Prophet (3 page)

Then he turned on his heel and walked out the main entrance. The parking lot was almost empty—the planet had a tiny population and relatively little commerce with the rest of the galaxy—but as he stood, hands on hips, wondering what to do next, a small groundcar pulled up. He walked over to it before the driver could get out and opened the passenger's door.

"What's going on here?” demanded the driver, a young man in his early twenties.

"I'm paying you fifty credits to take me into town,” said Lomax.

"The hell you are!” snapped the young man. “I've got a shipment of computer parts to pick up."

"They can wait."

Lomax opened the door, sat down next to the driver, pulled out a sonic pistol, and pointed it at him.

"That wasn't a request,” he said calmly.

"Who are you?” demanded the driver. “What the hell is this all about?"

"I'm just a guy who needs a ride to town,” said Lomax. “Now drive."

"Why don't you take an aircab?” said the young man, turning the car around.

"I wasn't aware you had any."

"We do. I can drive you to their hangar."

"I wouldn't want to put you to the trouble,” said Lomax. “Just get going."

The young man stared at him, and suddenly his expression changed.

"You're
him
, aren't you?” he said.

"I'm whom?"

"The Gravedancer."

"Some people call me that."

"Damn!” said the young man, grinning and slamming his hand against the dashboard. “The Gravedancer himself, in
my
groundcar!” He turned to Lomax. “What are you here for?"

"Business."

"Who are you going to kill?” asked the young man eagerly.

"No one."

"You can tell me,” persisted the young man. “I'm on
your
side."

"I'm just here to talk to the local bootmaker."

The young man snorted contemptuously. “Come on, Gravedancer—do you expect me to believe you flew all the way to Greycloud for a pair of boots?"

"What you believe makes no difference to me,” said Lomax. “Just take me where I want to go.” He paused. “You can start by driving into town."

The young man put the vehicle in motion, and a moment later they were traveling on a road that paralleled an ocean shoreline.

"I've been wondering if you'd ever come back."

"You're too young to remember me,” said Lomax.

"I was twelve when you were here the last time,” replied the young man. “I saw you take on nine men at once.” He paused, then extended his hand. “My name's Neil. Neil Cayman."

Lomax looked at his hand for a moment, then took it briefly.

"I'm Felix Lomax."

Neil shook his head. “You're the Gravedancer.” He paused. “Where are you going from here?"

Lomax shrugged. “It all depends on what I learn while I'm here."

Neil seemed lost in thought for a moment, then spoke up. “Do you want some company?"

"Where?"

"Out
there
,” he said, waving his hand toward the sky. “I've spent my whole life on this world. I'd like to see something different."

"I work alone."

"I could be useful to you."

"Every damned world I touch down on, there's always some kid who wants to go out and make a name for himself on the Inner Frontier,” answered Lomax. “Most of them die before the undertaker knows what name to put on their headstones."

"I'm different,” said Neil.

"Yeah, I know,” said Lomax. “You're all different."

"I've spent my whole life on Greycloud,” continued Neil. “I want to see what's out there."

"Book passage with a tour group,” answered Lomax. “You'll live longer."

"I don't want to see what tourists see,” persisted Neil. “I want to see the way the worlds really are, the way the people really live.” He paused. “I've got some money saved. I could be ready to go by this afternoon."

"Not with me,” said Lomax.

"I'd do any kind of work you asked me to do, anything at all."

"Not interested."

The road turned inland, and was now lined by thick tropical foliage, which began thinning out as they moved farther away from the ocean.

"There have to be places where your face is known, where people run when they see you coming. I could go to those places and get information for you."

"Today is an exception,” said Lomax. “Usually I'm after men, not information."

"I could spot them for you, let you know what their habits are, where they're likely to be. I wouldn't ask for any pay or anything like that,” continued the young man. “Just a chance to get off this boring little world and travel with someone like you."

"I admire your persistence,” said Lomax. “But the answer is the same. I work alone."

"You're making a mistake, Gravedancer."

