The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  "Well, fancy meeting you here," he said.

  "Shut up and get out of there," said the Bandit.

  The Injun quickly exited his cell.

  "Made my bail, huh?"

  "So to speak." The Bandit turned to the olive-skinned man. "How do we get back to the street?"

  "You don't."

  The Bandit pointed a deadly finger between the man's eyes. "Do we have to go through all this again?"

  "I'm not kidding. The Maze doesn't want him freed."

  "The Maze doesn't have a vote," said the Bandit. "We're leaving this planet."

  "You can try," said the man.

  "Let's start by going back to your office."

  The man led the way, but when they arrived, it was no longer an office, but a stone cell with iron bars on the windows. A heavy door slammed shut behind them.

  "I told you," said the man. "The Maze will never let you leave."

  "Don't bet every last credit you own on it," said the Bandit. He made a slight adjustment to his artificial arm, then stepped back and pointed at the wall with the iron bars. A pulse grenade shot out and exploded when it hit the wall, and a moment later there was a huge gaping hole.

  The Bandit stepped through it, followed by his party. They found themselves in a walled courtyard, and the Bandit shot another grenade at a wall.

  The Maze responded, entrapping them again, and it became a battle of attrition. The Bandit would explode or melt any barrier the Maze created, and the Maze would use all its resources to find a new way to imprison them.

  After an hour the Bandit turned to Dante. "I don't have unlimited supplies of energy or ammunition," he said. "I'm going to have to put an end to this."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Watch."

  He made one more adjustment to his arm, then pointed to the sky. Something shot out, something small and glowing with power. It reached its apex at a thousand feet, then whistled down at the very center of the Maze. There was no explosion, no sense of heat, no tremors of the ground beneath their feet—but suddenly the Maze began to vanish, starting at its core and radiating outward. Buildings disappeared, streets and sidewalks vanished, thousands of Men and aliens popped out of existence without a sound.

  Dante thought whatever the Bandit had precipitated would gobble them up as well, but it stopped about 30 yards away.

  "What the hell was that?" asked the poet, trying to keep his voice calm and level and not succeeding very well.

  "A little something I commissioned a Dinalian physicist to create for me," answered the Bandit. "It works on the same principle as a molecular imploder, but it creates a chain reaction."

  "You could have killed us!" said Blue Peter.

  "I know its physical limits," answered the Bandit.

  "As it was, you probably killed a few thousand Men and aliens," said Dante.

  "They would have stopped us if they could," said the Bandit. "That makes them our enemies."

  "Bullshit!" snapped Dante. "99% of them didn't even know you were here and couldn't care less."

  "Then this will add to the legend. Try to understand: Santiago has no friends in the galaxy, just enemies and hirelings."

  "So we're just hirelings?" demanded the poet.

  "I didn't mean you, of course."

  "The hell you didn't!"

  "I saved your life. This is no time for an argument."

  "You saved my life at the cost of thousands of the lives you were created to save."

  "It was a value judgment," said the Bandit. "Don't make me decide I made a mistake."

  "It wasn't an either/or situation," said Dante. "There were half a dozen alternatives. Santiago—a real Santiago—would have found one!"

  The Bandit turned to the olive-skinned man, who had been listening intently, and burned a deadly hole between his eyes.

  "What was that for?" shouted Dante.

  "It was your fault," said the Bandit angrily. "You implied that I wasn't Santiago. I couldn't let him hear that and live to pass it on."

  "So you killed him, just like that?"

  "You made it necessary."

  "How the hell did you get so warped?"

  "There's nothing warped about it," said the Bandit. "It goes with the job."

  Dante snorted contemptuously. "What do you know about it?"

  "What do I know?" repeated the poet. "I made you!"

  "You found me," replied the Bandit. "There's a difference."

  Dante was about to reply, but something about the Bandit's expression convinced him to keep silent. A few days earlier he had told the Knife and the Blade that everyone in Santiago's organization was expendable, but he never really believed it.

  Until now.

  24.

  Dante never wrote a verse about the Madras 300. He tried several times, but it never came out right.

  But then, neither did the Madras 300.

  It began a week after their experience in the Blixtor Maze. Dante, who had felt ever since they returned, was sitting alone in the dining room very late at night, sipping a cup of coffee, when Virgil Soaring Hawk approached him.

  "What are you doing up?" asked the poet.

  "Couldn't sleep."

  "Why not?"

  "Probably because you're using the strongest stimulant on the planet," said the Indian with a grin.

  "I'm not interested in your habits or your perversions," said Dante.

  "That's what I want to talk to you about."

  "I just told you: I'm not interested."

  "Neither is Santiago."

  "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

  "It should."

  "Virgil, it's halfway through the night and I don't know what the hell you're talking about," replied Dante. "I'm not in the mood for guessing games, so if you've got something to say, say it."

  "I just did."

  "Go away."

  "You're not paying attention," said Virgil.

  "I must not be, so spell it out for me."

  "Look, Rhymer, I know why you came after me in the Maze. We're joined at the soul, you and I."

  "The hell we are."

  "It's an historic inevitability. Dante has to have his Virgil. But why did he come along?"

