Soothsayer (8 page)

Ryan shook his head. “I didn't mean that.” He paused. “I've got a little enterprise going on the top floor. I can always use a healthy woman ... and the little girl could earn a bundle."

"Not interested,” said the Mouse.

"You'd be surprised how generous some of these miners can be."

"Forget it."

Ryan shrugged. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

The Mouse simply glared at him, and he walked back to his position behind the bar.

"Mind if I ask you a question?” he said as he watched her drain her beer.

"As long as it's not on the same subject."

"What are you and your daughter doing out here, anyway?"

"Maybe I'm married to one of the miners."

"Maybe I'm the Sultan of Sirius V,” he shot back with a smile. “If you belonged to one of the miners, you'd have asked after him."

"I don't
belong
to anyone,” said the Mouse, objecting to his choice of words.

"That's just what I meant,” agreed Ryan. “So why are you here?"

"I like the desert."

"The police are after you, huh?” continued Ryan. “What'd you do back in Haggard?"

"Nothing."

"No one comes to Ophir for the climate and the view. If you tell me who's after you, maybe I can keep an eye out for them."

"We're looking for the man who robbed us,” piped up Penelope. “Someone said he was in Ophir."

"I notice he left you enough money to rent a landcar and pay for your water,” said Ryan, highly amused. “Nice try, kid."

"It's true,” chimed in the Mouse. “My parents rented the car and loaned me the money."

"And they live in Haggard?"

"That's right."

"What's on the corner of 4th and Quatermaine?” asked Ryan.

"The Mayor's office."

"The Ophir Ballroom,” said Ryan. “That's where we got the name for this place."

"Not any more,” said the Mouse without missing a beat. “They tore it down three years ago."

"I don't believe you."

The Mouse shrugged. “Believe anything you want."

He stared at her for a minute, then matched her shrug with one of his own. “What the hell. It's none of my business."

"Right."

"I'm just making conversation, lady. It gets lonely around here until dark."

"Then the miners come?"

"That's right."

"How many of them?"

"It depends. Most of them have bubble modules out there, but you can't really relax or socialize in one. We might get two dozen or so."

"That many?"

"You look surprised."

"I didn't see any ships or landcars."

"They wouldn't leave ‘em here and then walk six miles to the mines,” replied Ryan. “Use your head, lady.” He paused. “If you really
are
looking for some guy, you could be in for a long wait if you expect him to show up here. There are more than eighty miners out there. You'd be better off taking your landcar to the mines and looking for him when they knock off at sunset."

"Maybe I will,” said the Mouse. “What direction are the mines from here?"

"Northwest. Just follow the tracks."

"Thanks,” said the Mouse. “I'm too tired, and it's too damned hot to go out today. But if he doesn't show up, we'll head out there before sunrise and see if we can spot him."

"And then what?” asked Ryan.

"I'll go back to Haggard and get the police."

Ryan laughed.

"What's so funny?” asked the Mouse.

"They won't come to this hellhole for a thief. It'd probably take a mass murderer to get them out here."

"Then what will I do if I find him?” asked the Mouse, playing out her part and wishing that Penelope had kept her mouth shut.

"There's a guy upstairs right now who might be able to help you,” said Ryan confidentially.

"I take it he's not a miner?” answered the Mouse sardonically.

"Ever hear of Three-Fisted Ollie?"

"Everyone has,” said the Mouse uneasily. “Is
he
here?"

"Nope. This is the man who killed him a few months back."

"He's not dead,” blurted Penelope.

"Isn't he now?” said Ryan with a triumphant grin. “And how'd you come to know that, little lady?"

Penelope, flustered, looked helplessly toward the Mouse.

"What's this man's name?” said the Mouse cooly, ignoring the girl's gaffe.

"He claims his name is Bundy,” said Ryan, “but I recognize him from his posters: he's the Forever Kid."

"The Forever Kid?” repeated the Mouse. “That's an odd name, even for the Frontier."

Ryan nodded. “It fits, though. He's some kind of sport or mutant. Grew up normal til he was 18 or 19, and hasn't aged a day in the last couple of centuries."

