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  “She might simply be waiting for you to approach on foot,” suggested Broussard.

  “She might be,” agreed the Injun. “But I don't think so. If planning to kill her was enough to elicit a response from her, she could have killed me, or had me killed, half a dozen times since I landed. I have a feeling that she either can't foresee anything but an immediate physical threat to her, or else she's so secure in her powers that she's not concerned until she's threatened. Either way,” he concluded with a wry smile, “I've got to find out exactly where she is before I can threaten her.”

  “How do you even approach someone who can see the future?”

  The Injun smiled. “When the time comes, you'll be the first to know.”

  “You seem awfully sure of yourself, sir,” said Broussard.

  “This is my business, and I'm damned good at it.” The Injun glanced out the window. “Start slowing down, then stop behind that big rock that's coming up on the right.”

  Broussard did as he was instructed.

  “Good,” said the Injun, detaching the grid, opening the door, and wincing as he stepped out into the oppressive heat. He took a few tentative steps along the side of the road, then turned back to Broussard. “The ground's a lot harder here. Pull off the road and move alongside the rock. If anyone else comes along, they'll pass right by and never know you were here.”

  Broussard nodded and edged the vehicle off the road, and the Injun began climbing to the top of a rocky outcropping. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he checked the grid and found that Domo's position had not changed appreciably in the past few minutes, which implied there had to be something hidden back there among the rocks and boulders.

  He had gone almost half a mile, keeping well off the road and hiding among the myriad outcroppings, when he finally saw the first building. It resembled nothing more than a purple glass pyramid some twenty feet on a side, and he was more annoyed than surprised to note that it possessed neither windows nor a discernable door. He looked at the grid again, and found that he was still half a mile away from Vrief Domo.

  He continued his slow, cautious approach, and finally he came to it. He didn't have to check the grid or search for Domo's vehicle to know he had reached his goal. Nestled in a small depression beneath a huge outcropping was a building—palace would have described it better, as would fortress, except that both words seemed somehow inadequate—that covered the equivalent of a Quichancha city block.

  The structure was irregular and many-sided. Walls rose to enormous heights and then angled back down for no apparent reason. The roof was a hodgepodge of colored quartz and a shining metal that seemed to shimmer with all the colors of the spectrum. A private road, covered by some incredibly hard plastic that showed no sign of melting in the heat, led up to a huge triangular door that he assumed was a garage for numerous vehicles. Here and there were artifacts that looked like fountains, but none of them seemed to have any water, and he had no idea what function they fulfilled.

  The building was beautifully camouflaged: between the rocks and the depression, there was no way to spot it from overhead, and a huge row of boulders had been positioned in such a way as to shield it from the view of passing vehicles. Only in one location could a driver turn off the road and slip his landcar between two of the boulders and then onto the plastic surface.

  Half a dozen Blue Devils were walking in intricate individual patterns around the grounds. They didn't seem to be carrying any weapons, and the Injun couldn't tell if they were guards, residents of the huge building, or were simply carrying out some duty so alien that he couldn't begin to comprehend it.

  The grid was going wild, and, afraid that it might start beeping as well as blinking, he quickly deactivated it. He was still wearing his eyepatch; he wanted very badly to remove it, to get a more thorough view of the building and its surroundings, but he was afraid that 32 would record the image and bring in some expert to identify the rock formations at this particular point, and he hadn't gone to all the trouble of finding the Oracle's hideout just to broadcast it to 32 and his whole department.

  He squatted down in the shadow of a large overhang and spent the next ten minutes studying the layout, and taking holographs with the tiny camera he had brought along for the purpose. When he finally felt himself beginning to dehydrate from the heat, he carefully retreated, still staying well clear of the road, until he came to the spot where Broussard had hidden the vehicle.

  “God, it's hot out there!” he panted, leaning back and luxuriating in the conditioned air of the vehicle.

