Authors: Mike Resnick
Oracle (14 page)
"Sounds good to me, Doctor,” replied Broussard, disguising his voice.
Then she leaned over and injected something into the Injun's left arm, and he tried mentally counting backward from one hundred.
He was unconscious before he hit 98.
A voice disturbed the darkness that enveloped him.
"How do you feel?"
The Injun moaned and tried to turn away, then winced as his right ear touched his pillow.
"Wake up, Lieutenant Two Feathers."
"Go away."
"The surgery's over, Lieutenant,” said Broussard. “It's time to get up now."
"What time is it?"
"Almost morning."
"All right. Give me a minute to clear my head.” He lay motionless, trying to remember all the events of the previous evening until they finally came into focus. “How did it go?"
"About as anticipated,” answered Broussard. “She removed the transmitter and the explosive, and left the camera in.” He paused. “She woke you and checked you out briefly right afterward, then had me move you here for a few more hours."
The Injun sat up abruptly, then moaned and held his head.
"No sudden movements for another day,” said Broussard, who was sitting in a chair by the foot of the bed.
"Jesus! It feels like someone's inside my head, hammering to get out."
"Jill said you'd have quite a headache when you woke up."
"Was the thing at the base of my skull a bomb?” asked the Injun.
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"We dissolved it in acid."
"Can you dissolve a bomb in acid?” asked the Injun dubiously.
"You can when it's an organic device, like a plasma bomb,” answered Broussard. “The trick was getting it out without triggering it.” He smiled. “That's why you've got a headache."
"What about the transmitter?"
"It's in the next room,” said Broussard. “I didn't think you'd want it around until we had talked. I can destroy it if you like."
"Not yet,” said the Injun. He paused. “Am I on any medication?"
"She loaded you up with antibiotics and glucose before she brought you in here, and you'll be on pain medication for a couple of days."
"Things look different,” said the Injun, frowning.
"I took the liberty of putting an eyepatch on you,” answered Broussard. “You can remove it whenever you want, but until I knew what you planned to do, it seemed best not to let the person at the other end of the camera know that you were awake and in a hospital room."
"Good thinking,” said the Injun approvingly.
"Do you think you're up to some breakfast?"
"Yeah, I could do with some in a few minutes,” answered the Injun. “Except for four or five bites of that alien meat, I haven't had anything to eat since I arrived at the embassy yesterday afternoon."
"Speaking of the embassy, I'm going to have to report in to them in the next few minutes, before they start sending out search parties.” Broussard paused. “I called them right after we wheeled you out of surgery and gave them some cock-and-bull story about your having a liaison with a girl you had met—but they're going to start getting nervous before long."
"How soon can I get on my feet?"
"Whenever you want."
"Okay,” said the Injun. “Give me another hour and then take me back to the embassy."
"I don't think you can walk that far in your current condition, sir,” said Broussard. “Perhaps I'd better get the landcar and come back for you."
The Injun nodded, then winced as a bolt of pain shot through his skull.
"Damn!” he said. “How long is this going to keep up?"
"What, sir?"
"Every time I move my head it feels like someone's hitting it with a blunt instrument."
"I really couldn't say, sir. I only know that Jill said there would be some discomfort for a day or two."
"Discomfort to a doctor is the torture of the damned to his patients. Get me the pain killer."
Broussard reached into his pocket and withdrew a small inhaler. “Take one breath of this every four hours."
The Injun grabbed it from him, inserted it into a nostril, and took two deep sniffs. “I haven't got time for a slow recovery."
"Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave for the landcar, sir?"
"Two things. First, where are my clothes?"
Broussard walked to a closet and ordered the door to open. “Right here, sir. And the second thing?"
"Bring me the transmitter—and don't make a sound while you're doing it. Then get the vehicle and pick me up in an hour."
Broussard left the room and returned a moment later with an incredibly-miniaturized device, which rested on a soft sponge. He handed it to the Injun, saluted, and left the room.
The Injun waited until the door slid shut, then inserted the device up to his left ear.
"Good morning, you son of a bitch,” he said.
