by Mike Resnick
They emerged from the hotel, and he noticed that the gravity had become much heavier.
"I hadn't realized just how much the Tamerlaine had spent to approximate Standard gravity," he remarked. "Why don't we ride instead of walking?"
"The Democracy gets 50% of the take from the vehicles that go to and from the spaceport," she explained. "They want the same from city transportation, and so far no one's been willing to give it to them. A couple of men set up a taxi business a couple of years ago; the Democracy came in and turned their vehicles to rubble. I think they killed one of the men, too. Anyway, since then, we walk. It's reached the point where the miners are proud of being able to cope with the climate and the gravity."
"Every goddamned Frontier world I've been to has a story like that," said Dante. "I hope to hell you've found our man." He grimaced. "Damn! It feels like each foot weighs 50 pounds."
"I don't mind the gravity as much as the thin air," she said.
"I don't think I'm especially enamored of the temperature, either," he added.
"It's much better now. Before sundown it's a lot hotter."
"And the Bandit fights Unicorns out here?"
"That's right."
"Well, he's Santiago or he's crazy," said Dante. "I vote for the latter."
"The conditions don't seem to bother him," said Matilda. "He's not like us."
"I'll vouch for that. Let's step it up a little and get out of this goddamned heat and gravity."
She locked her arm in his and gently restrained him. "You don't want to exert yourself in this thin air. You could black out before we reach the restaurant."
Dante slowed down and didn't admit that he was just a bit dizzy. "And he chases Unicorns up and down those hills! Amazing!"
"Don't keep talking," she instructed him. "Save your strength until we're inside the restaurant."
His limbs felt heavier with each step, and he fell silent and walked at her pace. The blocks seemed longer than they were on most Frontier worlds, but that could simply have been because he wanted them to be shorter.
Finally they came to the Golden Bough, and he gratefully entered the airlock with her. His lungs filled with oxygen, and the temperature dropped until it was comfortable if not cool—but his arms and legs still felt like the floor was tugging at them.
"There's no artificial gravity in here," Matilda noted. "I suppose it must cost too much for anything smaller than a hotel."
"Remind me not to order a souffle," he replied wryly.
They were escorted to an empty table by the robotic headwaiter.
"So where's the Bandit?" asked Dante as they sat down.
"He'll be here."
"Yeah, I don't suppose you can kill Unicorns by the clock." He touched a small screen and summoned a waiter.
"How may I help you, sir?" asked the robot in a grating monotone.
"I'd like a beer. A very cold one." He turned to Matilda. "How about you?"
"Make it two," she told the robot.
"Would you care to order?" asked the waiter.
"No, we're waiting for a friend to join us."
The waiter walked to the bar, returning a moment later with their beers.
"You could work up one hell of a thirst walking around this town," commented Dante. He took a long swallow, closed his eyes, and sighed. "God, that's good! I don't think I ever appreciated beer before this evening."
"You'll find you need twice as many fluids as usual if you're going to spend any time outside," said Matilda.
Dante suddenly became aware of the fact that they were no longer alone. A tall man with wavy black hair, his clothes covered by red dust, stood next to their table. Matilda smiled as she saw him.
"Dante Alighieri," she said, "I'd like you to meet the man who saved my life—the One-Armed Bandit."
Dante stood up and shook the man's massive hand. "I've heard a lot about you," he said.
"Ditto," said the Bandit. "Matilda's told me all about you, Mr. Alighieri."
"Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," said the Bandit. He signaled to the waiter. "Iced water, please—in the tallest glass you've got."
"How did it go today?" asked Matilda, lowering her voice enough so none of the other diners could overhear her.
"It went all right."
"That's all you've got to say?" she demanded.
"I wouldn't want Mr. Alighieri to think I was a braggart, ma'am."
"I won't," Dante assured him. "And I'd also like to hear what happened."
"There's really not much to tell," said the Bandit. "I took a land vehicle out to the mine, and when I didn't see any Unicorns there, I just went farther and farther into the desert until a few of them started throwing rocks at me the way they do. I waited until one of them charged, and before he could reach me I took out the hill where his friends were hiding so there was nothing left of either—the hill or the Unicorns. Then I melted the sand between the one surviving Unicorn and me, so he couldn't walk across it, and I told him that what I'd done was retribution for their killing that miner this morning. Twelve of them for one of us. I told him next time it'd be thirty for one, and then I let him go to spread the word." He paused uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I'm late, but the Democracy won't take my word for how many I killed, so I had to load them onto a couple of airsleds and attach them to the back of my land vehicle."
"And you did that in this gravity and heat!" said Dante admiringly.
"The trick is to not let them see that it bothers you, Mr. Alighieri," said the Bandit.
"Please, call me Dante."
"All right."
"And you killed twelve of them?"
"That's right, Mr. Alighieri."
"Dante."
"I apologize," said the Bandit. "That's the way my mother brought me up, and those early lessons stay with you even out here on the Frontier."
Dante seemed amused. "You don't have to apologize for being polite."
"Thank you," said the Bandit. "I'd call Matilda Miss something-or-other, but she won't tell me what her last name is."
