As he approached the planet, his radio came to life.
“You are approaching Alpha Crepello III,” said an accented voice. “Please identify yourself.”
“This is the Space Mouse, Registration Number 932K1P23, five Galactic Standard days out of Last Chance, via Philemon II, Carlos Mendoza commanding.”
“Alpha Crepello III is closed to all unauthorized visitors.”
“Let me speak to whoever is in charge,” said the Iceman.
“That is impossible.”
“I have vital information to convey to him.”
“What is the nature of your information?”
“My information is not for underlings,” replied the Iceman. “I must speak to your superior.”
“I have explained that this is impossible.”
“Then give me your name and military identification number,” said the Iceman. “I want to know who to blame when your commander asks why he was not contacted.”
There was a momentary silence. “Please wait,” said the voice at last.
The Iceman allowed himself the luxury of a smile, and opened a container of beer while he waited for his demand to get passed up the chain of command to someone who would finally accept responsibility.
It took eleven minutes.
Then the image of a Blue Devil, its outfit bedecked with glittering stones that the Iceman took to be medals, appeared on his viewscreen.
“I am Praed Tropo,” said the Blue Devil.
“You're in charge?”
“I am in a position of authority. What information have you for me?”
“It's very sensitive,” answered the Iceman. “I'd much rather tell you in person.”
“You are not allowed to land on Alpha Crepello III.”
“Not even to save the Oracle's life?” asked the Iceman.
There was no change in the Blue Devil's expression, but its voice seemed to drop half an octave. “Continue,” it said.
“There is a human assassin, currently on Alpha Crepello III, who has been hired to terminate the Oracle. This assassin does not work for the Democracy; in fact, the Democracy, which does not want to be involved in an interplanetary incident, has assigned me the task of stopping him. To do this, I will need your assistance.”
“The Oracle is in no danger,” replied Praed Tropo. “She cannot be harmed.”
“The Democracy controls more than 50,000 worlds, and this is the best assassin on any of them,” said the Iceman. “Are you sure you care to take that chance?”
“If he is the best assassin, how do you propose to stop him?”
“I don't,” answered the Iceman. “I am an old man, well past my prime. But I know his methods, and I can identify him. I hope to enlist your aid in apprehending him.”
“Transmit his holograph and retinagram to us, and we will attend to him,” said Praed Tropo.
“I have accepted a commission of ten million credits to apprehend him,” said the Iceman. “This money is payable only upon the successful completion of my assignment, and the Democracy will have no reason to pay me if I turn the job over to you. Either we work together, or I return to Last Chance and your Oracle can take her chances.”
“Why should I believe you?” demanded Praed Tropo.
“You can authenticate my story with the man who hired me,” said the Iceman.
“Why should I believe any Man?”
He'd been waiting for that question. Now it was time to play his trump card, the offer on which he was willing to wager his life.
“I will be happy to put myself in your custody until you are convinced that I am telling the truth. Surely you have the equivalent of a lie detector; I will willingly submit to interrogation while monitored by any such mechanism.”
“I will need time to consider this,” said Praed Tropo.
“I understand,” said the Iceman. “But you must understand that every minute you delay works in the assassin's favor.”
And the less time you have to come up with a question I'm unprepared for, the better.
This time the silence lasted for less than thirty seconds.
“We will transmit landing coordinates to your ship,” said Praed Tropo. “All weapons systems must be disarmed or you will be destroyed.”
“I have no weapons systems,” answered the Iceman.
“We are transmitting now.”
The Iceman touched down at a military spaceport some forty minutes later, stepped out into the incredibly hot air of Hades, and was immediately taken into custody by a squadron of Blue Devils. They marched him into a nearby building, where Praed Tropo was waiting for him.
“You realize that if we discover that you have lied to us, you will be imprisoned and quite probably executed,” was Tropo's greeting to him.
“I do,” answered the Iceman. “But once you find out I'm telling you the truth, I trust that you'll be willing to work with me.”
“We shall see.”
“Look,” said the Iceman. “I'm just an independent businessman, trying to become more independent. Personally, I don't care whether your Oracle lives a million years or dies tomorrow.”
