Prophet (27 page)
Authors: Mike Resnick
The men's expression betrayed a certain uneasiness at his notion of justice.
"Your arm is bleeding again, Mr. Lomax,” said the Anointed One, turning to Lomax. “Tend to it, and then join me in the dining room. We have many things to discuss."
"We do, My Lord?"
The Anointed One nodded. “She couldn't protect him. Perhaps she is
not
superhuman after all.” His eyes blazed with passion. “You may soon have your wish, Mr. Lomax."
"My wish?"
"You wish to kill her, do you not?"
"Yes, My Lord,” said Lomax, wondering just what he was getting himself into.
"I think as soon as your arm is healed, I shall give you the opportunity."
"Thank you, My Lord,” said Lomax, bowing and backing out of the room.
And just how do I get out of this one, Iceman?
Lomax returned to his room and noticed that his left arm was indeed throbbing. He went into the bathroom to change the dressing, then reached for his container of pain pills—and stopped.
He closed the door behind him, and performed a thorough, inch by inch survey of the bathroom. Finally, satisfied that there were no security cameras embedded in the walls or ceiling, he took a pill and placed the container in his holster, just beneath his laser pistol.
Then he emerged from the bathroom, walked to the door of the bedroom, and ordered it to open. There were four guards this time, more, he assumed, for his security than because the Anointed One distrusted his motives.
"I've got to go to my ship,” he announced.
"Is something wrong, sir?” asked one of the guards.
"I left the rest of my pills there,” answered Lomax. “Anti-inflammatories and painkillers."
"I can send someone to get them for you, sir,” offered the guard.
Lomax shook his head. “My ship's got a very complex security system. Your man would blow it up the second he tried to open the hatch.” He paused. “Can you get me a ride there? I doubt that I could find it myself."
Which should assuage most of your doubts.
"Certainly, sir,” answered the guard. “Let me just report to the Anointed One and tell him why you'll be late for your meeting."
"Of course,” said Lomax.
The guard walked a few feet away, raised the Anointed One on his communicator, whispered something, listened for a moment, and returned to Lomax.
"It's all arranged, sir,” he announced. “There will be a groundcar waiting for you at the main entrance. The Anointed One requests that you join him for lunch when you return."
"Thank you,” said Lomax, heading off down the corridor.
A moment later he was racing across the hardened surface of the sun-baked desert, wondering what kind of native race had lived in such a place. The spaceport came into view the instant they rounded the huge dune that protected the fortress, but the light and the perspective played tricks with his estimate of the distance involved, and it took the groundcar five minutes longer than he anticipated to reach his ship.
"I'll wait right here for you, sir,” said his driver.
"That won't be necessary,” replied Lomax. “I may be a few minutes."
"Just to get some pills, sir?"
"I want to recharge my laser pistol."
"We have chargers at the fortress, sir."
"I trust my own,” answered Lomax.
The driver shrugged. “Whatever you say, sir."
"It could take half an hour or so, and I don't want either you or the vehicle overheating,” said Lomax. “Why don't you go over to the observation tower and have a cold drink? Keep an eye on the ship; when you see me come out of the hatch, drive by and pick me up."
"Whatever you say, sir,” replied the driver, already uncomfortable as the hot air poured in through Lomax's open door. He sped over to the tower as Lomax opened the hatch of his ship, stepped through, and locked it behind him.
The interior of the ship was excruciatingly hot. He immediately activated the climate control system, and in a short time the temperature dropped down to a comfortable level. He began charging his pistol's powerpack—it wouldn't do to be caught charging it at the fortress that evening—then seated himself at the pilot's chair, activated the radio, masked his signal as best he could, and put through a subspace transmission on the Iceman's private scrambled code.
A moment later a voice, crackling with static, could be heard. “This is the Iceman."
"Lomax here."
"What's happening?"
"The Kid is dead, the Anointed One loves me, and I'm going to cut your arm open the next time I see you."
The Iceman chuckled. “I had to make it believable. I hope I didn't do any permanent damage."
