by Mike Resnick
Moby Dick's expression said it was a hopeless request, but he agreed to pass it on. He was back in communication with Dante ten minutes later.
"Big mistake," he said. "We gave them a time frame. Now they say that if Santiago's not on Kabal III in one Standard day, they'll kill September Morn rather than continue holding her for ransom."
"Shit!" muttered Dante. "She's going to die, and it's my fault! If I'd left it alone, the goddamned government would have come up with the money!"
"Don't blame yourself too much," replied Moby Dick, not without sympathy. "You didn't know who or what you were dealing with."
"Excuse me, Mr. Alighieri," said the computer, "but there is a Priority communication coming in from a Mr. Santiago."
"No problem," said the albino. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. You can let me know what he said then."
He cut the connection, and an instant later Silvermane's visage replaced his.
"I found him," he announced.
"Mongaso Taylor?"
"That's right." Something in his manner precluded any questions about what had happened. "I should reach Hadrian II in about 13 Standard hours. I'll meet you in Trajan just before noon." He paused. "Did you talk any sense into the lady poet?"
"We have to talk about her. I'll go to my ship and get back to you in half an hour."
"I'm getting tired of that," said Silvermane. "Do you have any reason to think someone is monitoring this?"
"No, I'm just trying to be safe."
"Then talk to me now."
Dante sighed deeply. "The aliens kidnapped her."
Silvermane seemed unsurprised and unconcerned. "I told you to get her off the planet." He sighed. "Well, they'll pay the ransom and that'll be that. I hope you learned your lesson."
"It's not that simple."
"Oh?" asked Silvermane, suddenly alert.
"I made a terrible blunder," said Dante. "I tried to bluff them, to scare them with your name."
"Tell me about it."
Dante filled him in. "And their last message is that they've got her on Kabal III, and they'll kill her if you don't show up tomorrow."
"What are they asking for her?"
"You're not seriously thinking of going there?" demanded Dante. "It's a trap!"
"Of course it's a trap."
"I'm glad we agree on that," said Dante, relieved.
"I don't think my pistols will be much good against them. I can stop by Hadrian on the way to Kabal. Can you hunt up a molecular imploder by tomorrow morning?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" shouted Dante at the holographic image. "They're waiting there to kill you, and it's their world! They know every inch of it!"
"You don't seem to understand. They've called me out."
"So what?"
"This goes with the job, poet," explained Silvermane. "If I back down now and get away with it, I'll be tempted to back down again and again. What kind of Santiago would I be then?"
"A live one."
"Don't bury me just yet," he said wryly. "I plan to make a hell of a fight of it—and I've never lost."
"You told me once that you didn't ever want to be in the same sector with them," Dante reminded him.
"That was Joshua Silvermane talking," said the image. "I'm Santiago."
"Surely there's something I can say, something I can do . . ." said Dante.
"There is," replied Silvermane. "Make sure you have the imploder ready for me."
He broke the connection, though Dante stared at the spot where his image had been for a full minute before turning away.
He's going to die, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it, he thought miserably.
He walked over to a mirror and stared at the face that confronted him, searching for all the hidden flaws that he knew must be lurking there.
We're going to lose another Santiago, and it's going to be my fault again, just like the last one. I don't understand it. I try so hard to do the right thing. Why am I as good at getting them killed as I am at finding them?
Part 6: SANTIAGO'S BOOK
38.
He's proud and he's arrogant, fearless and bold;
If you travel with him you'll never grow old.
Those who oppose him have drawn their last breath:
He's the King of the Outlaws—his partner is Death.
Moby Dick stood in the corridor, waiting for the security system to identify him and inform Dante of his presence. Finally the door dilated and he stepped into the poet's room.
"Did you get it?" asked Dante anxiously.
"No problem."
"No problem?" repeated Dante disbelievingly. "Molecular imploders are outlawed on almost every planet in the galaxy, including out here on the Frontier."
