After receiving permission to land from a bored spaceport employee who had no idea that a war had erupted a million miles above his head, the Iceman's ship broke out of orbit and plunged down toward Mozart's surface. He wasn't worried about being fired upon, because he knew that whatever defenses Penelope possessed, they weren't military in nature. As for the local authorities, they caused him no concern whatsoever; he was willing to bet that no one else even knew that the Anointed One's fleet was out there, or that it was being torn to pieces.
When he got to within five miles of the surface he pressed a button and released a trio of parachutes, designed to save him just in case Penelope was able to stop concentrating on the heavily-armed ships in orbit and devote a few seconds to him. But the landing was accomplished without mishap, and the Iceman climbed into the hold of his ship to prepare the cargo he had brought along.
It took him almost twenty minutes to assemble the components. Then he attached it to the loose vest he had brought, slipped the vest on, covered it with a bulky coat, and finally emerged from his ship.
A spaceport official was waiting for him.
“Welcome to Mozart,” he said.
“Thank you,” said the Iceman.
“You certainly took your time getting out of your ship,” continued the official. “Is everything all right? Do you need any mechanical assistance?”
“No,” answered the Iceman. “I was just rearranging some cargo.”
“Will you require either fuel or a hangar?”
“Neither,” said the Iceman. “My business here should be done before nightfall.”
“If it isn't, there will be a two hundred credit fee for leaving your ship where it is.”
The Iceman reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, then peeled off a pair of hundred-credit notes. “Here,” he said, handing them to the official. “You can return them to me when I leave this evening.”
“I'll make out a receipt while you're clearing customs,” said the man, putting the bills between the pages of a small notebook.
“Where is customs?”
“At the base of the tower,” replied the man, leading the Iceman into the lobby of the observation tower and over to the customs desk, where a handsome, uniformed woman looked up at him.
“Name, please?”
The Iceman pulled out his titanium passport card and laid it on her desk. “Carlos Mendoza.”
She ran the card through a computer, waited a few seconds for it to scan his retina and verify his identity, and returned it to him.
“May I ask the purpose of your visit, Mr. Mendoza?”
“I'm here to conclude some very old business,” he replied.
“And the name of the party you have come to see?”
“Penelope Bailey.”
She looked up from her computer and stared at him for a moment. “Does Miss Bailey know you are coming to see her?”
“I'd be very surprised if she didn't,” answered the Iceman.
“All right, Mr. Mendoza, you are cleared to stay on Mozart for fourteen days. Should you decide to extend your visit beyond that limit, please inform this office.”
“Thank you.”
“The Democracy credit is the official currency of Mozart, but we also accept New Stalin rubles, Maria Theresa dollars, New Zimbabwe dollars, and Far London pounds. If you possess any other form of currency, please declare it on this form"—she handed him an official-looking document—"and record all your currency conversion transactions.”
The Iceman took the form, folded it neatly, and place it in a pocket of his overcoat.
“Welcome to Mozart, Mr. Mendoza,” she said. “Today's temperature is 28 degrees Celsius, which translates into 542 degrees Rankine, 22 degrees Reaumur, and 83 degrees Fahrenheit.” She paused. “You may find your overcoat rather warm.”
“I won't be wearing it that long,” he replied. “How do I get to town from here?”
“There is free public transportation every two hours.” She checked her timepiece. “I'm afraid you just missed it. If you don't wish to wait, there are usually a few groundcars for hire in front of the spaceport.”
“Thank you,” said the Iceman. He turned, walked through the small lobby at the base of the observation tower, and out the main entrance. A single groundcar was parked there, and he quickly climbed into it.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
“I'm looking for a private residence,” answered the Iceman. “Have you got a directory here?”
The driver pressed a button, activating a holo screen that hovered in the air about two feet from the Iceman.
“Just state the name of your party,” said the driver. “His address will appear at the top of the screen, and the one-way and round-trip fares will be computed and appear in the lower right-hand corner.”
“Penelope Bailey.”
Instantly an address appeared. This was followed by a map that instantly traced seven or eight routes, selected the quickest one, left it on display, and posted a rate of 48 credits one-way or 88 credits for a round-trip.
“She's out in the sticks, isn't she?” remarked the driver as an identical screen appeared above his dash panel.
“I suppose so,” answered the Iceman. “I haven't been there before. How long will it take?”
The driver stared at the map. “Maybe twenty minutes, twenty-five if we run into some traffic.”
“Traffic? On this planet?”
“Harvesters or combines on the road, moving from one farm to another,” explained the driver. “They can slow you down plenty.” He paused. “Well, are we going?”
“Yes.”
The groundcar pulled away from the spaceport.
“One-way or round trip?”
“One-way will do,” answered the Iceman. “If I need a ride back, I'll call for one.”
“Remember my tag number and ask for it,” said the driver. “I can use the business.”
“I'll do that,” replied the Iceman.
They drove in silence for almost twenty minutes, passing through town and going out along the backroads, and finally the Iceman leaned forward. “How much longer?” he asked.
“Maybe another two miles.”
“Stop when you're a mile away.”
“You're sure?”
“Just trying to save you some engine trouble.”
“I don't have any engine trouble.”
“You never can tell,” said the Iceman, handing a hundred-credit note to the driver.
“You're the boss,” said the driver with a shrug.
A moment later the groundcar slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road, and the Iceman got out.
“If the map's right, it should be just around the next curve,” said the driver. “You sure you don't want me to wait?”
“I'm sure.”
“All right.” He paused. “From what I hear around town, this is a very strange lady you're going to visit. I don't know what kind of business you've got with her, but good luck.”
“Thanks,” said the Iceman. “I'll probably need it.”
The groundcar turned and headed back toward the spaceport, and the Iceman began walking along the edge of a mutated cornfield toward Penelope Bailey's house. When he finally was able to see the top of the geodesic dome he removed his overcoat and left it lying in a ditch at roadside.
He stopped, lit a cigar, paused to enjoy the taste of the first puff, and then reached down to his vest and activated two tiny switches. Then he continued walking, and five minutes later he reached his destination.
He approached the front door and found that it was locked, and since he was no longer in any condition to pound it or pull at it, he gingerly walked around to the back, where he saw a young blonde woman, her back to him, standing beside a small pond, her eyes trained on the heavens, striking a new position every few seconds.
“Welcome, Iceman,” she said without turning to face him. “I have been waiting for this moment for a long time.”
“I don't doubt it,” replied the Iceman, coming to a stop.
“I have only 40 more ships to destroy,” she announced, “and then I shall be able to give you my full attention.” She paused. “Now 23, now 17. You are very clever to have gotten this far, Iceman.”
“I was fortunate.”
“You would have been more fortunate had you elected to remain on your own world,” she replied, still motionless. “Eleven, now seven, now four.” She paused again. “And now there is only the Anointed One.” Finally she turned to the Iceman. “Shall we let him live a little longer, so that he may grasp the full extent of his defeat?”
“It makes no difference to me,” replied the Iceman.
“No, of course it does not,” she said. “You care no more about Moses Mohammed Christ than I do.” She paused and stared into the Iceman's eyes. “So it comes down to you and me, as I always knew it would.”