“What is that to me?” said Praed Tropo.
“I'm trying to tell you that you can trust me because I'm motivated by the most basic human emotion: greed. I have no reason to lie to you, and every reason to tell you the truth.”
“If you are indeed telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about, Mendoza,” replied Praed Tropo. “Follow me.”
Praed Tropo began walking down a corridor, and the Iceman, still accompanied by the squadron of Blue Devils, fell into step behind him. It wasn't like any corridor the Iceman had ever seen before: it was as if it had been designed by a drunken architect, and built by madmen. The ceiling rose to a height of fifteen feet, then dropped to the point where they all had to bend over to keep from bumping their heads, then rose again. It zigged and zagged for no discernable purpose, passing no doorways or rooms along the way, and finally, when he was convinced that they had completed a very erratic circle and were about to wind up where they had started, it abruptly terminated in a large room.
The walls were set at oblique angles to each other, and the ceiling rose and fell like a wave on a turbulent ocean. At the far end of the room was a row of machines, none of which bore any resemblance to anything with which the Iceman was familiar, and near one of them was a chair. Not a chair constructed for human use, but as he stared at it, the Iceman decided that a Blue Devil would probably be just as uncomfortable on it as he would.
He was led to the chair and told to sit down. Then Praed Tropo placed a small metal disk on the back of his neck, and another on his left wrist. Four Blue Devils trained their weapons on him.
“We are now prepared to interrogate you,” said the Blue Devil. “If you should lie, you will receive a near-lethal correction that will affect your nerve centers. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” replied the Iceman.
“Should you attempt to escape before the interrogation is completed, you will be shot. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” said Praed Tropo. “What is your name?”
“Carlos Mendoza.”
“What is your home planet?”
“Last Chance.”
“We have no record of a Last Chance.”
“It's official name is Madison IV.”
“Why are you here, Mendoza?”
Here it comes, thought the Iceman. Keep calm, don't get excited, and choose your words very carefully. Do it right and you can beat this machine.
“I have come to Alpha Crepello III to prevent an assassin named Chandler from carrying out his assignment.”
He waited for a jolt, and relaxed when it didn't occur.
“What is Chandler's assignment?”
“He is a hired killer who has come for the Oracle.”
“How do you know this?”
Careful.
“I am on intimate terms with the man who hired him.”
“And who hired you to prevent him from carrying out his assignment?”
“A high-level official in the Democracy. I don't know his real name, but his code name is 32. He is currently stationed on Philemon II. He has offered to pay me ten million credits if I accomplish my mission.”
“How did this Chandler manage to land on Alpha Crepello III?” asked Praed Tropo.
“I don't know.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don't know.”
“But you know that he has definitely been commissioned to assassinate the Oracle?”
Pause. Take a deep breath. Construct your answer precisely. Think.
“I know that when the circumstances are right, he will try to kill her.”
The Iceman half-expected to be jolted by a near-lethal shock, but nothing happened.
“Have you met this Chandler personally?” continued Praed Tropo.
“Yes.”
“And you can identify him?”
“Yes.”
“What good is that to us if he is the master of disguise you claim him to be?”
“I know his methods. I'll know him when I see him.”
“You are absolutely sure of this?” said Praed Tropo. “There is no doubt in your mind?”
“I am absolutely sure of it,” repeated the Iceman. “There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind.” He paused. “If that answers your questions, can you disconnect me from this device now? I'm very uneasy being attached to it, and I'm afraid that it may misinterpret my nervousness as false answers.”
“You'll be disconnected when I am through questioning you,” answered Praed Tropo. “And not until then.”
He asked the Iceman the same set of questions three more times, then had him supply a list of Chandler's known victims.
“He sounds quite formidable,” admitted the Blue Devil at last.
“He's supposed to be the best,” said the Iceman.
“I still do not understand why the Democracy is attempting to stop him. It would seem to be in their best interest to have him assassinate the Oracle. It is she and she alone who has kept us independent.”