"I am not without my connections," answered the albino with a smug smile.
"So where is it?"
"Back at my casino," replied Moby Dick.
"But I told you that Silvermane needs it this morning!"
"He'll have it—but I'm coming along with it."
Dante stared at him sharply. "Why?"
"Because I agree with you that it's time for another Santiago, and I want to see how this one measures up."
"We're not holding auditions," said Dante. "He's it."
"Right now he's just a name, and I don't follow names. If I'm going to join your crusade, I want to see just who it is I'm joining."
"I don't know if he'll let you come along," said Dante.
"He will if he wants that imploder," said Moby Dick.
"He's going to be hard-pressed enough without having to protect you as well."
"I don't need any protecting. They won't bother me. I've dealt with them, remember?"
Dante shrugged. "Have it your way. It's his decision anyway, not mine."
"Good," said Moby Dick, approaching the largest chair in the room. It expanded to accommodate his bulk, then wrapped its arms partway around him and began rocking very gently. "When it's all over, I'll let you know how it went."
"You won't have to," said Dante. "I'm going."
"Didn't you just tell me that he likes to fight alone?" asked the albino.
"I'm not fighting. I'm there to write it up, and hopefully bring back September Morn."
"He could bring her back himself, you know."
"He's never met her," said Dante. "What if they've got 20 women imprisoned there?"
"Then he'll bring back all 20 and you'll tell him which one she is."
Dante listened politely, then uttered a two-word response: "I'm going."
The Security system blinked. Moby Dick began laboriously to lift his 500-pound bulk from the chair, but Dante gestured him to stay seated.
"It's not him," he announced.
"Who is it, then?"
"The friend whose ship I borrowed."
"Are you sure this is a hotel room and not a public meeting place?"
Dante smiled. "Not as sure as I was 15 minutes ago." He muttered a code to the door and it irised, allowing Virgil to step through it.
"How are you doing, Rhymer?" said the Indian. "You don't look any the worse for wear." A pause. "So the Bandit is really dead?"
"Really and truly."
"You know, I didn't believe it when I first heard the news. I didn't think anyone or anything except maybe Silvermane could kill him." He chuckled. "So it was the lady poet that shot him down?"
"That's right."
"Doesn't sound to me like the kind of woman who needs rescuing," said Virgil.
"She needs it from these captors," spoke up Moby Dick.
"Yeah, that's what everybody who knows them says," agreed Virgil. He stepped forward and extended a hand. "Virgil Soaring Hawk. Pleased to meet you."
"Moby Dick."
"Not the Moby Dick who used to live in the Carnasus system?" said the Indian.
"No, that was another one," replied the albino. "He was the wrong color, but the right mutation. The way I hear it, he was born with gills, and he could breathe in th
e water just as easy as in the air."
"I didn't know whales could breathe water," said Virgil. "Of course, there ain't been any around for a couple of thousand years, so what do I know?"
"They can't breathe water," agreed Moby Dick. "But my namesake could."
"He still alive?"
"I don't think so."
"Someone harpoon him?"
Moby Dick shook his head. "Got shredded by a pleasurecraft's motor, or so I heard."
"Serves him right for spending all his time in the water when he could have been chasing the ladies—or the gentlemen, for that matter," said Virgil with his usual single-mindedness. He turned back to Dante. "Silvermane hasn't shown up yet, I take it?"
"Not yet. And call him Santiago."
"Yeah, I know—I keep forgetting."
"How did things go on Valhalla?" asked the poet.
"Pretty smoothly since word reached them that the Bandit wouldn't be coming back." He paused, then smiled. "Matilda's put together a team she calls the Thieves Carnival."
"Catchy name. Any reason for it?"
"There's half a dozen of them, they work together, and she sent them to Calliope."
"That's the carnival planet, isn't it?"
