Oracle (7 page)

"Who knows?” replied Gin. “I don't pay much attention to politics."

"Politics?"

"Well, maybe it's not politics. But whatever it is, it doesn't concern the three Ports, and if they leave us alone, that's good enough for me."

"It's interesting, though,” said Chandler, “a woman living down there. Why do they call her the Oracle? Has she got a real name?"

"You got me,” said Gin.

"Could you find out?"

"I dunno. I never thought much about it.” Gin paused. “It wouldn't do you much good, though."

"Why not?"

"First, because you aren't allowed to land on Hades. Second, the Oracle and the Blue Devils leave us alone. And third, because every now and then someone shows up on one of the Ports and starts asking too many questions about her, and then one day he just isn't around any more. So, since you like being alive and I like being employed, let's concentrate on the Surgeon's client list."

"Find out what you can, anyway."

"Why are you so interested in her?” asked Gin.

"I never met an Oracle before. Maybe she could tell me what numbers to bet on next time I play roulette."

"You can make a lot more money just doing what you do best, and you don't have to risk your life trying to meet her."

"Are you telling me that the Oracle kills people?"

"Whistler, I don't know anything for sure about the Oracle,” said Gin in exasperation. “But I know the Blue Devils will kill you if you try to land on Hades without their permission."

"Sounds like the Democracy ought to move in,” suggested Chandler.

"We keep waiting for them to, but so far they haven't shown any interest in it.” He paused. “Now, can we let the subject drop?"

"You look nervous."

"People who talk about the Oracle have this habit of disappearing,” answered Gin. “Me, I like it here."

Chandler shrugged. “What the hell, I was just curious. It's time to consider more important things."

"Such as?"

"Such as dinner. Give me a chance to change, and then I want you to take me to the best restaurant in town. We'll add it to Mr. Tripoli's bill."

"Have you heard from him?"

"I will,” replied Chandler confidently. “He has work to be done, and I've already proven to him that I'm better at it than the Surgeon.” He walked to the airlift. “I'll be back down in about twenty minutes."

He went to his room, took a quick Dryshower, shaved, and dressed in a semi-formal dark gray outfit that had been specially tailored to hide the bulk of three handguns—one sonic, one laser, and one projectile. Then, feeling somewhat refreshed and quite hungry, he left his room, strode to the airlift, and floated gently down to the lobby.

"Well?” he said, walking up to Gin. “Where are we going?"

"You're going to the Green Diamond,” said Gin. “I'm taking my budget and my wardrobe to a place that's more to my taste.” He paused. “I can supply you a companion, if you'd like."

"Some other time."

Gin shrugged and led the way to the landcar and drove through the early evening traffic.

"This looks familiar,” remarked Chandler as they began entering a seedy-looking area. “Isn't this the Platinum Quarter?"

"Not bad for a guy who's only been here once,” answered Gin.

"Are you sure we're going to the best restaurant in the city?” continued Chandler dubiously.

"It's a private club,” said Gin. “Don't pay any attention to the exterior; they don't want people wandering in off the street."

"How am I going to get in if it's private?"

Gin smiled. “Word about this morning has gotten out. You won't have any trouble."

"You'd better be right,” said Chandler. “I don't like making a fool of myself."

"Trust me,” said Gin, pulling up to a dilapidated building. The windows were boarded up, the walls badly needed a coat of whitewash, and the door was one of the few on the block that didn't boast intricate carvings. “Well, here you are."

"You're kidding, right?” said Chandler.

"This is the Green Diamond, Whistler. Just walk up to the door."

"No password, no secret knock?"

"Look, if you don't want to eat here, just say so and I'll take you somewhere else."

"No,” said Chandler. “We're here and I'm hungry."

He got out of the vehicle and walked up to the door, then turned to Gin. “Be back in two hours."

"Right,” said Gin. “If you finish early, I'll be at the Wolfman's. It's about two blocks north of here."

The landcar pulled away, and Chandler turned back to the door. Now that he was closer he could see that there was a very intricate computer lock on it, and he spotted a pair of holo cameras concealed in the shadows.