The Iceman's first inclination was to remain silent, since no question had been asked. Then he realized that he had better make some response, before the question could be worded in a lethal way.
“I assure you that the Democracy does not want Chandler to succeed in his mission. It is my understanding that they attempted to kill him on Port Marrakech, but he survived.”
Praed Tropo stared at him for a long moment.
“I will ask you once more, directly: has the Democracy hired this assassin to kill the Oracle?”
“This” assassin. Concentrate on “this". They don't mean the Injun. They've never heard of the Injun. “This” assassin is the Whistler. Only the Whistler. And I'm the one who told him to kill her if he couldn't bring her out. The Democracy knew nothing about it. They wanted her alive. And he's only talking about the Whistler. Not the Injun. Only the Whistler, and I told him to, not the Democracy.
“You seem hesitant to answer,” said Praed Tropo. “Has the Democracy hired this assassin to kill the Oracle?”
“No,” said the Iceman.
“Once more: has the Democracy hired Chandler to kill the Oracle.”
“No.”
That's it. You've learned everything you can from me. There's no sense asking about the Oracle. I'm just a small-time informer. How could I know about her? Probably I don't even know she's a human rather than a Blue Devil. Why would I know the Oracle? Nobody would even have told me about her powers. Just don't ask about her, and I've won. Just don't ask about the Oracle...
“Have you any loyalty to the Democracy?” asked Praed Tropo.
“None.”
“If they asked you to lie for them, would you?”
“It all depends.”
“On what does it depend?”
“On what benefits I would derive from lying.”
“Economic benefits?”
“That's right.”
“And have you lied to me?”
He means during this interrogation. He's not referring to anything I said on the ship. That's obvious. He means have I lied while I was hooked up to the machine. The question only applies to this interrogation, only to the machine.
“No.”
Praed Tropo checked the machine and then nodded to one of his underlings, who removed the disks from the Iceman's neck and wrist.
The Iceman stood up, suddenly realized just how uncomfortable the chair had been, and stretched the knots out of his muscles.
“Satisfied?” he said.
“For the moment,” replied Praed Tropo.
“Then we'd better get busy, because Chandler's got a hell of a head start on us.”
“Head start?”
“An advantage,” explained the Iceman. “He's been here for days. For all I know, he's within striking distance of the Oracle right now.”
“The Oracle is in no danger,” answered Praed Tropo.
“I've already told you that this man is the best assassin in the Democracy.”
“It makes no difference. The Oracle cannot be killed.”
The Iceman saw an opportunity to display his ignorance of the Oracle, and took it. “Any Blue Devil can be killed.”
Praed Tropo's face contorted into what the Iceman assumed was a look of amusement. “She is not of my race,” it said, “but of yours.”
“Then what's she doing on Alpha Crepello III?”
“That is not for you to know.”
“Well, if she's human, that's all the more reason to protect her,” said the Iceman. “If there's one thing Chandler knows how to do, it's kill humans.”
“He cannot kill her,” repeated Praed Tropo.
“If you're so damned sure of that, why did you let me land?” asked the Iceman.
“Because an assassin is loose on the planet, and he must be apprehended.”
The Iceman forced a puzzled frown to his face. “But if you're convinced he can't kill the Oracle, why—?”
“Because he can kill those members of my race who are in daily contact with the Oracle.”
“What makes the Oracle so immune to assassination?”
Praed Tropo ignored the question, and ushered him back down the long, crazily-winding corridor to the building's entrance. Then it stopped and turned to the Iceman.
“We have no human foodstuffs here. You will be escorted to your ship, where you will bring supplies sufficient for three days.”
“What if it takes more than three days to apprehend Chandler?”
“Then I will reassess the situation.”
“Just a minute,” said the Iceman. “If you don't have any human food, what does the Oracle eat?”
“We have no food for you,” answered Praed Tropo.
You're operating under deep cover, Whistler, so the odds are you can't find out who delivers her food. But if the Injun isn't lost in some seed-chewer's dreamworld, he'll have figured it out by now. And that means he's closer to her than you are, and I can expect him to show up first—if he's stayed off the seed.
