They were in the Iceman's office, and Lomax, sitting in a corner beneath a number of plaques and awards that had been given to Carlos Mendoza for his fifteen-year period of government service, was examining various hand weapons. Finally he looked up.
“I think it would be easiest with a projectile pistol,” he said. “We could just fill it with blanks. They make a hell of a bang, and you could stick some phony blood beneath your tunic in a plastic bag. Just grab your chest when you hear the shots and cut the bag open.”
“True,” said the Iceman. “But you don't use a projectile weapon. Your trademark is a laser pistol.”
“Hard to fake a laser burn, though,” answered Lomax. “I can set it for a precise distance, but if you're a foot father away everyone will see that it didn't reach you, and if you're three inches too close you're going to have a roasted heart.”
“How about a sonic gun?” asked the Iceman.
Lomax shook his head. “If I'm going to use a gun that's not my own, the projectile pistol makes more sense.”
The Iceman considered that for a moment, then sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I suppose we'll just have to go with it.”
Lomax got up, walked to a bar opposite the Iceman's desk, and poured himself a drink from the Iceman's private stock. “You really think this will fool her?” he asked after he had downed the drink and poured himself another.
“It was never intended to fool her,” replied the Iceman, swiveling on his chair to look at Lomax. “If she looks at enough futures, she'll find me in some of them.”
“Then why...?”
“To fool him,” answered the Iceman.
“Why bother?”
“Two reasons. First, I don't want the Anointed One wasting his time or his resources hunting me down,” said the Iceman. “And second, I want a nice, spectacular killing to help you win his trust.” He paused. “Two killings, actually.”
“Two?” asked Lomax.
“Unless I miss my guess, our friend Neil Cayman has taken a look at Penelope Bailey and a look at us, and decided that he'll live a lot longer if he joins forces with her.”
“It's possible,” admitted Lomax.
“And since the one thing she doesn't need is a personal bodyguard, the likelihood is that she'll send him out to kill either me or the Anointed One. The Kid isn't exactly a genius, but he's not suicidal, either. If she sends him after me, he'll desert; he knows I can't be touched on Last Chance. But if she sends him after the Anointed One, you can score even more points with your boss by killing him.”
“Can I kill him?” asked Lomax. “You mentioned that he's got another implant.”
“You do this for a living,” said the Iceman. “He's just a kid with quick reflexes and delusions of grandeur. I trust you to find a way.”
Lomax grimaced. “I have a feeling it won't be quite as easy as you make it sound.”
“I'm about to face Penelope Bailey herself,” said the Iceman with a wry smile. “You'll forgive me if my heart doesn't bleed for a professional killer who has to face a hot-headed kid who's feeling his hormones.”
“Point taken,” said Lomax, returning his smile. Suddenly the smile vanished. “Do you know yet how you're going to take her out?”
The Iceman put his feet up on his desk. “I'm working on it,” he replied.
“Well, you've gone up against her twice before. Probably you learned something from it.”
“Not much,” came the answer. “The first time I just tried to stop her from killing someone I cared for. The second time I tried to prevent her from escaping from a prison cell on Hades. I've never actually tried to harm her before.”
“Can it be done?”
“I don't know,” said the Iceman honestly. “I think I might have been able to do it when she was eight years old. But now?” He shrugged. “I just know that I have to try.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why do you have to try?” asked Lomax. “I mean, with the Anointed One, we've got a legitimate fanatic who's sworn to overthrow the Democracy and has a couple of hundred million followers who will shoot at anything he tells them to shoot at. But the Prophet—she's never actually caused any harm, and she's hardly got an army at her beck and call. So why not leave her alone?”
“She doesn't need an army,” answered the Iceman, lighting a small, thin Antarrean cigar. “All by herself she's more than a match for the Anointed One.” The Iceman puffed on his cigar. “I still don't think you realize just what she is: her motivations aren't human, her thought processes aren't human, her powers certainly aren't human, and her goals aren't human.”
“What are her goals?”
“Whatever they are, they're contrary to ours.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Someday, if you live through this, fly out to the Alpha Crepello system,” said the Iceman.
“And then what?”
“Then try to find the third planet.”
“You're telling me she destroyed an entire planet?” said Lomax, finally finishing his second drink and walking back to his chair.
“That's right.”
“Why?”
“She was kept prisoner there for sixteen years.”
“Then she had some cause, didn't she?”
“To kill everyone on an entire planet?” demanded the Iceman. “What happens if she doesn't like her tax bill next year? There are eleven billion Men on Deluros VIII; believe me when I tell you she can destroy it just as easily as she destroyed Hades.”
“Hades?”
