by Mike Resnick
He offered no reply, and they stared at each other in silence.
“Step aside, Iceman,” she said at last. “You're blocking the door.”
He turned and saw Praed Tropo, weaponless, standing in the doorway. Then the Blue Devil was pushed into the room, and Chandler walked in right behind him, a small pistol pressed against its back.
“Mendoza!” exclaimed Chandler, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I'll explain in a minute,” said the Iceman. “Are there any Blue Devils after you?”
Chandler shook his head. “There are corpses all over the place. Was that your doing?”
“His,” said the Iceman, indicating the still-unconscious body of the Injun.
“Who's he?”
“Jimmy Two Feathers.”
Chandler frowned. “The Injun? Who sent him here?”
“He was hired to kill the Oracle.”
“Well, it doesn't look like he's going to be much competition.” He shoved Praed Tropo a few feet ahead of him, then commanded the door to close.
“Why is he here?” asked the Iceman, gesturing toward the Blue Devil.
“He was examining the bodies when I showed up on this level,” answered Chandler. “I figured I might need a shield, so I suggested that he accompany me.” He turned to the Oracle. “Is she who you thought she'd be?”
“She's Penelope Bailey, yes,” answered the Iceman.
“What's that line on the floor—a force field?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I knew they were keeping her prisoner,” answered Chandler. “I didn't know how until just now—from what they tell me, force fields are still beyond our technology—but nobody seems to want to cross that line.” He paused. “Is that what happened to the Injun?”
The Iceman nodded. “He's hopped up on alphanella seeds, and he walked right into it.”
“Well, he cleared a path for me right to the door,” said Chandler.
“You'd have managed if you'd had to.”
“I doubt it,” said Chandler. “I don't know what direction he approached them from, but the way I came, I'd have been a sitting duck.” He paused. “You still haven't told me why you're here.”
“New orders,” said the Iceman.
“Oh?”
“Can you kill her?”
“I don't see why not,” answered Chandler. “But if you're worried about the force field, I saw one hell of a big generator two levels down from this one. If it's powering the field, I think I can deactivate it.”
The Iceman looked at the Oracle, who was once again staring off into time and space. “You don't even know how it works,” he said.
“I don't know how the force field works,” answered Chandler, “but I know how the generator works. There was one very similar to it in a Kobolian ship I owned once.”
Praed Tropo had carefully backed a few steps away from Chandler, and finally the Iceman turned to it.
“Stop right there,” he said. “I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”
The Blue Devil halted, then slowly retreated until he was standing next to Chandler again.
“Let's do whatever it is we have to do,” said Chandler. “Those bodies aren't going to stay undiscovered forever.”
“Or even for very long,” interjected the Oracle with no show of concern.
“Well?” said Chandler.
“I'm still piecing it together,” said the Iceman. I thought I had it—but why did you need Praed Tropo here?
“Mendoza, we haven't got all night,” said Chandler impatiently.
“Just give me a minute!” snapped the Iceman. He turned to stare at the Oracle. “All right. He's the only one who can release you, and you needed the Injun to pave the way for him. But why me? And why Praed Tropo?”
She smiled enigmatically at him, but made no reply.
“She couldn't have planned all of this,” said Chandler. “Even if she planned for the Injun to chew his seeds, how could she plan what he'd do once he'd fried his brain?”
“She doesn't plan things,” explained the Iceman. “She selects them. She selected a future in which the four of us were in this room at this time ... but I still don't know why she—”
There was a sudden movement from Praed Tropo, and Chandler, who had been concentrating on the Oracle, cursed and clutched at his right arm, which was gushing blood from where his nearly-severed hand was hanging useless.
“Kill that sonofabitch!” snarled Chandler, as Praed Tropo turned to face the Iceman with a knife that he had somehow concealed beneath his tunic.
“Freeze!” said the Iceman, drawing his own weapon and training it on the Blue Devil.
Praed Tropo hesitated for an instant, then stood motionless.
“Drop it,” continued the Iceman, as Chandler knelt down and tried to staunch the flow of blood. He dared a quick glance at the Oracle, who was watching the proceedings with an almost unnatural calm.
You're not surprised in the least. You knew this was going to happen. He frowned as he turned his attention back to Praed Tropo. But it doesn't make any sense. You got the two best killers in the galaxy here, and one of them's half dead and now the other's crippled. Why?
Chandler had ripped part of his tunic off, and was wrapping it around his hand, cursing under his breath all the while.
All right. He's not dead. You want him alive but ineffective. But why? What am I missing?
“Give me another minute and I'll kill him myself!” grated Chandler, working on his hand.
“Kill?” muttered a hollow voice behind the Iceman. “Kill?”
The Iceman took a step back, then another, and saw the Injun rise groggily to his knees.
“Kill,” he repeated, as if the word had lost all meaning to him. His pupils were dilated, his expression wild.
“Stay where you are, Jimmy,” said the Iceman.
“Kill,” mumbled the Injun, rising unsteadily to his feet.
“We're your friends,” said the Iceman, trying without success to make his voice soothing and reassuring.
“I have no friends,” whispered the Injun. “I don't know you!” Suddenly his gaze fell on Chandler. “I know him, though. He wants to rob me of my commission.” He reached for his sonic pistol. “Well, you can't do it, Chandler!” he yelled. “I was here first! She's mine!”
His fingers closed on the hilt of the pistol, and he began raising his hand to aim the weapon at Chandler.
“It isn't fair!” he growled, slurring the words. “I won't let you rob me!”
