by Mike Resnick
"That's because he's not Santiago."
"Make up your mind. Is he Santiago because you say he is, or because we set him up in the Santiago business, whatever that is,—or is he Santiago because he's an historic inevitability at this time and place?"
"Oh, come on. Next you'll be telling me that only God can anoint him."
"I'm just saying that maybe God is working on a different deadline, and that He might do a better job of choosing a Santiago than we've done."
"We have it within our grasp to do some good, to make a difference," said Dante adamantly. "You don't get more than one or two such opportunities in a lifetime. I'm not turning my back on it."
"It's not a question of turning your back, but of pursuing it too vigorously," replied Matilda.
"Damn it!" exploded Dante. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"The Frontier's," she answered. "And I want to make sure that what I do doesn't bring it even more hardship and misery."
He stared at her for a long moment. "It's time. In fact, it's past time. Santiago's reign ended on a fluke. To this day the Democracy doesn't even know they killed him."
"You're absolutely sure you're right?"
He paused for just an instant. "I'm absolutely certain that I hope I'm right."
"Maybe he'll take the decision out of our hands and turn us down," she said hopefully.
"He won't."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I've been watching him. He's not a fanatic, he's no One- Armed Bandit—but he's got an ego as big as all outdoors. The more difficult we make the job sound, the more we explain that he'll be fighting a holding action, that he can never hope to overthrow the Democracy, the more he'll want to prove that we're wrong, than he can bring the whole thing down."
"And you want that quality in a Santiago?" she said dubiously.
"The odds are a billion to one against him," said Dante. "He's got to be a bit of an egomaniac even to consider taking the job on."
"Well, I've never known you to be wrong about anyone," she said. Then she added: "Except the Bandit. How did you miss what he would become?"
"You don't want to know."
"Yes, I do."
"I let your opinion influence me," said Dante.
"Bullshit!"
"You vouched for his character, so all I concentrated on was his ability. And he does have the ability; otherwise we wouldn't be trying to find ways to stop him."
"So the One-Armed Bandit is my fault?" she said heatedly.
"No. I'm the one who made him the offer and hired Wilbur and Blossom and set up the drug deal with the two ladies from Snakepit. If I made the wrong decision, and I did, I have no one to blame but myself."
"So what do we do now?"
"Wait. The offer's on the table. The next move is Silvermane's."
"He's almost too good to be true," she remarked.
"Virgil had something very wise to say about things that were to good to be true," said Dante wryly.
"What was it?"
"It's not important." Dante got to his feet. "We'll be landing in an hour. I think it's time to wake Sleeping Beauty."
He went to the Deepsleep pod and spent the next five minutes bringing Virgil to wakefulness.
"How are you feeling?" he asked when the Indian finally climbed out of the pod.
"Stiff."
"That's normal," said Dante. "You haven't moved in almost three days."
"And hungry."
"You haven't eaten in three days either. We'll go back to the galley and get something for you."
"How soon do we land?"
"Less than an hour."
"I'll wait," said Virgil.
"I thought you were hungry."
"There's nothing like the taste of galley food to kill an appetite. I'm an hour from a real restaurant. I can wait."
Dante shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He stopped by the galley, got a cup of coffee, rejoined Matilda in the command cabin, ordered the ship's computer to respond to any questions from the planetary authorities, and relaxed until they touched down.
"Where are we staying?" asked Virgil as they rode the slidewalk to Customs.
"I haven't bothered to reserve any rooms," answered Dante. "The way Silvermane operates, I figure we'll be back on the ship before nightfall."
"He doesn't waste his time, that's for sure," said Virgil. "He could be a little friendlier, though."
"He saved my life," said Dante. "How much friendlier does he have to be?"
"Okay, so I used the wrong word. He could be a little warmer."
"I don't think it's a job requirement."
"Have it your way," said Virgil, losing interest in the conversation.
They reached the Customs station, and found themselves facing a uniformed woman rather than the usual robot.
"Welcome to Trentino," she said. "May I ask the purpose of your visit?"
"Business," answered Dante.
"Precious stones or fissionable materials?"
"Neither."
"Those are our only two industries."
"We're here on personal business," said Dante.
"I must insist that you be more explicit, Mr. Alighieri." She stared at his titanium passport disk. "That's very odd. It's such an unusual name, and yet I could swear I've encountered it before." She frowned, shrugged, and looked back at him. "Why are you here, Mr. Alighieri?"
"To confer with a business associate named Joshua Silvermane, who either landed within the past few hours or will be landing shortly."
"Ah, Mr. Silvermane!" she said, her face lighting up. "What an absolutely beautiful man! And what wonderful manners!" She checked her screen again. "What is the nature of your business with him?"
"I don't believe I'm required to divulge that information," said Dante. "But if you have any doubts that he is expecting us, just contact him."
"That will not be necessary," conceded the woman. She glared at the poet. "You cannot pass through here without purchasing visas."
"What are the shortest visas available?"
"One week. They cost 100 credits apiece."
"You don't have anything for daytrippers?"
"We don't get daytrippers on Trentino."