"What is he—a bounty hunter?"

"Wouldn't do you much good if he was,” answered Ryan. “Unless there's a price on your man's head. No, the Forever Kid's a killer. He hires out to anyone who can afford him."

"What's he doing here?"

"Some questions it just ain't politic to ask."

"But you brought him up."

"I don't mean you asking me,” said Ryan with a grin. “I mean me asking
him
."

"When is he due downstairs?” asked the Mouse.

"Depends on how much fun he's having,” answered Ryan. “But he's rooming at the hotel, so he'll be taking his meals here."

"And he's definitely a killer and not a bounty hunter?"

"Yep—not that it makes any difference to you. The child as much as said that you weren't robbed."

"Don't believe everything you hear,” said the Mouse.

Ryan laughed again. “If I believed half of what I heard, I'd be dead and buried already."

"We're going to need a room,” said the Mouse, getting up from the table and signaling Penelope to do the same.

Ryan looked at his computer, which was behind the bar. “Room 203,” he said. “Two beds, with a view of the pool."

"You've got a swimming pool out here?” said the Mouse disbelievingly.

"Yep. Ain't got no water in it, but the pool's there. Breaks up the landscape, anyway.” He paused. “You got a name?"

"You choose one,” responded the Mouse.

Ryan nodded, as if this was a daily request, then typed a code into his computer. “Okay, Miz Mother and Miss Daughter. The stairway's off there to the left, behind the curtains, and the door's unlocked. Once you're inside, it'll flash the lock and unlock codes on a panel over one of the beds. Dinner's half an hour after sunset."

"Thanks,” said the Mouse, leading Penelope to the curtain. “By the way, when did he get here?"

"The Kid? He showed up this morning.” Ryan pointed out the window. “That's his vehicle a few yards to the left of yours.” He paused. “Probably he's here on a job. Didn't seem my place to ask."

"It wasn't,” said the Mouse, starting to climb the stairs.

They reached Room 203 a moment later. It was small and relatively clean, although even the sealed window couldn't keep all of the dust out of the room. There were two airbeds, a holographic video and a computer (neither of which could be operated without inserting a personal credit cube into them), a desk, two rather stark wooden chairs, and a bathroom containing a chemical toilet and a dryshower.

The Mouse sat on the edge of her bed, and Penelope, after propping Jennifer up against a pillow, seated herself on her own bed.

"I'm sorry,” said the girl. “About Three-Fisted Ollie, I mean. I just blurted it out."

"No matter. He knew we were lying anyway."

"Will he report us, do you think?"

"To whom?” asked the Mouse with no show of concern. “He's as close to being the law as you can get out here. Besides, he doesn't know who we are."

"He'll find out."

"You can see that in the future?"

Penelope shook her head. “No ... but sooner or later they always find out."

"Maybe not this time,” said the Mouse. “I want to have a little chat with the Forever Kid."

"But he's a killer!"

"But not a bounty hunter."

"What's the difference?” asked Penelope.

"There's a difference between capturing you and killing you,” explained the Mouse. “Most of the men and women who are after you want you alive. This isn't the kind of man they'd hire to find you. His specialty is death."

"Maybe he was hired to kill whoever I'm with."

"It's a possibility,” admitted the Mouse. “That's why I want to talk to him alone. If he's available, I want to hire him to protect us until we can hook up with Merlin again."

"What about me?"

"You're going to stay in the room. I'll bring your dinner back to you."

"But I can help you,” protested Penelope. “If he wants to kill you, I'll know."

"Even if he wants to kill me, he won't do it until he knows where you are."

"The bartender will tell him."

"Not unless he tells the bartender who he's looking for, and why ... and killers tend to be pretty close-mouthed, especially when there's a reward for their victims.” The Mouse paused. “It's a gamble, but we've got to take it."

"Why?"

"Because he's got to have a ship,” she explained patiently. “If I can hire him to protect us until we can connect up again with Merlin, it means we won't have to drive out into the desert and try to steal a ship from one of the miners—and I've got a feeling they protect their ships as devoutly as they protect their diamonds."

Penelope frowned unhappily. “I thought we were supposed to be a team,” she said.

