Soothsayer

by Mike Resnick

  “He meant no more to me than I meant to him,” replied the alien. “I was protecting the Soothsayer.”

  “Well, whatever your reason, thanks,” said the Mouse. “Maybe you'd better start digging his grave out back. I'm sure Carlos will be by to join you in a few minutes.”

  “Have I your permission to leave you, Soothsayer?” asked the Mock Turtle.

  “Yes,” said Penelope.

  The alien stepped down off the porch. “I have no digging instruments,” it announced.

  “There's a shed behind the building,” said the Mouse. “I'm sure you'll find a spade or a pick inside it.”

  The Mock Turtle walked around the rooming house without another word.

  “Come inside, Penelope,” said the Mouse.

  “Why?” asked the girl.

  “We have to talk, and I'd just as soon not do it where we can be overheard, even by the Turtle.”

  The Mouse walked into the house and walked across the foyer to the lounge, followed by Penelope.

  “Sit down,” said the Mouse.

  Penelope sat on a couch, and the Mouse sat down next to her.

  “What's the matter?” asked the girl. “You act like you're mad at me.”

  “I'm not mad, but there's something I have to know.”

  “What?”

  The Mouse looked into Penelope's eyes. “Was Carlos telling the truth?”

  “I don't know what you mean,” said the girl.

  “Did the Forever Kid have to die?”

  “He wanted to die,” answered Penelope. “You don't have to feel sad about it.”

  “You didn't answer my question,” said the Mouse. “Did he have to die?”

  “Jimmy the Spike was faster.”

  “But Jimmy the Spike was our enemy and the Forever Kid was our friend.”

  “But he died the way he wanted to.”

  “Look at me,” said the Mouse. “Did you interfere with the fight?”

  Penelope met her gaze. “No.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Don't you believe me, Mouse?”

  The Mouse stared at her for a moment, then put her arms around the little girl. “Yes, I believe you.”

  “She's telling the truth,” said a voice from the doorway.

  The Mouse jumped up, startled. “I thought you were having a drink.”

  “They locked up the building when the shooting started,” said the Iceman.

  Suddenly the Mouse frowned. “If you agree that she's telling the truth, what were you talking about before?” she demanded.

  “You asked her the wrong question.”

  “What do you think I should have asked.”

  The Iceman stared at Penelope. “Ask her if the Kid would have lived if she had interfered.”

  “Go away and leave me alone!” shouted Penelope, half-hysterical.

  “Please, Carlos,” said the Mouse.

  He nodded. “I've got a body to bury.” He turned to leave. “Besides, I already know the answer.”

  Then the Mouse was alone with Penelope again.

  “Well?” she said.

  Penelope, her body still tense, continued to stare at the spot where the Iceman had been standing.

  “Penelope,” said the Mouse, “is it true? Could you have saved him?”

  “He wanted to die.”

  “He was prepared to die,” said the Mouse. “That's not the same thing.”

  “It is.”

  “No,” said the Mouse. “If he had wanted to die, he wouldn't have drawn his guns against the first seven bounty hunters. He'd have just stood there and let them shoot him down.”

  Penelope's gradually relaxed, but made no answer.

  “Could you have saved him?” asked the Mouse again.

  “Maybe,” said Penelope grudgingly.

  “That's not an answer,” said the Mouse. “Could you have saved him—yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “By breaking the window just when the Kid tried to draw his gun. Jimmy the Spike would have been startled, not for long, but long enough for the Kid to kill him.”

  “Then why didn't you do it?”

  “He didn't care whether he lived or died.”

  “But we care,” said the Mouse. “First, because he was our friend, and second, because we needed him to face the last two men—the two who haven't landed yet.”

  “They would probably have killed him,” said Penelope.

  “Probably?” repeated the Mouse.

  “It depends where they stood.”

  “You could have told him where to stand.”

  “What difference does it make?” asked Penelope. “He wasn't important anyway. You're the one I love.” She threw her arms around the Mouse and buried her head against her small bosom. You and Maryanne and maybe the Mock Turtle. He didn't matter!” She started crying. “Say you're not mad at me, Mouse.”

  The Mouse stroked her blonde hair absently and stared out the window at the bodies on the street.

  “No, I'm not mad at you, Penelope,” she said, her voice troubled.

  “And do you still love me?”

  “I'll always love you.”

  “And we're still partners, and we'll always be together?”

  The Mouse sighed deeply, and continued stroking Penelope's hair.

  “You didn't answer me,” said the little girl.

  The Mouse hugged her tightly, but remained silent, a troubled frown on her face.

  32.

  Night had fallen.

  The Iceman had pulled a rocking chair out to the porch, so he could watch for the final two ships against the darkened sky. Penelope was sleeping in the lounge, where the Mock Turtle sat watch over her.

  The Mouse, who had been walking restlessly through and around the rooming house, finally approached the Iceman.

  “I've been thinking about what you said,” she began softly.

  “And?”

  “She's been on the run all her life. She's never stopped long enough for anyone to teach her right from wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “She's not malicious,” added the Mouse quickly. “She doesn't mean to hurt anyone. She just doesn't know any better.” She paused. “She thought she was doing the Kid a favor by letting him die.”

