Authors: Mike Resnick
"Your boss may want to see if I know how to use them."
Korbekkian smiled. “You are the Gravedancer. That is sufficient."
Lomax shrugged and walked out of his cabin.
"What's the gravity here?"
"97.2% standard. You will require no protective outfit, no breathing apparatus, no stimulants or depressants."
"I assume that if you wanted me to know what world I was on, you'd have told me,” remarked Lomax.
"That is correct."
"Well, let's get going."
"Follow me, please."
Korbekkian led him to the hatch, and a moment later he found himself standing on a bleak, sun-baked patch of ground. There were enormous sand dunes in the distance, and the wind created reddish dust devils near the horizon. The air was hot and dry. It may or may not have been a desert world—probably there was an ocean somewhere, for the air had a fair oxygen content—but there was no question that he was in the middle of a desert, one that extended in every direction as far as the eye could see.
"You'll adjust to the heat,” said Korbekkian. “If you should begin feeling lightheaded, let me know."
"Where are we going?” asked Lomax. “It looks awfully empty."
"We're going to meet the Anointed One,” answered Korbekkian. “Please bear with me, Mr. Lomax. Our transportation will arrive shortly."
Lomax moved out of the direct sunlight into the shadow of the ship and lit a small cigar. When it was half-done, a sleek armored vehicle approached them, coming to a stop about ten yards away.
Korbekkian gestured Lomax to enter the vehicle, then joined him. It immediately took off at high speed, and Lomax settled back and relaxed, watching the seemingly endless desert landscape go by. Neither Korbekkian nor the driver said a word, and the silent journey continued for the better part of thirty minutes, at which time the vehicle suddenly slowed down and came to a stop.
Korbekkian and Lomax got out, and the vehicle immediately sped away.
"I take it we're here, wherever
here
is,” said Lomax.
"That's right, Mr. Lomax."
Lomax stood, hands on hips, and surveyed his surroundings. They were at an oasis, whether natural or man-made he could not tell. There was a large tent some thirty yards away, made of a metallic fabric that seemed to soak up the sunlight and reflect it back in all the colors of the spectrum. Each time a breeze would pass over it the colors would change, deepen, combine and then separate again, as if the tent itself were some kind of giant prism.
The tent was surrounded by some two dozen armed guards, each with identical sonic rifles but possessing no common uniform. About a mile to the west, on a flat strip of sun-baked ground that ran between two small dunes, was a large building, though Lomax could not tell if it was a garage or a hangar. There was no landing strip, but the ground was so flat and hard that he suspected none was really required. Atop the building was a very tall, cylindrical antenna, the sign of a subspace sending and receiving station, which was doubtless tied in to the nearby tent.
"I expected something a little more elaborate,” commented Lomax.
"This is only one of some fifty outposts we have throughout the Democracy and the Inner Frontier,” answered Korbekkian. “It is merely a convenience.” He paused. “I would be surprised if the Anointed One spends as much as three days a year at this location."
Lomax made no reply.
"Let's move to the shade of a tree, Mr. Lomax,” said Korbekkian. “There's no reason why we shouldn't be comfortable while awaiting your audience."
"Makes sense to me,” said Lomax, following Korbekkian as the latter sought out a shady spot beneath the sparse branches of a desert tree that grew a few feet from the water.
"Not that we shall have to wait long,” added Korbekkian after a moment's silence.
"Oh?"
"I'm sure he will want to conclude your interview in time from us to depart from the planet before dark.” He smiled. “There's no sense giving you a chance to see the stellar configurations and possibly determine where you are."
"I plan to be working for him long before dark,” answered Lomax.
"I certainly hope so. I'm tired of sending overrated incompetents against the Iceman. The man should have been dead two months ago."
A young woman emerged from the tent and approached them.
"He will see you now,” she said.
"Good,” said Korbekkian, starting forward.
"Just Mr. Lomax,” she added.
Korbekkian turned to him. “Good luck. I hope when you emerge that we are on the same team."
Lomax followed her to the doorway of the tent, where she stopped and turned to him.