  "You work for him," said Dante. "We all do."

  "All I've done is buy drugs for him," said Virgil. "That's hardly an indispensable job."

  Dante stared at him. "You think he shouldn't have come after you?"

  "Maybe so, maybe not. But I know what I am and what I've done, and he at least knows some of it. So why did he destroy the Maze and maybe kill a couple of thousand people just to free me? I'm probably just going to get arrested again on the next world I visit for crimes against God and Nature. You know it, I know it, he knows it."

  "Let me get this straight," said Dante, frowning. "Are you telling me you wanted him to leave you there?"

  "I didn't want him to. I want to be free! But what kind of Santiago frees one lone redskin pervert at the cost of all those lives?"

  "He's reestablishing the legend," said Dante uneasily. "He has to let people know how powerful he is."

  "By killing the people he's supposed to protect? Hell, I could do that. He's supposed to do something better."

  "I don't know what you want."

  "It's not what I want," said Virgil. "I work for you—"

  "You work for him," interrupted Dante.

  "No!" said Virgil firmly. "Everyone else around here works for him. I work for you—and it's my job to tell you that I think you put your money on the wrong horse."

  "And you reached this conclusion because he saved your life at the expense of others?"

  "How much more honest can I be?" retorted Virgil.

  Dante finished his coffee and sat in silence.

  "So what do you think?" persisted the Indian.

  "He's only been Santiago for a few weeks, and we're redefining the job."

  "That's no answer."

  "It's the best I've got," said Dante
. "Hell, he's the best I've got."

  "You found him very fast. Maybe you should have looked a little longer."

  "Maybe I should have. I don't know. But the Frontier needs him now."

  "It needs help now," agreed Virgil. "That doesn't mean it needs him."

  "What do you suggest?" said Dante irritably. "Who has the authority to fire him? Who has the skills to kill him?" He sighed heavily. "Hell, he's doing what he thinks is right. Who am I to challenge that? I'm just a small-time thief turned poet. I don't have a monopoly on right or truth."

  "All right," said Virgil. "You're the boss."

  "I'm not the boss, damn it!"

  "You're my boss. I won't bring it up again."

  The Indian turned and left Dante alone with his thoughts and his doubts. By morning he had convinced himself that both of them were wrong, that this was a century and a half after the original Santiago and different times called for different approaches.

  Then came the Madras raid.

  Word came from an informant that a small Navy convoy was shipping gold bullion to their base on Madras IV, a mining world some 132 light-years distant.

  The Bandit knew he didn't have the firepower to take on the Navy in space, so he waited until they landed and most of the ships departed. Then he touched down on Madras with Dante, Virgil, and three new hirelings.

  The moment they emerged from their ship they were captured by an armed patrol. The Bandit meekly surrendered, the others followed suit, and shortly thereafter they found themselves incarcerated in an otherwise-empty stockade, surrounded by a sonic barrier that became intensely painful every time anyone got within four feet of it.

  "I wonder how long they plan to keep us here?" mused one of the new men.

  "Not long," said the Bandit. "They'll want to know what we're doing here."

  "Well, it is a mining world," said Dante. "We could say we're here to consider investing in one of the mining complexes.

  "We'll tell them the truth," said the Bandit.

  "That we're here to rob them of their bullion?"

  "That's right."

  "You could save a lot of ammunition that way," said Virgil dryly. "Given our position, they just might laugh themselves to death."

  "You mean this cell?" asked the Bandit. "I can leave it whenever I choose to."

  "Then what are we doing here in the first place?" continued Virgil.

  "Wasn't this easier than searching the whole planet for their headquarters?" said the Bandit.

  "Now that you've found their headquarters, why are we still incarcerated?" persisted the Indian.

  "So far all we're seen are the guards. I assume we'll be questioned by someone higher up the chain of command, someone who might know exactly where the bullion is."

  "You know they're probably monitoring every word we say," put in Dante.

  "So what?" replied the Bandit. "Sooner or later they're going to have to talk to us—and if it's too much later, I'll destroy the stockade and initiate the conversation myself."

  "I don't know why you didn't do it in the first place," muttered Virgil.

  "If I'd just walked in and blown them away, no one would know who was responsible. I plan to answer all their questions honestly, especially who I am, let them inform the Democracy exactly who it was that robbed them."

  "Isn't this a little early in the game for that?" suggested Dante. "Shouldn't we accumulate a nest egg and some more manpower before we start taunting the Democracy?"

  "How much is enough?" replied the Bandit. "The sooner we begin our mission, the better."

  A quartet of armed guards suddenly appeared, flanking an officer with a chest full of medals.

  "So you want the Democracy to know who you are?" said the officer. "I think we can arrange that."

  "I am Santiago," said the Bandit.

  The officer laughed in amusement. "Can you spell 'delusional'?"

  "I'm here for the bullion," continued the Bandit. "Where is it?"

  "I admire your sense of humor," said the officer. "I can't say as much for your grip on reality."

  "I'm only going to ask you once more. Where is the bullion?"