"How's your stomach feeling today, Jimmy?” asked 32, his voice sounding distant and tinny.
"Never better."
"I trust you've learned your lesson."
"You wouldn't believe all the things I've learned,” said the Injun.
There was a long silence.
"Aren't you going to ask?” said the Injun at last.
"Ask what?” replied 32.
"Why you can't see anything?"
"I assume you've got your eyes closed."
"One of ‘em, anyway."
"This is a very juvenile display of petulance, Jimmy,” said 32. “I'm here to help you, and I can't do that if I can't see what you're seeing."
"Actually, I'm here to help you,” replied the Injun. “And I think the first thing I'm going to help you do is renegotiate my contract."
"What are you getting at, Jimmy?"
"We're about to change the ground rules,” said the Injun. “How badly do you want the Oracle?"
"Very badly. You know that."
"How much are you willing to pay?"
"We've already got a deal, Jimmy,” said 32. “Your freedom in exchange for the Oracle."
"My freedom was just the down payment,” said the Injun, leaning back carefully against a pillow and wincing again. “Now we're going to start talking money."
"Forget it, Jimmy. I'm not going to let you or anyone else take advantage of the Democracy."
"Who's taking advantage?” said the Injun. “I want an honest day's pay for an honest day's work."
"You've never done an honest day's work in your life,” answered 32. “We have an agreement, and you're going to stick to it."
"No, I'm afraid not."
"Let me remind you that I possess the ability to terminate our agreement rather forcefully whenever I choose."
"You're welcome to try."
"Why are you talking like this?” demanded 32. “What's come over you, Jimmy?"
"Nothing's come over me,” answered the Injun. “But a lot has come out of me. Want to see?"
He withdrew the transmitter, then faced a wall so that 32 couldn't pinpoint his location from the view out the window, removed his eyepatch with his free hand, and stared at the tiny object.
"Look familiar?” he asked.
There was no response, and he realized that even if 32 was speaking, he couldn't hear it until he re-inserted the transmitter into his ear. He covered his eye once again and then carefully put the transmitter back in place. 32 was just coming to the end of a long string of obscenities.
"I'd show you the bomb, too, but it's already been destroyed.” The Injun grinned again. “Are you ready to talk price?"
"That's extortion, and I don't deal with extortionists."
"No, you just wire them for sight, sound, and extermination."
"You go after the Oracle on our original terms or you're a dead man, Jimmy."
"I can't tell you how frightened that makes me feel."
"I'm not kidding, Jimmy. You may be able to hide for an hour or a day or possibly even a week, but I promise you'll never get off that planet."
"Maybe I don't want to."
"What are you talking about?"
"The reason we're going to negotiate a price, no matter how loudly you protest,” said the Injun, “is because you're not the only game in town."
"Who else is there?"
"I figure there are at least two other players,” answered the Injun. “First of all, there's the guy who's coming to take her out."
"You don't even know who he is."
"You've already told me the name he uses, and if he makes it here, he won't be that hard to spot.” He paused. “Once he learns that the Democracy wants him dead, I figure he ought to be more than happy to pay me to learn the identity of the man who double-crossed him."
"Who's the other party?"
"I would have thought that would be obvious,” replied the Injun. “There's the Oracle."
"You'd sell your own race out? I don't believe it!"
"I've got nothing against her,” answered the Injun. “She's never done me any harm—which is more than I can say for some members of my own race."
"This is more than extortion!” snapped 32 furiously. “It's treason!"
"No,” said the Injun. “It's business.” He paused. “Now, I can transact it with you, or I can transact it with someone else. That's the only decision you've got to make—and you've got exactly five minutes in which to make it. If we reach an agreement in that time, I'll return to the embassy and go to work for you. If not, I guarantee you won't find me before I find the Whistler and the Oracle."
32 made no reply, and the Injun started counting down the seconds in his mind.
"Four minutes,” he announced.
Still there was no reply.
"Three minutes."
"How much do you want?” asked 32 in strained tones.
"I'm a reasonable man,” said the Injun. “You keep telling me that the Oracle is probably the greatest potential threat the Democracy has ever faced. I don't think ten million credits is out of line."
