Lomax.
"That's right, Mr. Lomax."
Lomax stood, hands on hips, and surveyed his surroundings. They were at an oasis, whether natural or man-made he could not tell. There was a large tent some thirty yards away, made of a metallic fabric that seemed to soak up the sunlight and reflect it back in all the colors of the spectrum. Each time a breeze would pass over it the colors would change, deepen, combine and then separate again, as if the tent itself were some kind of giant prism.
The tent was surrounded by some two dozen armed guards, each with identical sonic rifles but possessing no common uniform. About a mile to the west, on a flat strip of sun-baked ground that ran between two small dunes, was a large building, though Lomax could not tell if it was a garage or a hangar. There was no landing strip, but the ground was so flat and hard that he suspected none was really required. Atop the building was a very tall, cylindrical antenna, the sign of a subspace sending and receiving station, which was doubtless tied in to the nearby tent.
"I expected something a little more elaborate,” commented Lomax.
"This is only one of some fifty outposts we have throughout the Democracy and the Inner Frontier,” answered Korbekkian. “It is merely a convenience.” He paused. “I would be surprised if the Anointed One spends as much as three days a year at this location."
Lomax made no reply.
"Let's move to the shade of a tree, Mr. Lomax,” said Korbekkian. “There's no reason why we shouldn't be comfortable while awaiting your audience."
"Makes sense to me,” said Lomax, following Korbekkian as the latter sought out a shady spot beneath the sparse branches of a desert tree that grew a few feet from the water.
"Not that we shall have to wait long,” added Korbekkian after a moment's silence.
"Oh?"
"I'm sure he will want to conclude your interview in time from us to depart from the planet before dark.” He smiled. “There's no sense giving you a chance to see the stellar configurations and possibly determine where you are."
"I plan to be working for him long before dark,” answered Lomax.
"I certainly hope so. I'm tired of sending overrated incompetents against the Iceman. The man should have been dead two months ago."
A young woman emerged from the tent and approached them.
"He will see you now,” she said.
"Good,” said Korbekkian, starting forward.
"Just Mr. Lomax,” she added.
Korbekkian turned to him. “Good luck. I hope when you emerge that we are on the same team."
Lomax followed her to the doorway of the tent, where she stopped and turned to him.
"You will address him as My Lord,” she said. “Because you are not yet a member of the faith, you will not be required to kneel before him,” she continued. “You will bow when you are introduced, and you will never turn your back to him, but will back out of the tent when your meeting is concluded. Do you understand?"
"I understand,” answered Lomax.
"Then enter,” said the woman, stepping aside.
Lomax lowered his head and stepped through the doorway, where he was immediately greeted by two burly men who wore loose-fitting outfits of some gleaming metallic fabric. They indicated that he should walk between them, and they escorted him through another doorway to the inner section of the tent.
The floors were covered with exquisitely-woven rugs from a dozen worlds, and the walls, composed of a titanium alloy which made the room virtually impervious to assault, displayed paintings and holograms from human and alien worlds. There was a faint scent of incense in the air, and the soft melody of an exotic alien symphony emanated from a silver cube that hovered a few feet above the floor near one of the holograms.
In the middle of the room was a jeweled chair, and upon it sat a tall, ascetic man with an aquiline nose, high protruding cheekbones, and large, coal-black eyes. He wore a robe of white, and around his neck hung a single gold chain, from which
"That's right, Mr. Lomax."
Lomax stood, hands on hips, and surveyed his surroundings. They were at an oasis, whether natural or man-made he could not tell. There was a large tent some thirty yards away, made of a metallic fabric that seemed to soak up the sunlight and reflect it back in all the colors of the spectrum. Each time a breeze would pass over it the colors would change, deepen, combine and then separate again, as if the tent itself were some kind of giant prism.
The tent was surrounded by some two dozen armed guards, each with identical sonic rifles but possessing no common uniform. About a mile to the west, on a flat strip of sun-baked ground that ran between two small dunes, was a large building, though Lomax could not tell if it was a garage or a hangar. There was no landing strip, but the ground was so flat and hard that he suspected none was really required. Atop the building was a very tall, cylindrical antenna, the sign of a subspace sending and receiving station, which was doubtless tied in to the nearby tent.
"I expected something a little more elaborate,” commented Lomax.
"This is only one of some fifty outposts we have throughout the Democracy and the Inner Frontier,” answered Korbekkian. “It is merely a convenience.” He paused. “I would be surprised if the Anointed One spends as much as three days a year at this location."
Lomax made no reply.
"Let's move to the shade of a tree, Mr. Lomax,” said Korbekkian. “There's no reason why we shouldn't be comfortable while awaiting your audience."
"Makes sense to me,” said Lomax, following Korbekkian as the latter sought out a shady spot beneath the sparse branches of a desert tree that grew a few feet from the water.
"Not that we shall have to wait long,” added Korbekkian after a moment's silence.
"Oh?"
"I'm sure he will want to conclude your interview in time from us to depart from the planet before dark.” He smiled. “There's no sense giving you a chance to see the stellar configurations and possibly determine where you are."
"I plan to be working for him long before dark,” answered Lomax.
"I certainly hope so. I'm tired of sending overrated incompetents against the Iceman. The man should have been dead two months ago."
A young woman emerged from the tent and approached them.
"He will see you now,” she said.
"Good,” said Korbekkian, starting forward.
"Just Mr. Lomax,” she added.
Korbekkian turned to him. “Good luck. I hope when you emerge that we are on the same team."
Lomax followed her to the doorway of the tent, where she stopped and turned to him.
"You will address him as My Lord,” she said. “Because you are not yet a member of the faith, you will not be required to kneel before him,” she continued. “You will bow when you are introduced, and you will never turn your back to him, but will back out of the tent when your meeting is concluded. Do you understand?"
"I understand,” answered Lomax.
"Then enter,” said the woman, stepping aside.
Lomax lowered his head and stepped through the doorway, where he was immediately greeted by two burly men who wore loose-fitting outfits of some gleaming metallic fabric. They indicated that he should walk between them, and they escorted him through another doorway to the inner section of the tent.
The floors were covered with exquisitely-woven rugs from a dozen worlds, and the walls, composed of a titanium alloy which made the room virtually impervious to assault, displayed paintings and holograms from human and alien worlds. There was a faint scent of incense in the air, and the soft melody of an exotic alien symphony emanated from a silver cube that hovered a few feet above the floor near one of the holograms.
In the middle of the room was a jeweled chair, and upon it sat a tall, ascetic man with an aquiline nose, high protruding cheekbones, and large, coal-black eyes. He wore a robe of white, and around his neck hung a single gold chain, from which
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