  “People weren't built to live in this kind of heat,” agreed Broussard. “Sometimes I think even the Blue Devils look uncomfortable in this weather.” He paused. “Did you find her?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think so?” repeated Broussard.

  “I didn't see her,” answered the Injun, “but I'll be awfully surprised if she's not there.”

  “Did you find a way in?”

  “I'm working on it.”

  “What now?”

  The Injun leaned back comfortably, clasped his hands behind his head, and shut his eyes.

  “Now we go back to Quichancha and wait.”

  “Wait for what?” asked Broussard.

  “For any number of things,” said the Injun serenely. “For certain funds to be transferred. For the Whistler to show up. For the Oracle to make another mistake.”

  “Another mistake?”

  The Injun nodded. “She should have killed me this afternoon. I was unarmed and on foot, and I couldn't have run fifty yards in that heat.” He paused. “She has her limitations. She can't see far enough ahead to know that the next time I come back I'm going to kill her.”

  “I still don't see how you plan to do it, sir,” said Broussard, putting the vehicle in motion and starting to head back toward Quichancha.

  The Injun smiled tranquilly. “Neither does she.”

  “But you do have a plan?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Would you care to share it with me?”

  “You'll know it when the time comes,” answered the Injun.

  “If I know it, won't the Oracle know it too?”

  “Very likely.”

  “Then she'll be able to prevent it.”

  The Injun shook his head. “Knowing it won't do her the least bit of good.”

  “I don't understand, sir,” said Broussard.

  “Neither will she,” said the Injun, smiling again. “I almost feel sorry for her.”

  Part 3:

  THE JADE QUEEN'S BOOK

  18.

  Chandler remained in his rooming house for three days following the attempts on his life, leaving only to have dinner each night at the Wolfman's restaurant. He considered meeting with some of the Surgeon's former clientele and going through the motions of soliciting business, but decided against it. After all, both the Oracle and the Democracy had tried to kill him; there didn't seem to be any reason to try to maintain his cover.

  On the fourth night, as he entered the restaurant accompanied by Gin, who had resumed his duties though his injured shoulder was still heavily-bandaged, the Wolfman spotted him and immediately approached him.

  “Follow me, please,” he said, leading them to a small circular room at the back of the restaurant, where Lord Lucifer sat at a hexagonal table.

  “Good evening, Mr. Chandler,” said Lord Lucifer.

  “Good evening,” replied Chandler, looking around the room as Gin seated himself at the table. Finally he took a small device out of his pocket and pressed it against a wall, where it remained when he took his hand away.

  “What's that?” asked the Wolfman.

  “An anti-eavesdropping device,” answered Chandler. “It'll scramble any signals that might leave this room.”

  “You're a very careful man, Mr. Chandler,” said Lord Lucifer.

  “That's how I stay alive.”

  “Can I bring you anything, Whistler?” aske
d the Wolfman. “I just got in a shipment of Cygnian cognac.”

  “Later.”

  “Dinner, perhaps?”

  “We'll let you know.”

  The Wolfman shrugged and went back into the restaurant while Chandler seated himself at the table and waited for Gin and Lord Lucifer to do the same.

  “Well?” said Chandler, facing the dapper criminal.

  “Finding a way to smuggle you onto Hades is proving to be more difficult than I thought,” replied Lord Lucifer. “Since Boma's death the Blue Devils have taken additional security measures on their shuttle flights. It can be done, of course, but it will take a lot more time and planning than I had anticipated.” He paused and smiled. “She's definitely not very anxious to see you in the flesh, Mr. Chandler.”

  “If she's everything she's supposed to be, I don't imagine she's losing any sleep over the prospect,” replied Chandler. “This is probably the Blue Devils’ idea.” He stopped speaking, struck by a sudden thought.

  “What is it, Mr. Chandler?” asked Lord Lucifer, staring at him intently.