“Alpha Crepello III.”
“To your knowledge, has she ever killed any human who wasn't trying to kill her?” persisted Lomax.
The Iceman's mind flashed back over the years, to an ever-youthful gunfighter lying dead in the street, and to a small, wiry woman with a pained, puzzled expression on her face as a red blotch spread across her shirt.
“You might say no,” answered the Iceman. “I say yes.”
“What's the difference?”
“Because when you have the power to save people and you let them die, I call it murder.”
“That's debatable.”
“That's why I said you might not agree with me.” The Iceman paused. “It's academic anyway. Either you're with me, or you're not. And if you're not, then you're with her whether you know it or not.”
“You're paying the bills,” said Lomax laconically. “Besides, who knows? I might get to take out the Anointed One as an added bonus.”
The Iceman shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not! We need him.”
“We do? For what?”
“All in good time,” said the Iceman.
“You can trust me,” said Lomax.
“I know I can,” said the Iceman. “In fact, I can't do what I have to do without you. I'm just not quite sure of all the details yet.”
“Once I leave here, how will you be able to let me know what you want me to do?”
“Give me a scramble code for your ship,” said the Iceman, putting his cigar out, withdrawing another from a pocket of his tunic, changing his mind, and replacing it. “When I'm ready to move, I'll contact you and give you your instructions.”
“That may not be enough,” said Lomax. “The Anointed One moves around. We could be on any of fifty planets when you finally decide to get in touch with me. There's every chance I'll be out of sending range.” He paused. “Maybe I should contact you.”
The Iceman shrugged. “As you wish.”
“You'll be at The End of the Line?”
“I'll be on Last Chance, at any rate,” answered the Iceman. He scribbled a number on a piece of paper. “Here's my code. Load it into your ship's computer when you leave.”
“Thanks,” said Lomax. “One more question.”
“Go ahead.”
“What if he's so impressed that I was able to kill you that he sends me after the Prophet?”
“He won't.”
“How do you know? You've never met him.”
“No man reaches his position without having a brain and using it,” answered the Iceman. “If you're good enough to kill me, you're too good to waste against Penelope Bailey. You'll be far more valuable to him as a bodyguard.”
“Maybe he doesn't know she can read the future,” persisted Lomax. “Maybe he thinks she can be killed just like anyone else.”
“Then stall.”
“He's not the kind of man you can stall.”
The Iceman stared at him for a moment. “All right, then—we'll just have to see to it that you're in no condition to go out after Penelope Bailey for a few weeks.”
“I don't like the sound of this,” said Lomax.
“You won't like the feel of it, either,” said the Iceman. “But it's the only way to make sure he doesn't send you after her.”
Lomax returned the Iceman's stare. “Let's have it.”
“I think I'm going to have to bust you up a little bit in the bar tonight. It'll lend authenticity to your reason for shooting me down.”
“How much?” asked Lomax suspiciously.
“Not too much. Maybe an arm or a leg, just enough to keep you from being able to go after Penelope.”
“And what if the Silicon Kid shows up three days later?”
“Shit!” muttered the Iceman. “I forgot about him.” He sighed. “You can take him if you're one hundred percent, but not if you're crippled up. I suppose we'll have to fake it.”
“That sounds like a lot of faking for two men who aren't exactly professional actors,” said Lomax.
“It'll work,” said the Iceman. “By the time anyone pays much attention, it'll all be over. You'll walk out immediately—I'll instruct my men to let you go, and there will be a couple of them outside waiting to rush you to your ship, just in case someone wants to avenge me, or more likely add to his reputation by killing the man who killed me—and I'll be carried into my office before anyone can examine me. The word will get out by tomorrow morning, and Last Chance will issue formal denials for a few days and then admit that I was killed by the Gravedancer.” He grinned. “Once I'm sure you're safe inside the Anointed One's sphere of influence, we might even put a price on your head, just to make it look legitimate.”
“You're sure this is all necessary?” asked Lomax. “I mean, you could just go into hiding for awhile and I could pass the word that I've killed you.”
The Iceman shook his head. “No, we've got to go through with it. Somebody told your boss that I was on Last Chance. That means somebody saw me here. For all we know, he's still on the planet, and if he is, he'll certainly be at the bar or the casino tonight; I mean, hell, there's nowhere else to go here. Whoever he is, he's got to see you kill me and confirm your story, or there's every chance the Anointed One won't believe it.”
“All right,” said Lomax, settling back in his chair and smiling. “I suppose I can live with being known as the man who killed the Iceman.” He paused. “I wonder how many men died trying to get that title?”
“More than I hope you can imagine,” said the Iceman grimly.