The dark-haired man hovered three feet above the floor, sprawled comfortably on his airbed, watching an adventure holo that was taking place about four feet away from him.
"Hey, Injun—you got company!" said one of his guards over the speaker system.
Suddenly the holo screen deactivated, and the door to his cell slid open. A tall, well-dressed man with a shock of white hair walked in and stared at him.
"So you're Jimmy Two Feathers," said the man, staring at him.
"If I'm not, you're gonna get a hell of a nasty letter from my lawyer in the morning," answered the Injun.
The man smiled. "They told me you had a sense of humor."
The Injun shrugged and waited for him to continue speaking.
"You've got quite a reputation, Jimmy."
"As a comedian?"
The man's smile vanished as he shook his head. "As a thief, an arsonist, an extortionist, a blackmailer, and a murderer."
The Injun shrugged. "I take it you disapprove of versatility?"
"No," said the man. "Just of you."
"You came all the way from Deluros VIII to tell me you disapprove of me?" said the Injun.
"What makes you think I'm from Deluros?"
"I can spot you government types a mile away," answered the Injun. "And you're too well-dressed to be from around here."
"What else do you think you know about me?" asked the man.
"You act like you think your shit don't stink. That makes you Military." The Injun paused. "I know I was flying pretty high when they brought me in, but I'll be damned if I can remember killing an officer."
"You didn't."
"What a pity," said the Injun, laying back and relaxing.
"Aren't you interested in why I'm here?" asked the man.
"You'll tell me when you're ready to."
"I'm ready right now." The man paused. "How would you like to get out of here?"
"I suppose I could adjust to it."
"You didn't the last four times."
The Injun shrugged. "A series of misunderstandings."
The man smiled caustically. "You call twenty-seven dead men a series of misunderstandings?"
"Actually, I was performing a valuable social service. Most of them would have wound up in here; look at all the money I saved the government."
"You have no regrets at all, do you?"
"Well, I regret getting caught."
"You're a bright man, Jimmy," said the man. "Why do you keep getting caught?"
"You wouldn't be here if you hadn't read my record," answered the Injun. "You know why."
"You're a seed chewer."
"When I'm on the seed, I feel like I can take on a whole regiment—so sometimes I try to." He grinned wryly. "Next time maybe I should settle for a platoon."
"You've been clean for two years now."
"Yeah, well, the prison chef doesn't serve alphanella seeds with the roast beef, more's the pity."
The man stared at him and shook his head sadly.
"You got a problem?" asked the Injun.
"You're the one with the problem," answered the man. "You're one of the most brilliant criminals of the past quarter century. You commit the insoluble murder or the perfect robbery, and then you start chewing the seed and tell everyone what you'd done. I wish I knew what makes someone with your talents just piss his life away."
"Are you here to lecture me or offer me a deal?" asked the Injun in a bored voice.
"I'm here to offer you a deal," answered the man. "You may not like it, though."
"I'm sure I won't—but why don't you tell me about it anyway, and then I'll tell you what I think of it."
The man nodded. "All right."
"By the way, have you got a name?"
"You may call me 32."
"Well, I was close," said the Injun.
"I beg your pardon?"
The Injun smiled. "You're Covert Operations. I thought you were Military."
"We frequently work in tandem," answered 32 calmly. "May I proceed?"
"Be my guest."
"What would you say if I told you that I have the authority to give you a full pardon, effective immediately?"
"I'd say that's damned generous of you, and let's get the hell out of here."
"There are strings, of course."
"Aren't there always?" said the Injun wryly.
"You would have to come to work for me."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"And you would have to submit to certain surgical alterations."
The Injun frowned. "Just what kind of freak do you plan to turn me into?"
"I assure you that this particular surgery will make no difference whatsoever to your physical appearance."
"Yeah? And just what are your assurances worth?"
"Your freedom."
The Injun stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "Okay, go on."
"The third planet of the Alpha Crepello system is home to a race of aliens known as the Lorhn, which are more commonly called Blue Devils. Over the centuries they have resisted all of our efforts to assimilate them into the Democracy." 32 paused for a moment, then began speaking in lower tones. "On Alpha Crepello III is a human woman named Penelope Bailey, a woman possessed of certain extraordinary talents. We have been trying to get her to return to the Democracy for almost sixteen years. Thus far all of our efforts have failed."
"What makes her so special?"
"She is gifted with the power of precognition," answered 32. "Do you understand what that means?"
"It means I'll never bet against her in a card game."
32 sighed deeply. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. This is a woman who can foresee the outcome of various political and military actions, and our best information is that she has become a renegade, totally opposed to the goals of the Democracy. She is therefore potentially the most serious threat to the existence of the Democracy, and indeed the primacy of the human race, that has ever existed, and as such, her continued presence is unacceptable."
"How many men have you sent after her already?"