  “Consider what I just said,” answered Chandler. “There's no reason why a woman who can foresee the future should be worried about me trying to kill her. Therefore, this has to be the Blue Devils’ idea.” He stared at Lord Lucifer. “What does that imply to you?”

  “That they don't want you to reach her.”

  “Of course they don't,” said Chandler impatiently. “But why not? They know the extent of her power—it's what's kept them out of the Democracy—so why should this worry them?”

  “I see!” said Lord Lucifer, suddenly grinning.

  “Well, I don't see a damned thing,” interjected Gin. “Would someone please tell me what you two think you know?”

  Chandler turned to the driver. “I've been hired to bring her out, and to kill her only as a last resort. I haven't figured out how to kill her yet, and they have no reason to think she can be killed. What does that imply to you?”

  Gin shrugged. “I don't know,” he said, confused. “What should it imply?”

  “That they're afraid she'll leave voluntarily with Mr. Chandler,” said Lord Lucifer.

  “I've been operating on the assumption that she's remained on Hades by choice,” added Chandler. “But what if that assumption was false?”

  “You've told me about her,” said Gin. “How could they hold someone with her powers against her will?”

  “You lock her in an electrified cell, surround it with a force field, and leave two guards on duty, and all the foresight in the world isn't going to do her a bit of good,” said Chandler. “If every possible future has her incarcerated against her will, then that's where she'll stay.”

  “It still doesn't make sense,” protested Gin. “If she can see the future, why would she let herself be locked up to begin with?”

  Chandler shrugged. “Who knows? She was only eight years old when she came to Hades. Maybe her powers weren't that well developed then. She arrived with an alien called the Mock Turtle—maybe he betrayed her. Maybe she simply didn't understand what they intended to do with her.” He paused. “Or maybe they were all bosom buddies until the day she decided to leave, and they realized that without her they were going to be assimilated into the Democracy.”

  “Or maybe you're dead wrong,” said Gin, unconvinced.

  “Maybe,” said Chandler. “But lets assume for the sake of argument that I'm right.” He paused again. “It would also explain why the Democracy wants me dead. If they think there's a chance she'll come out with me, they'll just have to go to the trouble of tracking her down again, and I gather she wasn't an easy lady to find.” He paused. “Look at it from their point of view: the Blue Devils aren't much of a military threat, and they haven't made any major alliances with the Democracy's enemies. If they can't kill her, this is probably as safe a place to keep her as any. If she leaves, she could go to the Canphor Twins or Lodin XI or some other world that can make war on the Democracy.”

  “I still think you're making a mistake,” said Gin adamantly.

  “Prove it.”

  “Easy,” said the driver. “If she wants you to rescue her, why did she send the Blue Devil to kill you?”

  “She didn't. That was his idea—his or his government's.”

  “Then how did he know who you were and where to find you?”

  “A very good point,” said Lord Lucifer. He turned to Chandler. “Have you an answer?”

  “There are no answers when we're dealing with such minimal information, just suppositions,” said Chandler. “But suppose she could foresee that Boma couldn't kill me, that I'd spot the glass in the food—and suppose further that she knew it would lead me to the very conclusion I've just reached.” He paused. “Wouldn't that be the best way she had of telling me that she was willing to leave?”

  “That's a lot of supposing,” said Gin dubiously. “I sure wouldn't risk my life on it.”

  “I don't plan to risk my life on it, either,” answered Chandler. “Not yet, anyway.” He fell silent for a moment, collecting his thought. “Still, I've got a gut feeling that I'm right. I think a new course of action is called for.”

  “What did you have in mind, Mr. Chandler?” asked Lord Lucifer.

  “Well, we seem to be in agreement that I can't go to Hades right now, not if they're searching every shuttle.”

  “Then what do you plan to do?”

  “I would think the answer was obvious,” answered Chandler. “If I can't go in after her, the only alternative is to get her to come to me.”

  “She'll never come up here,” said Lord Lucifer. “If she wants to leave with you, the Blue Devils will never let her. And if you're wrong and she wants you dead, she's got enough agents on Port Marrakech to do the job for her.”

