Soothsayer (4 page)

Once Cherokee had been a mining world, but after its limited supply of diamonds and fissionable materials had been exhausted, its primary reason for colonization had vanished, and it was now used mainly as a trading post and refueling depot for excursions to Far Hebrides, Oceana III, and other more interesting planets closer to the galactic core. A few thousand people had remained on Cherokee, but it was as close to being deserted as a planet could become while still inhabited by some sentient life forms.

The Mouse stopped at the post office and checked the various posters, hoping to find some mention of a missing blonde girl, but saw nothing but the holographs of wanted criminals. Finally she left and walked into the largest of the taverns, and waited for Merlin, who was trying to get some news concerning Penelope's family from the subspace transmitting station.

The tavern was quite large. There was a long, hardwood bar running down one side of it, a handful of gaming machines in the rear, and a number of large round tables clustered in the middle. A trio of overhead fans spun lazily, recirculating the warm air. A holograph of a buxom nude brunette hung over the bar, punctured by hundreds of darts. The floor was covered with the omnipresent red dust of Cherokee, and traces of it seemed to hang in the still air of the tavern.

The clientele was similar to most of the Tradertowns that the Mouse had visited, a mixture of aliens and humans, some obviously wealthy, others just as obviously poor, all chasing the dream of instant riches that life on the Inner Frontier always promised and rarely delivered.

Two Lodinites, their red fur rippling despite the lack of air circulation, were seated at one table, playing
jabob
, a card game that was becoming increasingly popular on the Inner Frontier. There was a tall, emaciated Canphorite sitting alone in a corner, obviously waiting for someone to join him. The rest of the customers, clustered together in twos and threes, were Men. Some were garbed in silks and satins, with shining leather boots and sparkling new weapons; others, those who had not yet struck it rich, or, more likely, has squandered what they had earned, wore the dusty working outfits of prospectors. A couple of girls from the whorehouse next door were drinking at the bar, but by some sort of mutual understanding, none of the men approached them or even paid any attention to them while they were on their equivalent of a coffee break.

The Mouse sat down at an empty table, spent a few restless minutes waiting for Merlin, and finally ordered a container of the local beer. It tasted bitter, but it quenched the thirst she had built up walking through the hot dusty street, and she quickly finished it and ordered another.

A moment later Merlin entered and came over to join her.

"Any luck?” he asked, sitting down on a straight-backed chair.

"No. How about you?"

He shook his head. “Not a damned thing. What do we do now?"

"We do our act tonight, and then leave. This world's only good for one day. Hell, I doubt that I'll be able to steal enough to pay for our fuel."

"And the girl?” continued Merlin.

"She can't stay here,” said the Mouse adamantly. “She'll come along until we can collect a reward or find a safe place to leave her."

"It had better be soon,” said Merlin. He got up and walked over to the bar to order a drink. As he returned and sat down, a tall, slender man turned away from the bar and approached their table. His coal-black outfit was carefully tailored and remarkably free of dust, his boots were made from the pelts of some exotic white-and-blue arctic animal, and he carried a small hand-axe tucked in his belt.

"Mind if I join you?” he said, pulling up a chair, wiping a trace of red dust from it with a linen handkerchief, and sitting down.

"Do we know you?” asked Merlin suspiciously.

"I sure as hell doubt it,” said the tall man. “But I know
you
."

"Oh?"

The man nodded. “You're that magician who hits the Inner Frontier worlds, aren't you?"

"Who wants to know?"

"My name's MacLemore,” said the man. “Hatchet Jack MacLemore. Maybe you've heard of me?"

"I'm afraid not,” said Merlin.

"Well, it's a big galaxy,” said MacLemore with an easy shrug. “No reason why you should have.” He paused. “And you're Merlin the Magician, right?"

"Merlin the Magnificent,” the magician corrected him. “And this is my assistant,” he added, gesturing toward the mouse.

"I'm pleased to meet you,” said the tall man, smiling at her.

"Where was it that you saw me perform?” asked Merlin.

"Oh, I never saw you perform,” said MacLemore. “Magic doesn't interest me much."