"We are,” the Mouse assured her. “But different members of a team have different duties. I don't perform Merlin's magic tricks, you know."

"What's
my
duty?” asked the girl.

"For the next few days, it's to warn me of danger,” said the Mouse. “But only if showing yourself doesn't put us in even more danger."

"All right,” said Penelope thoughtfully. “That seems fair."

"Good.” The Mouse lay back on the bed. “I'm exhausted. That heat seems to have drained me. I'm going to take a nap.” She reached into her pocket, withdrew a credit cube that she had appropriated on Westerly, and tossed it to Penelope. “Why don't you watch the video, and wake me at twilight?"

"All right,” said the girl.

Penelope shook the Mouse awake a moment later.

"What is it?"

"The cube doesn't work,” said the girl.

"Hmm. I guess the owner reported that it was missing.” The Mouse dug into her pocket and withdrew three more cubes. “Throw that one away and try these. One of them ought to work."

She lay back again, and a moment later heard Penelope giggling at something she saw on the holographic screen. Then she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, and didn't move a muscle until Penelope tapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Didn't any of the cubes work?” asked the Mouse, momentarily disoriented.

"It's almost dark out,” responded the girl. “You've been asleep all afternoon."

The Mouse sat up, scratched her close-cropped hair vigorously, and then stretched her arms and looked out the window.

"I've got time for a dryshower,” she announced, and went off to the bathroom to cleanse the dirt and dried sweat from her small, wiry body. She wished that she had some fresh clothes, but she settled for tossing her outfit into the dryshower for a few minutes. It came out wrinkled but clean, and a few minutes later she walked out into the hall and down the stairs, after warning Penelope not to let anyone else into the room.

A handful of miners were seated at the table nearest the door. They were hard, grizzled men who quaffed their beer as if it meant the difference between life and death, and complained long and loud to each other about everything from the weather to the price of industrial and investment-grade diamonds.

Then the Mouse looked toward the far end of the room, and there, sitting in the shadows, his back to the wall, an expression of boredom on his handsome face, sat a young man with a shock of unruly blond hair who seemed scarcely old enough to shave. His clothes were sporty without being ostentatious, and bulky enough to hide half a dozen weapons. There was a container of water on the table in front of him.

The Mouse walked around the miners’ table, grateful that they were too absorbed in their conversation and their beer to offer any catcalls or whistles, and approached the young man.

"Good evening,” she said pleasantly.

"Is it?” he replied, looking up at her, and she was suddenly struck by how bored and ancient his blue eyes seemed.

"It might be, if you'd invite me to sit down."

He nodded toward a chair opposite him. “Be my guest."

"What'll it be, Miz Mother?” Ryan called out from behind the bar. “Another glass of water?"

The Mouse shook her head. “Make it a beer."

"Coming right up."

"And a dinner menu,” she added.

Ryan chuckled. “You make it sound like there's a choice."

"Isn't there?"

"Out here? We're lucky to have any food to serve at all. I'll bring you a plate when it's ready. Be another five minutes or so."

"Thanks."

"How about the little girl?"

"She's sleeping,” replied the Mouse, studying the young man to see if he reacted to the news that she was traveling with a child. His face remained expressionless. “I'll bring a plate up to her when I'm done."

Ryan approached the table, handed a glass of beer to the Mouse, and retreated to his station.

"Well, that's over with,” said the young man with the ancient eyes. “Now what can I do for you?"

"That all depends,” answered the Mouse.

"On what?"

"On who you are."

"My name's Bundy."

"I don't care what your name is."

The young man shrugged. “I don't much care what yours is, either. Why don't you just say what's on your mind?"

"I need protection,” said the Mouse. “I think you can provide it."

"So you can live another 50 years?” he asked. “Take my word for it—it's not worth it."

"I want your protection anyway."

"Do I look like the protective type?” asked the young man. “Hell, lady, I'm just a kid."

"A 200-year-old kid,” said the Mouse, staring into his clear blue eyes.

"223 years, to be exact,” replied the Forever Kid, displaying neither surprise nor anger that she knew who he was.