And that means that if I have to sacrifice one of you, it will probably be the Injun, who I'll claim to be you—which is just as well, because it's been years since I was good enough to kill you, if indeed I ever was. I just wish I knew what the hell the Injun looks like.
“Once I get my food, what then?” he asked aloud.
“Then I will take you to a place where we can call up the holographs of every human known to be on the planet,” answered Praed Tropo, “and if Chandler is among them, we will arrest and incarcerate him.”
“What if he's not among them, or if I identify his holograph but we can't find him?”
“Then we will alert our security forces, and when he approaches the Oracle, we will apprehend him.”
“May I make a suggestion?” said the Iceman.
“You may.”
“Chandler's too good at his trade to be taken that easily. Maybe I'll spot his holograph and maybe I won't, but the odds are that he's already working his way to wherever it is that the Oracle resides. And he won't approach her directly: only a fool would do that on a planet where every human is suspect.” Only a fool, or perhaps a gimpy old man who's so far past his prime that he can no longer operate covertly, he amended silently.
“What is the point you are making, Mendoza?” asked Praed Tropo.
“He's a cautious man,” continued the Iceman. “He won't make a move until he knows the function and schedule of every Blue Devil who guards the Oracle.” The Iceman paused. “Now, if you beef up your security forces around her, he'll just outwait you. I don't know how much he's being paid for this job, but it's got to be enough so that he can spend a year or two waiting for the right opportunity.” He turned to Praed Tropo. “But he knows me, and he has no reason to distrust me. If you'll put me in a conspicuous position somewhere near the Oracle's headquarters, I think he'll contact me before he acts.”
“Why should he?”
“Because I have no business being here, and he'll be curious. He'll want to know if we're business rivals, or if I bear some new instructions from his employer, or just what reason I have for being on the planet.”
“How will this benefit us?” asked Praed Tropo. “You are an old man; he is a professional assassin. How can you possibly take him into custody?”
“I can't,” answered the Iceman. “But there is a chance that I can lead him into custody. I can tell him that there's been a change in plans, and that we have to go to some predetermined place to discuss it—a place where you will be waiting for him.”
“Why should he believe you?” queried the Blue Devil.
“Why shouldn't he?”
“Because, as you say, you have no business being on Alpha Crepello III. Your presence alone may serve to alarm him.”
“It's a possibility,” admitted the Iceman. “But what can he do? You assure me that the Oracle is invulnerable. If my plan works, you'll have him in custody an hour later. If it doesn't, if my presence alarms him, he'll almost certainly go back into hiding, and then your task will be no different than it is now, except that you'll know the general area that he's hiding in.”
“And what if he kills you?” asked Praed Tropo.
“I'm getting paid a lot of money to take that chance.”
“I will have to consider your proposition very carefully,” said Praed Tropo. “I do not like giving you such freedom of action.”
“If we're going to work together,” said the Iceman, “we're going to have to trust each other.”
“You are a Man,” replied Praed Tropo. “That is reason enough not to trust you.”
“But your own machine confirmed that I was telling the truth.”
“You answered my questions truthfully,” acknowledged the Blue Devil. “But it is possible that I did not ask the right questions. You are a Man, and yet you have allied yourself with an alien race to kill another Man. There is no question in my mind that had I not given you permission to land your ship, you would have sought some covert means to land on Alpha Crepello III. This assassin knows and trusts you, and you plan to deceive him and lead him into our hands. How am I to know what other motivations you might have, what other reasons you might possess for being here?”
You're smarter than you look, Tropo. Any minute now you're going to think of asking the Oracle what to do about Chandler. You'll be afraid to bother her with what you still think of as a wild goose chase, but eventually—maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that—you'll muster up the courage, and when you do there's every likelihood that you'll mention my name. I'm afraid you're destined for an early death, Praed Tropo.
“Well, if you come up with a better plan, let me know,” said the Iceman.
“I shall.”
“Just don't take too long. Remember: this man is an accomplished killer, and he's been on the planet long enough to pinpoint the Oracle's location. A lot of lives depend on our moving quickly.”
Including mine.