by Mike Resnick
Dante turned to Matilda. "You're far more familiar with the Inner Frontier than I am. What do you think?"
"Let me think about it for a day," she replied. "Probably someplace in the Albion Cluster. You haven't been there, have you, Santiago?"
"Just once, ma'am, a long time ago—before I lost my arm."
"I think that's probably long enough," said Dante.
"Besides, his arm's his most distinctive feature," added Blossom. "It's what people remember."
"Okay, check out the Albion Cluster and come up with a safe haven by tomorrow." Suddenly Dante smiled. "Well, now I know how Safe Haven got its name."
"What can I do?" asked Blossom.
"Come to the Cluster with us," said the Bandit. "When I decide where I want to strike first, I'll send you ahead to be my eyes and ears until I arrive."
"Now, once we've got a headquarters world, we'll start building an organization from the ground up," said Dante. "We'll recruit whoever we need, and we'll come up with some kind of battle plan." He paused. "Correction: Santiago will come up with a battle plan." He looked around the room. "Has anyone got any questions, or anything else to say?"
No one spoke up.
"Then I guess that's it," said Dante. "We'll meet again tomorrow when Matilda has come up with some worlds for our consideration—though again, we can only suggest and advise. It's Santiago's choice."
They began walking to the door, and then the Bandit spoke: "Before you leave, I want to say something."
They stopped and turned to him.
"You've given me an honor I don't deserve, and at the same time you've given me a challenge I can't refuse. From this moment on, I am Santiago, and the only thing that matters to me is protecting the colonists of the Inner Frontier from the Democracy. I realize that we will never overthrow it, and we wouldn't want to if we could—it serves its purpose in a galaxy where we're outnumbered hundreds to one—but we will devote our lives to reminding it with whatever degree of force is required that we of the Inner Frontier are Men, too, and that we are not the enemy." He looked at each of them in turn. "I pledge to you that I will never give you any reason to be ashamed of me."
There was a moment of silence, and then Dante began applauding, and soon all the others had joined in. Finally they walked out to the airlift and descended to the lobby. Matilda, Blossom and Wilbur all left to go about their business, but Virgil made a beeline to the bar, and Dante joined him a moment later, sitting down next to him.
"You didn't say a word up there," noted the poet. "Not a single word."
"I didn't have anything to say."
"And do you now?"
"Not really."
"No comment on Santiago at all?"
"None," said the Indian. "What do you think of him?"
"He's humble, he's decent, he's polite, he's the deadliest man I've met but he only kills when he has to, and he seems to be adjusting to the role he's going to play."
"He only kills when he has to?" repeated Virgil.
"That's why he hasn't wiped out the Unicorns. He could, you know."
"Well, I'll tell you something," said Virgil. "While you were busy indoctrinating him, I went out and got some facts and did a little math."
"And?" said Dante.
"You know how many people our Santiago has killed?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
"37 men and an unspecified number of aliens, thought to exceed the thousand mark," Virgil paused and looked at the poet. "Do you think they all needed killing?"
"If he killed them, yes," said Dante sincerely. "Hell, he'd be justified in killing ten thousand Unicorns, the way they attack humans at every opportunity."
"If you say so."
"Listen to him, Virgil," persisted the poet. "This guy is the hero every kid wishes he could be. He's well-mannered. He's humble. He's moral. He's almost too good to be true."
"That's the gist of it," agreed Virgil.
"I don't follow you."
"It's been my experience," said the Injun, "that when you come across something that seems to be too good to be true, it usually is too good to be true."
19.
Gloria Mundi, born on Monday,
Gloria Mundi, died on Sunday,
Gloria Mundi, rose on Tuesday,
Which qualified as a bad news day.
No one ever knew her real name. The betting is that she herself had long since forgotten it. It didn't make any difference. What really matters is not who she was, but rather what she was.
Gloria Mundi had been a beggar woman, living out her life in squalor in the slums on Roosevelt III—until the day (and yes, it was a Sunday) that she was struck by lightning. It killed her, but because of the thousands of deaths and casualties caused by the Sett War, which had reached the Roosevelt system two weeks earlier, they didn't have time to perform a post mortem or prepare the body for a funeral. They were working around the clock, saving the wounded and trying to identify the dead, so Gloria's body was shunted aside until they finally had time to work on it.
And, miraculously, two days later she woke up, found herself in a room with dozens of corpses, and began screaming. She kept the screaming up for a very long time, until they finally found and sedated her.
When she awoke from the sedative, she claimed to remember what she had experienced while dead. A number of the medics felt she had merely been in a deep coma, that no one comes back from the dead after 36 hours . . . but when they checked the records of the medical computers and sensors that had examined her, they had to admit that yes, she really had been dead for a day and a half.
The moment that fact was made public, a number of news organizations offered her millions in exchange for her exclusive story. But before she could choose among them, or even adjust to the fact that she no longer had to worry about where her next meal was coming from, suddenly there were more people out to kill her than ever went after Santiago. And if the would-be killers weren't fanatical priests, ayatollahs, ministers, rabbis, and shamans themselves, then they were in the employ of such men. Publicly they all believed that their religion was the only true one, and that Gloria Mundi would confirm it . . . and privately their first thought was to make sure she didn't reveal any experience she may have had or knowledge she may have gained that would confirm the truth of a rival religion.
