Oracle (3 page)
Authors: Mike Resnick
"Why did the Democracy seize her in the first place?” asked Chandler.
"She has a gift—a talent, if you will—that they wanted."
"What was it?"
"She's prescient."
"You mean she can predict the future?"
The Iceman shook his head. “It's not that simple.” He paused. “She can see an almost infinite number of possible futures, and she can manipulate events so that the one most favorable to her comes to pass."
Chandler stared at him for a long moment. “I don't believe it,” he said at last.
"It's the truth. I've seen it in action."
"Then why isn't she Queen of the whole damned universe?"
"When I first met her, she could only see those futures in which she faced imminent danger. By the time we parted, she could see the outcome of everything from poker hands to gunfights, and could manipulate things so they'd come out the way she wanted them to—but she could only see a few hours into the future.” He paused again. “If her power never extended beyond that, she could make herself a very rich, very powerful woman, but in the larger scheme of things she'd be no more than a nuisance."
"But you think her talent has continued to mature,” said Chandler. It was not a question.
"I don't know why it shouldn't have,” replied the Iceman. “It grew more powerful almost daily when I knew her."
"I'm surprised you didn't try to kill her."
"I did.” He patted his prosthetic leg. “This is what I got for my trouble."
Chandler nodded, but said nothing.
"The last time I saw her she was with an alien called the Mock Turtle—I'll swear that's what it looked like—and to the best of my knowledge, no human has seen her since."
"Why an alien?"
"It practically worshipped her, and it seemed convinced that once she developed her powers, she could keep the Democracy from assimilating its world."
"Is the girl on its world?” asked Chandler.
The Iceman shook his head. “No. I've been there twice, and there's no sign of them."
"So that's where you go when you're not on Last Chance,” said Chandler, not at all surprised. “You're hunting for Penelope Bailey."
"It hasn't done any good.” The Iceman grimaced and finished his drink. “If there's someone better equipped to stay hidden than a woman who can see all possible futures, I can't imagine who it is."
"Then how did you find her?” asked Chandler.
"I didn't,” answered the Iceman. “But a week ago I was approached by a woman who represented herself as Penelope's mother. She thinks she knows where the girl is, and she hired me to bring her back."
"Represented herself?” repeated Chandler. “That's a curious choice of words."
"She lied from start to finish."
"What makes you think so?"
"She knew things she had no business knowing."
"Such as?"
"She knew that Penelope escaped with an alien—but only about ten people on a little planet called Killhaven know that. She knew that I've been searching for her—but I've never told that to anyone.” He paused. “She knew that she was looking for the Iceman, and not for Carlos Mendoza."
"She works for the Democracy, of course."
The Iceman nodded in agreement. “Nobody else has the resources to spy on me for fourteen years."
"They've been after her for fourteen years...” began Chandler.
"Sixteen,” interjected the Iceman.
"All right, sixteen. Why have they approached you now?"
"Because they think they've found her."
"That's not good enough,” said Chandler. “Why did they lie to you? Or, better still, if they've found her, why don't they just go in after her themselves?"
"I'm sure they've sent their best people in after her and failed, or else they would never have approached me.” The Iceman suddenly noticed his drink, and finished it with a single swallow. “As for why they sent someone who pretended to be Penelope's mother, it's simple enough: the Inner Frontier doesn't owe any allegiance to the Democracy, and they don't know if I'd be willing to help them. Also,” he added, “I killed some of their bounty hunters fourteen years ago."
"Why did you want to save her from a bunch of bounty hunters?"
"She was never in any danger from them,” answered the Iceman. “I was trying to save another member of her party.” He paused. “It didn't help."
"You make Penelope Bailey sound very formidable,” commented Chandler.
"She is,” the Iceman assured him seriously. “Make no mistake about it."
"Where do they think she is?"
"A planet called Alpha Crepello III, out in the Quinellus Cluster."
"And they're sure it's her?"
The Iceman shook his head. “They think it is; they don't know for sure."
"What makes them think so?"
"There's supposed to be a young human woman there, living among the aliens, who's known as the Oracle."
