Prophet (15 page)

"
If
she does,” the Kid corrected him.

"Oh, she does, all right,” said the Iceman with absolute conviction. “I'm just surprised that he's figured it out."

"And once we do all that,” said the Kid, “
then
we go to Mozart?"

"One of us does,” answered the Iceman.

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The Iceman remained on Confucius IV for another day, but could learn nothing further about the Prophet. However, the Silicon Kid managed to learn a little something about the Iceman.

They were sitting in the lobby of their pagoda-like hotel, having breakfast prior to going to the spaceport, when Quinn entered the building, walked across the lobby, and confronted them.

"I see you're feeling better,” said the Iceman pleasantly.

"You son of a bitch!” snarled Quinn, attracting considerable attention from the other diners. “You doped me up and took my money!"

"You sold information you didn't have,” answered the Iceman. “That made it
my
money."

"It's mine, and I'm here to take it back! If I have to kill you for it, I will!"

The Kid tensed, but the Iceman leaned over and laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"The man means business,” he said. “We'd better give him what he wants."

"But—” began the Kid.

"It's just money,” said the Iceman. “It's not worth dying for."

He reached into the pocket where he kept his roll of bills while Quinn watched him intently. Then he calmly pulled out a small pistol and fired it, point-blank, between Quinn's eyes. Two women shrieked and a waiter dropped his tray. The tall man was dead before he hit the ground.

"I told you it wasn't worth dying for,” said the Iceman to the corpse.

"You killed him!” said the Kid.

"I sure as hell hope so."

"You didn't even give him a chance."

"You think this is some kind of a game?” said the Iceman irritably. “We don't play by any rules out here.” He paused. “The man came here to rob me or kill me. Maybe you think I should have waited for him to draw his weapon?"

The Kid made no reply, and the Iceman got to his feet as the manager and two security guards approached him.

"Everyone in the restaurant was a witness,” said the Iceman. “He threatened to kill me."

"He threatened to kill you if you didn't give him your money,” said a man at the next table.

"Same thing,” said the Iceman. “I didn't come here to be robbed at gunpoint."

"His gun's still in its holster,” noted the manager.

The Iceman shrugged. “He was a lousy robber."

"We've got the whole thing on holotape,” said one of the security guards. “If it happened the way you said, you don't have any problem."

"I never did,” replied the Iceman, and somehow the Kid knew that he was right,

Two policemen entered the hotel a moment later and walked over to the crowd that was clustered around Quinn's body, then listened as the Iceman repeated his story.

"Sounds good to me,” said one of them. “You want to come down to headquarters and make a statement?"

"I'll make it right here,” said the Iceman. “The man was a fool. He paid for his foolishness."

"That wasn't the kind of statement I had in mind,” said the officer with a smile.

"It's the only one I care to make,” replied the Iceman. “Can you check the holotape this morning? My associate and I plan to leave Confucius this afternoon."

The officer stared at him intently. “You're Carlos Mendoza, aren't you?"

"Yes."

The officer nodded. “I thought so,” he said. “If you say it was self-defense, that's good enough for me. You're free on your own recognizance, and we'll view the tape before noon. If it supports your story, you'll be free to leave on schedule."

"Fair enough,” said the Iceman.

The holotape verified the Iceman's account of the incident, and they took off in early afternoon.

"Now I know why they call you the Iceman,” remarked the Kid, as they left Confucius far behind them.

"Oh?"

"You're as cold and emotionless as you say Penelope Bailey is,” said the Kid. “I'm not saying that's a bad way to be,” he added hastily. “Out here it's probably a survival trait.” He paused. “You must have been one hell of a dangerous man when you were younger."

"I'm more dangerous now."

The Kid stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “If you say so.” He paused. “By the way, a lot of people on Confucius seemed to know you."

"I've done business there before."

"They all called you Mendoza rather than the Iceman,” continued the Kid. “Why?"

"Nicknames come and go, but I've been Carlos Mendoza all my life."

"The Iceman fits you better."

"Thank you ... I think,” replied the Iceman with an amused smile.