Dante pulled the cash out of his pocket and gave it to her. She encoded the visa on each of their passports.
"I am required to warn you that the atmosphere of Trentino is inimical to human life. As you pass through the spaceport, you will emerge into a domed, enclosed area that is approximately one mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. You must be a registered miner to pass beyond the dome, and if you attempt to do so without a protective suit no attempt will be made to hinder you—but the air, such as it is, is 83% methane, and the temperature is minus 92 degrees Celsius, which is to say you will not survive for even a minute." She paused. "I am also required by law to ask you if you understand my warning."
"Perfectly," said Dante.
They began walking past her station when a metal bar shot out, stopping them.
"You may not answer for your companions. Each of them must answer for themselves." She turned to Matilda. "Did you understand my warning?"
"Yes."
And to Virgil: "Did you understand my warning?"
"Right. I just didn't care about it."
"Welcome to Trentino," she said with an expression of distaste. "You may pass through now."
The three of them walked past the Customs station, made their way through the spaceport, and soon found themselves outside the facility but still enclosed by the huge dome.
"So where do we go from here?" asked Matilda.
"He wouldn't tell me who he's after," replied Dante. "I suppose we might as well wait here. I mean, hell, you've seen him in action. Can you imagine it'll take him more than an hour or two to find whoever he's looking for and taking care of business?"
"That seems so . . . passive," she said. "He's a very distinctive man. Perhaps we should ask around. He's not the kind of man people
forget."
"If that's what you want," said Dante. He turned to Virgil. "You wait here by the spaceport entrance, just in case we miss him."
"How will I know you've missed him?"
"He'll come back alone. If he does, tell him we're here and that I want him to wait for us."
"Fine."
"We really have to talk to him," said Dante. "No booze and no drugs, and no fucking any stray pets that pass by."
"What fun is that?" said Virgil with a smile.
"I'm not kidding."
"Neither am I."
Dante was about to say something further, changed his mind, then turned and began walking down the major thoroughfare with Matilda at his side.
"Where do we start?" he asked. "Bars, I suppose."
"You're in a rut," she replied. "For all we know, he's after a stockbroker or an incompetent doctor."
"I can't walk into every brokerage house and infirmary and ask if they've seen this tall silver-haired guy who's here to kill someone."
"Okay," she conceded. "You've got a point."
"If he's looking for someone, and doesn't know anything except that he's on Trentino, I imagine he'd stop at the first bar he came to and ask about him. And if he didn't get any answers there, he'd stop at the next one, and so on down the line."
"Why not drug dens or whorehouses?"
"A man's likely to visit a bar more often than the other two. And if he's chewing seed or with a woman, they may not want to disturb a good client, so they'd lie and say they didn't know him. I think a bar's the likeliest spot."
"I'll give you this much," she said. "You've always got a sensible answer."
"God didn't give me Silvermane's abilities, and medical science hasn't given me the Bandit's, so I have to use what I've got."
They stopped by a bar about half a block away, and Dante described Silvermane. He got as far as the hair and the height.
"Yeah, absolutely, he was here maybe half an hour ago," said the bartender. "Couldn't mistake him for anyone else. He was looking for Billy Green-Eyes."
"Where would we find Billy Green-Eyes?" asked Dante.
"Same place as always. Go two blocks down, turn left, and you'll come to a small park built around a fountain. Check the first bench you come to."
"It sounds simple enough," remarked Dante. He turned to Matilda. "Let's go. The fireworks should be all over by now."
They followed the bartender's directions. When they turned and approached the park, they saw Silvermane standing, hands on hips, talking to an emaciated man who was seated on the bench.
As they drew near, they could see that the man was horribly mutilated. He was missing his left arm, his right leg, and his left eye. Part of his left ear was gone, burned off by a laser beam. He was dressed in rags, and a cheap pair of crutches were balanced against the back of the bench.
Silvermane looked up and nodded a greeting.
"Hi," said Dante. "Where's Billy Green-Eyes? Have you found him yet?"
"You're looking at him," said Silvermane.
"Him?" said Dante, startled. "He's what you came to Trentino to kill?"
"He's not quite the man he used to be," said Silvermane with a grim smile. "Are you, Billy?"
The man on the bench muttered something unintelligible.
"What the hell did he do?" asked Matilda.
"About seven years ago a plague broke out on New Damascus, way out in the Belladonna Cluster. Billy-boy here stowed away on the ship that was racing the vaccine to them, killed the crew, and held them up for a few million credits before he delivered the vaccine. Thousands died during the negotiations." He paused. "Sweet man, our Billy."
"So what happened to him?"
"Six of the survivors happened to him," continued Silvermane. "Billy killed them all, but not before they did what you see. He'd blown all his money on seed, and his deeds made him a pariah even among the scum he associated with, so no one would help him or give him money to go back to the Democracy for the necessary prosthetics. Hell, even if he'd managed to borrow the money, they'd have jailed and executed him the second they spotted him. So Billy has been rotting out here for the past few years, isn't that right, Billy?"
Another unintelligible answer.