The Iceman pointed his gun at the Injun.
“Hold it right there or you're a dead man,” he said ominously.
“She's mine, damn it!” said the Injun, as tears began to stream down his face. “I found her, not you! I killed all those Blue Devils out in the hall, not you! You can't cheat me out of what's mine!”
The Injun, swaying dizzily, aimed his gun unsteadily at Chandler as the Iceman's finger began closing on his own trigger.
And then the final piece fell into place.
The Iceman couldn't stop from firing his weapon, but at the very last microsecond he jerked his hand and the beam went harmlessly into a wall as the Injun shot Chandler.
“No!” cried the Oracle, as Chandler pitched forward, face down, on the floor.
The Iceman then trained his pistol between the Injun's eyes and fired again. He then turned to Praed Tropo.
“Be quiet and don't do anything foolish,” he said, “and you just might live through this.” He paused. “I was right, wasn't I, Penelope?”
She nodded her head.
“You had a lot of futures to put together, didn't you?” continued the Iceman. “You need the Whistler, because only he knew enough about the generator to deactivate it. But the Injun had to arrive first, because there weren't any futures in which the Whistler could approach this room unseen.”
“Yes,” she said.
“If I hadn't figured it out, what woul
d have happened? I'd have killed the Injun to save Chandler—I assume that was my function—and then Praed Tropo would have killed me?”
She nodded, her eyes already distant, examining still more futures.
“But I'm a fat old man with a limp,” continued the Iceman. “I could never have gotten away from here. That's what I couldn't understand—why Praed Tropo had to be in the room with us, why he or some other Lorhn couldn't just pick me up later.”
“I do not comprehend,” said the Blue Devil.
The Iceman turned to it. “You had to disable Chandler without killing him. He was the most dangerous of us all: Even without the use of his hand, he'd have found a way to kill you. But he'd have known that he couldn't fight his way out, not against whole squadrons of you, so his only option would have been to release Penelope and have her pick and choose futures in which the two of them escaped.” He looked at the Oracle again. “And once you were safely away from here, and he thought he was taking you to 32 to pick up the rest of his money, he'd have had a heart attack. Am I right?”
“A stroke,” she replied placidly. “His heart was in superb condition.”
“Praed Tropo,” said the Iceman, “do you understand what happened now? All of this,” he continued, gesturing to the bodies of Chandler and the Injun, “everything that happened here, came about because she wanted to escape. That's why I'm here, that's why you're here. We're not enemies, you and I—we're her pawns, nothing more.”
The Blue Devil stared at him, but made no comment.
“We can't let her out—not now, not ever. It's a cruel twist of fate that made her what she is, and it's a dismal future she's facing, but she's too dangerous ever to turn loose on the galaxy. Look what she was able to accomplish while you kept her imprisoned.”
“No,” said Praed Tropo at last. “She can never be released.”
“You're a reasonable being, Praed Tropo.”
“But others will come after her. They will be sent to kill her, but she will manipulate them as she manipulated us, and next time she may succeed.”
“I'll see to it that there won't be any next time,” answered the Iceman.
“How can you do this?”
“I'll tell 32 that she's dead. If you keep her incommunicado, he'll have no reason to ever suspect that I lied to him.”
“That presupposes that I will let you leave,” noted Praed Tropo.
“You have no reason to keep me here,” said the Iceman. “And if you try, I have an explosive device on my person that I won't hesitate to detonate. It will blow you and me and this whole damned compound to hell, but she'll find some way to survive.” He paused. “I'd much rather live. Wouldn't you?”
Praed Tropo stared at him for a long moment. “You may go in peace,” it said at last.
“Thank you.”
“You cannot leave the grounds without being apprehended,” it continued. “I will arrange for an escort.” It walked to the door and then turned to him. “Do not leave the room until I return, or I cannot be responsible for your safety.”
“I understand,” said the Iceman, as the Blue Devil began walking away.
“I was wrong,” said the Oracle when the two of them were alone. “I thought I was ready to go out into the galaxy, but I was mistaken. I shall have to wait until my powers mature still more.”
“You'll never leave this room, Penelope.”
She smiled. “On the day that I'm ready, I will. You underestimated me when I was a little girl; tonight I underestimated you. I think neither of us will make that particular mistake again.” She sighed and shook her head. “I should have seen it—but there were so many permutations: what the Injun would do and when, where Chandler would stand, when Praed Tropo would act, when the Injun would awaken.” Suddenly she sighed. “Still, I came very close. Another half-second and I'd have had it.”
“Yes, you would have,” admitted the Iceman.
“Next time I'll be more accurate.”
“There won't be any next time.”
“Perhaps not for you,” she said serenely. “You're a used-up old man, and your strength is gone.” She paused. “But I'm still young. Every day I grow more powerful, and there is a whole galaxy out there.”
“Leave it alone,” said the Iceman.
She smiled at him. “I can't, you know. I look ahead and I see great things, things you can't even begin to imagine. One day I will have to walk out of here and accomplish them.”
Praed Tropo returned with a squad of six Blue Devils.
“Are you ready, Mendoza?” it asked.
The Iceman nodded and turned to join them.
“Iceman,” she called after him.
“Yes?”
“I want to thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, puzzled.
“For surprising me,” she said. “One should always seek out new experiences, and I have never been surprised before.”
“I hope you enjoyed it,” he said sardonically.
“No,” she replied thoughtfully. “No, I didn't. I do not intend ever to be surprised again.”
THE END
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