Soothsayer Read online

“She can see a number of possible futures, and sometimes, by her actions, she can affect which potential future becomes a reality.”

  “As I said, you need protection. She never did.”

  “She can't always choose a future in which she's safe. Sometimes there are no alternatives to being captured.”

  “Has it occurred to you that as she becomes more mature, more alternatives will manifest themselves to her?”

  “I hope so,” said the Mouse. “She's suffered enough for one lifetime.”

  The Iceman shook his head impatiently. “I don't mean that she'll see futures in which she's not threatened.”

  “Oh?”

  “If there are an infinite number of possible futures, and she becomes more and more adept at visualizing and manipulating them, what makes you think that the day won't come when she can see a future in which she rules the entire galaxy with an iron hand—or that she won't be able to manipulate events to make that particular future come to pass?”

  “My God, Carlos—she's just a frightened little girl! You make her sound like some kind of monster.”

  “I'm sure that Caligula and Adolf Hitler and Conrad Bland were once frightened little boys. They grew up.” He paused. “Are you sure you want her to grow up?”

  She glared at him furiously. “You really are a bastard. You didn't help me eleven years ago; I should have known better than to expect you to help me now.”

  “You knew the risk you were taking,” said the Iceman. “When I heard that you had been captured, I tried to work out an exchange, but they weren't interested.”

  “So you just wrote me off.”

  “Everyone was expendable.” He stared at her dispassionately. “That's the nature of the game.”

  “It doesn't seem much like a game when you're stuck in a cell on an alien world.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn't.”

  Another silence followed, during which the Mouse stared at the Iceman and tried to reconcile what she saw with her memory of Carlos Mendoza.

  “You chose your new name well,” she said at last. “You were never the warmest or most demonstrative man, but you've become cold as ice.”

  “Being warm and demonstrative never solved anything,” he replied. “In the long run they just bring you pain.”

  “I find it hard to believe I ever cared for you,” she said. “It's like it was some other man.”

  “It was. His name was Carlos Mendoza, and he doesn't exist any longer.”

  “Probably just as well,” said the Mouse, getting to her feet. “I guess we'll have to take our chances elsewhere. I'm sorry I bothered you.”

  “Shut up and sit down,” said the Iceman. He didn't raise his voice, but his tone carried so much authority that the Mouse, to her surprise, found herself obeying him.

  “That's better,” he continued. “You and the girl are safe for as long as you remain on Last Chance. I owe you that much.” He paused. “My protection doesn't extend to the Forever Kid. Now go to the hotel and stay there for half an hour. That'll give me time to pass the word.”

  “What about the Kid?”

  The Iceman shrugged. “He can stay or leave as he pleases—but if he's looking for someone to put a permanent end to his boredom, he's as likely to find him here as anywhere.”

  “You mean you?”

  He shook his head. “He's got no reason to want to kill me, and I've got nothing to prove.”

  “If I'm still here in three weeks,” said the Mouse, “someone will be joining me—an illusionist named Merlin. I want him protected too.”

  He stared at her, and finally nodded his assent.

  She pushed her chair back from the table and got to her feet.

  “I'll see you around,” she said.

  “I imagine you will.”

  “The waitress told me that I wasn't being charged for my room or my drink. Is that right?”

  “Your meals are on the house, too.”

  “They'd damned well better be,” she said. “It's a small enough price to pay to sooth a guilty conscience.”

  “I don't feel any guilt,” he replied. “But I do feel a certain obligation.”

  “You may just overwhelm me with the force of your emotion,” said the Mouse sardonically.

  “I am glad you're still alive.”

  “Next you'll be telling me that you still love me,” she replied sardonically.

  “No, I don't.”

  “Or that you never did.”

  “I did, once.” He paused. “It was a mistake. You can't send someone you love into danger.”

  “So you stopped sending people into danger.”

  The Iceman shook his head sadly. “No. I stopped loving them.”

  10.

  That afternoon the Mouse stopped by the assayer's office and cashed in her diamonds for the standard 33% of market value. She walked out with 165,000 credits, and after she paid the Forever Kid for his entire week, she went to the room she was sharing with Penelope and hid the remaining money in the little girl's pillow, along with the 20,000 credits in cash she had removed from the miners’ bodies.

  “Is the money safe here?” she asked.

  Penelope, who was playing with her doll, shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “But you don't know for sure?”

  “Nobody wants it right now.”

  “Will they want it tonight, when they think we're asleep?”

  “Probably not,” said Penelope.

  “Why ‘probably not'?” asked the Mouse. “Why not ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ or ‘I don't know'?”

  “I can't see all the futures that far ahead. In the ones I can see, nobody tries to take the money away.” She paused. “Well, all but one, anyway.”

  “And what happens in that one?”

  “The man you call the Iceman kills the woman who tries to sneak up here to rob you.”

  “He'll actually kill her?”

  “Only if she tries to come up here. In the other futures I can see, she doesn't stop by the assay office, or if she does, the man who works there doesn't tell her about your money.”

  “It must be very confusing for you sometimes, trying to separate the present from the future, or the real future from all the imaginary ones.”