"Ten million? You're crazy!"
"Come on,” said the Injun easily. “You spend billions of credits waging wars against races that are no threat to you at all. I would think you'd jump at the chance to be rid of the Oracle for only ten million."
There was a lengthy pause.
"Payable upon completion of the job?"
The Injun laughed aloud. “I've lost my faith in the Democracy. I want half down, and the other half where I can get it when the job's done."
"Give me a bank and an account number, and I'll have five million credits transferred there by tomorrow morning."
"I'm not that dumb even when I'm on the seed,” said the Injun. “It'll go through so many middlemen that you'll lose track of it before it's halfway to its destination—and I don't go to work until it's where I want it to be.” He gave 32 the first step of the money route.
"What assurances do I have that you'll go through with it once the money's in place?"
"None,” answered the Injun. “Consider it an act of faith.” He paused. “Have we got a deal?"
There was a short pause. “I'll have to think it over."
"Think fast. You've got less than a minute left."
"Will you reinsert the transmitter so that I can monitor your progress?"
"Not a chance. I work alone."
Another pause.
"All right. It's a deal."
But, thought the Injun with a grin as he tossed the transmitter into an atomizer and began getting dressed, we didn't shake on it.
The Injun lay back on his bed, staring at various two- and three-dimensional prints on the beige walls and wishing that the embassy had hired a bolder decorator. When the throbbing in his right ear and at the base of his skull finally began to subside, he decided to begin working.
"Computer, activate,” he ordered.
The computer on his desk hummed to life.
"Computer, do you know who I am?"
"You are Lieutenant James Two Feathers."
"Do you know the nature of my assignment on Hades?"
"No, I do not."
"Is anyone currently monitoring my room?"
"No."
"Is anyone currently monitoring my conversation with you?” he continued.
"No."
"Have I the authority to keep it that way?"
"I do not understand, Lieutenant Two Feathers,” answered the computer. “You must word your questions more precisely."
"Is there a way that I can prevent anyone from monitoring this room?"
"No."
"Can you warn me if and when the room is being monitored?"
"Yes."
"I order you to do so."
"Order received and enacted."
"Good.” The Injun paused, trying to formulate his request properly. “I don't want anyone to know what information I am about to request of you. Is there a way to make this and all future conversations between you and me private, so that no one else can access them?"
"Yes."
"How do I go about it?"
"You must instruct me to seal your work under a Priority Restriction."
"Please seal all my work under a Priority Restriction."
"Order received and enacted."
"All right,” said the Injun. “Now let's get to work.” He paused as another surge of pain shot through his inner ear, then continued speaking after it had passed. “I have two missions on Hades. One is to assassinate the human woman known as the Oracle. The other is to prevent a man who is somewhere within the Alpha Crepello system from reaching her before I do. If I make contact with him, there is a possibility that I may have to kill him. Will your programming allow you to help me?"
"Yes,” replied the computer. “Helping you accomplish your mission will not set up any ethical conflicts within me."
"Good. Do you have any information in your memory banks concerning a mercenary or bounty hunter who uses the professional name of the Whistler?"
"No."
"He comes from the Inner Frontier. Can you access a computer that may have some information about him?"
"Possibly."
Silence.
"Well?” demanded the Injun.
"You made no request, Lieutenant Two Feathers."
"Try to access a computer that can supply you with data about the Whistler, and if you are successful, transmit that information to me."
"Working...” There was a three-minute silence, during which time the Injun lay absolutely still and hoped the pain within his head would diminish. It had just begun to subside slightly when the computer spoke again. “The man known as the Whistler is actually Jeremiah Joshua Chandler. He is 38 years old. He is six feet two inches tall, weighs 178 pounds, and has auburn hair and blue eyes. He has no distinguishing scars or birthmarks. His home planet is Boyson III, which is known locally as The Frenchman's World. He is a bounty hunter who has made 27 reported kills, and has brought in eleven living fugitives. It is assumed that he has made even more unreported kills, but the number cannot be ascertained."