Felix Lomax awoke with a start when the ship signaled him that he had an incoming message. He sat erect, blinked his eyes very rapidly for a moment, then instructed the screen to activate.

A holograph of Otis Korbekkian, with Mt. Olympus clearly visible through the window behind his desk, instantly appeared.

“Good morning, Gravedancer,” he said. “It took me a while to track you down.”

Lomax shrugged. “The Iceman keeps moving. I missed him on Sweetwater, and again on Confucius VI.” He paused. “He's not doing much to cover his trail. I'll catch up with him sooner or later.”

“Sooner,” said Korbekkian. “I just got word that he's finally returned to Last Chance.”

“You're sure?”

“My source claims to have seen him.”

“I notice your source didn't feel compelled to go up against him,” noted Lomax caustically.

“The Anointed One has given you the commission. No one else in our organization will try to kill him unless you fail.”

“I won't fail,” said Lomax. “Just have the second half of the money ready to deposit in my account next time you hear from me.”

“We have an agreement. We shall not renege on it.”

“See to it that you don't.”

Lomax broke the connection and directed his navigational computer to lay in a course for Last Chance, far into the Inner Frontier. Then he unstrapped himself from his seat, made his way through the cramped quarters to the lavatory, shaved and took a quick dryshower, and emerged feeling somewhat refreshed. He selected a few mutated fruits from the galley, ordered the computer to brew a pot of coffee, and sat down to eat the skinless oranges and sweetlemons.

It had been a dull two weeks since he had met the Anointed One. He had no intention of finding the Iceman where anyone loyal to his new employer might chance to see them, and so he had purposely gone off on false trails, and had made sure he hit Sweetwater and Confucius long after his prey had gone. He didn't dare raise the Iceman on subspace radio to relay his findings, since he couldn't know whether the men operating the various sending stations were in league with the Anointed One, so he had simply bided his time, waiting for the Iceman to return to his home world.

In the process, he had learned even more about the extent of the Anointed One's empire, enough to conclude that Moses Mohammed Christ did in fact pose a serious threat to all those worlds on the outskirts of the Democracy and possibly to the entire Inner Frontier as well. He may have held his legions together through the religion he had invented, but he was anything but a simple fanatic. His organization was structured along military lines, and functioned with clocklike precision. Every man knew his position, knew who he must report to, knew what was expected of him. Their financing was quite sophisticated: the Anointed One floated the bulk of his principal on a four-world circuit during the course of a Galactic Standard day, drawing interest at each bank during that bank's operating hours before transferring it to the next.

They were ready for the unexpected, as well. Take that fire-bombing or whatever it was of the churches. By the next morning the Anointed One had a list of every damaged building, every lost member of his organization, every police report concerning what might have happened and who might have been responsible. Monies were dispersed, auxiliary plans were brought to bear, and the organization barely missed a beat.

As for the Anointed One himself, Lomax had the feeling that if he were just one whit more cynical or untrusting, he'd have had the perfect temperament for a gunfighter. He had met with him twice now, and he still didn't know if he was dealing with a religious fanatic, a masterful politician, a superior tactician, or a combination of all three.

Lomax finished his meal, got his coffee, and walked back to the cockpit. It was perhaps the most uncomfortable section of the ship, but for some reason he preferred sitting up there. It wasn't as if he couldn't control the ship—and even its weaponry—by voice from his bunk, or couldn't direct the computer to display a hologram of the viewscreen anywhere within the body of the ship ... but for some reason, he tended to read, nap, and drink in the pilot's chair. It made him feel closer to the action, even though he knew that was a false premise and that, indeed, there was no action to be had.

So he loafed, and read, and slept, and thought, and two days later the computer announced that he had reached his destination and was entering orbit around Last Chance. He requested permission to land, received the necessary coordinates, and touched down some twenty minutes later.

He walked the dusty mile from the spaceport to The End of the Line, then entered it and looked around for the Iceman, who was sitting alone at a table near the doorway, a tall drink in his hand.

Lomax approached him, holding his hands in plain view, just in case the Iceman either hadn't received his message or, more likely, hadn't believed it.

“Good afternoon, Gravedancer,” said the Iceman with a smile.

“Good afternoon,” replied Lomax. “May I sit down?”

“Of course. Care for something cold to drink?”