"And that's it?"
"Probably not,” said the Iceman. He paused. “Almost certainly not. But that's all I've been told."
"That's not much to go on,” said Chandler. “What do you think they've kept back?"
"Probably something about how many men they've sent in and never heard from again. That's the kind of thing that would convince them they're right, and it's also guaranteed to discourage a potential recruit."
Chandler was silent for a long moment. Then he looked across at the Iceman. “I've got a question for you."
"What is it?"
"This little girl cost you a leg, and I gather she killed a friend of yours."
"Indirectly."
"Then why aren't you going after her yourself?"
"I'm a 61-year-old man with a pot belly and an artificial leg,” answered the Iceman. “If it really is Penelope Bailey, I'd be dead before I could get close to her. Maybe I could have done it 20 years ago, but not now.” He looked directly at Chandler. “That's why I've come to you, Whistler—of all the men in this business, you're just about the best. You've infiltrated half a dozen worlds, and you're a better killer than I ever was."
"Can she be killed?"
The Iceman shrugged. “I don't know."
"What kind of money are we talking about here?"
"Half a million up front, another half million when the job is completed."
"Credits?” asked Chandler with a frown.
"Maria Theresa dollars."
Chandler nodded. “Time limit?"
"If you haven't gotten to her in six months’ time, you're never going to reach her."
"What if I come back empty-handed?"
"If you accept the assignment, the front money's yours no matter what happens,” said the Iceman.
"Will Bettina Bailey agree to that?"
"Considering that she's not really Bettina Bailey, I don't see that she has any choice."
"What about expenses?” asked Chandler.
The Iceman chuckled. “Not with a half million up front."
"I may need to hire some help along the way."
"I'd advise against it,” said the Iceman.
"Why?"
"The less attention you attract to yourself, the more likely you are to come out of this alive."
"I may want to hire some men to draw attention away from me."
"That's your privilege.” The Iceman stared at him thoughtfully. “If you're successful and you can prove to me that you needed them, you'll be reimbursed."
Chandler eyed him thoughtfully. “What do you get out of this?"
"Money, satisfaction, revenge—take your choice."
Chandler smiled. “All of the above.” He paused. “Do they speak any Terran on this planet?"
"I don't know ... but according to my star charts, it's got three terraformed moons that are inhabited by humans. They're your logical starting point."
"Why not just approach her directly?"
"If direct approaches worked, the Democracy wouldn't have sought me out,” answered the Iceman. He paused. “Will you take the job?"
Chandler considered the proposition for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I'll take it."
"Good,” said the Iceman. “If it turns out that the Oracle isn't Penelope Bailey, bring her out."
"And if she is Penelope Bailey?"
"Once you know it's her, find a way to get word back to me. There's no way you're going to bring her out if she doesn't want to come, so kill her if you can.” He paused again. “If I don't hear from you in six months, I'll know you're dead."
"You mean you'll assume I'm dead."
"I meant what I said,” replied the Iceman seriously.
The radio beeped to life.
"You are now within the Alpha Crepello system,” said a mechanical voice. “Please identify yourself."
"This is the Gamestalker, Registration Number 237H8J99, eight Galactic Standard days out of The Frenchman's World, Joshua Jeremiah Chandler commanding."
"We have no record of The Frenchman's World, Gamestalker."
"It's the third planet in the Solidad system on the Inner Frontier,” responded Chandler.
There was a brief silence.
"What is your purpose for visiting the Alpha Crepello system, Gamestalker?"
"Business."
"State the nature of your business, please."
"I'm a salesman."
"What do you sell?"
"Rare stamps and coins."
"Have you a confirmed appointment with any inhabitant of the Alpha Crepello system?"
"Yes."
"With whom is your appointment?"
"Carlos Mendoza,” replied Chandler, using the first name that came to mind. “I believe he resides on Alpha Crepello III."
Another silence.
"We have no record of any Carlos Mendoza living on Alpha Crepello III. Is Carlos Mendoza a human?"
"Yes."
"He does not reside on Alpha Crepello III,” said the voice with finality.