"He lives in the filthiest corner of the filthiest warehouse on Trentino. Each morning he comes out to the park and sits here, hat in hand, begging, but of course everyone knows he's the man who extorted millions for the New Damascus vaccine, so he probably takes in about three credits a week, all from newcomers. We're just been discussing his situation, haven't we, Billy?"
Billy glared at him balefully with his one remaining green eye, but said nothing.
You cold son of a bitch, thought Dante. Whatever he's done, I don't know how you can shoot a helpless old cripple who can't lift a finger to defend himself.
"And now we're all through discussing it," concluded Silvermane.
"All right," said Dante uncomfortably. "Shoot him and let's get it over with."
"I'm not shooting anyone," replied Silvermane.
"Oh?"
"Four thousand men, women and children died on New Damascus while Billy was negotiating a price for the vaccine. Killing's too easy for him."
"So what are you going to do to him?" asked Dante.
Silvermane stared at the emaciated one-eyed, one-armed, one- legged beggar. "Not a thing," he said. "Have a long life, Billy." He turned and began walking back to the spaceport.
Jesus, you're even colder than I thought, mused Dante. And then: Still, that's very much like justice.
"I hope he lives another century," said Silvermane.
"He deserves to," agreed Matilda.
"Still, I'll give him credit for facing those New Damascans. There were six of them, and he stood his ground, for what little good it did him."
"You sound like you admire him."
"I admire the trait, not the man," explained Silvermane. "I suspect there's a lot to admire about your One-Armed Bandit as well."
"There is," she admitted.
"Seems a shame," he continued. "From what I've heard, he's a moral man doing the best he can."
"His best isn't good enough," said Dante firmly. "He can destroy what we're trying to build."
"I know," said Silvermane. "That's why I've decided to accept your offer."
31.
The Plymouth Rocker mourns a love
That used to be and is no more.
He curses to the skies above—
A most unhappy troubadour.
Bodini II wasn't much of a world. Small, flat, green, agricultural, dotted here and there by impenetrable thorn forests. It had a trio of towns, each with a small spaceport where the local farmers and agricultural cartels brought their goods to ship to the nearby colonies and mining worlds.
It was here that Silvermane took Dante, Matilda and Virgil when they left Trentino. They passed through Customs without incident and stopped for a quick lunch in one of the spaceport restaurants.
"Couldn't you just send this guy a subspace message telling him to join us?" asked Dante.
"Not the Plymouth Rocker," answered Silvermane.
"And we really need him?"
"He's the one I want."
"What makes him so special?"
"I trust him." Silvermane paused. "There aren't many men I've trusted over the years. He's the best of them."
"I heard a lot about him maybe ten, fifteen years ago," volunteered Virgil. "Not a word since then. I figured he was dead."
"Why?" asked Dante.
"When you stop hearing about people out here, especially people like him, you just naturally assume someone or something caught up with them."
"I heard someone mention him not too long ago," said Matilda. "Dimitrios, maybe, or perhaps the Bandit."
"He had quite a reputation back then," said Virgil. "What happened to him?"
"To him?" replied Silvermane. "Nothing."
"The way you emphasized that," interjected Dante, "something
happened to someone."
"You're a perceptive man," said Silvermane. "I suppose that goes with being a poet."
"So what happened?" said Dante, ignoring the compliment.
"He had a woman," answered Silvermane. "Lovely lady. Mind like a steel trap. Totally fearless. Devoted to him. They made a hell of a team."
"Did she have a name?" asked Dante, pulling out a stylus.
"She had a lot of them, depending on the situation," said Silvermane. "I first knew her as Priscilla, so that's the way I think of her. They did everything together, Priscilla and the Rocker. I don't remember ever seeing them more than eight or ten feet apart. He'd start a sentence and she'd finish it, or the other way around. If you were with them for any length of time, you finally appreciated what the term 'soulmate' really means."
"What did they do?"
"A little of everything. They were actually law officers together back in the Democracy, two of the best. They worked the entire Quintaro Sector, and they put one hell of a lot of bad guys away." He paused thoughtfully. "I think they did a little bounty hunting when they first moved out here. Then they spent a couple of years bodyguarding Federico Bogardus when he was King of New Lebanon. Just the two of them . . . but that was enough to scare off any potention assassins."
"How did she die?" asked Dante.
"What makes you think she died?"
"You said he had a woman. Past tense. You don't leave a woman like that—or bury yourself on an obscure little world like this one. Not without a reason."
"You're good, poet. We're going to get along just fine." Silvermane paused for a moment, staring sightlessly into the past. "She was quite a woman, that Priscilla. Been dead about a dozen years now."
"What happened?"
"She died," said Silvermane noncommittally. "The Rocker left Prateep a few weeks later, and he's spent the last few years on this little backwater planet."
"Is he a farmer?"
"No. He just rents a house from an absentee landlord."
"What does he do, then?" asked Dante.
"He hides."
"From what?" asked Matilda.
"From the past. From his memories." The tall man smiled grimly. "They always find him."
"And this is the man you want by your side?"
"Nobody fights by my side," said Silvermane with what Dante thought was just a touch of arrogance. "But this is a man I want for our organization."
