Prophet (14 page)

The bartender nodded, and waddled over with their drinks a moment later.

"Sure I can't interest you in a Dust Devil, or a Blue Giant?” he asked, panting from the effort of walking across the room.

"Just the beers,” said the Iceman, tossing a pair of Maria Theresa dollars on the tray.

"Maybe later,” said the bartender.

"Maybe,” said the Iceman, and the bartender retreated to his station.

"This is some place!” said the Kid, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

"You
like
it here?” asked the Iceman.

"Don't you?"

"The scum of the Inner Frontier, if they sink low enough, eventually wind up on Confucius IV—and the worst of them turn up in Nightmare Alley. If I didn't have business to transact, you couldn't pay me to spend two seconds in this place."

"It's got
atmosphere
,” said the Kid.

"Yeah,” said the Iceman. “Well, if you scrub hard enough in the shower, most of it'll wash off."

"You've got no sense of adventure,” said the Kid with a smile.

"This isn't an adventure, Kid. It's a business, and a deadly one at that."

The Kid lowered his voice. “See that woman at that table over there? The skinny one with the red hair?"

"Yes."

"I think it's Sally the Knife!"

"So what?"

"She's killed 30 men, maybe 35!” said the Kid excitedly.

"I know."

"Do you know her personally? I'd like to meet her."

"Why don't you just walk over and ask for her autograph?” said the Iceman caustically.

"Maybe I will."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"You don't come to the House of Usher to meet starstruck farmboys,” said the Iceman. “You come here to conduct business. That man she's with isn't here just to buy her a drink and talk her into bed—and I don't think he'd appreciate having a stranger come up and start talking.” The Iceman paused. “He might even think you had some notion of blackmailing him once Sally does what he's paying her to do."

The Kid considered the Iceman's statement. “All right,” he said sullenly. “But you don't have to make fun of me."

"Just keep your mind on business,” said the Iceman. “We're here to find out about a woman who destroys entire worlds as easily as Sally slits throats."

They sat in silence for perhaps ten minutes. Then a very small man, his face disfigured by some skin disease that had gone untreated, walked up to them and sat down.

"Word is that you're looking for the Prophet,” he said in a hoarse voice.

"That's right,” said the Iceman.

"What are you paying?"

"Depends what you're selling."

"For three hundred New Stalin rubles, I can put you next to a guy who works for him."

"On this planet?"

"No,” said the man. “But he's not far from here. You can reach him in half a day."

"And when I find out he doesn't exist, or that he's never heard of the Prophet, how long will it take me to find
you
again?” asked the Iceman.

"Are you calling me a liar?” demanded the man heatedly.

"No, just a lousy salesman,” said the Iceman. “Now go away."

"I ain't going anywhere til you pay me something for my time,” said the man.

"Kid,” said the Iceman. “Give him something for his time."

The Kid drew his sonic pistol so fast that even the Iceman, who was expecting it, couldn't follow the motion. A fraction of a second later it was pointed directly at the man's head.

"You want the down payment now or later?” asked the Iceman.

The man glared at him, trying to keep the fear from his face, then muttered a curse under his breath and scuttled off toward the corridor.

"I assume that was what you wanted me to do?” said the Kid.

The Iceman nodded. “But don't shoot anyone unless I tell you to,” he said. “We won't be able to do any business if word gets out that we're killing the customers."

"We don't need customers like him."

"We're passing the word to the dregs of humanity,” replied the Iceman. “Five out of six customers are going to be exactly like him. Offer them enough for a drink and a fix, and they'll swear to anything, sell you any information you're looking for—and be long gone, or dead, by the time you find out they were lying."

"So how will you know who's telling the truth?"

"There are ways,” said the Iceman.

He got to his feet, returned their empty glasses to the bar, and ordered two more beers. Before he could take his first swallow, a well-dressed man with long, flowing golden hair sat down next to him.

"You're the Iceman?” he asked.

"That's right."

"I know a little something about the Prophet."

"What about him?” asked the Iceman.

"First of all, it's a
her
."