  "In a safe place," said the officer. "We've run retina scans on all of you. You're the One-Armed Bandit. This one here is Virgil Soaring Hawk, the one on your left is a thief and murderer called Danny Briggs, the one directly behind you is—"

  "I am Santiago," repeated the Bandit.

  "We've got a holo recording of your intention to rob the bullion," said the officer. "You can be the One-Armed Bandit or Santiago or Peter Pan, for all I give a damn. You might as well call yourself Methuselah, because you're going to spend one hell of a long time in this stockade."

  "You've had your chance," said the Bandit. He waved his arm at the officer and the guards, and a moment later all five lay dead on the shining, multi-colored floor.

  Then he stood back, pointed to the tiny control panel on the far wall, and melted it. The sonic field vanished, and they walked out.

  "If it was that easy, why are any of the rest of us here?" asked Virgil.

  "Four of you are here to carry the gold, and the Rhymer's here so he can chronicle my exploits," said the Bandit. "The stockade is at the far end of the compound. As we were brought in, I saw a barracks, a mess hall, and an office. I'll handle the opposition. You search every inch of the compound until you find the bullion."

  The Bandit didn't wait for them to respond, but walked out the door and straight to the barracks. Dante heard some screams, and then all was silent. He went to the office and began to search through it. There was a safe with a complicated computer lock that took him almost thirty minutes to disable, but there was no bullion in the safe, nor even any money, just a handful of coded crystals that presumably showed the disposition of Navy ships in the sector.

  "Any luck?" asked Virgil from the doorway.

  "Not yet," said Dante, sitting at a computer and examining the crystals. "How about you?"

  "Not a thing."

  "Wait a minute!" said Dante, sitting at a computer and examining a decoded crystal. "Hey, Santiago—I've got it!"

  The Bandit appeared in the doorway a moment later.

  "What did you find?" asked Dante.

  "There's a school about four miles from here. The bullion is hidden there."

  "Why?" asked Virgil.

  "Probably to safeguard it against what just occurred," said the Bandit. "Did it give the bullion's location at the school?"

  "No, just that it's there."

  "There were some vehicles out front," said the Bandit. "Let's go."

  A moment later they were racing toward the school. It turned out to be a boarding school, with a pair of dormitories and a large cafeteria.

  "No guards," noted Virgil.

  "Guards would call attention to the place," replied Dante. "This way no one will assume there's anything here that needs guarding."

  The Bandit got out of the vehicle. "Unload the air sleds," he instructed Virgil. "The bullion's going to be heavy."

  "I wonder where it's hidden?" said Dante. "This is a pretty large complex."

  "Let's find out," said the Bandit. He pointed at a window, and a second later it crashed into a hundred pieces. Ten more windows, chosen at random, followed.

  Suddenly a number of adults—obviously teachers—burst out of the school's entrance.

  "What the hell is going on?" demanded one of them, a gray- haired woman who seemed to be in charge.

  "This is a robbery," said the Bandit calmly. "We're here for the bullion."

  "Bullion? What are you talking about?"

  "Please don't waste my time by feigning ignorance. We have just come from the military compound. We know that they stored their bullion here."

  "We don't have any bullion!"

  "I told you not to waste our time," said the Bandit. "I tell you now that if you don't immediately agree to produce the bullion, I will take out the east wing of your school, regardless of who might be in it."

/>   "You wouldn't dare!" said the woman. "There are 300 children in that wing."

  The Bandit turned and pointed toward the east wing.

  "No!" yelled Dante, hurling himself at the Bandit's arm and trying to hang onto it.

  The Bandit shrugged and Dante went flying through the air. By the time he'd hit the ground, there was a deafening explosion and the east wing was no more.

  "The bullion," said the Bandit calmly, "or the west wing goes next."

  "Don't!" cried the woman. "I'll show you where it is!"

  The Bandit nodded at Virgil and the three other men. "Follow her and bring it back out."

  As they disappeared inside the school, the Bandit turned to Dante, who was still sprawled in the dirt.

  "I will not tolerate another display of disloyalty," he said coldly.

  "Goddammit to hell!" spat Dante. "Do you realize what you've done?"

  "I got us the bullion."

  "You killed 300 kids!"

  "They were Democracy children," said the Bandit with an unconcerned shrug. "Why wait until they grow up to exterminate them?"

  Dante stared long and hard at his hand-picked Santiago. My God—what have I done?

  Part 4: SILVERMANE'S BOOK

  25.

  There are those who will swear he's a hero,

  Born to fulfill Mankind's dreams.

  But listen to those who now are his foes:

  Santiago is not what he seems.

  The door opened and Matilda entered her room.

  "Lights," she said, and instantly the room was filled with light.

  She turned to walk to a closet, then jumped as she saw Dante Alighieri seated in a chair by her desk.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

  "We have to talk."

  "I've spent two weeks on the road recruiting members for the organization. I'm tired. We'll talk tomorrow."

  "Now," he said, and something in his voice convinced her to sit on the edge of her bed and face him.

  "All right," she said, staring at him. "What's up."

  "We've made a terrible mistake."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The Bandit."

  "You mean Santiago?"

  "He's no more Santiago than I am," said Dante. "He never was."

  "Just because he doesn't fit your image of—"