  “I'm sure she did,” said the Iceman. “But the end result is that he's dead.”

  “She needs guidance, that's all,” said the Mouse.

  “And you're going to give it to her?”

  “I'm going to try.”

  “And what happens when she doesn't agree with what you say?”

  “I'll just have to be patient, and explain it until she understands,” answered the Mouse.

  “Children aren't notorious for being patient,” he pointed out. “Most of them just cry, and a few break things. This one could destroy whole worlds.”

  “I can't kill her, Carlos. She loves me.”

  The Iceman stared into the darkness for a long time before answering.

  “Then you'd better never leave her side for an instant,” he said. “You'd better never give her a reason to doubt that you love her, or that she's the most important thing in your life.” He paused. “The only important thing in your life.”

  “She'd never harm me, Carlos.”

  “She's just a child, and an untrained one at that,” replied the Iceman. “She'll have doubts and fears and jealousies, just like any other child—only she won't recognize them for what they are.” He turned to her. “Other children wish terrible fates on their parents and siblings every day; it's a normal part of growing up. The difference is that what she wishes will come true.”

  The Mouse made no reply.

  “And you'd better watch out for the Mock Turtle, too,” continued the Iceman.

  “Why? He worships her.”

  “You call it a ‘he’ and you give it a name like the Mock Turtle, and that makes you forget it's an alien, with alien perceptions and alien motivations. It's go
t a polite, almost servile manner, but it killed the Yankee Clipper in cold blood, and it showed no hesitation in shooting down Jimmy the Spike.”

  “He was protecting her.”

  “I know ... but it's going be giving Penelope as much input as you are, and for all you know it kills someone every day before breakfast.”

  “He seems very gentle and very caring to me,” replied the Mouse.

  “You've only seen it in the presence of a little girl that it worships. You know nothing about its beliefs and its ethics, except that it's willing to kill humans for what it considers valid reasons.”

  “What do you want me to do?” demanded the Mouse. “Kill both of them?”

  “Kill the little girl and the alien doesn't matter,” said the Iceman. “But if you let her live, then you'd better get rid of the alien, and the sooner the better.”

  She stared at him. “You're a hard man, Carlos.”

  He was about to answer her when the sky was lit up by the retro-burn of an incoming spaceship.

  “How far away would you say it is?” asked the Iceman when the ship had finally vanished from their sight and presumably landed on the planet's surface.

  “Four or five miles, just like the others.”

  “Whoever's flying it must have picked up the others with his sensor and decided that was the spaceport.” He paused. “Well, we've probably got until sunrise.”

  “Why won't he come after us right now?” asked the Mouse.

  “Because for all he knows, we've got the whole route mined and booby-trapped,” answered the Iceman. “No, he'll wait until he can see where he's going.” He looked up at the sky. “Besides, his partner isn't here yet.”

  “How do you know who it is, or that he has a partner?” asked the Mouse.

  “Because I saw who the Kid killed, and Three-Fisted Ollie wasn't among them,” explained the Iceman. “Ollie is too good at his work to have lost our trail, and he'll have kept in contact with Cemetery Smith.” The Iceman smiled grimly. “That's who we're waiting for.”

  “Maybe we ought to mine the road,” suggested the Mouse. “We have enough time. It won't be daylight for another four or five hours.”

  “I don't have the equipment,” said the Iceman. “Besides, it doesn't make any difference.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because these are two of the best in the business. They're not going to make a second foolish mistake.”

  “A second one?” said the Mouse. “What was their first?”

  “The same as yours,” he replied, leaning back on the rocking chair to wait for Cemetery Smith's ship to streak through the atmosphere. “They thought Penelope Bailey was a helpless little girl.”

  33.

  Dawn broke with surprising suddenness on Killhaven. One moment it was dark, the next moment it wasn't, and a moment after that a score of avian raptors swooped down and recommenced feeding on the dead bodies that littered the street.

  “They're coming,” announced Penelope from inside the house.

  “I'll tell Carlos,” said the Mouse's voice.

  “Not necessary,” said the Iceman, still sitting on his rocking chair. “I'm awake.”

  The Mouse appeared in the doorway and looked up the long dirt road.

  “I can't see them yet.”

  “They're probably still a couple of miles away,” said the Iceman.

  “What do you plan to do?” asked the Mouse.

  “I'll play it by ear,” answered the Iceman.

  “You mean you're just going to sit here?”

  “That's what I mean.”

  “That's stupid, Carlos,” said the Mouse. “We still have time to take defensive positions. You could get on the roof, the Turtle can hide behind the restaurant, I can—”

  “I'm too old to climb on top of buildings,” interrupted the Iceman.

  “But you can't just do nothing!”

  “Why not?” replied the Iceman calmly. “It's usually best.”

  “What's going on, Carlos?” she demanded. Suddenly she stared intently at him. “You're going to join them, aren't you?”

  “I doubt that they'd have me.”

  “Then what are you going to do?” she insisted.

  “I don't know.”

  “Well, you've got about ten minutes to come up with an idea.”

  “I don't want one.”