"I'll live,” answered Lomax. “At least, it won't be the arm that kills me,” he amended. “But the Anointed One might, if I give him too many wrong answers."
"Are you in trouble there?” asked the Iceman.
"Not yet, but it could blow at any minute. I'm operating in the dark here. I don't know what you want, and I know just enough about the Prophet so that he thinks I know more."
"I see,” said the Iceman. There was a brief pause in the transmission. “All right. I suppose it's time to move."
"Move where?” asked Lomax.
"Figure of speech,” answered the Iceman. “
I
have to move. You're staying right where you are."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Somehow, you've got to convince the Anointed One to attack a planet called Mozart, and to attack in force."
"Mozart?” repeated Lomax, frowning. “Never heard of it."
"It's the third planet in the Symphony system. Alpha Montana III on your charts."
"What's so special about Mozart?"
"That's where Penelope Bailey is."
"Really, or is that just what we want him to think?"
"She's really there,” said the Iceman.
"And you want him to attack in full force?"
"That's right."
"Does that include nukes and chemicals?"
"Everything he's got,” said the Iceman. “Even anti-matter, if he has any."
"I doubt it,” replied Lomax. “Even so, there won't be much left of Mozart after he hits it."
"Don't kid yourself,” said the Iceman. “He won't be able to harm a hair of her head."
Lomax frowned again. “Then what's this all about?"
"I need to get onto the planet."
"You plan to use a navy of two hundred million men as a
distraction
?” exclaimed Lomax in disbelief.
"In a matter of speaking. They've got to keep her so busy that I can land."
"Just a minute, Iceman,” said Lomax. “If she's what you say she is, she'll know you're going to land. I mean, she can see past the battle, can't she?"
"Of course she can. But she'll be so preoccupied with the immediate threat that she'll have to put me on hold, so to speak, and deal with me later."
"And what happens when she
does
deal with you?"
"That's
my
concern,” said the Iceman. “You just see to it that the Anointed One attacks. You killed the Kid, and he thinks you killed me. Give him a good reason to attack, and he ought to trust you enough to do what you tell him."
"He's not the most trusting soul you'd ever want to meet,” said Lomax dubiously.
"Then think of some reason why he
has
to trust you, and make it stick,” said the Iceman.
"I'll do my best."
"You're best's been good enough so far,” said the Iceman. He paused again. “Oh—I need to know one other thing."
"What is it?"
"Do his ships have any special military insignia? I don't want
them
blowing me to bits before I reach the planet."
"Not to my knowledge,” replied Lomax. He considered the question. “No, I'm sure they don't. When the Democracy thinks you're planning to attack it, you don't advertise your presence by plastering an insignia all over your ships."
"You'd better be right,” said the Iceman.
"If I find out otherwise, I'll try to get word to you,” Lomax promised him. “Does your ship's radio respond to the same scramble code?"
"Yes."
"Good enough. I'll signal you if I'm wrong about the insignia."
"How soon do you think you can get him to attack?” said the Iceman. “You're a lot closer to Mozart than I am. I want to make sure that I don't get there too late."
"He's got his forces spread out all over the Democracy and the Inner Frontier,” said Lomax. “If he gave the word right now, it would probably take them a couple of months to assemble and get into some kind of coherent formation—and he won't think he's got that kind of time.” He paused thoughtfully, then continued. “My guess is he'll pull in whatever he can get from nearby systems—five thousand ships or so, maybe three to five million men—and attack within a week."
"Then I'd better take off in a couple of days and just stay a few systems away until my sensors pick up your fleet."
"Don't be in such a hurry,” said Lomax. “I still have to convince him to attack. It's not as easy as you might think.” He paused. “I'm not as quick as you, Iceman. Every time I start stretching the truth, he starts getting suspicious."
"Then don't tell him a thing,” said the Iceman promptly.
"What are you talking about?"
"Let him discover the truth on his own,” answered the Iceman. “The truth we want him to believe, that is."
Lomax stared at the blank viewscreen above the computer panel, lost in thought.
