chandler out and kill the Oracle myself—if my story had been true. You're too smart again by half, Praed Tropo. If all the Blue Devils are like you, I wonder why your people think they need the Oracle.

"Well, then,” he said aloud, “perhaps you can tell me about her headquarters. What are its dimensions, how many Blue Devils are guarding it, what kind of security systems have been built into it?"

"You will see for yourself when we arrive,” answered Praed Tropo.

"Fine,” said the Iceman with a sigh.

"There is one thing I will tell you now, Mendoza."

"Good. What is it?"

"My race is called the Lorhn,” said Praed Tropo. “We find the term Blue Devils offensive."

"I assure you no offense was intended. I've only heard you referred to as Blue Devils."

"We call you Men, as you prefer, rather than—” it uttered a word that was unpronounceable in Terran. “And we have learned to speak Terran, though it bears no relation to our own language and is painful to our throats.” It paused. “And yet, although the Democracy knows we are the Lorhn, it persists in calling us Blue Devils, and does not teach its diplomats or its operatives our language. Is it any wonder that we have no desire to be assimilated by you?"

"I'm no politician or operative,” said the Iceman. “I'm just a businessman, and from this moment forward I'll be happy to refer to you as Lorhn. If you feel the Democracy has treated your race with disrespect, tell them."

"I have no intercourse with the Democracy, nor do I expect to have any unless they invade us,” said Praed Tropo. “I am telling you, because if you survive I will expect you to relay my message to them."

"Consider it done,” lied the Iceman.

The Blue Devil fell silent again, and the Iceman, totally out of questions, rode in mute discomfort.

After another hour he felt the vehicle turn to the left, and suddenly the sound of the wind was broken by large structures, either buildings or natural formations. Then it began slowing down, and in another mile it stopped.

"We have arrived,” announced Praed Tropo as the windows became transparent once more.

The Iceman's eyes began watering at the broad expanse of sand that reflected the intense sunlight, and it took him almost a minute before he could begin focusing.

The first thing he saw was the building, beautifully camouflaged in a depression beneath a large outcropping of rock. It was a crazily irregular structure, but if a wall with right angles had been built around it, the Iceman estimated that it would be close to 400 feet on a side.

The quartz roof, reflecting a dazzling array of reds, oranges and golds, with blue metal girders supporting it, immediately caught his eye. It seemed much more intricate than necessary, even if it served as a solar energy collector.

He looked for windows and doors, found a few where they shouldn't have been and almost none where he expected them to be, and shrugged. He'd been on enough alien worlds not to try to make sense out of their structures. If they thought a roof should be fifty feet high at one point and ten feet at another, with no rhyme or reason to justify the sudden changes, that was fine by him; all he was concerned about was the woman who resided beneath that roof.

At the far end of the building was a huge triangular door, and after he, Praed Tropo, and the four armed Blue Devils climbed out of the vehicle, the driver started it up again and drove through the doorway into what the Iceman assumed was an enormous garage.

There were eleven Blue Devils pacing the grounds, walking in intricate patterns that seemed totally unrelated to one another. None of them were armed.

"Who are they?” asked the Iceman.

"They are members of the house's staff."

"What are they doing?"

"They are performing their religious rituals,” answered Praed Tropo.

"They make awfully easy targets,” noted the Iceman.

"Then they will join our God that much sooner,” replied the Blue Devil with a shrug.

"And what are these?” asked the Iceman, indicating a number of stone structures scattered around the landscape. “They look rather like fountains."

"What is a fountain?"

The Iceman explained it, and Praed Tropo looked disapproving.

"We have no water to spare for such non-essential purposes."

"Then I repeat: what are they?"

"Monuments, denoting where various Lorhn have fallen in defense of the Oracle.” It paused. “In every case, they were killed by agents of the Democracy."

"Then it would seem that the Democracy has hired me to make amends,” said the Iceman.

"For Men to make amends is contrary to my experience,” said Praed Tropo.

"You've been associating with the wrong Men,” said the Iceman easily.

"I will give you every opportunity to prove me wrong, Mendoza,” answered the Blue Devil. “But I expect that you will prove to be no different from the rest."

"You know, you object to my calling your race Blue Devils, and I'm making an attempt to abide by your wishes,” said the Iceman. “But you keep making generalizations about my race that you know to be false."

"Nothing I have said is false."

"You have stated or implied that Men are not to be trusted, and that we hold your race in contempt."

"That is true."

"You forget the Oracle,” said the Iceman. “She's a member of my race, and yet you trust her."

Praed Tropo stared at the Iceman for a long moment, and then spoke. “I repeat: nothing I have said is false."

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The Iceman was still considering what Praed Tropo had said as they toured the grounds.

"Which way do you think Chandler will approach?” asked the Blue Devil when they had finished their inspection.

The Iceman placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the landscape.

"Difficult to say,” he replied. “I assume the fence on the west side is electrified?"

"Our security system does not use electricity,” answered Praed Tropo. “It is too easy to disable at the source. The fence has a self-generating field that will kill anything that touches it."

"How about that overhang?” asked the Iceman, indicating the huge rock that towered over the house.

"It cannot be scaled."

"Not by a Lorhn, perhaps—but it wouldn't be that difficult for a human."

"Could you scale it?” asked Praed Tropo skeptically.

The Iceman smiled and shook his head. “No ... but I've got a prosthetic leg, and I've never really learned to use it properly; there's some nerve damage to my hip. Twenty years ago I could have climbed it with no trouble."