He waited for almost thirty seconds, then was about to knock on the door when the lock clicked and the door slid silently into a wall. A short, dapper man, clad in green, was standing a few feet from him in a diamond-shaped foyer.

"Good evening, Mr. Chandler,” he said smoothly. “Are you here for dinner or entertainment?"

"First one, then the other,” replied Chandler, entering the building as the door slid shut behind him.

"Your table is ready for you,” said the man, turning and walking toward a large, crowded room.

"Just a minute,” said Chandler.

"Yes?” said the man, stopping instantly.

"How did you know I'd be here tonight?"

"I didn't."

"Then why is there a table for me?"

"Every diner has his own private table,” explained the man. “This one belonged to your ... ah..."—he searched awkwardly for the word—"predecessor. No one else may use it."

"I see,” said Chandler. “And your name is...?"

"Charles."

"All right, Charles. Lead the way."

"Thank you, sir,” said Charles, starting off once again.

He led Chandler into a large room with a shining green floor and a prismatic ceiling that separated an artificial light from an unseen source into a variety of muted hues. The ceiling was some twenty feet high, and domed at the top, but the room was divided into some forty diamond-shaped alcoves, each with walls ten feet in height. There were artificial green diamonds everywhere—on the walls, sunken into the floor, on the waiters’ and waitresses’ elegant uniforms—and in the center of the room was a large, diamond-shaped fountain.

Charles led Chandler to an alcove, and suddenly the impression was one of intimacy rather than vastness. Chandler settled back on an expensively-upholstered booth, and a moment later a waiter approached him and rattled off the evening's menu.

Chandler ordered a salad composed of vegetables grown on Port Samarkand, and a mutated shellfish in a cream sauce.

"Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “Would you care to start with a fine Alphard brandy? We just received a new shipment this morning."

"Later."

"As you wish, sir."

"By the way, is Mr. Tripoli here?"

"No, sir."

"If he should come in, please tell him I'm here."

"Yes, sir."

"And if anyone else is looking for me, let me know."

The waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving Chandler to admire that portion of the room he could see from his alcove. A string quartet, which had been on their break, came out, stood beside the fountain, and began playing soothing if not brilliant music, and a blonde waitress stopped by his table carrying a hors d'ouevre tray. He looked at the various selections, chose one, and a moment later his salad arrived.

He stared idly at the plate for a moment, trying to identify the various alien vegetables—and then he saw it. Maybe it was the light, maybe it was the texture of the vegetables, maybe it was simply the angle, but suddenly he saw the artificial light reflecting off something bright.

He picked up a fork and dabbed at it gingerly, then lifted it very slowly and brought it closer to his eye.

It was a tiny fragment of glass.

He moved a greenish leaf with his fork, then found another piece, and yet another.

He sat perfectly still, staring at the plate while he tried to sort things out in his mind.

Somebody had known he would be in the Green Diamond on this precise evening. Even Gin hadn't known where they were going until he had come back from the police station. Of course, the driver had had time to tell someone while Chandler was showering and dressing, but he doubted it; if he survived, Gin had to know that he was going to have to answer some difficult questions, and he'd already seen Chandler in action.

That meant someone else knew—someone who didn't have to be told where he would be dining, who simply knew.

And that meant that the Oracle was indeed Penelope Bailey.

The next question was more difficult: why did his would-be murderer use ground glass, when a poison would never have been spotted? If the Oracle had foreseen that he would be here, then she must have foreseen that he would spot the fragments of glass. Was this just a warning—or was there some limit to her abilities? The Iceman had said that even as a little girl, with her powers not fully developed, she could foresee potential threats to herself; surely he was more of a threat alive than dead. So was he being manipulated, or had she simply proven to be fallible?

He didn't have enough information to answer the question, so he let it pass and moved on to the next one: somebody within the Green Diamond had tried to kill him. Who?