"Then perhaps he is merely a visitor,” said Chandler. “All I know is that I was supposed to meet him there."
"The Alpha Crepello system is not a member of the Democracy,” said the voice. “We have no reciprocal trade agreements with the Democracy, we have no military treaties with the Democracy, and we do not recognize Democracy passports. No one may land on Alpha Crepello III without special permission of the government, and this permission is rarely given to members of your race.” There was a brief pause. “You may land on any of Alpha Crepello III's terraformed moons, but if you attempt to land on Alpha Crepello III itself, you will be detained and your ship will be subject to confiscation."
"Thank you,” said Chandler. “Gamestalker over and out."
The Iceman had told him that he wouldn't be allowed to land on the planet itself, so he was neither surprised nor disappointed that permission had been denied him. He sighed, stretched, and stared at his viewscreen.
"Computer,” he said, “bring up holograms, charts and readouts on Alpha Crepello III's terraformed moons."
"Working ... done,” replied his ship's computer.
There were three of them—Port Maracaibo, Port Samarkand, and Port Marrakech. Each had once been rich in fissionable materials, and had been terraformed by the long-defunct Republic almost two millennia ago. The inhabitants of Alpha Crepello III had objected, and the Navy had subdued them in a brief but furious battle. Then, when the Democracy had succeeded the Republic, Alpha Crepello III—which had been dubbed Hades by its human ambassador because of its reddish soil and incredibly hot climate—had declined to remain an active member of the galactic community and had cut all ties with its neighboring worlds as well as with Deluros VIII, the huge, distant world that had become the capital of the race of Man. Since the moons were virtually mined out by that time and Man had more immediate conquests and problems to deal with, Hades had been allowed to go its own way.
The three moons were of little or no use to the residents of Hades, and as the miners left, other Men moved in, men who were seeking worlds that had no official ties with the Democracy. Hades had originally objected, but the prospect of another war convinced them to practice a form of benign neglect toward the moons and their new inhabitants, and over the centuries the moons gradually became a clearing house for black market goods, a sanctuary for human outlaws, a gathering place for mercenaries, and a conduit between the free worlds of the Quinellus Cluster and the regulated worlds of mankind's vast Democracy.
"Computer,” said Chandler, “how many humans reside on each of the terraformed moons?"
"126,214 on Port Maracaibo, 18,755 on Port Samarkand, and 187,440 on Port Marakech,” replied the computer. “These figures are accurate as of the last census, taken seven years ago."
"What form of currency is in use on each of the moons?"
"They accept all forms of human currency that are traded within the Democracy and on the Inner Frontier, plus the currencies of Hades, Canphor VI, Canphor VII, and Lodin XI. The value of each is pegged to the daily exchange rate of the Democracy Credit as determined on Deluros VIII."
"Please give me their climactic and gravitational readouts."
"All three moons were terraformed by the same Republic Pioneer team, and are identical in climate and gravity,” responded the computer. “Gravity is .98% Earth and Deluros Standard, temperature is a constant 22 degrees Celsius by day and 17 degrees Celsius by night, atmosphere is Earth and Deluros VIII normal."
"Do they all have spaceports?"
"They possess spaceports for Class H and smaller ships. Larger ships are required to dock in orbiting hangars."
"There doesn't seem much to choose among them,” remarked Chandler.
It was neither a question nor a command, so the computer did not respond.
"Which one is closest to Hades?"
"Port Marrakech."
"All right,” said Chandler. “Port Marrakech it is."
His landing was uneventful, and shortly thereafter he made his way through the crowded spaceport. He spotted a few faces here and there that he remembered seeing on wanted posters, but he paid them no attention, concentrating only on making his way to the main exit. Once outside, he hailed a groundcar that took him into the heart of the nearby city—as far as he could tell the only city on Port Marrakech. The buildings boasted numerous exotic arches and angles, and most of them had been whitewashed. He was unaware of the genesis of the name “Marrakech", but he assumed that it was a city somewhere in the galaxy that greatly resembled the one in which he now found himself; the architecture was too much of a piece, and too different from the other worlds he had seen, not to have been carefully planned.
