Soothsayer (17 page)

The Mouse looked at her for a moment, startled—and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the almost alien expression of rage vanished from Penelope's face.

"I love you, Mouse,” she said.

The Mouse embraced her. “And I love you too, Penelope."

"And if they try to hurt you,” she continued, “something bad will happen to them."

"Like what?” asked the Mouse.

"Oh, I don't know,” said Penelope with a shrug. “Just something."

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The Starboat was the most impressive and elegant space station on the Inner Frontier.

Hundreds of ships, some small, some incredibly large, were docked along its sleek, shining hull. In fact, the hull itself was the first thing to capture a visitor's attention, for it proclaimed the station's name in 200-foot-high letters that blazed like a million tiny suns, and it was visible to approaching ships that were still thousands of miles away.

The interior lived up to the hull's glittering promise. There were restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and a dozen immense public gambling rooms, as well as some very private rooms for high-stakes games, games that even King Tout couldn't afford. Men in formal dress, women in very little dress at all, aliens in exotic attire, all moved discreetly from table to table, from game to game, offering drinks, drugs, an assortment of alien tobaccos, and gaming chips.

The tables themselves were divided almost evenly between human and alien games, and, not surprisingly, the jaded human customers clustered around of the more popular alien games, losing tens of thousands of credits at a time at games such as
jabob
, so complex that it took years to learn, while the score or more of alien races—Canphorites, Domarians, Lodinites, even a pair of methane-breathing Atrians in their frigid protective suits—lost just as heavily at poker, blackjack and roulette.

There was no form of wager one couldn't make aboard the Starboat. One huge room, housing hundreds of computer and video screens, offered up-to-the-minute news and odds on sporting events all across the Democracy, while another posted odds and results of the tens of thousands of elections that occurred daily for major and minor political offices on the Democracy's fifty thousand worlds. A third room was devoted to an endless series of trivia games, which were making their hundredth or so reappearance in a galaxy where Man had grown out of touch with his origins and constantly sought to relearn them.

The Golden Duke had been left behind to keep an eye on the Mouse—or, more specifically, to punish her if Penelope refused to make her talents available to her captors—and King Tout had taken September Morn and the little girl with him aboard the Starboat.

They were scanned very briefly and very thoroughly at the entrance. Then King Tout walked up to one of the many cashiers’ windows, established a line of credit, and took a quick tour of the gaming rooms. Finally he found a table, no different than any other, that seemed to appeal to him, and he gestured September Morn to take one of the empty seats at it.

Then he leaned over and whispered to Penelope.

"You remember the signals we talked about?"

She nodded. “I touch my left ear when you're going to win, and my right ear when September has the best hand."

"That's right, my child,” he said. “And do you remember what will happen to your friend if you give me the wrong signal even once?"

"I remember,” said Penelope. She looked around the room. “Where do you want me to sit?"

"Come with me,” said King Tout, leading her to a long bar that lined the back wall. He lifted her up onto an exotic-looking stool and summoned the bartender, an orange-skinned Belonian.

"Do you have something non-alcoholic for the young lady to drink?” he asked pleasantly.

"We have a wide selection,” said the Belonian into its translating device.

King Tout slipped a wad of New Stalin ruples out of his pocket and laid them on the bar.

"Give her whatever she wants, and make sure that nobody bothers her."

The Belonian flashed its purple teeth in its version of a happy smile and picked up the money.

"It will be my pleasure, sir,” it replied.

King Tout turned to Penelope. “I don't want you moving away from here, do you understand?"

"I understand,” said the girl.

"I hope so, my child, or it will go very hard on your friend."

Penelope stared at him, but said nothing, and a moment later he walked back to the table and seated himself where he had a clear view of the girl.

The Belonian brought Penelope a selection of three fruit-flavored drinks, and she chose the one in the most elaborate container, a sparkling crystal that was shaped like the horn of some ancient animal. A moment later the first hand was dealt, and she casually raised her hand to her right ear. King Tout smiled—his opponents thought he was smiling at some remark one of them had made—and kept betting and raising until everyone except September Morn had dropped out, then tossed his cards in without showing them when she displayed a full house of aces and jacks.

Her captors lost the next two hands, and then Penelope touched her left ear, signaling a win by King Tout. This time it was September Morn who kept betting and raising until all but one player was driven out, and then she folded and allowed King Tout to continue betting on his own.

They continued in this manner for another half hour. They didn't always raise each other when King Tout knew they were holding winning hands, and they didn't always drop out early when he knew they were destined to lose, but they gradually accumulated most of the money at the table. A couple of the players—a Canphorite and a human—decided that they'd had enough, and were replaced by two others, both human this time.

And as King Tout and September Morn accumulated their winnings, Penelope sat almost motionless at the bar, her blue eyes scanning the room, her mind sorting out different possibilities, different futures, different means to the end she desired.

Finally she found what she had been looking for. It was a tall, stunningly-dressed man, his glowing garments changing colors constantly, his hair and beard a rainbow of hues, his boots made from the phosphorescent blue fur of the now-extinct Icedemon of Belloq IV. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the room, pausing now at one table for a moment, now at another, his dark eyes missing no detail. Finally he stopped in front of a huge roulette wheel, summoned one of the many waiter/cashiers, and ordered a handful of chips. Penelope didn't know his name, or why he was aboard the Starboat, but she knew that this was the man she sought.

Penelope observed the man for a few moments, as he wagered on four successive turns of the wheel and lost each time. So intent was she on studying him that she almost forgot to signal King Tout that he had another winning hand, and tried to ignore his glare as she informed him only after the initial series of bets.

Then the opportunity she had known would occur came to pass. A thin young man walked up to the the bar, and she managed to spill her drink, splashing some of it on him.

