Soothsayer Read online

  “They took him away.”

  “They?” repeated the Mouse. “Who?”

  “The men who came with 32. He didn't want them to take me, so they took both of us.”

  “And you haven't seen him since?”

  “No.”

  “If your mother is alive, she must be looking for you.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “She's afraid of me.”

  “Of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” asked the Mouse.

  “Because I'm different.”

  “You mean because you can see the future?”

  Penelope nodded. “I used to think everyone could do it, so I talked about it. My mother didn't believe me, so I showed her that I was telling the truth. Then she was afraid.”

  “And your father,” said the Mouse. “Was he afraid of you, too?”

  “No.”

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Was he rich?”

  “I don't know.” Penelope frowned. “We're talking about me again.”

  “We're talking about secrets,” said the Mouse. “And now I'm going to tell you one.”

  “What is it?” asked Penelope eagerly.

  “Someone very rich is trying to find you.”

  “You told me that already ... but you didn't tell me why.”

  “Because you can see the future.”

  “What good does seeing the future do?” asked Penelope. “Everybody keeps chasing me, and no matter how hard I try to get away, sooner or later they catch me.”

  “Did you ever make a bet on anything?” asked the Mouse.

  “No. My parents didn't like betting.”

  “But you know how it works?” continued the Mouse. “I say something is going to happen one way, you say it's going to happen another, and whoever turns out to be right wins the bet.”

  “I know.”

  “A person who could see the future would know in advance which side to bet on.”

  “It doesn't work that way,” said Penelope.

  “Oh?”

  “When 32's people were making me do all those things, they tried to make me say how a coin would land or what numbers would be on some dice after they rolled them.”

  “And you couldn't do it?”

  “Sometimes I could.”

  “Even if you just guessed like everyone else, you'd be right half the time on a coin flip,” said the Mouse.

  “I mean, sometimes I could see in my mind how the coins or the dice would land.”

  “But only sometimes?”

  “Only sometimes.”

  “Were you ever wrong?” asked the Mouse. “I mean, on those times when you could see the coins in your mind?”

  Penelope shook her head.

  “That's why this rich person wants you,” said the Mouse. “You don't have to know the right answer every time you tell him how to bet or invest. You just have to be right on those occasions that you do see the future.”

  “I wish I couldn't do it,” said Penelope, frowning. “Then maybe everyone would leave me alone.”

  “But you saved my life by doing it,” noted the Mouse.

  “They wouldn't have been trying to kill you if I couldn't do it,” said Penelope. “I wish I were just a normal little girl.”

  “But then we'd never have met,” said the Mouse, offering her a reassuring smile.

  Penelope sighed deeply. “I forgot about that,” she admitted. “But I wish everyone would leave us alone.”

  The Mouse shrugged. “We'll just have to find a place where they will.”

  “Maybe we'll be safe at Ophir,” suggested the girl.

  “Nobody's safe in a mining town,” answered the Mouse. “Everyone thinks everyone else is after their goods, and nobody ever trusts anybody. I'll be happy if we just live long enough to borrow or steal a ship.” She paused. “God, it's getting hot in here!” She slammed her hand against the vehicle's air conditioner. “I wonder if this thing is still working.”

  Penelope reached a small white hand toward one of the vents. “It is.” She paused. “Kind of,” she added.

  “They must be pulling some damned big diamonds out of the ground to be worth living out here in this heat,” said the Mouse. She paused. “Well, we've each told the other a secret. Now I think we'd better invent one.”

  “Invent a secret?” repeated Penelope uncomprehendingly.

  The Mouse nodded. “We need a secret signal so I'll know if someone wants to harm us.”

  “Like a secret code!” said Penelope excitedly. “Like the stories I saw on the video!”

  “Just like them.”

  “How about if I do this?” suggested Penelope, screwing up her face in such a grotesque expression that the Mouse laughed out loud.

  “It wouldn't be secret for very long.”

  “I could pretend to sneeze.”

  “No,” said the Mouse. “We need something that doesn't draw attention to you. Try scratching your chin.”

  Penelope made a claw of her left hand and scratched her chin vigorously.

  The Mouse shook her head. “Use one finger, and do it very gingerly.”

  The little girl did as she was instructed.

  “That's it. If anyone is going to try to hurt us, that's what I want you to do.”

  “But what if I'm in another room, or you can't see me?” asked Penelope. “Maybe I should whistle a song.”