Lomax shrugged. “It's possible. I've made them before."

"Then let me come with you."

"I've also learned to live with the consequences of my mistakes,” said Lomax. “The subject is closed."

They came to a tiny town, composed of a broad single street lined with some four dozen stores and shops, an old hotel, and a pair of restaurants, one of which was serving its customers in a shaded outdoor patio area. Neil drove more than halfway down the street and pulled up to a storefront.

"I'll wait here for you,” he announced.

Lomax left the groundcar without a word, and entered the store, a warm, dusty, single-story building that displayed a number of leather goods in the windows: coats, jackets, belts, hats, boots. Toward the back were sheets of various leathers, and hanging carefully from the walls were a number of pelts.

"Yes?” said a thin, balding man, walking out from a back room. “Can I help you?"

"Possibly,” said Lomax, reaching into his leather holdall and withdrawing one of the dead man's boots. “Do you recognize this?"

The old man held it up to the light for a moment.

"Made from a Bluefire Dragon,” he said.

"You made it?"

"If anyone else on the Frontier makes ‘em, I sure as hell haven't heard about it.” He examined it further. “This was a custom job, too. My label's not in it."

"How many custom boots do you make in a year's time?"

"Oh, maybe fifty."

"From Bluefire Dragons?"

"Maybe two or three."

"Good,” said Lomax, pulling out the holograph and handing it over to the old man. “Do you recognize him?"

"Looks dead,” noted the old man.

"He is. Do you know him?"

The old man nodded. “Yeah, I made some boots for him maybe seven, eight months ago."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He wasn't real talkative,” said the old man. “Seems to me he spent most of the day waiting in the bar across the street, then picked up his boots, paid for ‘em, and left."

"Did he have a name?"

"Let me check my records,” said the old man, activating his computer. “Yeah. His name is ... was ... Cole. Jason Cole."

"Did he pay cash?” asked Lomax.

"Yes."

"So you don't know what world he banked on?"

"Probably Olympus,” answered the old man. “That's ... let me think, now ... Alpha Hayakawa IV."

"Why makes you think he did his banking on Olympus?"

"He liked the boots so much he ordered a second pair. Had me ship them to an address on Olympus."

"What address?"

"Well, now, that's privileged information, isn't it?” said the old man, staring at Lomax.

"I'd call it
expensive
information,” said Lomax, placing a pair of 200-credit notes on the counter.

"Well, considering that the poor man has passed on, I suppose there's no harm in it,” said the old man, greedily snatching up the money and stuffing it into a leather pouch that he wore around his neck. “Computer, print out Jason Cole's address."

The address emerged an instant later, and the old man handed it to Lomax.

"I'd say good hunting,” said the old man. “But it appears to me that your hunting is already done."

"I have a feeling it's just starting."

"Well, in that case, good luck, Gravedancer."

"You know me?” said Lomax sharply.

"It'd be hard to forget you,” said the old man. “You were the only exciting thing to happen to Greycloud in half a century.” He paused. “Don't worry about me alerting the authorities or nothing. First, they probably couldn't stop you from whatever you're doing; and second, most of them you killed deserved what they got."

"Thanks."

"But let me give you a word of advice, Gravedancer."

"What is it?"

"Would I be right in figuring you plan to take a trip to Olympus next?"

"You might be."

"I'd be real careful there if I were you."

"Oh?"

The old man nodded. “Now and then I hear things from people who are passing through."

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, I don't put much stock in the details,” answered the old man. “You know how people tend to exaggerate out here. But those who are willing to talk about it at all don't make it sound like a real friendly place."

"I'll keep it in mind,” said Lomax, walking to the door.

"Can I interest you in a pair of boots while you're here?” the old man called after him. “Or maybe a new holster for all those weapons?"

"Maybe next time,” answered Lomax.

"Men in your line of work don't usually live long enough for there to be a next time,” said the old man with a half-amused smile. “This is your second trip here, so you're already on borrowed time."

"Next time,” repeated Lomax, walking out into the street.