"I shall deploy forces to guard all approaches to the overhang,” said Praed Tropo after some thought.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

"Why not?” asked the Blue Devil suspiciously.

"You're not dealing with an amateur here,” replied the Iceman. “He'll spot anyone you post there, and he won't try to come into the compound—and if he doesn't come in, then there's no way I can contact him."

"You are certain?"

"The only way he'll enter the compound under those circumstances is if he kills every Lorhn you post there—and it's my understanding that that's what you've brought me here to prevent."

"That is true,” admitted Praed Tropo. “But if we follow this philosophy throughout our defenses, it is almost certain that Chandler will at least reach the spot where we are standing without being apprehended."

"That's the whole purpose of the exercise,” answered the Iceman. “We've got to entice him to breech your defenses or I won't be able to identify him and warn him off."

"And what if you can't warn him off?” asked Praed Tropo. “What if, having come this far, he elects to kill you?"

"He has no reason to kill me."

"Men lie to each other all the time. Why should he believe what you tell him?"

"Because he knows me."

"That is an inadequate answer."

"I'm sorry, because it's the best answer you're going to get,” replied the Iceman. “Besides, what difference does it make to you if he kills me or not? You insist that no one can kill the Oracle. At least this way you'll know where he is, and you can make sure he doesn't get out."

Praed Tropo was silent for a moment. “Logical,” it said at last.

"I'm glad we agree on something,” said the Iceman.

"What do you suggest for the rest of the perimeter?” asked the Blue Devil. “It is possible to deactivate the fences."

"Not a good idea,” answered the Iceman. “We want to pick and choose his approaches. If you just let him come in at random, I might never see him."

Praed Tropo stared at him, a strange expression on its face.

"Is something wrong?” asked the Iceman.

"No,” answered the Blue Devil. “You are acting out your part very well."

"I'm not acting any part,” protested the Iceman irritably. “I'm trying to earn my commission."

"I still do not trust you, Mendoza,” said Praed Tropo. “But you have been very careful not to make a mistake. If you had suggested that we deactivate the fence, I would know you were an agent for the assassin, and I would have immediately imprisoned you.” It paused. “I will continue to work with you, but sooner or later I expect you to make an error, and I will be waiting for it."

"You are doomed to be disappointed,” said the Iceman.

"I have always expected the worst from Men,” answered Praed Tropo. “And I have never yet been disappointed."

"If you're going to continue telling me what a treacherous race I belong to, can we at least walk over to some shade?” asked the Iceman. “If I stand out here much longer, I may not live long enough to prove to you that I'm telling the truth."

Praed Tropo led him to a bizarrely-shaped lean-to that seemed to have no purpose except to provide shade to anyone who was willing to bend over at the waist.

"Aren't you uncomfortable?” asked the Iceman, staring at the slightly taller Blue Devil.

"You asked for shade. I have provided it."

"This is getting ridiculous,” said the Iceman. “Your furniture and vehicles are bad enough, but if I'm going to roast to death, I don't see why I have to do it while I'm bent in half."

"You should have considered that before accepting an assignment on Alpha Crepello III,” replied Praed Tropo, stepping back out into the sunlight.

"Look,” said the Iceman, also stepping out from under the lean-to and straightening up painfully, “I know that you enjoy my discomfort, but my race wasn't built for this kind of heat, and I'm a very old man. You're going to have to provide me with some comfortable shade—and I emphasize the word comfortable—if I'm to stay outside and wait for Chandler to show up."

"He will almost certainly arrive under cover of darkness,” answered Praed Tropo. “Our nights are quite cool."

"I experienced one of your nights, thanks. They're only cool if you're a Lorhn.” The Iceman paused. “Do you know what an umbrella is?"

"No."

"I'll draw one for you,” said the Iceman. “I want one of your Lorhn to construct one for me. And I'll need plenty of water."

"Water is very rare on Alpha Crepello III."

"Not as rare as assassins,” shot back the Iceman. “If you want me to stop him, you've got to keep me alive until he shows up."

Praed Tropo seemed to consider his request. “I will see what can be done,” it said at last.

"Good."

Praed Tropo stared at him for a moment. “You have not yet inspected the entrances to the property which are used by vehicles,” it said, indicating two driveways. “Do you feel strong enough to inspect them?"

"Let's get it over with,” said the Iceman. They had checked the first of them and were walking to the second when the Iceman suddenly stopped, overcome by dizziness.

"What is the matter, Mendoza?” asked Praed Tropo.

"Heat prostration, I think,” mumbled the Iceman. “I've got to get out of the sun."

"How does one treat heat prostration in a human?"

"I don't know,” said the Iceman, grabbing Praed Tropo's arm for support. “I've never had it before. Get me to someplace cool, and if I pass out, find a way to get some fluids in me. Just water; I don't think my system can take anything the Lorhn drink."

Praed Tropo summoned two other Blue Devils. The Iceman's last memory was of being half-carried and half-dragged into the foyer of the huge building.

Then he lost consciousness.

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When he awoke, he was laying on the floor of a small cubicle, next to an oddly-shaped cot. Even in his weakened, dehydrated condition, he had evidently decided that the floor was more comfortable.

He stood up, leaned against a stone wall for support, and surveyed his surroundings. The cubicle was perhaps eight feet on a side, just enough for the cot, a small, multi-leveled table, and an intercom holoscreen. There was a container of water on the table. He immediately picked it up, spent almost a minute figuring out how to open it, and then took two long swallows. It was warm, and there were small things floating in it, things that he didn't want to think about, but it tasted like heaven.