“A beer would be nice.”

The Iceman signaled to one of the bartenders, who immediately brought over a tall glass of beer.

“Thanks,” said Lomax, taking a long swallow. “You know, someday you really ought to consider paving your streets.”

“And stop all my customers from arriving with a killing thirst?” chuckled the Iceman. “Don't be silly.” The smile vanished. “And don't drop your hands below the top of the table until we're through talking.”

“Didn't the Kid reach you?” asked Lomax.

“Yes.”

“Then you got my message.”

“I did,” said the Iceman. “The question is: do I believe it?”

“Well, do you?”

“Probably. But let's talk anyway.”

“Suits me,” said Lomax. “Where's the Kid? Did you send him packing?”

“Not quite,” replied the Iceman. “He's on a little errand for me.” He paused. “Tell me about the Anointed One. Who is he, and why does he want me dead?”

“He's a religious fanatic,” answered Lomax. “His organization is established on more than three thousand worlds, and he's got a couple of hundred million wild-eyed zealots believing he's got a direct line to God. They're willing to go up against the Democracy itself if he tells them to.”

“What's that got to do with me?”

“Somewhere along the way, he found or manufactured an enemy that he thinks is even more powerful than the Democracy, or at least poses more of a threat. She goes by the name of the Prophet.” Lomax paused. “She's some kind of bandit or killer out here on the Frontier, and evidently you've gone up against her before. More to the point, you survived your encounter, which leads him to believe that you're now in league with her.”

“A logical conclusion,” said the Iceman. “Wrong, but logical.” He paused. “All right, you can drop your hands now.”

“Logical?” repeated Lomax, frowning. “Are you saying that this woman is so powerful that if you lived, there has to be a reason for it other than your own abilities?”

“I can see where he might think so,” answered the Iceman.

“Why has she kept her identity such a secret?” asked Lomax. “I mean, hell, I've heard the Prophet mentioned maybe three times in the past four or five years.”

“You've heard of her before,” said the Iceman with the trace of a smile. “She's had other names in the past.”

“Such as?”

“The Soothsayer and the Oracle.”

“You're telling me the Oracle and the Prophet are the same person?”

“That's right.”

“How much danger are you in from her?” asked Lomax.

“Probably no more than you are,” responded the Iceman. “Which is not to say I'm not in danger. We all are.”

“I don't think I understand.”

“What I mean is, I doubt that she has singled me out for termination,” said the Iceman. “That would be imbuing her with human emotions and human responses that I don't think she possesses any longer, if indeed she ever did.” He paused. “But that doesn't mean the entire race isn't in danger. This is a woman capable of destroying entire planets. I don't know what her eventual goals are, but I can't imagine that humanity as a whole is going to be well-served by them.”

“She really can destroy whole worlds?” asked Lomax dubiously.

“Absolutely. I've seen the results.”

“Then old Moses is probably right about her being behind the fires.”

“Who's Moses, and what fires are you talking about?”

“Moses is Moses Mohammed Christ, which is what he calls himself when he's not busy being the Anointed One.”

“And the fires?”

“A couple of hundred of his temples on worlds all the hell over the galaxy erupted in flames almost simultaneously. The police on the various worlds haven't turned up any clues, but they're sure it's not arson, and the military agrees. As for Moses, he's dead certain it was the Prophet's doing.” Lomax looked across the table at the Iceman. “I thought he was crazy—until now.”

“She did it, all right,” said the Iceman. “She's the only person who could have done it.”

Lomax finished his beer and signaled for a refill, which arrived almost instantly. “Am I correct in assuming that the Kid's assignment has something to do with the Prophet?”

The Iceman nodded. “I sent him to the world she's living on.”

“Then he's probably dead already.”

“I doubt it,” said the Iceman. “First, I told him just to gather information, and if she can't see a future in which he kills her, she won't feel it necessary to terminate him. Also,” added the Iceman with a smile, “that young man's as transparent as glass. Five'll get you ten he's already sold out and joined up with her.”

“What use would she have for him?” asked Lomax.

“He's a connection to you and me, and she probably would like to see us both dead: me on general principles, you because you're working for her enemy.”

“I thought you were too insignificant for her to bother with,” noted Lomax wryly.