The Iceman pulled out a roll of banknotes, peeled one off, and laid it on the table in front of the blond man.

"Keep going,” he said.

"She's on the Inner Frontier,” said the man.

"Where?"

"I'm not sure what world. At various times I've heard she was on Oceana, Port Raven, and Primrose."

The Iceman laid another note on top of the first.

"What's her game?"

"Word is that she's raising an army, that she wants to take over some of the Frontier worlds."

The Iceman didn't pull out a note this time.

"Word is wrong. She doesn't need an army."

"Hey, I'm just telling you what I've heard."

"What else do you know, or think you know, about her?"

"She must have access to some awfully powerful weapons,” said the man. “They say she blew up some alien world."

"Old news,” replied the Iceman, refusing to peel off another note. “You got anything else?"

"That's it,” said the man, picking up the two banknotes.

"Just a minute,” said the Iceman as the man started to get up.

"Yeah?"

"I'll double what you've got if you can give me a name."

"A name?” The man looked puzzled.

"The name of the person who told you the Prophet is a woman."

"Won't do you much good. He's dead."

"I'll pay a hundred credits for the name, anyway."

The man paused and stared at him curiously. “Zanzibar Brooks,” he said at last.

"Who was he?"

"He did a little of everything, you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean,” said the Iceman. “Was there paper on him?"

"Yeah. 50,000 credits, dead or alive.” He paused. “He died in some bar brawl on Port Raven a couple of months ago.” Suddenly he smiled. “If I'd have known it was going to happen, I'd have shot him myself and cashed the reward."

"He actually saw the Prophet?"

"He said he did."

The Iceman gave him a final banknote. “Thanks."

"My pleasure,” said the man. “If you have anything else to ask me, I'll be in one of those rooms down the hall."

He got up and left the table.

"Did you believe him?” asked the Kid.

"He answered the first question right,” said the Iceman. “As for the rest, it's just hearsay—and if there's one thing Penelope Bailey doesn't need, it's an army.” He took a long swallow of his beer. “But if we don't find out anything more, we'll send a message to Port Raven and see if we can learn where this Zanzibar Brooks spent the last year of his life."

Two more men and a woman approached them in the next hour, none of them with anything to sell except sob stories about how they needed the money. The Iceman was about to leave when a tall, lean man entered the room, looked around, and approached his table.

"You're Mendoza?” he asked.

"Right."

"My name's Quinn. Mind if I sit down?"

"Be my guest."

The man named Quinn seated himself. “Who's he?” he asked, gesturing toward the Kid with his head.

"A friend. Anything you have to say, you can say in front of him."

Quinn smiled. “For what you're paying me, I'll say it in front of everyone."

"You don't know what I'm paying you."

"If it's less than five thousand credits, we've got nothing to talk about."

The Iceman stared at him appraising him carefully. “What do you think you know that's worth five thousand credits?"

Quinn leaned back on his chair and smiled confidently. “I know where you can find the Prophet.” He paused. “Are we in business, or do I walk?"

"We're in business,” said the Iceman.

"I haven't seen any money yet."

The Iceman pulled out his roll and counted out five thousand credits, then laid it on the table in front of him.

"Start talking,” he said.

"She's on Mozart."

"Mozart? I never heard of it."

"There's a star in the Terrazane sector called Symphony,” said Quinn. “They named all the planets after composers, even the ones that weren't habitable. Beethoven and Sondheim are gas giants. Mozart is the third planet out from the star."

"What makes you think she's on Mozart?” asked the Iceman.

"Because I've seen her,” said Quinn.

"What does she look like?"

"Blonde, medium height, late twenties, rather pretty actually."

The Iceman shoved the pile of notes over to Quinn.

"What else can you tell me about her?"

"She's one very strange lady, I can tell you that."

The Iceman laid his roll of notes on the table. “Keep talking."

"I work on a cargo ship,” said Quinn. “Two weeks ago we developed engine trouble near the Symphony system and went into orbit around Mozart while we made repairs. Some of us got to spend a day on the planet."

"And?"