  “I have no intention of remaining on Port Marrakech,” said Chandler. “The Blue Devils know who I am, and the Democracy is also trying to kill me.”

  “Then I still don't understand what you're going to do,” said Lord Lucifer, frowning.

  “There are two other moons. Which one has the most Blue Devils on it?”

  “Port Maracaibo,” offered Gin. “Port Samarkand is mostly farms and processing plants.”

  “Then the Whistler is going to be captured by that famed opportunist, Lord Lucifer, who will incarcerate him in the tunnels beneath the Platinum Quarter until someone pays a ransom of, oh, not to price myself too cheaply, ten million credits.” Chandler smiled. “No one will pay it, of course. The Democracy wants me out of the way, the Blue Devils want me out of the way, and the Iceman isn't about to dip into his own pocket to rescue me.” He paused. “And tomorrow, a man with a fresh and totally untraceable identity will show up on Port Maracaibo. He'll dwell in total obscurity, shunning the spotlight there every bit as much as the Whistler sought it on Port Marrakech, and before a month has gone by he'll have wrought such havoc among the Oracle's agents that the Blue Devils themselves will insist that she take a hand in finding and capturing him.”

  “You really think they'll send her to Port Maracaibo to find you?” asked Lord Lucifer.

  “They're not going to be willing to live in a state of terror forever,” replied Chandler, “and they're certainly not going to declare war against the moons and give the Democracy any cause for moving in to protect its human population. Sooner or later they're going to decide that their best bet is to send the Oracle to Port Maracaibo to save them.”

  “And if they decide she's too valuable to risk losing?” persisted Lord Lucifer.

  “Then,” answered Chandler wryly, “I've still got four months to think of something else.”

  “I don't mean to be insulting, Mr. Chandler, but that's a pretty feeble answer.”

  “It was facetious,” admitted Chandler. “Actually, if I can't draw her up to Port Maracaibo, I think my chances of getting her out may actually be enhanced.”

  “You lost me again,” said Gin.

  “I'm afraid I don't quite follow you, either,
” added Lord Lucifer.

  “If she's totally committed to the Blue Devils, she'll come after me the instant I start putting pressure on them. She probably considers herself invulnerable, so from her point of view there's no risk involved; it's just a matter of tending to security. And if she actually wants to leave Hades and they let her come anyway, then they feel they can control her, and I've overestimated her power.” He paused. “But if they're afraid to let her come to Port Maracaibo, then her power is every bit as awesome as I've been led to believe it is and they don't dare risk giving her any freedom of action at all. If that's the case, all I have to do is figure out a way to open one door for her and she'll do the rest.”

  Lord Lucifer smiled. “You make it sound a lot simpler than I think it will prove to be.”

  “Well, if it was easy, someone would have gotten to her before now,” admitted Chandler. He paused. “I don't know about anyone else, but I think I'm ready for that cognac.”

  “Sounds good to me,” agreed Gin.

  Chandler turned to the driver. “Why don't you go and tell the Wolfman to bring it in?”

  “Sure thing, Whistler,” said Gin. He got up from the table and left the room.

  “Find out everything you can about him,” said Chandler, lowering his voice.

  “About Gin?” repeated Lord Lucifer. “He's been around for years.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “Do you have some reason to suspect he might be in the employ of the Oracle?”

  “If she's got any humans working for her, I'm not aware of it.”

  “Neither am I,” admitted Lord Lucifer. He frowned. “Then why are you suspicious of him?”

  “The Oracle's not the only one trying to kill me, remember?”

  “But Gin was almost killed by a Democracy assassin,” protested Lord Lucifer.

  “And he spent two days in the hospital with a shoulder burn,” responded Chandler. “He should have been out on the street the next morning. They knew he was my driver; they may have gotten to him while he was being patched up. If they did, I want to know who he reports to.”