  She frowned. “What the hell are you talking about, Carlos?”

  He turned to her. “If I don't know what I'm going to do, then she doesn't know what I'm going to do.”

  “It doesn't work that way, Carlos,” said the Mouse. “She sees lots of futures, and then tries to manipulate things so that the one she wants will come to pass.”

  “Not knowing what I'm going to do will make it harder for her to manipulate anything,” answered the Iceman. “Maybe she'll want me to sneeze when I'm going for my gun, and maybe she won't—but if even I don't know if or when I'm going for it, it's got to hamper her.”

  “If I were you, I'd be more worried about Three-Fisted Ollie and Cemetery Smith,” said the Mouse.

  The Iceman shrugged. “They're just killers.”

  The Mouse stared at him again, then disappeared back inside the house.

  The Iceman pulled a thin Castorian cigar from his pocket, lit it, and continued rocking on his chair. The sun peeked up over the restaurant, and he squinted up the road, wishing that he had remembered to bring a hat to shade his eyes.

  And then two figures, one human, one definitely inhuman, came into view. As they came closer he saw that the alien wore a silver outfit, and had either one arm too many or one too few, and he knew that it was Three-Fisted Ollie. The other wore the dull browns and greens of a man used to blending in with his surroundings, but there was no doubt in the Iceman's mind that it was Cemetery Smith.

  “I am standing in the window of the lounge,” said the Mock Turtle's voice. “I will keep my weapon trained on the human.”

  “Don't shoot until I tell you to,” said the Iceman. “We tried this the Kid's way yesterday, and all we have to show for it is a batch of dead bodies and fat birds.”

  “Two more dead bodies and we can leave in safety,” responded the Mock Turtle.

  “These guys aren't that stupid,” said the Iceman. “And they've worked as a team before. One of them will approach me, but the other will stay out of range, and if anything happens to his partner, he'll blow the whole rooming house straight to hell.”

  And, almost as if they had heard them, Cemetery Smith came to a halt some 800 yards away while Three-Fisted Ollie continued approaching with his powerful, lumbering walk.

  “That's close enough,” said the Iceman, getting off the rocking chair and stepping down from the porch when the alien was about fifty yards away.

  “I know you,” said Three-Fisted Ollie, stopping and peering at the Iceman through his many-faceted eyes. “You're Mendoza.”

  “I know you too.”

  “I haven't seen you in many years,” continued the alien.

  “I've been around.”

  “Are you working for the girl now?”

  The Iceman shook his head. “Just working.”

  “We have come for her.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you plan to stand against us?” asked Three-Fisted Ollie.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Then step aside.”

  “I thought we might talk first,” said the Iceman.

  “Briefly.”

  “You know that the Clipper's dead?”

  “Of course. We were on Calliope when he was killed.”

  “Then who are you working for?”

  Three-Fisted Ollie smiled a very alien smile. “I cannot tell you that, Mendoza. You might think of delivering her there yourself and claiming the reward.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” said the Iceman, returning his smile.

  “You have not changed, Mendoza.”

  “Sure I have,” said the Iceman. “I don'
t work for the Democracy any more.”

  “Who do you work for now?” asked the alien.

  “Me.”

  “What has this to do with the girl?”

  “I'll buy her from you.”

  Three-Fisted Ollie frowned. “That makes no sense, Mendoza. You already possess her.”

  “You were never the brightest bounty hunter on the Frontier,” said the Iceman. “Think it through, Ollie.”

  The alien was silent for a moment. “You are offering to pay us to leave?”

  “That's right.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don't want to kill you, and because she'll help me recoup whatever I pay you.”

  “You won't kill me, Mendoza,” the alien assured him. “You are not a young man any more.”

  “But I have friends.”

  Three-Fisted Ollie suddenly tensed. “Oh?”

  The Iceman nodded. “Nine of them. They're in every building in town, and each of them has a weapon trained on you.”

  “I don't believe you, Mendoza.”

  The Iceman gestured to the eight bodies that lay on the street. “Do you think I could have done that all by myself?”

  “You were accompanied here by the Forever Kid,” said Three-Fisted Ollie. “He could have done that.”

  The Iceman walked over to Jimmy the Spike's body and turned it over with his foot.

  “Could he have have taken all eight of them at once, including the Spike?” he asked.

  “No,” answered Three-Fisted Ollie. “Not including the Spike.”

  “Then maybe you'd better accept my offer.”

  “Where is the Forever Kid now?”

  The Iceman pointed to the seed store. “In there, with a gun pointed at your head.”

  The alien grinned again. “I almost believed you, Mendoza. But I know the Forever Kid, and if he was alive, nothing could keep him from facing me. Therefore, he is dead and you are alone.”

  “You're half right,” admitted the Iceman. “He's dead. But I'm not alone.”

  “We have spoken enough,” said Three-Fisted Ollie. “Now it is time for me to get the girl.”

  “Two million credits,” said the Iceman.

  The alien stared at him. “That was a fair price a year ago. Now she is worth much more.”

  “But if you accept two million, you'll walk away with it in your pocket. If you don't, you'll be buried along with the rest of them,” he said, indicating the dead bounty hunters.