"That's the place," said Virgil. "Ten million vacationers any given day, all of them with money. You couldn't ask for a better world for Santiago to pick up operating funds." He glanced out the window. "When's he due here?"
"He's late already," answered Dante. "I expected him right after sunrise."
"Maybe he's not in such a hurry to die," offered Moby Dick.
"Are you saying he won't show up?" demanded Dante heatedly.
"What's the point? He can't defeat them. Whole armies have tried and failed."
"Anyone can be defeated," said Dante. "It's just a matter of coming up with the right strategy."
"Nonsense," said Moby Dick. "You're a minnow. I'm a whale. You can't defeat me. All you can do is escape to live another day."
"That's a defeat of sorts," answered the poet. "And if I tell all the other minnows how, and we all escape every day, you might find yourself growing a little weaker and a little slower, which will make you weaker and slower still, until you starve to death."
"By God, I knew I liked you!" said Moby Dick with a sudden laugh. "Santiago's got himself a hell of a biographer, young Dante Alighieri."
"I'm not his biographer," answered Dante. "Well, not exactly. Not primarily. I'm just carrying on what Black Orpheus started."
"Isn't it about time you stopped kidding yourself?" said the albino.
"What are you talking about?"
"From everything I can tell, just about the only thing you've done since you found that poem is try to find a new Santiago."
"What the hell do you know about it?" said Dante irritably. "I've written hundreds of verses, and I've spent days and weeks honing and revising them."
"What's more important to you?" asked Moby Dick. "Writing your poem or making sure that there is a Santiago?"
"What's more important to you—eating or breathing?" Dante shot back.
Virgil grinned. "Do you still like him?" he asked Moby Dick.
"Hell, yes!" said the albino. "He's as good at evading questions as answering them. That's a rare talent."
"Flatter me any more and I might take an axe to you," said Dante. "Or worse still—I might lock you in here with Virgil and not come back for a day or two."
"Promises, promises!" muttered the Indian.
Dante was about to reply when the Security system told him that Silvermane was at the door. He commanded it to dilate, and the tall man, immaculate as usual, strode into the room.
"Who are you?" he demanded, staring at Moby Dick.
"And I'm pleased to meet you too," said the albino.
Silvermane did not look amused, and Dante immediately stepped between them. "This is Moby Dick," he said. "He's the one who's supplying the imploder."
"Then I thank you," said Silvermane sternly. He looked around. "Where is it?"
"It's in a safe place," said Moby Dick.
"Get it. I don't have any time to waste."
"Once we reach an agreement."
Silvermane glared at him. "How much?"
"No money."
"Then what?"
"I'm coming along."
"I won't protect you," said Silvermane.
"I don't need protecting," said the albino.
"Against these two, everyone needs protecting."
"Not me," said Moby Dick. "I have an arrangement with them."
Silvermane looked at the huge man as if he was the lowest form of life, but he made no reply.
"Well, we don't have an arrangement," interjected Dante. "Maybe we could use some help." Silvermane turned to him. "This whole planet loves September Morn, practically worships her. Give me a day. I'm sure I can gather a few hundred men and women to come along and—"
"Santiago doesn't beg for help," said Silvermane.
"But he doesn't have to turn it down if it's freely offered," urged Dante.
"They didn't challenge Hadrian II. They challenged me."
"That's your final word?"
"It is."
"At least let me come with you," said Dante. "You don't know what she looks like. If they have more than one captive and they've done them any damage, you won't know which one's her."
Silvermane frowned. "Just how stupid do you think I am? I've pulled up a dozen holographs of her from the local newsdisc."
"Then consider this: if you're good enough to kill the aliens—aliens she felt could not possibly be defeated—she may find you so terrifying that she won't want to put herself in your power."
Silvermane considered what Dante had said for a moment, then nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "All right, you can come." He looked at Virgil. "But not the Indian. I don't like him."
"I go where he goes," said Virgil.
"You're staying here."
