Prophet (22 page)

"Not without cause,” noted the Kid. “You really did a job on them last night."

"Only because the Anointed One has decreed that I must die.” She smiled bitterly. “The Anointed One, whom I have never met, never challenged, never opposed. He was well on his way to attacking the Democracy, but then he somehow heard of my powers and instead he has decided to make war on me instead of upon the navy. The Iceman, who knows he cannot possibly hinder me, nonetheless pays you to spy on me. The Black Death, who knew what happens to those who are disloyal to me, died rather than stay and continue working for me.” She paused and sighed. “I always knew he would."

"If you knew he was going to be disloyal, why didn't you get rid of him sooner?"

"As I told you, he had a function to perform."

"To die in Minuet?"

"To provide you with the opportunity to prove your fidelity to me,” she said. “It was imperative that you be presented with a situation where you would surely die if you did not trust in my powers and yield to my authority."

"Why?” asked the Kid. “You had Mboya already."

She shook her head. “He was destined to desert me."

"How do you know I won't?"

"Because you are selfish enough and greedy enough and immoral enough to realize that your best interest lies in total fealty to me,” she replied.

"I don't know that I especially like that assessment of me,” said the Kid.

"The question is not whether you like it,” replied Penelope, “but whether it is true.” She paused. “You have made only two friends on the Inner Frontier—Felix Lomax and Carlos Mendoza—and yet here you are, working for me and prepared to betray both of them."

"What do you know about the Gravedancer?” demanded the Kid, surprised.

"Do you think I am without my spies and my informants, or that you can keep any secrets from me?” she asked with an amused smile. “Do not try to change the subject, Fido: have you deserted them or not?"

"My name's the Silicon Kid."

"Your name is whatever I choose it to be,” answered Penelope. “Just as your destiny is."

"Speaking of destinies, there are a lot of people who would pay a hell of a lot of money to know what yours is."

She looked out at the pond.

"I know what it
should
be, but there are still too many variables, too many intangibles, in the equation.” She turned to stare at him. “That is why you are here."

"What do you expect me to do?” asked the Kid.

"I have many tasks for you,” said Penelope. “If you succeed at them, you will be handsomely rewarded. If you fail, you will surely die."

The Kid looked unimpressed. “This is silly,” he said. “Why don't you just read the future and tell me what I have to do in order to succeed?"

She shook her head and looked back at the pond. “That presupposes that there is only one future,” she answered. “And as I have explained to you before, there are more futures than there are grains of sand on a beach. I cannot yet see them all with equal clarity."

The Kid sat down on a couch and stretched his arms along the top of it. “All right,” he said. “Just what is it that you want me to do next?"

She turned to him, but again he got the distinct impression that she was looking past or through him, into the future.

"You will kill Moses Mohammed Christ, who calls himself the Anointed One."

"Just like that?” asked the Kid with a smile. “He's probably better protected than the Secretary of the Democracy—and he's certain to be awfully well-hidden."

"I know where he is."

"How many bodyguards has he got?"

She shrugged. “It makes no difference,” she said. “His bodyguards, with one exception, will cause you no problems."

"Who's the one who
will
cause me a problems?"

"Felix Lomax."

"The Gravedancer?” said the Kid. “What trouble can he cause? Hell, he still thinks I'm working for him and the Iceman."

"He will know."

"Not unless you tell him, he won't,” said the Kid confidently. “Or are you saying that he's a telepath, too?"

"Neither he nor I are telepaths,” answered Penelope. “But on the other hand, neither of us are fools. He will see you there and he will deduce the reason for your presence."

The Kid considered her statement, then shrugged. “Then I'll kill him."

"He will not be as easy to kill as you seem to think,” she said.

"I killed Mboya, didn't I?"

"I was there to help you."

"You didn't lift a finger,” he said. “I killed him on my own."

"I did not lift a finger?” she repeated with a smile. “Why do you suppose his pistol failed to function?"

