Praed Tropo still had not decided what course of action to take by the end of the day, and the Iceman requested permission to spend the night aboard his ship, which was cooler and possessed a comfortable human bed. The Blue Devil at first objected, but finally gave his permission.
Once he had climbed aboard and triggered his security system, he activated his subspace radio.
“32 here,” said the voice at the other end.
“It's me,” said the Iceman. “And you'd damned well better be right about this frequency being beyond their capacity to pick up.”
“It is. Where are you—on one of the moons?”
“I'm on Hades.”
“You're on Hades itself?” exclaimed 32, surprised. “I knew I had the right man when I sent that woman out to approach you! You should never have farmed out the job.”
“Then you'd have been trying to kill me,” replied the Iceman dryly.
There was an awkward pause.
“Have you learned anything yet?” asked 32.
“I haven't found out anything about the Whistler, if that's what you mean.”
“What about Jimmy Two Feathers?”
“I don't know where he is, but if he's kept off the seed, I know where he'll show up.”
“He's not the one we're worried about. He'll either assassinate the Oracle, or he'll fail and probably get himself killed. It's Chandler we've got to stop.”
“May I point out that I've only been on the damned planet for three or four hours?” said the Iceman. “If he was that easy to stop, I wouldn't have hired him, and you wouldn't have had to hire me.”
“I'm sorry,” said 32 with a marked lack of sincerity. “It's just that we're very anxious about this whole project.”
“'We'?” repeated the Iceman. “Have you got some kind of pool going on who lives and who dies?”
“Just be careful,” admonished 32. “If we did have a pool, the Oracle would be the favorite.”
“I know,” said the Iceman. “But if you'll let me speak to one of your demolition experts, maybe I can lower the odds.”
“I'll get one in here right away.”
“The sooner the better. I still don't trust this frequency.”
The expert arrived a few minutes later, the Iceman put a number of questions to her, received the answers he needed, and then deactivated the radio. He waited a few minutes to make sure that no one had monitored his conversation and was coming to arrest him, then spent the next two hours working with the information he had received. Finally, physically and emotionally drained from the events of the day, he lay down on his bunk and was asleep almost instantly.
Praed Tropo contacted him via radio the next morning just after sunrise, and demanded his presence. It was already hot outside, and getting hotter by the minute, and the Iceman took a broad-brimmed hat with him to shade his eyes from the sun.
“I have considered your proposition very carefully,” said Praed Tropo as they walked toward a waiting vehicle, “and I have decided to let you attempt to stop the assassin.”
“Thank you.”
“There is nothing to thank me for, Mendoza,” answered the Blue Devil. “We are confronting a dangerous situation. You are risking your life to resolve it.”
“As I told you, I'm being well-paid,” responded the Iceman.
Praed Tropo's expression indicated what he thought of a race that would do anything for money, but it made no reply.
“Where are we going?” asked the Iceman as they reached the vehicle and Praed Tropo motioned him to climb into it. Four armed Blue Devils were waiting for him, and Praed Tropo joined them a moment later.
“Where you want to go,” answered the Blue Devil. Suddenly the windows all darkened, and a light came on, illuminating the interior of the vehicle.
“The Oracle's headquarters?”
“That is correct,” said Praed Tropo. “Since you have no need to know its location, I have made the windows opaque.”
The vehicle began moving, and the Iceman leaned back on his seat, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. For the first time since arriving on Hades, he became aware of the unpleasant, almost bitter odor of the Blue Devils. The vehicle wasn't air-conditioned, for the Blue Devils had evolved to cope with the intense heat, and his mouth suddenly felt dry. After a few minutes he found himself sweating profusely, and shortly thereafter his clothes were drenched, and his foot squished uncomfortably in his boot.
“How much longer?” he asked hoarsely.
“Perhaps an hour,” said Praed Tropo. “Perhaps two.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
“You are uncomfortable?”
“Very.”
“Oh,” said Praed Tropo, with no show of concern.
The vehicle sped on, and the Iceman finally found that he was less uncomfortable if he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in his hands. After about ten minutes his back began to ache, and he straightened up again, aware that he was causing the Blue Devils untold satisfaction, if not outright amusement.
“Are we heading toward a city?” he asked, hoping that conversation would take his mind off his discomfort.
“Why should you think so?” answered Praed Tropo.
“Because her headquarters would be harder to pinpoint if they were surrounded by hundreds of other buildings.”
“She has no reason to fear attack.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Why?”
“I'm risking my life to save her, so naturally I'm curious,” answered the Iceman.
“She is in no danger. You are here only to prevent any members of my own race from being harmed.”
“Why is she called the Oracle? Does she make mystic pronouncements?”
“'Oracle’ is a Terran word,” replied Praed Tropo. “She chose it herself. I do not know what it means.”
“Why is she living among you?”
“It is not necessary for you to know that.”
“What does she look like?” asked the Iceman.
“Like any other member of your race.”
“Every other member of my race can be killed. What makes you so certain that she can't be?”
“You ask too many questions, Mendoza,” said Praed Tropo.
“The Democracy is paying me a lot of money to save her,” said the Iceman. “That implies someone else spent a lot of money to have her killed. I'd like to know what makes her so valuable. Your claim that she is invulnerable seems like a good place to start.”
“Be quiet, Mendoza,” said Praed Tropo. “I find your questions tiring.”
“Then why not answer them and I'll shut up?”