  “They're all imaginary until one of them happens,” answered Penelope, carefully straightening her doll's dress. “It used to be more confusing. I'm learning how to sort them out better.”

  “Do you ever see a future in which someone isn't trying to hurt or rob us?” asked the Mouse.

  “Hardly ever.”

  “Well, I suppose there's a certain twisted logic to that,” admitted the Mouse. “I have a feeling that half the galaxy wants to hurt us, and most of the other half would love to rob us.” She sighed and eased herself onto her bed. “At least we're safe for the time being.” She chuckled briefly. “Hell, with the Forever Kid and Mendoza both protecting us, it's probably the safest we've been since we met.”

  “Mouse?” said Penelope after a lengthy silence.

  “What?”

  “How long until dinner?”

  “I thought you just had lunch an hour ago. Are you hungry again?”

  “Not really,” admitted Penelope. “But there's nothing to do here, and the Forever Kid told me I couldn't leave the room except to eat, and that when I did he had to come along.”

  “Well, that's what we're paying him for.”

  “I know ... but I'm still bored.”

  “Play with Jennifer,” said the Mouse, indicating the doll.

  “She's bored too.”

  “Then try watching a holo.”

  “There's only one frequency, and I've already seen what they're showing.”

  The Mouse sat up. “Okay. Find us a deck of cards and I'll teach you how to play Dubai gin.”

  The little girl pulled open two dresser drawers with no success, then walked over to the nondescript desk by the door, rummaged through it, and finally withdrew a deck of cards. When she took them out of thei
r container she found to her delight that each card sported some artist's holographic treatment of humanity's most famous mythic figures. There were Paul Bunyon and Billybuck Dancer, Tarzan and Santiago, Bigfoot and Geronimo, Saint Nicholas and Saint Ngani, all in heroic poses.

  The Mouse briefly explained the rules of Dubai gin, then shuffled the deck and began dealing.

  “Don't forget to deal to Jennifer, too,” said Penelope, propping the doll up into a sitting position.

  “I won't forget,” said the Mouse, dealing nine cards face down in front of the doll.

  “These are lovely,” commented Penelope, as she began sorting the cards the Mouse had dealt her.

  “You think so?” replied the Mouse. “When Merlin joins us, I'll have to have him show you a deck that he picked up on Sirius V. It has portraits of 52 extinct mammals from Earth, and he's got a matching deck with 52 extinct raptors.”

  “What's a raptor?”

  “A bird that eats meat.”

  “Don't they all?”

  “Hardly any of them do,” answered the Mouse. Penelope fell silent, studying the holographs on the cards, and the Mouse waited another minute before speaking. “If you'd rather just look at the cards, we don't have to play.”

  “No,” said Penelope. “I want to play, really I do.”

  “All right,” said the Mouse. “You have to pick a card from the pile, and then discard one over here.” She indicated where the discard pile would be built.

  Penelope did as she was told.

  “Now it's Jennifer's turn,” she announced.

  She picked a card without looking at it, placed it in front of the doll, and discarded a four.

  “Perhaps it might be better if you looked at Jennifer's cards before you played them,” suggested the Mouse.

  “That wouldn't be fair,” said Penelope. “I should only look at my own cards.”

  “Then Jennifer's going to lose,” said the Mouse.

  “Oh?” said the little girl, looking concerned. “Why?”

  “She discarded a very low card, a four. Sometimes that's a wise move, but in general you always want to rid yourself of the high cards first.”

  “Jennifer knows that.”

  “Evidently she doesn't, because she didn't do it.”

  “She was going to put the ten in the pile next time,” explained Penelope.

  “What ten?”

  “The one she just picked.” She reached over and held up the ten of hearts, which sported a holographic illustration of the goddess Pallas Athene. “It's so pretty she just wanted to keep it for a few minutes.”

  “How did you know that it was a ten?” asked the Mouse sharply. “I was watching you. You never looked at it.”

  “I knew that it had a picture of a pretty lady on it,” said Penelope guiltily. “I didn't care that it was a ten.”

  “But you knew what it was,” persisted the Mouse.

  “I just wanted Jennifer to see the picture,” said Penelope, who was close to tears now. “I wasn't trying to cheat, honest I wasn't.”

  “I know you weren't,” said the Mouse soothingly.

  “You're not mad at me?”

  “How could I ever get mad at my partner?” said the Mouse, forcing a smile to her lips to mask her eagerness. “I wonder...” she said, allowing her voice to trail off.

  “About what?”

  “Was it just because you wanted to see this picture that you knew what the card would be, or could you do it again?”

  “Promise you won't get mad if I tell you?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “The next card is a picture of a man dressed in black, with a black and red cloak.”

  “Can you see what value the card is?”

  “Value?”

  “Its number and suit.”

  “It's the king of spades.”

  The Mouse turned over the card. It was the king of spades, with a rather frightening representation of Count Dracula staring out at her.

  “Do you know what's in my hand?” asked the Mouse.

  Penelope described the holographs, then, with far less interest, identified the accompanying values and suits.

  “Very good,” said the Mouse.

  “Will you still play cards with me, now that you know?” asked Penelope. “I can try to forget what they are when we're playing.”