"Well, after that,” said the Kid uneasily.

"You really believe that, don't you?” she said with a sigh. “You are a fool, Fido."

"I told you not to call me that!” he snapped.

She looked amused. “Do you think to frighten me? Or do you think that I will be as easy to kill as The Black Death was?"

He glared sullenly at her, but said nothing.

"I admire a show of spirit in any young animal, even a young man,” she continued. “But if you direct it at me again, I will have to discipline you. There are men out there—many men—who need killing. You must learn to focus your rage.” She paused. “You must also learn that being young and strong and fast, and even unafraid, is not enough when you face an opponent such as Felix Lomax."

"Come on,” he said, unimpressed. “If I get in any trouble, you'll just do whatever you did with Mboya, and that'll be that. Why are you trying to make this seem more dangerous or difficult than it is?"

"You will be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of light years away from me,” she answered. “I cannot control events that precisely from so great a distance. If I could, I wouldn't need you."

"I can do it without you,” he said confidently.

"If it was an impossible task, I wouldn't send you,” she said. “I detest waste."

"Well, then?"

"I know that you
can
kill the Anointed One. I do not know if you
will
kill him."

"Thanks for your confidence,” he said sardonically.

"There are many futures in which you kill him, and in some you kill Felix Lomax as well. But there are an almost equal number of futures in which you lie dead at Lomax's feet."

"None of those are going to come to pass."

"I hope not, but I do not know."

"
I
know,” said the Kid. He paused. “Once I take care of the Gravedancer and the Anointed One, maybe I'll go after the Iceman."

She shook her head. “He is the only man that I have ever feared. You cannot kill him."

"He's an old man who lets other people do his fighting for him."

"You will not oppose him, now or ever,” she said.

"But I can take him."

"He was responsible for the death of the only person I ever cared for,” she said so softly that the Kid had difficulty making out the words. “He is the man who convinced the Democracy to try to kill me.” She paused as the memories came flooding back. “He is the reason I remained imprisoned on Hades after I had manipulated events to arrange my escape. Whenever I have been made to suffer—and I have suffered much, believe me—he has been the cause of it."

"All the more reason for me to kill him."

And for the first time since he had known her, the emotionless mask dropped from Penelope's face. She turned away from the window to face him, and her eyes shone with a terrifying hatred.

"He is
mine
!” she whispered.

The Kid left Mozart six hours later. As his ship broke out of orbit, he was still contemplating the almost tangible fury in Penelope's voice, and feeling very relieved that all he had to do was face the best killer and the most powerful fanatic in the galaxy. He did not envy the Iceman.

And far behind him, Penelope Bailey hugged her doll to her bosom and wondered what her life might have been like had she been an ordinary woman. Then she realized that for the first time in many years she was crying. She wiped the tears off her cheeks, put all thought of the way things might have been out of her mind, and went back to sorting out the various futures that confronted her.

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Felix Lomax awoke with a start when the ship signaled him that he had an incoming message. He sat erect, blinked his eyes very rapidly for a moment, then instructed the screen to activate.

A holograph of Otis Korbekkian, with Mt. Olympus clearly visible through the window behind his desk, instantly appeared.

"Good morning, Gravedancer,” he said. “It took me a while to track you down."

Lomax shrugged. “The Iceman keeps moving. I missed him on Sweetwater, and again on Confucius VI.” He paused. “He's not doing much to cover his trail. I'll catch up with him sooner or later."

"Sooner,” said Korbekkian. “I just got word that he's finally returned to Last Chance."

"You're sure?"

"My source claims to have seen him."

"I notice your source didn't feel compelled to go up against him,” noted Lomax caustically.

"The Anointed One has given you the commission. No one else in our organization will try to kill him unless you fail."

"I won't fail,” said Lomax. “Just have the second half of the money ready to deposit in my account next time you hear from me."

"We have an agreement. We shall not renege on it."

"See to it that you don't."