"What other names have you had over the years?"

"They're not important."

They fell silent for the next few minutes. Then the Kid walked to the galley and made himself some dinner. When he returned to his seat, he found that the Iceman was studying the navigational computer's holographic representation of the Terrazane sector.

"Looking for Mozart?” asked the Kid.

"I've found it,” said the Iceman, indicating a star that was blinking a bright yellow. “This is Symphony. Mozart is the third planet circling it."

"How far away is it?"

"From here?” said the Iceman. “At full speed, we can make it there in a little over one Standard day."

"What do I do once I get there?” asked the Kid.

"Eventually you'll try to get close enough to Penelope Bailey to find out what her plans are. As for what you'll do immediately, I don't know yet. That's why we're heading for Aristotle."

"Aristotle?"

"It's a university planet on the edge of the Democracy. We'll pay a fee and tie in to their computer, and find out what we can about Mozart."

"Why don't we just tie in to the Master Computer on Deluros VIII?” asked the Kid.

"Because she's more likely to have someone monitoring the Master Computer than the one on Aristotle,” replied the Iceman.

"What makes you think so?” persisted the Kid. “After all, if she's as bright as you say..."

"I never said she was bright. I said she was precognitive."

"Whatever,” said the Kid. “Why won't she be monitoring the computer on Aristotle?"

The Iceman leaned back and switched off the holographic display. “She's the most powerful and dangerous being alive, but she's not without her limitations,” he said at last. “She spent her childhood on the run until she was eight years old, and she spent the next sixteen or seventeen years in a twenty-by-twenty cell. How much of the galaxy can she have seen? Deluros VIII is the capital world of the race of Man, so of course she knows about it—but I'll bet she's never even heard of Aristotle."

"You'd better be right,” said the Kid. “You may be making the bet, but I'm the one who has to pay if you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong,” said the Iceman. “She has powers beyond anyone's comprehension, but she's not all-knowing.” He paused. “Anyway, once we learn a little more about Mozart, we'll have a better idea what identity you should assume there."

"Why don't I just show up as a gun for hire?” suggested the Kid.

The Iceman chuckled.

"What's so funny?” demanded the Kid.

"Nobody ever needed a hired gun less that Penelope Bailey,” said the Iceman. “Besides, even if she did, she'd want references—and since I'm the only reference you've got, you wouldn't make it to noon."

"I could say I worked for the Gravedancer."

"Lomax
is
a hired gun. He doesn't hire them himself."

The Kid shrugged. “It was just a suggestion."

"If you believe even half of what I've told you about her, it was a stupid suggestion,” answered the Iceman. “If you want to live through this, you'd better start using your brain."

"All right,” said the Kid irritably. “You don't have to bite my head off."

"Your head is all you've got,” said the Iceman. “My advice to you is that you remember that, and forget about your silicon-enhanced physical abilities."

"Some of those abilities may prove damned useful on Mozart."

"Like what?"

"Like being able to see in the dark."

"She doesn't have to see; she'll know where you are and where you're going to be thirty seconds and thirty minutes from now."

"If I'm so stupid and so useless, why are you sending me in at all?” demanded the Kid.

"I'd go myself if I could, but I can't hide this limp, and besides, she'd know who I was anyway.” He paused. “You're going in because you're the only piece I've got to play."

"Thanks for building my confidence,” said the Kid sardonically.

"Just see that you don't get overconfident,” responded the Iceman. “No matter how I've prepared you, if you live long enough to meet her, what you're going to see is a very normal-looking young woman, and you're going to think I've exaggerated the threat she poses.” He paused for a moment. “Just remember: Better men than you have tried to stop her, and every last one of them is dead."

"Then why am I going in at all?"

"You're not going there to hurt her, or even threaten her,” answered the Iceman. “You're just trying to get some information. If she can't see far enough ahead, if she doesn't know what you plan to do with it, you just might come out of this in one piece."