"Hello?” said the Iceman. “Hello? Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here,” said Lomax.
"You didn't transmit for almost two minutes,” said the Iceman. “I thought I'd lost you."
"I came up with an idea,” said Lomax.
"Oh?"
"I think I can make the Anointed One buy it—but I'm going to need your help."
"I'll help in any way I can,” answered the Iceman. “But don't forget—the Anointed One thinks I'm dead."
"I know,” said Lomax. “Are you recording this transmission?"
"Yes."
"All right.” He rattled off a nine-digit code. “Did you get that?"
"Yeah. What is it?"
"It's a code that will reach a man named Otis Korbekkian on Olympus."
"Okay, what do I do with it?” asked the Iceman.
"Create a phony name and send him a message that can't be traced back to Last Chance or to your ship."
"No problem,” said the Iceman. “What kind of message?"
"Tell him,” said Lomax, barely able to suppress a smile, “that the Prophet's military machine won't be ready for war for another month or two, that she's relatively defenseless on Mozart, and that Korbekkian's assignment is to commission some assassinations, including mine, that will take the Anointed One's attention away from her vulnerability."
"You think that'll do it?” asked the Iceman.
"I think so,” replied Lomax. “He sees conspiracies everywhere, so why not give him one? Korbekkian's just a contact man; there's no reason to assume he won't play both ends against the middle, supplying killers to both sides for a fee.” Lomax paused. “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I think it's just the kind of double-cross the Anointed One will buy. And he if buys
that
, he'll buy the Prophet's being defenseless. It shouldn't take much to convince him to hit her before she builds up her forces.
"How much does he know about her?"
"Not much."
"Enough to know that she hasn't got any forces, or that she doesn't need any?"
"It would be inconceivable to him,” answered Lomax. “Hell, I know all about her, and
I
have a hard time believing it."
"All right,” said the Iceman. “You've had a busy day already, and we don't want to hit the Anointed One with too many things all at once. I'll send the message exactly two Standard days from now."
"Right."
"One word of advice, Gravedancer,” said the Iceman.
"What is it?"
"Somebody always lives to tell the story. If you want it to be you, see to it that you're not in the attack fleet."
The Iceman broke the connection.
The Anointed One was waiting for him when he returned from the spaceport.
He entered the dining room, found a fruit plate already laid out for him, and promptly sat down. He took a long swallow from his water glass, then went to work on some citrus slices.
"Killing people seems to increase your appetite,” remarked the Anointed One dryly.
Lomax smiled and shook his head. “No, My Lord. But being out in that heat makes me want to replenish some fluids."
"Did you remember your salt tablets?"
"No,” said Lomax, surprised. “I totally forgot about them."
"As long as you remain on New Gobi, you must always keep them with you,” said the Anointed One. “You have become one of my most valued men. I should hate to lose you to a case of heat prostration."
"I'd hate it every bit as much, My Lord,” replied Lomax. “I'll make sure I'm not without the tablets again."
"Did you find your medication aboard your ship?” continued the Anointed One.
Lomax nodded. “And I recharged my powerpack."
"I wouldn't have thought your weapon expended that much energy in this morning's altercation."
"It didn't, My Lord,” answered Lomax. “But when you depend on your weapons for a living, you care for them the way a mother cares for her baby.” He forced a smile to his lips. “I can survive forgetting my salt tablets ... but if my weapons ever fail me, I'm not likely to get a second chance."
"Very sensible,” said the Anointed One. “I approve."
Lomax didn't know what to say next, so he fell silent and concentrated on his food.
"Tell me, Mr. Lomax,” said the Anointed One, breaking the silence after a moment, “how do you think the Silicon Kid gained entrance to the fortress?"
"He had to have a confederate on the inside,” lied Lomax promptly.
"That is my conclusion, too. Have you any suggestions concerning whom it might have been?"
Lomax shook his head. “I haven't been here long enough, My Lord.” He paused. “But there's no question in my mind that an organization this size is riddled with traitors and double agents."