“I'm too insignificant for her to waste her time hunting the galaxy for me,” answered the Iceman. “But if the Kid can deliver me to her ... well, that's a different matter.”

“Has it occurred to you,” suggested Lomax, “that the smartest thing you and I can do is take a vacation to Deluros VIII, or some other world at the center of the Democracy, and just wait there in comfort until the Anointed One and the Prophet kill each other off?”

“He's no match for her.”

“No match?” repeated Lomax. “I told you: he's got close to three hundred million followers.”

“Three hundred, three hundred million, three billion, it makes no difference,” said the Iceman. “If he goes up against her, he's going to lose.”

“Just what kind of power does she possess?”

“She's precognitive.”

“Then she'll know how to hide where he can't find her,” said Lomax. “I'd hardly call that winning.”

“You don't understand,” continued the Iceman. “She can see every possible permutation, every conceivable future—and when she sees the one she wants, she figures out how to manipulate events so that it comes to pass.” He paused and, finally remembering his drink, took a sip from it. “Take those fires the other night. You don't think she had agents on two hundred worlds set them, do you?”

“There was no sign of arson,” admitted Lomax.

“Of course there wasn't.”

“Then how did she do it?”

“She sat down and stared into the future—into hundreds, maybe millions of futures—and saw that in one of them, someone dropped a lit cigarette, and in another, a meteor made a dead hit on a temple, and in a third, someone left some oil-soaked rags in one of the storerooms, and so on.”

“Okay, she saw all that. How did she make it happen?”

“I don't know,” said the Iceman. “I wasn't there. But I've seen her do it before. She'll flinch, or strike a pose, or move to a different spot, or—”

“How does that effect events thousands of light years away?” interrupted Lomax.

“I don't know,” repeated the Iceman. “Hell, I doubt if she understands how it works. But she knows that it works.”

“And what if she can't manipulate her way out of a jam?”

“Then she'll wait until she can,” answered the Iceman. “She's been captured before—but she's never stayed captured. And,” he added grimly, “things have not gone very well for those who did the capturing.”

“Okay, so no one wants to get near her,” said Lomax. “What's to stop the Anointed One from encircling her planet with warships and obliterating it?”

“I don't know,” said the Iceman. “Maybe a meteor swarm would wipe them out, maybe every member of the crew would contract some virus, maybe the weapons would malfunction. Or maybe the bombs would explode, and every living thing on the planet would die—except her.”

“So how do you defeat someone like that?”

“I've spent a lot of time thinking about it this past week,” answered the Iceman.

“And?”

“There might be a way. I'm not sure.”

“I think with someone like her, you'd want to be sure.”

The Iceman shook his head grimly. “With someone like her, you can never be sure. All you can do is hope.”

Suddenly there was a shrill yell from the casino, where a miner had just hit his number at the roulette wheel. The man did a little jig, cashed in his chips, and offered to buy drinks for everyone in the house, a relatively inexpensive proposition as there were only six people in the casino and another four in the bar.

“Where was I?” asked the Iceman, turning back to Lomax.

“You were saying you thought you knew how to beat her,” replied Lomax.

“Well, it's a possibility, anyway,” said the Iceman.

“Care to tell me about it?”

“I'm going to do more than that,” said the Iceman. “I'm going to enlist your aid.”

“Oh? How?”

“You came here to do a job, right?”

“I came here to tell you what I had learned,” Lomax corrected him.

“You came here to kill me for the Anointed One,” said the Iceman.

“Well, that's what he thinks, anyway.”

“I need his help to accomplish my plan,” continued the Iceman. “He's not going to give it to me, of course, but there's every likelihood that he'll give it to you.”

“Why the hell should he?” replied Lomax. “I'm going to have to report that you were gone by the time I got to Last Chance.” He paused, then smiled wryly. “Even if he buys it, he's not going to have much use for me.” He considered the prospects. “Maybe I'll just keep clear of him and live on the down payment I got for killing you.”

“No,” said the Iceman. “You're not going to tell him an obvious lie about not finding me, and you're not going to go into hiding. I told you: I need his help.”

“So what am I going to do?” asked Lomax.

“You're going to earn his trust, and maybe even move up a couple of notches in his organization, to where you can do me even more good.”

“And how do you think I'm going to do that?” demanded Lomax.

The Iceman smiled. “You're going to kill me, of course.”