The Injun waited for two days.
By that time the pain had subsided, and he had made discreet inquiries to make sure that his five million credits was in the pipeline. 32 was still tracing it, of course, but the Injun was confident that it would become more and more difficult with every transaction until it was finally impossible.
He had the computer match the handful of incoming humans against the embassy's list of anticipated arrivals, and wasn't surprised when they checked out. If the Whistler was half as good as he was supposed to be, it was going to take more than an embassy computer to find him.
Finally, when he felt well enough, he summoned Broussard to his quarters.
“How are you today, sir?” asked the young man, entering the room a moment later.
“Much better.”
“I'm glad to hear it.”
“Really?” asked the Injun with a smile. “If I were you, I'd be heartbroken to hear it. I'm about to cut into your time with your doctor.”
“This is my job, sir.”
“Well, it's time for me to get to work on my job. Pull up a chair.”
Broussard walked to a corner of the room, picked up a chair, and carried it over to the bed.
“Now sit down and get comfortable,” said the Injun.
Broussard sat on the chair and grinned wryly. “Well, the sitting part is easy, sir.”
“Who the hell furnished this place? You wouldn't think something this dull would also be uncomfortable.”
“I've often wondered that myself, sir,” admitted Broussard.
The Indian looked amused, and then his face became serious. “So much for small talk. We've got more important things to discuss.”
“The Oracle?” suggested Broussard.
“Yes.”
“Before we speak further, perhaps we should go to a secure room.”
“Not necessary,” said the Injun. “I ordered the computer to let me know the instant anyone attempts to monitor us.” He tossed the map to Broussard. “Take a look at this and see if it makes any sense to you.”
Broussard studied the map carefully for a moment, then looked up.
“I take it that you want to reach the location that's been highlighted?”
“Right.”
“On foot or by vehicle?”
“I'm not sure yet,” said the Injun.
“By day or at night?”
“It makes no difference.”
“Yes it does, sir.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because the current temperature is 57 degrees Celsius, and there's no way you can walk there and back without dehydrating and probably suffering heat stroke,” answered Broussard. “You may be feeling better, but it's still only been two days since you underwent major surgery.”
“What will the temperature be tonight?” asked the Injun.
“Perhaps 44 degrees Celsius, which is still formidable,” answered Broussard.
The Injun grimaced. “Then I guess we drive.” He paused. “Too damned bad. Your vehicle is pretty easy to identify.”
“That's an area inhabited almost exclusively by Blue Devils,” said Broussard. “A human walking through it would be even more conspicuous.”
“Have you got a safe house anywhere around there?”
“I don't think so. We can ask the computer.”
The Injun shook his head. “Don't bother,” he said. “I already asked. The computer's not aware of any. I just thought there might be things that you didn't tell it.”
Broussard looked puzzled.
“Any computer that can be built can be breached,” explained the Injun.
“Not this one, sir.”
“I admire your confidence,” said the Injun dryly. “But I've got half a dozen friends who could invade it in less than two hours.”
“I sincerely doubt that, sir,” replied Broussard firmly.
“I'm sure you do,” said the Injun, unimpressed. “I'm not here to argue the point. I just want to know if there's a nearby safe house.”
“To the best of my knowledge, we don't have one in Quichancha. I believe we have four on the entire planet, all in other cities.” Broussard fidgeted uneasily. “May I ask why you want to know?”
“There is every possibility that I am going to have to do some very unpleasant things to a Blue Devil,” answered the Injun. “I'd rather not have to do them in a building that's filled with other Blue Devils. I'd much rather take him to a secure location first.”
“Is murder a possibility?”
“If he doesn't tell me what I want to know, it's an absolute certainty,” said the Injun. He paused thoughtfully. “It probably will be anyway. I don't want him reporting what I know or identifying me to the Oracle, and I don't want him around when the Whistler shows up.”
“The Whistler? Who's that?”
“I'm afraid that's restricted information.”
Broussard frowned. “You could cause some problems for the embassy, sir. If you kill a Blue Devil—and I assume this one is in some way connected to the Oracle—they're going to assume the embassy ordered it, or at least sanctioned it.”
“Embassies exist to confront problems,” replied the Injun with no show of concern. “They'll find a way.”