  “It will attract too much attention.”

  “But if someone wants to kill us, shouldn't we want to attract attention?”

  The Mouse grimaced. “I'm not big enough to fight off an attacker; I just want a little warning so we can sneak out before they pounce.” She paused. “Besides, someone has offered an awful lot of money for you. Attract enough attention in a town like Ophir, and four out of every five men who figure out who you are will be more likely to kidnap you than save you.”

  Penelope fell silent and practiced gently scratching her chin, and the Mouse increased their speed and tried to ignore the constantly increasing heat within the vehicle.

  Two hours later they arrived at the tiny outpost of Ophir.

  6.

  The Mouse walked into the bar, Penelope at her side, and breathed a sigh of gratitude as a wave of cold air swept over her. There were twelve large, well-worn tables made from a local hardwood, all of them empty at midday, and she collapsed into a chair at the closest one. The walls were covered with holographs of military heroes, sports heroes, and plump nude women, none of which particularly impressed her.

  The bartender, a short, burly man with a noticeable limp and a sparse mustache that made his upper lip appear dirty rather than hairy, nodded a greeting to them.

  “I don't know how anyone lives out here,” said the Mouse. “I've felt cooler ovens.”

  The bartender grinned. “We don't reach the heat of the day for another couple of hours. You'll get used to it.”

  “Why would anyone want to?” replied the Mouse. She peered at his stock behind the bar. “What have you got to drink?”

  “You name it, we've got it.”

  “We'll need a room, too.”

  “It's yours, gratis.”

  “You don't charge for your rooms?” said the Mouse, puzzled.

  “The next room I charge for will be the first,” said the bartender.

  “How do you make a living?”

  “Oh, I manage,” said the bartender. “By the way, my name's Ryan—Bannister Ryan.”

  “Bannister?” repeated the Mouse. “That's an unusual name.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Oh, it's not my real one. They gave it to me the first year I was here.”

  “Why?”

  He leaned forward, resting his large hands on the polished surface of the bar. “Some drunk was causing a disturbance, so I asked him politely to desist. He didn't"—Ryan smiled at the memory—"so I ripped a bannister off the staircase and cracke
d him over the head with it. I've been Bannister Ryan ever since.”

  “How long have you been out here?” asked the Mouse.

  Ryan paused long enough to do a quick mental computation. “Eighteen years. Bought the place seven years ago.”

  “The bar?”

  “The whole damned town—all three buildings’ worth.”

  “Well, Bannister, that's an interesting story, but we're still thirsty.”

  “What'll you have?”

  “I'll have a tall, cold beer,” said the Mouse.

  “The first one's on the house,” said Ryan.

  “You're kidding!”

  He shook his head. “One thing I never kid about is money.”

  “Someday you must tell me how you stay in business.”

  “Someday I will,” Ryan assured her.

  “How about you?” said the Mouse to Penelope. “What'll you have?”

  “A glass of water, please,” said the girl.

  “Right,” said Ryan. “That'll be 300 credits.”

  “What?” demanded the Mouse.

  “300 credits,” repeated Ryan.

  “For a glass of water?” said the Mouse incredulously.

  “Nobody's holding a gun to your head,” said Ryan cheerfully. “If you think you can get it cheaper somewhere else, go right ahead.”

  “Now I see how you make a living,” said the Mouse irritably.

  “Out here, water's worth a hell of a lot more than a bed,” replied Ryan. “There's none on the surface for 200 miles in any direction, and the miners use what little exists below the ground to extract their diamonds.”

  “Can't you recycle it?”

  He shook his head. “Radioactive. Two glasses of it and you won't need a flashlight when you go out at night.”

  The Mouse pulled out a wad of credits and slapped them down on the table, and a moment later Ryan came out from behind the bar carrying a beer and a glass of water.

  “I've sold water for a lot more than this from time to time,” he explained pleasantly. “You wouldn't believe what a man with a pocketful of diamonds will pay to fill his canteen before he sets out for Haggard—especially if he hasn't told his partners that he's leaving.”

  The Mouse looked out a dusty window at the vast expanse of sand and rock. “Yes, I think I would.”

  “By the way, how long are you and the child going to be staying?”

  “At 300 credits for a glass of water, not as long as I thought.”

  “If you're short of money, there's work to be had,” said Ryan.

  “I don't know the first thing about mining.”

  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.”