"What makes you think we've sent any?" asked 32.
The Injun smiled. "You don't recruit from the jails until your own killers have failed."
32 stared at him for a moment. "We've sent eight men in. We would have been just as happy to bring her out as to terminate her—but new orders have just come down, and that is no longer an option."
"What happened to your eight operatives?"
"Seven are dead."
"And the eighth?"
32 shrugged. "He's still there."
"But you've lost faith in him?"
"No. From everything I've heard about him, he's as good as they come."
"Then why are you giving up on him?"
"Because our policy has changed. As I said, the order came down yesterday that she is to be terminated. The man who is on the scene had orders to try to bring her out alive."
"He's already there. Why not just tell him that there's been a change in orders?"
"He's operating covertly in enemy territory," answered 32. "We don't want to jeopardize his position by attempting to make contact with him." He grimaced ruefully. "Furthermore, he's from the Inner Frontier and has no interest in or loyalty to the Democracy. He's basically a subcontractor whose sole loyalty is to his employer, and it is possible that his employer has reasons of his own for wanting to bring the Oracle out alive, reasons about which we know nothing."
"Then why not just blow his cover, if you think he might screw up the works?"
"If he can actually make contact with her where seven of my finest operatives have failed, I want to know how he managed it. Besides," continued 32, "there is no such thing as a cover when you are operating against someone who can see the future. There is no question in my mind that she knows he's there."
"I don't understand," said the Injun, frowning and running his hand through his unkempt black hair. "If she knows he's there, why hasn't she taken him out? And why are you concerned about contacting him?"
"She can see what will happen, but we don't think she can see what's happening now," answered 32. "In other words, she knows that he plans to abduct her at some point in the future, but she doesn't know where he is at this very minute."
"You're sure of that?" asked the Injun dubiously. "Maybe an hour ago she knew where he'd be right now."
32 sighed deeply. "We're not sure of anything. We know what her capabilities were when she was six years old, and from this our people have been able to extrapolate what they may have become . . ."
"Then you don't actually know a damned thing, do you?" said the Injun.
"No, we don't," admitted 32. "That's why I don't want to expose this man. Thus far it has been impossible to get any of my people close to her; perhaps if he distracts her, if her attention is divided between the two of you, if he seems the more immediate threat, you might have a chance."
"You want a suggestion?"
"I'd be grateful for any suggestions you might care to make," said 32.
"Sue for peace," said the Injun. "Based on what you told me, there's no way you're going to kill this woman. All you can do is make her mad at you."
"Then you are refusing my offer?"
"Who said anything about refusing your offer?" demanded the Injun.
"But—"
"I'd much rather die with a weapon in my hand than locked in a cell." He paused and stared sharply at 32. "Am I going to have a hand when you're all through with this surgery?"
"Certainly," answered 32. "I told you: you will look exactly as you do now."
"I know what you told me," said the Injun. "What you didn't tell me is what you're going to do."
"We are going to turn you into a walking holograph transmitter," said 32. "Your left eye will be removed and replaced with a prosthetic one. It will appear identical to the one we take from you, and it will be tied into your optic nerve center so that you will be able to see through it—but it will also transmit a three-dimensional image of everything you see to me. Also, a microscopic transmitter and receiver will be embedded inside your ear. Everything you hear will also be audible to me, and I in turn will be able to speak to you without anyone else being able to hear what I say."
"Where will you be all this time?"
32 shrugged. "That's undecided at present. If I can land on one of the uninhabited planets in the system, I will. Otherwise, I'll be on Philemon II, the nearest Democracy world, about four light years removed. You'll be sending and receiving subspace signals; the transmissions will be virtually instantaneous within a range of ten light years."
"You've selected me because you think I'm good enough to kill her," said the Injun. "So why do you have to monitor me?"
"I may be able to help."
"How? All you'll do is distract me."
"I spent more time with Penelope Bailey than any member of the Democracy except her parents."
"Yeah?" said the Injun. "How much time?"
"Almost six months."
"Sixteen years ago?" The Injun snorted contemptuously. "Forget the surgery and just let me get on with business."
"There is another reason for the surgery," said 32, unperturbed by the Injun's attitude.
"Oh?"
"You will be operating beyond the boundaries of the Democracy," continued 32. "Based on your prior behavior, there is every likelihood that, once there, you will take your ship and head straight for the Inner Frontier—or, if you remain in the Alpha Crepello system, sooner or later you will be tempted to revert to your addiction."
"And you think being able to whisper platitudes about duty and honor in my ear will stop me?"
"No," said 32. "But I rather suspect that the miniature plasma bomb we plant at the base of your skull, which I can trigger from a distance of up to twenty light years, will act as a deterrent." He paused. "Now, do we still have a deal?"
The Injun glared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah, we have a deal, you no-good bastard."