He stared at Charles, who was escorting an elderly couple to their table about forty feet away. It was a possibility. He looked for his waiter, but couldn't spot him. Another possibility. But somehow he didn't believe it: ground glass wouldn't kill him instantly, and his reputation had preceded him here. They would have to know he'd live long enough to take them both out before the glass ripped his insides enough to totally disable him.

Then who? He thought about it for another moment, then signaled to Charles.

"Yes, Mr. Chandler?” said Charles, approaching his table.

"I'd like to see your kitchen,” he said.

"Certainly, Mr. Chandler. We're quite proud of our operation. If you'll come back tomorrow morning, I shall be happy to give you a tour."

"I'd like to see it right now."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question, Mr. Chandler,” answered Charles. “This is our busiest time of the day."

"That wasn't a request, Charles,” said Chandler.

Charles blinked at Chandler as his hand went meaningfully into a pocket.

"You're quite certain, Mr. Chandler?” he said, flustered.

"Quite."

"Might I ask why?"

"You might,” answered Chandler. “But it wouldn't do you any good.” He got to his feet. “Let's go."

"Please make no sudden or threatening movements,” said Charles. “We don't wish to alarm our members."

"Follow your own advice and we won't have any problems,” said Chandler.

Charles turned and headed off toward a short but broad corridor that led to the kitchen, then stopped before a door.

"Do you wish me to enter with you, Mr. Chandler?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

Charles turned and began walking away.

"And Charles?” Chandler called after him.

"Yes, Mr. Chandler?"

"Would I be correct in assuming that you plan to immediately summon either the police or a bouncer?"

"Absolutely not, Mr. Chandler."

"You're a lousy liar, Charles,” said Chandler. “But there are two things you should know."

"Sir?"

"If you send a bouncer after me, I'll kill him. And if you call the police, I'll charge the Green Diamond with attempted murder."

"I beg your pardon?” said Charles, genuinely surprised.

"Someone put a little something extra in my salad, Charles,” said Chandler. “If you don't want to call attention to yourself, just leave my plate where it is."

Charles stared at him for a long moment, then turned and walked back into the dining room.

As Chandler approached the door, it instantly slid back, revealing the interior of the kitchen to him. There were numerous stoves, grills, ranges, freezers, and refrigerators, and some six men and women and two Lodinites, all dressed in light green, were carefully tending the food, arranging it artistically on dishes, or setting it carefully onto trays for the waiters who kept brushing past him. None of them paid him the least attention.

Then he saw what he expected to see.

A man and a Blue Devil entered from an alcove, each bearing half a dozen salads. The man noticed Chandler, stared curiously at him for an instant, then shrugged and continued walking toward a large counter.

The Blue Devil took one look at Chandler, dropped its tray to the floor, and ran back into the alcove.

Chandler raced across the kitchen, ignoring the yells and protests from the staff, and entered the alcove. The alien wasn't there, but a door was just snapping shut, and as Chandler headed toward it the door slid open again.

He found himself in a dank, dimly-lit alley behind the building, and the Blue Devil was just disappearing around a corner. He immediately gave chase, and within a block had narrowed the gap between them from eighty yards to no more than forty.

Then the Blue Devil ducked around another corner. Chandler followed it, and suddenly found himself in a dead end, facing the wall of a large building with the Blue Devil nowhere in sight.

He came to a stop, withdrew his sonic pistol, and surveyed his surroundings. The alley led to a solid wall some twenty yards away, and there were no doors on any of the buildings. He looked up; there were no windows within reach. He walked along each wall; there were no alcoves where anything the size of a man or a Blue Devil could hide.

He walked back along the buildings that led to the dead end and stood there, trying to figure out where the Blue Devil could have hidden in the five seconds it had before he had turned the corner.

And then, as Port Samarkand moved overhead and cast its light down into the alley, he saw a manhole cover about ten feet away.

The Blue Devil couldn't have pulled it up and entered the manhole in five seconds ... but if he had been prepared for this eventuality, if he had left the manhole uncovered and programmed it to close as soon as he plunged into it, he would have just enough time to vanish before Chandler came into view.