Neil was waiting for him, and opened the door.

"Did you find out what you needed to know?” he asked.

"Possibly,” said Lomax, settling back on his seat. “At least I know where I'm going next."

"Where?"

Lomax looked over at him and smiled. “Elsewhere,” he said.

They drove to the spaceport in silence. Then Neil parked the groundcar.

"You're sure you won't take me?"

"You'll live longer on Greycloud, kid."

"I thought the quality of life was supposed to be important,” said Neil sardonically.

"You've been misinformed."

Neil left the vehicle and walked to the cargo area while Lomax entered the main building.

The gray-haired woman who had refused to help him earlier glared at him, but beneath the mask of hatred he thought he saw a certain smugness, a brief look of triumph before the mask was fully in place.

He walked slowly to the door leading to the landing field, scrutinizing the area carefully. A pair of lead-suited mechanics were gingerly bringing out a small packet of plutonium to fuel an ancient cargo ship that was still powered by a nuclear pile, and a crew of three men were fixing a couple of cracks and potholes at the adjoining landing strip, but otherwise the place seemed deserted. Then, suddenly, he saw a brief movement out of the corner of his eye, coming from the roof of a hangar. He turned to face it, but couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary.

He lit a cigar, leaned lazily against a wall, and continued scanning the strip. A moment later the sun glinted off some metal on the roof of another hangar.

He walked to a vidphone directory and picked out a name at random, then approached the gray-haired woman.

"Call Jonathan Sturm and tell him that the Gravedancer's on his way,” he said, walking out the front entrance before she could utter a reply or a refusal. “He's got until dark to put his affairs in order and make his peace with whatever god he worships."

He walked directly to the groundcar, entered it, and waited for Neil Cayman to emerge from the cargo area, carrying a box of computer parts.

"I thought you'd be gone by now,” said Neil, surprised.

"Change of plans,” said Lomax. “Do you own a ship?"

Neil seemed amused. “Where would I get a spaceship?"

"How about your parents or your employer?"

"Well, yeah, my boss has a little four-man job."

"Here?"

"Yes,” said the young man. “It's in one of the hangars."

"Will they let you move it out to the landing field?"

"I suppose so."

Lomax peeled off five large-denomination notes. “It'll be sundown in about three hours. Do it then."

"Once they find out that I helped you, I'll be arrested."

Lomax shook his head. “You'll have plenty of time to fabricate an alibi. Almost every cop on the planet is going to be waiting for me at Jonathan Sturm's house."

"Sturm? What have you got against him?"

"Nothing,” answered Lomax. “I never met the man."

"Then why—?"

"Just do what I said, okay?"

Neil stared at him. “I take it they've set a trap for you?” he asked at last.

Lomax nodded. “Will you help me?"

"I can't believe someone like you couldn't take them all out."

"Maybe I could,” agreed Lomax. “But no one is paying me to do it, and when you put your life on the line often enough, you learn just how valuable a commodity it is. If I have to fight my way to my ship, I will—but if there's an easier way, I'll take it.” He paused. “I need to hide until sunset, and then I need you to move your ship.” He stared at the young man. “Now, are you going to help me or not?"

"Yeah, I'll help you, Gravedancer."

"Good."

"On one condition,” added Neil.

"Oh?"

"Take me with you. I've had it with this planet."

"I told you..."

Neil handed the money back to him. “That's my price."

Lomax grimaced.

"All right, it's a deal,” he said at last.

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Neil withdrew all his money from his bank, then parked in a secluded spot where he and Lomax waited until nightfall.

Then they drove back to the spaceport, where Neil approached the hangar and had them bring his employer's ship out onto the reinforced pavement of the take-off strip. While the ship's computer was waiting for takeoff clearance, the young man raced out of the cockpit and stopped the first security man he could find.

"Something's wrong!” he panted.

"What?” asked the man.

"Someone's hiding in the cargo compartment of my ship; the computer spotted the extra weight. I just got a glimpse of him. He's dressed all in black."