Lomax broke the connection and directed his navigational computer to lay in a course for Last Chance, far into the Inner Frontier. Then he unstrapped himself from his seat, made his way through the cramped quarters to the lavatory, shaved and took a quick dryshower, and emerged feeling somewhat refreshed. He selected a few mutated fruits from the galley, ordered the computer to brew a pot of coffee, and sat down to eat the skinless oranges and sweetlemons.

It had been a dull two weeks since he had met the Anointed One. He had no intention of finding the Iceman where anyone loyal to his new employer might chance to see them, and so he had purposely gone off on false trails, and had made sure he hit Sweetwater and Confucius long after his prey had gone. He didn't dare raise the Iceman on subspace radio to relay his findings, since he couldn't know whether the men operating the various sending stations were in league with the Anointed One, so he had simply bided his time, waiting for the Iceman to return to his home world.

In the process, he had learned even more about the extent of the Anointed One's empire, enough to conclude that Moses Mohammed Christ did in fact pose a serious threat to all those worlds on the outskirts of the Democracy and possibly to the entire Inner Frontier as well. He may have held his legions together through the religion he had invented, but he was anything but a simple fanatic. His organization was structured along military lines, and functioned with clocklike precision. Every man knew his position, knew who he must report to, knew what was expected of him. Their financing was quite sophisticated: the Anointed One floated the bulk of his principal on a four-world circuit during the course of a Galactic Standard day, drawing interest at each bank during that bank's operating hours before transferring it to the next.

They were ready for the unexpected, as well. Take that fire-bombing or whatever it was of the churches. By the next morning the Anointed One had a list of every damaged building, every lost member of his organization, every police report concerning what might have happened and who might have been responsible. Monies were dispersed, auxiliary plans were brought to bear, and the organization barely missed a beat.

As for the Anointed One himself, Lomax had the feeling that if he were just one whit more cynical or untrusting, he'd have had the perfect temperament for a gunfighter. He had met with him twice now, and he still didn't know if he was dealing with a religious fanatic, a masterful politician, a superior tactician, or a combination of all three.

Lomax finished his meal, got his coffee, and walked back to the cockpit. It was perhaps the most uncomfortable section of the ship, but for some reason he preferred sitting up there. It wasn't as if he couldn't control the ship—and even its weaponry—by voice from his bunk, or couldn't direct the computer to display a hologram of the viewscreen anywhere within the body of the ship ... but for some reason, he tended to read, nap, and drink in the pilot's chair. It made him feel closer to the action, even though he knew that was a false premise and that, indeed, there was no action to be had.

So he loafed, and read, and slept, and thought, and two days later the computer announced that he had reached his destination and was entering orbit around Last Chance. He requested permission to land, received the necessary coordinates, and touched down some twenty minutes later.

He walked the dusty mile from the spaceport to The End of the Line, then entered it and looked around for the Iceman, who was sitting alone at a table near the doorway, a tall drink in his hand.

Lomax approached him, holding his hands in plain view, just in case the Iceman either hadn't received his message or, more likely, hadn't believed it.

"Good afternoon, Gravedancer,” said the Iceman with a smile.

"Good afternoon,” replied Lomax. “May I sit down?"

"Of course. Care for something cold to drink?"

"A beer would be nice."

The Iceman signaled to one of the bartenders, who immediately brought over a tall glass of beer.

"Thanks,” said Lomax, taking a long swallow. “You know, someday you really ought to consider paving your streets."

"And stop all my customers from arriving with a killing thirst?” chuckled the Iceman. “Don't be silly.” The smile vanished. “And don't drop your hands below the top of the table until we're through talking."

"Didn't the Kid reach you?” asked Lomax.

"Yes."

"Then you got my message."

"I did,” said the Iceman. “The question is: do I believe it?"

"Well, do you?"

"Probably. But let's talk anyway."

"Suits me,” said Lomax. “Where's the Kid? Did you send him packing?"