As for Gloria herself, she never spoke about what she experienced. Somehow she eluded her assassins until they finally decided she had died of old age or at the hands of another killer, or their employers gradually lost interest in her.
And so, at age 86, Gloria Mundi found herself on Heliopolis II, temporarily (and, for all she knew, permanently) safe from the men who had tried to hunt her down. Her health was gone—she had just about every disease of the aged except senility, and her brain hadn't functioned all that well since she had revived—but she kept to herself, didn't bother anyone, and seemed likely to live out her few remaining months or years in some semblance of peace.
She was far from everyone's thoughts when they met at the Bandit's rooms the next morning. Matilda had come up with Beta Cordero II, a world in the Albion Cluster, and she was extolling its virtues to the group.
"Standard oxygen, temperate climate, 94% Standard gravity. No indigenous sentient races."
"None?" said Dante.
"Well, there were two—one humanoid, one not—but the Navy went a little overboard pacifying them about six hundred years ago. There are a few remnants on other planets who claim ownership of the world, but none of them have returned."
"Why not?" asked the Bandit.
"It only became safe for habitation a couple of years ago," answered Matilda. "Prior to that there was too much radioactivity. The water just passed inspection five weeks ago, so this is a perfect time to establish a presence there."
"What are the nearest major worlds?"
"The biggest trading world in the sector is Diomedes. There's a military outpost on Jamison V, but it's pretty small. A few nearby farm
ing worlds that supply about 60 mining worlds within, oh, perhaps 500 light-years."
"It sounds promising," said Dante. "Has the Democracy staked any legal claim to it?"
"No," answered Matilda. "I'm sure they'd claim it was within their sphere of influence, but there are no ownership claims."
"When was the last time the Democracy or its representatives set down on it?"
"They sent a drone ship 32 days ago to test the radioactivity level. As far as I can tell, no member of the Democracy has actually set foot on Beta Cordero II in more than 600 years."
"Sounds good to me," announced the Bandit. "We'll set up shop there as soon as we can."
"Fine," said Dante. "Now we'll need a name for it."
"It has a name," replied the Bandit. "Beta Cordero II."
"That name's on every star map created during the past millennia, maybe longer," explained Dante. "We need a name to give to our agents, a name that if overheard won't tell the Democracy where we are."
"That makes sense," agreed the Bandit. He lowered his head in thought for a moment, then looked it. "We'll call it Valhalla."
"Valhalla it is," said Matilda.
"When shall we leave?" asked Blossom, speaking up for the first time.
"Not much sense going there until we've got some shelter," said Dante. "We'll have to send some people ahead to build us whatever we need—once Wilbur can raise some money. In the meantime, I guess we'll stay here."
"That's unacceptable," said the Bandit. "It's time to start making a difference."
"Well, I suppose there are still some buildings standing, but after six centuries, I don't know . . ."
"We're not going to use ancient buildings that are probably ready to collapse the first time someone sets foot in them, if indeed they're still standing," said the Bandit firmly. "And we're not going to wait for Wilbur to work his magic with the diamonds I gave him yesterday."
Good, thought Dante. You're showing us what Santiago is supposed to do and be.
"I don't see what you're getting at," said Blossom.
"Santiago is the King of the Outlaws, isn't he?" replied the Bandit. "And this is a mining world, run by the Democracy. What better place for us to announce that Santiago is back?"
"You're going to rob the assay office?"
He shook his head. "I'd just get a few diamonds they hadn't transferred to the bank yet, and then we'd still have to wait for Wilbur to convert them into cash." He paused. "Santiago is going to rob the Helopolis branch of the Bank of Deluros. We'll pick up a few million credits in half a dozen currencies, money we can use immediately." He turned to Matilda. "Valhalla hasn't been worked in more than half a millennia. I think rather than posing as a farmer, perhaps I should be a reclusive sportsman, or maybe a trapper."
"I'll check and see if any animals are left on the planet."
"If there are, maybe they've mutated into something worth hunting," said Dante.
"No one has a problem with this?" asked the Bandit.
There were no responses.
"You," he continued, indicating Virgil. "You never speak. Why not?"
"I've got nothing to say," answered the Injun.
"There have been times when you couldn't shut him up," added Dante.
"If your silence is disapproval," said the Bandit, "now's the time to cut and run. I won't hold it against you. But once Santiago makes his presence known, I won't tolerate disloyalty."
"I'll stick around," said Virgil.
"You approve of Santiago, then?"
"I couldn't care less about Santiago," said the Injun. "My fate is tied to the poet's."
"In what way?"
"He's Dante, I'm Virgil," said the Injun, as if that explained everything.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I, really," admitted Virgil, "but I know that it's my destiny to lead Dante through the nine circles of Hell to the promised land."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"What difference does it make? I serve the poet and he serves you, so therefore I serve you."
The Bandit considered his answer for a moment, then nodded his approval. "Okay," he said at last. "I can accept that."