"You will address him as My Lord,” she said. “Because you are not yet a member of the faith, you will not be required to kneel before him,” she continued. “You will bow when you are introduced, and you will never turn your back to him, but will back out of the tent when your meeting is concluded. Do you understand?"
"I understand,” answered Lomax.
"Then enter,” said the woman, stepping aside.
Lomax lowered his head and stepped through the doorway, where he was immediately greeted by two burly men who wore loose-fitting outfits of some gleaming metallic fabric. They indicated that he should walk between them, and they escorted him through another doorway to the inner section of the tent.
The floors were covered with exquisitely-woven rugs from a dozen worlds, and the walls, composed of a titanium alloy which made the room virtually impervious to assault, displayed paintings and holograms from human and alien worlds. There was a faint scent of incense in the air, and the soft melody of an exotic alien symphony emanated from a silver cube that hovered a few feet above the floor near one of the holograms.
In the middle of the room was a jeweled chair, and upon it sat a tall, ascetic man with an aquiline nose, high protruding cheekbones, and large, coal-black eyes. He wore a robe of white, and around his neck hung a single gold chain, from which were suspended a number of jeweled religious charms.
Sitting next to the chair was a huge animal, basically feline in character, possessed of sleek, rolling muscles, wicked-looking claws, and enormous fangs. Its green eyes narrowed as Lomax approached, and it began uttering a series of deep growls. The man in the white robe uttered a sharp command, and the animal lay down, still glaring at the bounty hunter.
When Lomax finally came to a halt a few feet away, the man in the white robe stood up.
"Welcome to my humble quarters,” he said in a rich, deep voice. “I am Moses Mohammed Christ, known to true believers as the Anointed One."
"I'm pleased to meet you, My Lord,” answered Lomax, bowing deeply at the waist.
"Does my pet disturb you?"
"Not if he's a pet."
"No one else may approach him without losing a limb,” said the Anointed One, gently stroking the creature's head. “But as you see, I touch him with impunity."
"So I see,” said Lomax.
"If I were to tell him to attack you, he would tear your throat out in less than a second,” continued the Anointed One.
"Perhaps,” agreed Lomax. “But if you told him to attack me, who will you get to kill the Iceman for you?"
The Anointed One smiled. “I like you, Mr. Lomax."
"Thank you, My Lord."
The smile vanished. “Why do you wish to kill Carlos Mendoza?"
"I don't especially want to kill him,” replied Lomax. “Killing people is dangerous work. I'd be just as happy to take a million credits from you not to kill him ... but I don't suppose you'd care to pay me for not working, would you?"
"This is not a matter for levity, Mr. Lomax,” said the Anointed One sternly, and the feline creature, sensing his anger, fidgeted uneasily. “It is essential that Carlos Mendoza be eliminated."
"Why?"
"That is none of your concern."
"Before I accept a commission, I always like to know
why
I'm being asked to kill someone."
"Thus far you have accepted commissions only from normal men."
"And you are not a normal man?"
The Anointed One opened his mouth. “Between my teeth is the space.” He pointed to his ear. “On my left ear is the mole, on my right shoulder is the birthmark. I was born on the fourth day of the fourth month, and the sun was hidden by the moon. There can be no doubt that I am the Anointed One."
"Meaning no disrespect, My Lord,” said Lomax, “but granting that you are the Anointed One, just what exactly does that mean?"
"I am he whom the race of Man has awaited for lo, these many eons. It is my destiny to unite the race, to bring order out of chaos, to expand Man's dominion to the farthest reaches of the galaxy."
"I though the Democracy was doing just that."
"I forgive you your disrespect, for you are not yet a true believer,” said the Anointed One. “But know that the Democracy is merely my forerunner, that now that I have arrived upon the scene, the Democracy's days are numbered. God has chosen me to be His conduit to the race of Man, to rule them as He wishes them ruled. Do you see the throne upon which I sit?"
"Yes."
The Anointed One's face took on a fanatical glow. “God has instructed me to rule the galaxy from this throne, to bring it with me to Sirius V and to Earth and ultimately to place it in a palace that I will build upon Deluros VIII, from which I shall finally fulfill my destiny and rule His vast domain."