"I must have misunderstood you,” replied Merlin. “I thought you said you had seen me."

"I said I knew who you were,” said MacLemore. “That's not the same thing at all.” He paused. “Anyway, I'd like to buy you a beer, and maybe do a little business with you."

"What are you selling?” asked the Mouse, surreptitiously withdrawing her knife from her boot, but keeping her hands beneath the table.

MacLemore smiled. “I'm not selling anything, ma'am. Selling's not my business."

"All right,” she said coldly. “What are you buying?"

The smile remained in place. “Well, truth to tell, buying's not my business either."

"Just what
is
your business?"

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” He turned to Merlin. “You were on Westerly a couple of days ago, weren't you?"

"What concern is that of yours?” demanded Merlin.

"Where you go makes no difference to me,” said MacLemore. “Westerly's as good a world as any, and probably better than most.” Suddenly he leaned forward, staring intently at the magician. “But while you were there, you took something that didn't belong to you.” He paused briefly. “And
that's
my business."

"I don't know what you're talking about,” said Merlin.

"Oh, I think you do,” replied MacLemore. “I'm talking about something you took from an alien's room."

"I'm a magician, not a thief,” said Merlin. He paused and returned MacLemore's stare. “But just out of curiosity, how much is this missing object worth?"

"I think you know, or you wouldn't have taken it."

"I didn't take anything."

"I thought we were talking business,” said MacLemore. “And here you go, insulting my intelligence. It's enough to make a man take offense.” He smiled again, a smile that started and ended with his lips. His eyes remained cold and hard.

"I assure you that no offense was intended,” said Merlin. “As for talking business,” he continued carefully, “I haven't heard any offers yet."

"You're still alive,” said MacLemore. “That's not necessarily a permanent condition."

Merlin looked more annoyed than frightened. “I've been threatened by experts.” He reached into the air, snapped his fingers, and suddenly he was holding a small laser pistol that was aimed between the tall man's eyes.

"That's very good,” admitted MacLemore. “Maybe I ought to take more of an interest in magic."

"Maybe you ought to take less of an interest in other people's affairs,” said Merlin.

"You might as well deal with me,” said MacLemore. “You're going to have to deal with
someone
before you leave the planet."

"Nobody else knows we're here."

MacLemore chuckled in amusement. “How do you think I knew it—or do you think I live on this dirtball?” He turned to the Mouse. “You're going to run into a lot of people who aren't as friendly and reasonable as I am, ma'am. Maybe you'd better tell your friend to deal with me while he can."

"I still haven't heard any offers,” said Merlin. “Either tell me what you're after and how much you're willing to pay for it, or go bother someone else."

"I've already made you a handsome offer: you get to live."

"You seem to forget who's holding the gun."

MacLemore shrugged. “It's not the kind of thing I'm likely to forget,” he replied easily. “Hell, everyone in this tavern knows you're pointing a laser pistol at me.” Suddenly he smiled. “But you don't know which two of them are my partners."

"Mouse?” said Merlin, never taking his eyes from MacLemore. “Any suggestions?"

"He doesn't have any partners,” said the Mouse coldly. “Men like him always work alone."

"My feelings precisely,” agreed Merlin.

"If he doesn't get up and walk away, kill him,” said the Mouse.

"There are a lot of witnesses,” said MacLemore, suddenly tense.

"They don't give a damn about any of us,” replied the Mouse.

"Forgive my saying it, but you're a bloodthirsty little lady, ma'am,” said MacLemore, his right hand inching down to the hand-axe he had tucked in his belt.

Suddenly the Mouse stood up and threw her knife at him. It caught him in the right shoulder, and he shrieked in pain.

"Nobody does that to Hatchet Jack!” he bellowed, awkwardly trying to withdraw his hand-axe with his left hand.

There was a brief buzzing sound as Merlin fired his laser pistol, and MacLemore collapsed across the table, his head smoking and sizzling.

"Wonderful,” muttered Merlin, staring at the humans at the bar, who had all turned to see what was happening. “What now?"

"Now we get the hell out of here,” said the Mouse, retrieving her knife with a hard jerk.