  “I don't want you to forget a thing,” said the Mouse.

  “But if I don't, I'll win most of the time.”

  “Why not all the time?” asked the Mouse curiously. “Can't you choose a future in which you always get the best cards?”

  The little girl shook her head. “In some of the futures, you don't shuffle them right. Besides, that would be cheating.”

  The Mouse considered this information for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell—we don't want to win every hand anyway. It would just frighten people off.”

  “We?” repeated Penelope. “I thought I was playing against you.”

  The Mouse shook her head impatiently. “We're through with that game.”

  “But you promised!” said Penelope, suddenly on the verge of tears again.

  “We have a more important game to play,” said the Mouse.

  “What game?”

  “A game in which we can be partners instead of opponents.” The Mouse paused. “And you'll get to give me secret signals, too, just the way we talked about before.”

  “Really?” asked Penelope, her enthusiasm returning.

  “Really.”

  “But won't we be cheating someone else? If I help you, I mean?”

  “We won't be cheating anyone who doesn't deserve it,” answered the Mouse. “And we're stuck here on Last Chance until Merlin shows up or I can put together enough money to buy a ship.”

  “Why can't we just tell the Forever Kid to take us with him?” asked Penelope.

  “Because he doesn't do favors—he sells them. And I haven't got enough money to hire him for a second week.”

  “You're sure it's all right?” persisted Penelope, a worried expression on her face.

  “I'm not only sure it's all right,” answered the Mouse. “I'm sure it's the only way we're ever going to get off this dirtball.” She paused, then added: “And it's not safe for us to stay on any one planet for more than a few days; too many people want to take you away from me.”

  “I know,” said Penelope glumly. “I keep trying to choose a future in which they all forget about me, but I don't know how.”

  “Just pick one in which we win lots of money at End of the Line's card table.”

  “I'll try,” promised the girl.

  “All right,” said the Mouse. “Let's spend the next couple of hours making sure you know the rules. First comes a pair, then two pair, then three of a kind, then...”

  11.

  The End of the Line was crowded. Its lights, glowing circular globes floating weightlessly near the ceiling, shone down on traders, prospectors, adventurers, bounty hunters, whores, gamblers, all the flotsam and jetsom of the Inner Frontier, as they gathered around the burnished chrome bar and the gaming tables. Here and there an occasional alien mingled with the mass of humanity, testing its luck at the tables, imbibing one of the special fluids that the Iceman supplied to his non-human customers, or selling black market commodities that weren't obtainable on the worlds of the Democracy.

  The Mouse walked slowly through the mass of human and alien bodies, holding Penelope by the hand. The little girl drew some curious stares from brilliantly-clad gamblers, some disapproving glances from provocatively-dressed whores, some avaricious looks from the bounty hunters, but the Iceman's word had gone out, and nobody said a word or made a motion in their direction.

  The Mouse was uncomfortably aware of the lean and hungry faces of the bounty hunters, and was almost awed by the power the Iceman seemed to wield. These were cold, hard men, men who backed down from no one—and yet a single command from the Iceman had gone out on the grapevine, and none of them seemed w
illing to cross the line he had drawn.

  “You going to be drinking or gambling?” asked a soft voice behind her, and she turned to find herself facing the Forever Kid.

  “Gambling,” she answered.

  “You sure? There are a lot of pros here tonight.”

  “I'll be all right,” she assured him. “And besides, if I'm going to be able to hire you for another week, I need to raise some money.”

  He shrugged. “That's up to you. Once you settle down at a table, I'll move to where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “The Iceman has passed the word that no one is to bother us while we're on Last Chance, but there's always a chance that not everyone has heard.” She felt a sudden surge of bitterness. “Besides, I counted on him once before and he failed me.”

  She walked past some of the alien games and the dice tables, and finally came to a hexagonal table where three men, two women and a Lodinite were playing poker. The dealer stood out even in this crowd of bejeweled gamblers: the prismatic cloth of his garments changed colors with every motion he made, his fingers were covered with rings of bloodnight and sheerstone, his boots were made from the glowing skin of some alien reptile. He wore a monocle of plain glass, attached to his tunic by a gold chain, and on his shoulder perched a tiny alien bird, its orange eyes staring intently at his shining rings, as if it might leap to his hand and gobble them up at any instant.

  The Mouse stood behind the player with the smallest pile of chips, a woman dressed in such worn, plain leather that she actually stood out more in this crowd of gamblers and gadflys than the dealer did. After a few moments the woman rose from her chair, gathered up her few remaining chips, and walked off.

  “Is this a private game?” inquired the Mouse.

  “No,” replied the dealer. “But it's an expensive one.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten thousand to buy in. A thousand is the minimum bet.”

  “Fine,” said the Mouse, seating herself opposite the dealer and placing thirty thousand credits on the table. Once her money was on the table, the Forever Kid seated himself at an adjoining table that was not currently in use.

  “I see you've come to play,” said the dealer approvingly. “Banker!” he called out. “Get the lady some chips!”

  The casino banker walked over, picked up her money, and replaced it with thirty elegant chips carved from the pink-hued bone of some alien animal.