“I don't know, sir,” said Broussard doubtfully. “It would be extremely difficult to convince the Blue Devils that we didn't at least have prior knowledge of the killing, and that implies either consent or approval.” He paused. “After all, I drive an embassy vehicle, and as you pointed out before, it will stand out in a residential area.”
“So get an unmarked vehicle.”
“I'd have to put through a request for funds, and even if my request was approved, there's still every likelihood that it could be traced to the embassy.”
“I don't mean to sound insensitive,” said the Injun, “but I really don't give a damn how much trouble I cause the embassy. My assignment is more important.”
“You don't understand, sir,” said Broussard. “Even if I agreed with you, that's all the more reason for not involving the embassy. It will simply put the Oracle on the alert.”
“Just killing the Blue Devil will do that,” said the Injun. Suddenly a plan began to take shape in his mind. “Unless...”
He fell silent for a moment, and Broussard waited patiently for him to continue.
“I think I've got a way to protect both our asses,” he announced at last.
“Yours and mine, sir?” asked Broussard, puzzled.
The Injun shook his head. “Mine and the embassy's. Can you get your hands on some seed?”
“Seed, sir?”
“Alphanella seeds.”
“They're illegal on every planet in the Democracy.”
“Allow me to point out to you that we're not in the Democracy.”
“They're illegal on Hades, too.”
“You haven't answered my question,” noted the Injun. “Can you get some seed?”
“It's possible,” said Broussard reluctantly.
“Within the embassy?”
Broussard shook his head. “No. But there's a woman in Red House...”
“User or seller?”
“A user.”
“Good,” said the Injun. “Confiscate half a dozen seeds.”
“What's the purpose of this, sir?” asked Broussard.
“Whether they trace the killing to the embassy or not, they're going to know I'm after the Oracle the second I kill the Blue Devil.”
“What have the seeds got to do with anything?” persisted Broussard.
“If I take out most of the residents of the building and leave a couple of half-chewed seeds on the premises, the embassy could claim that I was a hopped-up chewer who'd gone on a binge and offer a reward for me, giving out a phony ID and hologram, which will get them off the hook while still giving me freedom of movement, and in the meantime it might hide my real reason for being there, at least temporarily.” He paused. “I'd have to do it at night, and I'd have to go there on foot. It wouldn't do to have an embassy vehicle being seen transporting a maniac to the scene of the crime.” The Injun frowned. “I'll still need your help, though. I can't read or speak the language, and I've got to hit my Blue Devil's quarters first, before I kill the rest of them. I don't want him escaping if he hears any noise elsewhere in the building.”
Broussard considered what he had heard for a long moment, then shook his head. “No chance, sir,” he said at last. “The embassy will never be a party to this. You're speaking about blithely killing dozens of innocent beings simply for the sake of misdirecting the Oracle.”
The Injun shrugged. “They're just aliens.”
“The ambassador would point out that on this planet we're the aliens.”
“Spare me his platitudes,” said the Injun. “The Democracy's at war with the Oracle, and in a war, sometimes civilians get hurt.”
“I don't know anything about the Oracle,” admitted Broussard, “but I do know that the Democracy's not at war with Hades, and your proposed actions could precipitate one.” He paused. “I know the way the bureaucracy works. They'll kick it all the way up to Deluros VIII, and even if their transmissions aren't intercepted, your Blue Devil will probably have died of old age or disease before they make a decision.”
“Well, that's that,” said the Injun. “I can't do it without the embassy's complicity. I might get my hands on the seed, and I might find the Blue Devil I'm after, and I might kill enough other Blue Devils to confuse the Oracle—but if the embassy won't support the cover story, I'll have both sides hunting for my scalp with no place to hide.” He sighed deeply. “I guess we go to Plan B.”
“Just killing the one Blue Devil?” asked Broussard.
“Yeah,” said the Injun. He frowned. “I hate to do it, though. Once he's dead, there's no way the Oracle can mistake what's going on.” He paused, considering the situation. “And if he doesn't talk,” he added, “I'm going to eliminate my only link to the Oracle.” He shook his head unhappily. “I just wish they didn't all look so much alike.”
“If you could follow him, would you prefer it, sir?” asked Broussard.
“Much.” The Injun looked at Broussard. “Why? What do you have in mind?”
“There may be a way, sir.”
“Yeah?” said the Injun. “If you can come up with one, you've just made my life a hell of a lot easier.”
“I don't think so, sir,” said Broussard seriously.