"I'm so sorry!” she said apologetically.

"No problem,” said the man, signaling for a bartowel and wiping his sleeve off. “But you should really be a little more careful, young lady."

Penelope waited until the alien bartender was out of earshot.

"I spilled it on purpose,” she said very softly.

The man stared at her, and said nothing.

"I need help,” she continued.

"If you go around spilling drinks on strangers just to amuse yourself, you need more than help,” he said. “You need some manners, young lady."

He turned and started to walk away.

"If you go away,” she whispered intently, “I won't tell you what number will win next at the roulette wheel."

"And if I stay here, you'll give me the winner and I'll win a million credits?” he asked, highly amused.

"How much you win depends on how much you bet."

The young man glanced over at the roulette table. “The wheel's spinning now,” he said. “Why don't you tell me the winning number, just as a show of good faith?"

"27,” said Penelope without hesitation.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

He grinned at her. “What do I get if you're wrong?"

"Nothing,” she replied, freezing suddenly as King Tout, who had just been dealt a losing hand, looked across the room at her. “But because you didn't believe me, you won't get anything anyway."

"Didn't anyone ever teach you how to speak to adults?” said the man. “Because—"

"27 on the black!” announced the croupier.

Penelope resisted the urge to smile smugly at the young man.

"Luck,” he said.

"If you believe that, I won't give you the next number."

"Why are you giving me any numbers at all?"

She waited until two men who were passing the bar momentarily obscured her from King Tout's line of vision. “I told you: I need help."

He frowned. “You want me to bet for you?"

"No. I want you to rescue my friend and me—and don't look at me when we talk,” she added.

"What friend?” he asked, gazing around the crowded room.

"She's not here. She's on a ship that's docked outside."

"I'm not in the rescuing business, little lady,” said the man.

"The next number will be 8,” she said suddenly.

The man waited until the ball had come to rest, and the croupier confirmed that the winning number was indeed an 8.

"
Now
do you believe I can tell you the winning numbers?” whispered Penelope, glancing at King Tout out of the corner of her eye, and finding that the gambler was too involved in the play of his hand to pay much attention to her.

"Very interesting,” he said, the grin gone from his face. “I would have sworn that was an honest wheel."

"It is."

"I don't believe it."

"What difference does it make?” said Penelope. “Whether it's honest or not, I can tell you the winning numbers."

He stared at her. “Every time?"

"Yes.” She glanced again at King Tout's table. “And stop looking at me."

"Why?"

"I don't want anyone to know we're talking to each other."

"Why
are
you talking to me?” he asked, quickly averting his gaze.

"I told you: I need help."

"Why did you choose me?"

"I don't want you,” said Penelope. “I want the man you work for."

"What makes you think I work for anyone?"

"I haven't got time to explain,” said Penelope. “But if I walked over and talked to
him
, they'd hurt my friend. Nobody knows who you are, so I'm talking to you instead."

"You seem to know an awful lot about things that are none of your business, young lady,” said the man, frowning. He paused briefly. “Who do you think I work for?"

"The man with the fur boots."

"And if you were right, why do you think he'd want to help you?"

"He doesn't want to now, but he will when you give him my message."

"Why should I give him a message from a little girl who knows too many things?"

"Because if you don't, I'll find someone else to do it, and then he'll be mad at you."

The young man looked over at the roulette table, then back at Penelope.

"What kind of message do you want me to give him?"

"After the fat woman with the white hair leaves the table, the next three winners will be 31, then 9, then 11."

"31, 9 and 11?"

"Yes."

"Then what?"

"Then come back to the bar and I'll tell you where my friend is. I can't let them see me talking to him."

"Them? Who is
them
?"

Penelope touched her right ear, as September Morn picked up a winning hand and King Tout stared across the room at her.

"Go away now,” she whispered. “I've talked to you too long already."

The young man looked around the room once more, trying to spot whoever it was that the little girl was afraid of, then walked casually to the roulette table. A moment later an overweight, white-haired woman got up and left, and he watched in silence as the wheel spun and the ball landed on 31. Finally he edged his way closer to the colorfully-dressed man and whispered something to him. The larger man stared at him curiously for a moment, then shrugged and placed a large bet on number 9.

He collected his winnings, then put another pile on chips on number 11. When the ball landed there, he whispered something to the young man, who made his way back to the bar, pausing to briefly observe a couple of poker games and a
jabob
table along the way.

He stopped about eight feet away from Penelope, leaned against the bar, and spoke softly while staring at the store of liquor bottle directly in front of him.

"Okay, little lady,” he said softly, “you've got yourself a deal.” He paused. “One condition, though."

Penelope knew what the condition was, but asked anyway.

"He wants two more winners."

"After he rescues my friend."

"Uh-uh,” said the man. “We blast our way into a ship, we may have to leave in one hell of a hurry. He wants the numbers now."

"There's a man with a gold tooth sitting at the table. After he wins, the next two numbers will be 2 and 29."

"I'll be right back."

The young man relayed the information to his employer, then returned to his position at the bar.

"All right,” he said. “If they're winners, we're in business.” He paused. “Tell me about your friend."

"Her name is Mouse,” said Penelope.

"Mouse?” repeated the young man. “I hate to think of what she looks like."

"She's very pretty,” said Penelope defensively.

"Where is she?"

"On King Tout's ship."

"King Tout? Who is he?"

"He's playing cards in the middle of the room."

"Before I turn to look, tell me how I can recognize him. It's a damned crowded room."

"September Morn's with him."

"That doesn't help."

"She's an alien. There's water in her suit."

"A water-breather? I didn't see one when I walked through the room."