"I'm not one of your sycophants," said Virgil. "I don't take my orders from you. I work for the poet."
Suddenly Virgil was looking down the barrel of Silvermane's pistol.
"When I tell you to do something," began Silvermane, "you'll do it!"
"Stop!" yelled Dante, so suddenly and so loud that everyone froze. "Is this the way Santiago treats his allies? I thought you saved your bullets for your enemies."
Silvermane looked uncertain for just a moment, then holstered his gun.
"All right," he said to Virgil. "But stay clear of me, in the ship and on the planet." He turned to Moby Dick. "I've wasted enough time. Let's get the imploder."
He walked out the door, followed by Virgil.
"Four heroes off to slay the monsters," said Moby Dick to Dante, so softly that the other two couldn't hear him. A sardonic smile crossed his face. "I wonder how many of us will still be alive when we get there?"
39.
Oh, Tweedledee and Tweedledum,
The parts are greater than the sum.
They send their foes to Kingdom Come,
Do Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
Kabal III was a dark world, considering how close it was to its yellow sun, dark and bleak and gray. Rocky surfaces with jagged edges covered the surface. Undrinkable water created small canyons as it wound through the landscape. Opaque clouds crawled slowly across the sky.
"I don't like the looks of this place," said Dante, looking at the viewscreen as the ship took up orbit around it.
"Nobody asked you to come," answered Silvermane, who sat in the pilot's chair, meticulously oiling and cleaning his pistols and checking his ammunition.
"I've never seen them," said Virgil, "but based on all the stories I've heard, you're wasting your time. The most a bullet or two will do is make 'em angry."
"Probably," agreed Silvermane. "But if the imploder doesn't function or doesn't work, I need fallback protection."
"Mine would be: run like hell," said the Indian.
"That's why I'm Santiago a
nd you're not."
Dante hadn't taken his eyes off the screen. "Seven degrees Celsius, 1.17 times Standard gravity, not much oxygen." He sighed deeply. "So you can't use your speed, you can't stand a sustained battle, and you're not going to be able to work up a sweat. Are you sure you don't want to wait until I can mobilize some of the people on Hadrian?"
"If I can't defeat them, they can't either."
"I see that being Santiago is not necessarily conducive to modesty," noted Virgil wryly.
"They've destroyed entire armies," shot back Silvermane. "There's no reason to believe 200 yokels from Hadrian will turn the tide of battle. I'm the best there is. Either I can beat them or I can't." He turned to Moby Dick. "It's about time you told me what you know about them."
"I know they're undefeated," said the albino.
"So is every man out here who carries a weapon."
"They don't carry weapons."
"Oh?" said Silvermane. "What did they to get you to work for them?"
"Nothing."
Silvermane's face mirrored his contempt. "You gave in without a fight?"
"They didn't conquer me," answered Moby Dick. "They dealt with me."
"And you dealt with the enemy."
"I thought the Democracy was the enemy," said Moby Dick. "Or is the enemy whoever you're mad at this week?"
"You're here under sufferance," said Silvermane coldly. "Don't forget it."
"Fine," said the albino. "Give me back my imploder and I'll leave."
Silvermane stared coldly at him but made no reply.
"Got 'it!" said Dante, still looking at the screen. "Increase the image and sharpen it," he commanded, and suddenly a small fortress came into view. It was made of local stone, poorly constructed, unimpressive from any angle. "Bring that up in three dimensions, and give us a 360-degree view of it, then give us an overhead."
"That doesn't look like it'd keep anyone out," remarked Virgil, studying the image.
"It won't," said Moby Dick.
"Then what—?"
"They have hostages," interrupted the albino. "It was built to keep them in."
"Computer, take us down," commanded Silvermane. "Land us 400 yards due south of the fortress that's on your screen."
"The terrain is too uneven," replied the ship. "There is a flat area that will accommodate my bulk 427 yards south-southeast of the fortress. Will that be acceptable?"