The Iceman stood up, stretched his arms (as much as he could stretch them in the cramped confines of the cockpit), and turned to the Kid. “I'm going to grab some sleep before we reach Aristotle,” he announced. “You might consider doing the same."

The Kid nodded and went to his own bunk. He was sure that he would have a difficult time falling asleep, but after what seemed only a moment to him the Iceman was shaking him by the shoulder.

"What's the matter?” he said groggily, sitting up abruptly and inadvertently banging his head against a bulkhead. “Am I in the wrong bunk?"

The Iceman smiled. “There are only two."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing. You've been asleep for eleven hours.” He paused. “We're in orbit around Aristotle."

"You're kidding!” said the Kid, getting stiffly to his feet.

"Check the ship's chronometer if you don't believe me,” said the Iceman. “I already made us some breakfast."

"You never miss a meal, do you?"

"Not if I can help it."

The Kid joined the Iceman in the galley, which was almost as claustrophobic as the cockpit. “Did you ever consider getting a bigger ship?” he asked as he picked up his coffee mug and took a swallow.

"I suppose if I had thought about it, I would have,” admitted the Iceman. “I had never planned to leave Last Chance again."

"Not much of a world, if you ask me."

"I didn't."

"A man like you, with the money you've made, you ought to be living next to your friend on Sweetwater."

"It's a matter of taste,” answered the Iceman. “I like the Inner Frontier."

"Sweetwater is on the Frontier."

"But it's not really a Frontier world,” said the Iceman. “It's a haven for retired billionaires. Last Chance suits me just fine."

"I kind of liked Confucius, myself,” said the Kid. “Especially Nightmare Alley."

"You're young yet."

The ship's computer beeped twice.

"Yes?” said the Iceman.

"I have established a link to the geopolitical computer on Aristotle,” announced the computer.

"Good,” said the Iceman. “Extract whatever information it has on a planet called Mozart."

"Star system?” asked the computer.

"Symphony, in the Terrazane sector."

"Working ... extracted."

"All right,” said the Iceman. “Now see if it's got any data on a human known as the Prophet."

"Working ... negative."

"All right,” said the Iceman. “Break the connection and have the connect fee billed to my account on Binder X."

"Working ... done ... connection broken,” said the computer.

"Now give me a hard copy of what you extracted."

A moment later the computer produced a single sheet of paper.

"That's everything?” asked the Iceman, frowning.

"Yes."

"Deactivate."

He picked up the sheet and read it, then looked at the Kid. “There's not much information here to go on,” he announced.

"So I gather,” replied the Kid. “What
do
we have?"

The Iceman looked down at the sheet again. “Mozart is an oxygen world, 96% Standard gravity, population 27,342 as of the last census.” He paused. “The population breaks down this way: 63% agricultural; 22% in the export business—and of course what they're exporting are agricultural products; the rest in miscellaneous businesses. No standing army, no navy. The planet is divided into six states, with a central governing body that's elected every three years. Only one spaceport, no tourist industry."

"So I show up as a farm worker looking for a job?” asked the Kid.

The Iceman shook his head. “You get stuck on a farm, you might never get off it."

"I could go to one of their towns and hire on at some store, I suppose."

"Too obvious,” answered the Iceman after some consideration. “I mean, who the hell goes to an agricultural world to work as a clerk, or even a store manager?"

"Then what?"

The Iceman stared at him for a long moment. “You're the Silicon Kid,” he said. “Go there as a specialist, selling your skills.” He paused, waiting for the full scenario to come to him, and then spoke again. “You travel the Inner Frontier, creating whatever chips are needed. A farmer with a predator problem needs to see in the dark to protect his stock; an exporter needs to store a dozen alien languages in his head; a bartender wants to be able to mix drinks faster. You can produce the chips they need. I think it should work."

"I'm good,” said the Kid, “but I'm no miracle man—and I'm no surgeon. Even if I make the chips, I can't implant most of them."

"That's not your job,” said the Iceman, shrugging it off. “Your job is just to create the chips. It's up to the buyers to get them implanted."

"On a planet with a population of only 27,000 Men, there might not be a doctor who can do it."