"It sounds as if you've got your work cut out for you,” said Lomax noncommittally.
"I am closer to completion of the Almighty's design than you might think,” replied the Anointed One with absolute conviction. “More than 200 worlds have already pledged their allegiance to me, and even as we speak my followers are converting the masses upon thousands more."
"Why should a man who controls hundreds of worlds and tens of millions of followers, and who plans to take over the capital work of the Democracy, be concerned with a tavern owner far out at the edge of the Inner Frontier?” asked Lomax, honestly curious. “What kind of threat can the Iceman possibly present to you?"
"Mendoza?” repeated the Anointed One. “He himself presents no threat at all."
"Then why do you want him dead?"
"I told you before: it is not your concern."
"Perhaps not—but if you want me to kill him, you're going to have to tell me."
"Do you dare give orders to Moses Mohammed Christ?” demanded the Anointed One.
"No, My Lord,” said Lomax, bowing once again. “Please be assured that I meant no offense.” He paused. “I thought we could do business together. I was mistaken."
The Anointed One stared long and hard at Lomax. “Why should I believe that you can kill him when so many others have failed?"
"First, because I'm the best there is,” answered Lomax promptly. “And second, because I've been to Last Chance before. My presence won't alert him."
"I can hire other men who have been to Last Chance."
"True,” agreed Lomax. “But Last Chance is the Iceman's world, and he's well-protected. They won't be able to kill him.” He paused. “I will."
The Anointed One placed a fist to his chin and stared at Lomax again, even longer this time. Finally he spoke.
"If you carry out this assignment successfully,” he said slowly, as if weighing each word, “there will be others. You will find that I can be as generous when rewarding success as I can be unforgiving when dealing with failure.” He paused. “Because you cannot yet comprehend the true extent of my power, and because you are not yet conversant in the ways of the One Faith, and because Carlos Mendoza must die, I shall forgive you your transgression this one time, and tell you what you want to know."
"Thank you, My Lord."
"But thereafter, should you fulfill your commission, you will never question an order or an assignment again,” continued the Anointed One. “Is that clear?"
"Perfectly, My Lord."
"Then listen closely, for I will not repeat myself,” said the Anointed One. “Eventually the Democracy will yield to my will. Even the billion ships of its vaunted Navy will be unable to oppose me.” He paused for a moment, looking at some distant point that only he could see. “In the entire galaxy, there is only one force capable of standing against me, of subverting the will of God and stopping me from bringing my throne to Deluros VIII."
"The Iceman?” said Lomax, frowning in disbelief.
"I told you to listen, not to speak,” said the Anointed One harshly. “Carlos Mendoza presents no threat to me whatsoever. But he is the only person ever to survive an encounter with my only true opponent. If she has a reason to let him live, then I care not what that reason is—I want him dead."
"She?” asked Lomax.
"Like myself, she is committed to the death of the Democracy, and yet she has chosen to align herself against me as well, which will eventually cost her her life—but not before millions have spilled their blood,” answered the Anointed One.
"Who are you talking about?"
"Her given name is unimportant,” he continued, “but in the past four years she has emerged from obscurity and assumed her true identity. She is the Prophet."
The Silicon Kid, resplendent in a colorful new outfit and shining black boots, walked into The End of the Line tavern, waited for the doors to slide shut behind him, and looked around. This was more what the Inner Frontier was supposed to look like, he decided; gamblers and whores, miners and adventurers, all of them armed, all of them real or potential killers. The Blue Pavilion really belonged in the Democracy; The End of the Line belonged exactly where it was, in a Tradertown on a tiny Frontier world called Last Chance.
He looked around the room once more, happily aware that a number of the clients were staring at him curiously, and nodded his head in satisfied approval. Finally he walked over to the bar.
"What'll it be?” asked the Iceman, limping over to serve him.
"A beer."
"Coming right up."
The Iceman took an empty glass over to a tap, murmured “Pour", waited a moment, ordered it to stop, and slid the glass down the bar to the Silicon Kid.