"Welcome to the club," said Dante wryly.
"Dante has become the new Black Orpheus," said Matilda.
"So you told me, ma'am."
"Maybe if you'll tell him about some of your more exciting exploits he'll put them in his poem."
"Oh, I don't think any of 'em are worth putting in a poem," said the Bandit. "Certainly not the kind Orpheus used to write. Those verses were about important people."
"You're important," said Matilda.
"Thank you for saying so, ma'am, but I'm really not."
"You could be," said Dante meaningfully.
"I don't think I follow you, Mr. Alighieri," said the Bandit.
"I'm here on Heliopolis II for a few days," said Dante. "We'll talk about it before I leave. Tonight let's just get to know each other."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Alighieri."
"Dante."
"I'm sorry," said the Bandit. "Sooner or later I'll get it right."
The robot waiter trundled up and took their orders.
"Matilda's told me all about that arm of yours," said Dante as the waiter glided away. "It's quite a weapon. What made you decide to create it?"
"My father was a successful banker back on Spica II," said the Bandit. "He died just about the same time that I lost my arm in the Sett War. I suppose I could have just packed it in and lived on the interest from my inheritance, but I wasn't ready to retire from living yet. The war had kind of aroused my interest in seeing new worlds, so I took every last credit my father left me and found a team that could create this arm for me. I field-tested it in the Canphor VII rebellion, and then came out to the Inner Frontier."
"Why did you leave the Democracy?" asked Dante.
"I felt . . . I don't know . . . constricted. Too many rules and regulations, and I didn't like the way the Democracy enforced them, so I decided to come to where there weren't any rules at all."
"And now you enforce them," sa
id Matilda. "That really does belong in Dante's poem."
"I never looked at it that way, ma'am," admitted the Bandit. "Still, I think Mr. Alighieri should stick to the important people, the ones who make and shape the Frontier."
Dante stared at him. Can you be for real, or is this all just an act?
Their dinner arrived, and they spent the next few minutes eating, while Matilda tried to make small talk.
When the meal was done, Dante lit a smokeless cigar and offered one to the Bandit, who refused.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" asked the poet.
"I won't know until tomorrow happens," said the Bandit. "I don't have any definite route or anything like that. If the Unicorns don't bother anyone, I'll stay in my hotel most of the day."
"If you're available, I'd like to have a serious talk with you."
"Sure."
"Aren't you curious?"
"You'll tell me when you're ready to," said the Bandit.
"Where are you staying?"
"Over at the Royal Khan."
"Fine. I'll be there about noon."
They got up to leave. As they walked past the bar, they came to a man whose face was swathed in bandages.
"Hello, Mr. Durastanti," said the Bandit. "Welcome back."
"They let me out this afternoon," said the man, his voice muffled by the bandages. "Lost an eye, and they're going to have to build me a new nose."
The Bandit reached into his pocket and pulled out twelve perfect diamonds. He took hold of the man's hand and carefully placed the diamonds in it.
"What's this?" demanded the man.
"Just in case the Democracy doesn't cover all your medical expenses, Mr. Durastanti," said the Bandit.
"You don't have to—"
"It's an honor to, Mr. Durastanti," said the Bandit, gently closing the man's hand on the diamonds and then guiding it to his pocket. "Don't drink too much tonight, and take those to the assay office in the morning. I'm sure there are identifying marks on them, but I'll stop by first thing and let them know I gave them to you . . . that you didn't steal them."
"As if I could!" said the man with a dry, croaking, humorless laugh.
"Take care, now," said the Bandit, accompanying Dante and Matilda out into the hot, uncomfortable night.
"What was that all about?" asked Dante.
"That's Mr. Durastanti," explained the Bandit. "He's a miner. The Unicorns killed his partner and laid a false trail for me to follow. By the time I realized it and doubled back, they'd already ripped half his face off."
"That's hardly your fault."
"I was supposed to protect him, and I failed." He paused, then continued with genuine regret. "I spoke to the doctors. He inhaled a lot of dust and he lost a lot of his face. They don't think he'll ever work again."
"Were those the diamonds you picked up for the Unicorns you killed today?"
"Yes."
"That's a lot of diamonds to give away."
The Bandit shrugged. "He needed them more than I did."
By God, thought Dante, we did find Santiago after all!
16.
He counts other people's money,
He mouths other people's words,
The Grand Finale hates his life,
And envies the free-flying birds.
Dante had been so fascinated by the One-Armed Bandit that he completely lost track of Virgil Soaring Hawk. That lasted until the middle of the night, when Virgil lurched into his room and poked him in the ribs.
"What the hell is it?" demanded Dante, sitting up.
"It's me," slurred the Injun. "I'm a he, not an it."
"Go away," said Dante, laying back down. "You're drunk."
"What's that got to do with anything?" retorted Virgil. "I've got a recruit."
"Who are we at war with?" muttered Dante, covering his head with a pillow.
"The Democracy."
"Go recruit eighty billion more and maybe you'll stand a chance," said the poet. "Now go away and leave me alone."
Virgil poked him in the ribs again.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" snapped Dante.