“Because it has occurred to me, as it has doubtless occurred to you, that Chandler may have been paid more than ten million credits to assassinate the Oracle. Since you know who hired him, and since greed is the prime motivating force of all Men, I consider it quite likely that you yourself will attempt to kill the Oracle if you feel the opportunity has presented itself.”
“But you've already told me it can't be done,” the Iceman pointed out. “Were you lying to me?”
“No,” said Praed Tropo. “But in the process, you could kill some members of my race, and since you landed here on my authority, I would be held responsible for your crimes.” He paused. “Therefore, I will tell you nothing about the Oracle. You are here to apprehend Chandler, and nothing more.”
You know, thought the Iceman, when I was younger and stronger, I probably would have tried to cut Chandler out and kill the Oracle myself—if my story had been true. You're too smart again by half, Praed Tropo. If all the Blue Devils are like you, I wonder why your people think they need the Oracle.
“Well, then,” he said aloud, “perhaps you can tell me about her headquarters. What are its dimensions, how many Blue Devils are guarding it, what kind of security systems have been built into it?”
“You will see for yourself when we arrive,” answered Praed Tropo.
“Fine,” said the Iceman with a sigh.
“There is one thing I will tell you now, Mendoza.”
“Good. What is it?”
“My race is called the Lorhn,” said Praed Tropo. “We find the term Blue Devils offensive.”
“I assure you no offense was intended. I've only heard you referred to as Blue Devils.”
“We call you Men, as you prefer, rather than—” it uttered a word that was unpronounceable in Terran. “And we have learned to speak Terran, though it bears no relation to our own language and is painful to our throats.” It paused. “And yet, although the Democracy knows we are the Lorhn, it persists in calling us Blue Devils, and does not teach its diplomats or its operatives our language. Is it any wonder that we have no desire to be assimilated by you?”
“I'm no politician or operative,” said the Iceman. “I'm just a businessman, and from this moment forward I'll be happy to refer to you as Lorhn. If you feel the Democracy has treated your race with disrespect, tell them.”
“I have no intercourse with the Democracy, nor do I expect to have any unless they invade us,” said Praed Tropo. “I am telling you, because if you survive I will expect you to relay my message to them.”
“Consider it done,” lied the Iceman.
The Blue Devil fell silent again, and the Iceman, totally out of questions, rode in mute discomfort.
After another hour he felt the vehicle turn to the left, and suddenly the sound of the wind was broken by large structures, either buildings or natural formations. Then it began slowing down, and in another mile it stopped.
“We have arrived,” announced Praed Tropo as the windows became transparent once more.
The Iceman's eyes began watering at the broad expanse of sand that reflected the intense sunlight, and it took him almost a minute before he could begin focusing.
The first thing he saw was the building, beautifully camouflaged in a depression beneath a large outcropping of rock. It was a crazily irregular structure, but if a wall with right angles had been built around it, the Iceman estimated that it would be close to 400 feet on a side.
The quartz roof, reflecting a dazzling array of reds, oranges and golds, with blue metal girders supporting it, immediately caught his eye. It seemed much more intricate than necessary, even if it served as a solar energy collector.
He looked for windows and doors, found a few where they shouldn't have been and almost none where he expected them to be, and shrugged. He'd been on enough alien worlds not to try to make sense out of their structures. If they thought a roof should be fifty feet high at one point and ten feet at another, with no rhyme or reason to justify the sudden changes, that was fine by him; all he was concerned about was the woman who resided beneath that roof.
At the far end of the building was a huge triangular door, and after he, Praed Tropo, and the four armed Blue Devils climbed out of the vehicle, the driver started it up again and drove through the doorway into what the Iceman assumed was an enormous garage.
There were eleven Blue Devils pacing the grounds, walking in intricate patterns that seemed totally unrelated to one another. None of them were armed.
“Who are they?” asked the Iceman.
“They are members of the house's staff.”
“What are they doing?”
“They are performing their religious rituals,” answered Praed Tropo.
“They make awfully easy targets,” noted the Iceman.
“Then they will join our God that much sooner,” replied the Blue Devil with a shrug.
“And what are these?” asked the Iceman, indicating a number of stone structures scattered around the landscape. “They look rather like fountains.”
“What is a fountain?”
The Iceman explained it, and Praed Tropo looked disapproving.
“We have no water to spare for such non-essential purposes.”
“Then I repeat: what are they?”
“Monuments, denoting where various Lorhn have fallen in defense of the Oracle.” It paused. “In every case, they were killed by agents of the Democracy.”
“Then it would seem that the Democracy has hired me to make amends,” said the Iceman.
“For Men to make amends is contrary to my experience,” said Praed Tropo.
“You've been associating with the wrong Men,” said the Iceman easily.
“I will give you every opportunity to prove me wrong, Mendoza,” answered the Blue Devil. “But I expect that you will prove to be no different from the rest.”
“You know, you object to my calling your race Blue Devils, and I'm making an attempt to abide by your wishes,” said the Iceman. “But you keep making generalizations about my race that you know to be false.”
“Nothing I have said is false.”
“You have stated or implied that Men are not to be trusted, and that we hold your race in contempt.”
“That is true.”
“You forget the Oracle,” said the Iceman. “She's a member of my race, and yet you trust her.”
Praed Tropo stared at the Iceman for a long moment, and then spoke. “I repeat: nothing I have said is false.”