"When are you going to hit the bank?" asked Wilbur.
"We need the money, so I might as well do it right now."
"I don't know," said Dante.
"What's your problem?" asked Matilda.
"We can't stay on Heliopolis once he robs the bank, but nothing will be ready for us on Valhalla."
"So we'll make our way there in slow, easy steps, while I send a crew ahead to prepare our headquarters for us."
"The Democracy's not going to pursue us in slow, easy steps," said Dante.
"The Democracy will be looking for Santiago," said Matilda. "What do you think he looks like? What are his identifying marks? How big is his gang?"
"Point taken," said Dante.
"Can I help?" asked Blossom.
"Are you any good with a burner or a screecher?" asked Dante.
"No."
"Then you might as well stay here, where you'll be safe."
"If you want to come, you can come," interrupted the Bandit. "There will probably be enough loot that we'll need all the help we can get just to cart it away."
"How will you get carry from the bank back here without being seen?" asked Matilda.
"We won't," answered the Bandit. "We'll summon transportation to take us right from the bank to the spaceport."
I don't know how well thought out this is, thought Dante, but you're the boss. Let's see what happens, and if you're making a blunder, at least you're making it on a minor world and not on Binder X or Roosevelt III.
"I'll handle the fighting," said the Bandit. "Whoever's with me is just there to cart out the money. I don't want to have to keep on eye on you once the shooting starts, so stay well behind me. Are there any questions?"
"Back in the Democracy," said Dante, "it's standard operating procedure for one or more of the bank's employees to have an implant that reads their blood pressure and adrenaline and is tied in to the bank's computer."
"What if the clerk is just reacting to a pretty girl?" asked Virgil.
"If the reading goes more than ten percent above normal, the teller's computers will register it. Then he's got about ten seconds to disable it, which means it was a pretty girl, or an insect sting, or something like that. If he doesn't disable it in ten seconds, it sends a signal to the police station."
"I didn't know that," said the Bandit.
"You've never robbed a bank before," said Dante with a smile. "I have. There's no reason to believe the technology hasn't spread to the Frontier. We can still do the job, but we'll have to act fast."
Silence.
"All right, then," continued the Bandit. "I'll give you each an hour to collect whatever you plan to take along to Valhalla and load it into your ships or mine." He gave them the location, ID number, and computer code to his ship. "Mine is big enough to carry all of us, but if we split up we should be harder to spot, in case anyone gets a good description of us." He turned to the Grand Finale. "Wilbur, you might as well leave right now. If we come away with cash, we won't need you to convert it for us, and if you wait a day or two, security at the spaceport will be much tighter and they'll almost certainly find the diamonds I gave you." He paused. "Meet us on Valhalla. We'll probably get there first, so radio us before you land and we'll give you coordinates. If we come away with some diamonds as well as cash, we'll turn them over to you and send you back into the Democracy with them."
Wilbur nodded his agreement. "Good luck," he said, and left the room.
"Okay," said the Bandit. "I'll see you at the bank in exactly two hours."
He sat down and lit up a smokeless cigar.
"Aren't you taking anything out to your ship?" asked Blossom.
"Just me. Anything I take might be too easy to identify."
"That makes sense," said Dante. "If this holdup works, we can all affor
d to buy whatever we need. If not, it won't matter anyway."
He sat down next to the Bandit.
"Well, if everyone feels that way, we might as well get started," said Blossom.
"Sit," said the Bandit.
"Why?"
"We've got to give Wilbur time to collect the diamonds, get out to the spaceport, and take off."
"Shit!" she exclaimed. "I hadn't thought of that."
"It's not your job to think of that," said the Bandit.
"What if they alert the spaceport after we're on our way there?" asked Blossom.
"Then we'll improvise," said Dante.
"They won't alert the spaceport," said the Bandit with such conviction that no one challenged him.
The five of them waited in silence for almost two hours. Finally the Bandit got to his feet.
"It's time," he announced.
The others got up and followed him to the door. They took the airlift down to the main floor, then were about to walk out through the airlock when Dante stopped by the desk, spoke in low tones to the clerk, allowed the cashier to scan his retinagram, and then rejoined the party.
"What was that all about?" asked Matilda as they emerged into the hot, oppressive Heliopolis day.
"I paid for the Bandit's room for another month."
"That was stupid," said Virgil. "He's leaving today, and who cares who knows it?"
"If two Democracy soldiers hang around waiting for him to come back, that's two less that'll be on our trail once we leave Heliopolis," answered Dante. "As for the money, I'll take it out of what we steal from the bank, or I won't need it anyway."
"I approve," said the Bandit. "That's good thinking, Rhymer." He turned to Matilda. "Are you sure you want to be part of this, ma'am? You can wait in the ship if you prefer."
"If things get rough, she'll be more help to you than I will," Dante assured him.
The Bandit shrugged. "Your choice."
The bank was 200 yards away. The Bandit walked with an easy spring to his stride, as if he was walking down a thoroughfare on Deluros VIII or Earth itself. The others struggled to keep up with him.
"It might be best for you four to wait outside," he said when they finally arrived at their destination.