"Start walking to the door."

She nodded and did as he said, while he faced the assembled spectators.

Nobody moved. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by the creaking of the overhead fans as they continued to turn slowly.

"He threatened us,” said Merlin at last, starting to back toward the door. “It was self defense."

The bartender, who had been totally motionless, picked up a glass and began wiping it absently. “No one's prepared to argue that point while you've got a gun trained on us, Mister,” he said. “And no one's going to weep bitter tears over Hatchet Jack's grave, either."

"I'm delighted you're being so reasonable about it,” said Merlin, reaching the door.

"You got the gun."

"Just remember that."

"Got a bit of advice for you, though,” said the bartender.

"What is it?"

"I wouldn't try using that gun on the next fellow who comes to talk to you. There won't be enough of you left to bury."

"Who else is looking for me?"

"You'll find out soon enough,” said the bartender. “I don't know what you've got, Mister, but some pretty dangerous people don't want you to keep it."

"Who?"

"You'll know ‘em when you see ‘em."

"If you see them first,” said Merlin, “tell them that I'm a peace-loving man, and that anything I've got is for sale."

"I'll do that,” said the bartender. “Now you can do me a favor and get the hell out of here before they find you. I don't want my tavern all shot up."

Merlin waved his laser pistol in the air. “If anyone follows me, he's going to wish he hadn't."

"You made your point,” said the bartender. “Just leave."

Merlin backed into the street. “Did you hear all that?” he asked the Mouse.

"Yes,” she answered. “We'd better get back to the ship fast—if it's still there."

"Damn!” muttered Merlin. “I hadn't thought of that. If we didn't have the girl with us, of course they'd go to the ship!"

They began walking rapidly out of the Tradertown, keeping to the shadows cast by the buildings wherever they could, wary of any possible ambush.

"How did word of what we did get here so fast?” demanded Merlin, increasing his pace.

"Her family must be even richer than I thought,” said the Mouse.

"Right at this moment, anyone who wants her can have her, as far as I'm concerned,” said Merlin. “That's the first time I've ever killed a man. I don't care how big the reward is, she's not worth the trouble."

"The first time?” said the Mouse, surprised.

"Yes."

"You handled yourself very well."

"It was like some big game of upmanship until you threw your knife at him,” replied Merlin. “Then I just pulled the trigger without thinking."

"That's the best way,” said the Mouse. “Start thinking about what you're going to do, and you start thinking about what might happen to you, and then you start hesitating, and before you know it you're dead."

"You talk about it like it was a daily occurrence. I've just killed a man!"

"He was going to kill us,” said the Mouse with a shrug.

"But—"

"Stop worrying about him. We may have to kill a few more before we get off this planet."

"Let's just give them the girl."

"First they have to ask for her. Since they've probably figured out that she's in the ship, they may not bother."

"Wonderful,” muttered Merlin.

They reached the edge of town. Merlin looked back to make sure no one had emerged from the tavern yet, then peered off in the distance, where the sun was glinting off the ship.

"It's still there,” said the Mouse, half-surprised.

"God!” he said. “It looks a lot farther away than it looked this morning."

"One of the reasons I teamed up with you is because you're good in a crisis,” said the Mouse. “But you approach one about as badly as any man I've ever known."

Merlin made no reply, but merely glared at her for a moment and continued walking. When they were within 500 yards, he stopped again.

"I don't like it,” he said. “We're sitting ducks. There's nowhere to hide, and the sand makes it impossible to move quickly if we have to."

"The sooner we get there, the sooner you won't have to worry about it,” said the Mouse.

"I'm not that anxious to get my head blown off."

"Has it occurred to you that if someone at the ship was planning to kill us, they would have already done it? This isn't beyond the range of any long-barreled weapon I know of: projectile, laser, sonic, or molecular imploder."

Merlin frowned. “You're right."

"Feel better?"

"Less like a target, anyway. Whoever's looking for the girl is at least willing to let us get close enough to talk to him."

"And if we can get that close...” said the Mouse.

Merlin increased his pace. “Yes, I feel much better."