"It's not much of a world, just an agricultural colony that supplies food to half a dozen nearby mining worlds. But she rules it as if she were some kind of goddess. I mean, her word is
law
, and God help anyone who disobeys her, who even
thinks
of disobeying her.” He paused. “She must be some kind of mutant or something, because she seems to know what they're thinking even before they do. They've tried to kill her a couple of times, and even though she doesn't have any bodyguards, they've never gotten close to her. I mean, hell, I saw her myself, plain as day, walking through town like she didn't have a care in the world. She never even asked what we were doing there; it was like she already knew."

"How long has she been there?” asked the Iceman.

Quinn shrugged. “Maybe four or five months."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is she on Mozart? What's her purpose there?"

"That'll be another five thousand."

The Iceman counted off the amount, and Quinn grabbed the money greedily.

"She plans to set up her own empire in the Inner Frontier,” said Quinn.

"She told you that?"

"No, but she told someone on Mozart that I spoke to."

"You're sure?"

"I got no reason to lie to you."

"How does she plan to go about it?"

"They say she's pretty tight with a bunch of mercenaries,” replied Quinn. “Maybe she plans to use them and pick up one colony world after another."

"Do you know anything else about her?” asked the Iceman.

"That's it."

"Well, you've been most helpful, Mr. Quinn. Let me buy you a drink before you leave."

"You've done enough for me already,” said Quinn, smiling and holding up the wad of money.

"It's no problem."

"I really have to be going."

"But I insist,” said the Iceman.

"I told you, I have to—"

Suddenly Quinn was looking into the barrel of the Kid's sonic pistol.

"Try to be a little more gracious, Mr. Quinn,” said the Iceman, getting to his feet. “I'll be right back with your drink."

He walked over to the bar, whispered something to the obese bartender, then returned a moment later with a drink.

"Here you are, Mr. Quinn,” he said pleasantly, placing the drink down on the table in front of Quinn.

"If you think you can poison me right here in front of everyone, you should know that I have friends,” said Quinn.

"How very comforting,” said the Iceman. “Now, drink up."

Quinn looked at the Kid's pistol once more, and then, very slowly, he lifted the glass up to his lips.

"Now swallow it,” said the Iceman sternly.

Quinn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and downed the drink in a single gulp. Then he leaned back, half-expecting to die in hideous agony. When nothing happened, he blinked once, then leaned forward, seemed about to say something, and then became almost rigid.

"It's all right, Mr. Quinn,” said the Iceman. “You can hear and understand every word I'm saying. Let me assure you that you have not been poisoned, nor do I intend to rob you. I just want to repeat a couple of my questions.” He paused. “What is the Prophet's purpose on Mozart?"

"I don't know,” murmured Quinn, his words slurred slightly.

"And no one on Mozart told you that she planned to set up her own empire, did they?"

"No."

"But you did see her there?"

"Yes."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Quinn,” said the Iceman. He leaned over and took half of his money back. “You earned the first five thousand credits ... but you really shouldn't be so greedy. I didn't get to be a rich man by paying people to lie to me.” He got to his feet and motioned the Kid to do the same.

"We're going to leave now, Mr. Quinn,” he continued. “Your muscles will respond to your commands in about ten minutes, and you'll suffer no side effects from the drug I had placed in your drink. It's a powder that encourages you to tell the truth, with just enough of a narcotic added so that you should enjoy the next couple of minutes immensely.” He gave the motionless man a friendly pat on the shoulder, and suddenly his voice became low and ominous. “I would strongly suggest that you enjoy your five thousand credits, and that you make no attempt to follow us when you are once more capable of movement."

Then he and the Kid walked back through the labyrinthian corridor and out the main entrance of the House of Usher.

"What do we do now?” asked the Kid, as they began walking down Nightmare Alley.

"Now?” repeated the Iceman. “Now we follow our lead as far as we can. We try to learn a little more about Mozart, and we try to find some more people who have been there and seen the Prophet. Then we try to find out what she's done that has alerted the Anointed One to her presence and made him decide that she presents a greater threat to him than the Democracy does."