"I told you: I've got a recruit."
"All right, you've got a recruit," said Dante, now thoroughly and grumpily awake. "So what?"
"So I think you should talk to him."
"In the morning?"
"Now. He's downstairs in the hotel bar. And he wants to meet you."
Dante got up and started getting dressed. "This recruit of yours—does he have a name?"
"Probably. Hell, he's probably got a bunch of them. These days he calls himself the Grand Finale."
"Sounds like an actor with an inflated ego," said Dante disgustedly.
"He's waiting."
"I know. You told me." Dante slipped into his shoes and ran a comb through his hair.
"He's a gray-haired guy. Smaller than you. Kinda skinny. White mustache. You can probably find some of his dinner in it."
"Why are you telling me this?" said Dante. "We'll see him in just a minute."
The Injun lay down on the poet's bed. "I thought now that you know what he looks like, I'd take a little nap."
He was snoring by the time Dante reached the door.
Dante went down to the lobby, then turned to his left and entered the small bar. There was only one customer, and he looked exactly as Virgil had described him.
Dante walked over the stood in front of him. "You're the one who calls himself the Grand Finale?"
The old man looked him over critically. "So you're the new Orpheus?"
"So to speak. I gather you want to meet me?"
"Not as much as you want to meet me," said the old man. "Have a seat, Rhymer."
Dante sat down and ordered a beer.
"I'll have another," said the Grand Finale to the mechanical waiter. He turned to Dante. "I'm charging my drinks to your room. I hope you don't mind."
"I'll let you know after you tell me why I want to meet you."
"Because even Santiago can't function without a man like me," said the Finale.
"You don't look that formidable to me," remarked Dante.
"That's because you're thinking along the wrong lines, Rhymer," said the old man. "You don't need another soldier half as much as you need someone to pay for the bullets."
"Keep talking."
"I used to be a banker. A very exotic one: I arranged financing for terraforming worlds. I helped the Democracy bring recalcitrant worlds to their economic knees and helped rebuild them once they'd fallen into line. And I was good, Rhymer—there wasn't a trick I didn't know, a law I couldn't circumvent." He paused. "I was too good to stay in a legitimate business. It wasn't too long before the Kalimort bought me off."
"The Kalimort?" repeated Dante.
"They were a planetary criminal organization on Pretorius III that was about to expand to half a dozen other worlds. They needed financing, and they needed to know how to double their money while they were preparing to move."
"And you showed them how?"
"For a few years. Then they were absorbed by Barioke, one of the major warlords on the Rim, and I went to work for him. Over the years I've worked for half a dozen organizations that needed to hide and, at the same time, maximize their resources." He smiled. "The one you dubbed the Scarlet Infidel tells me you may be putting together another one."
"It's possible," said Dante. "Who are you working for now?"
"I'm between jobs," said the Grand Finale, looking uncomfortable for the first time.
"They caught you with your hand in the till," said Dante. It was not a question.
"Why should you think so?"
"Because we're as far from the Rim as it's possible to get. There's the Rim, then the Outer Frontier and the Spiral Arms, then the Democracy, and then the Inner Frontier and the Core. Why else would you be a couple of hundred thousand light-years from your warlord? How much did you run off with?"
"Not enough," admitted the Finale, unable to hide his bit
terness. "I thought I'd never have to work again. I forgot how much it costs to live when you're in hiding."
"Yeah, it gets expensive," agreed Dante. "How long have you been the Grand Finale?"
"A few months." He grinned guiltily. "I saw a bakery on Ribot IV called the Grand Finale."
"Silly name."
"Well, I'm hardly likely to call myself the Banker or the Accountant when I'm trying to hide my identity."
"True enough," said Dante. "What's your real name?"
"Wilbur Connaught."
"If we decided to invite you to join us, Wilbur, what is it going to cost us?"
"It varies."
"Explain."
"I don't work for a salary. I'll take some living expenses as a draw against what I earn, but you'll pay me three percent of the profit I make with the money you give me to work with."
"Three percent doesn't seem like very much for a man with your credentials," said Dante. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. After a couple of years, you'll find yourself resenting how much you pay me."
"Give me an example of what you do."
"Let's say you give me a million credits, to name a nice round number," said Wilbur. "And let's say you don't need it for a year."
"Okay, let's say so."
"I'll use my sources to find those planets that are suffering from hyperinflation. They can't be just any planets; their economies have to be backed by the Democracy." He paused. "With more than 50,000 words to choose from, it won't be too hard to find three worlds that are returning 100% per annum on deposits, again using a nice round number."
"Okay, so you can double the money."
Wilbur snorted contemptuously. "Any fool can double the money. Just for the sake of argument, let's say each world has a 24-hour day. I'll set up a computer program that transfers the money to each of the three worlds every eight Standard hours. Figuring simplistically, this will quadruple your money in a year, but actually, given compounded interest, it'll come much closer to quintupling. There's no stock market in the galaxy that can guarantee you an annualized 500% return, and we'll do this with the full faith and backing of the Democracy. If any of those banks fail, the Democracy will step in and make good their debts."
