The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  "Do it."

  The ship broke out of orbit and headed toward the planet. A few moments later it touched down on the precise spot the computer had pinpointed.

  "Computer," said Silvermane, "I want you to analyze the area immediately surrounding the ship."

  "Done."

  "I oxygenated my blood just before we took off from Hadrian II, and I have injected adrenaline into my system. I've let you take readings of both. Is there anything else I should do to prepare myself for extreme physical exertion on the planet's surface?"

  "Please wait while I scan you . . . done. I recommend the following vitamins and amphetamines . . ." The computer reeled off a small catalog of pills.

  "Get 'em ready," said Silvermane, getting up and walking toward the galley. A small packet of pills appeared and he swallowed them all, washing them down with a mouthful of distilled water.

  Then he turned to his three shipmates.

  "I didn't want you here," he said, "and I won't waste any effort protecting you. If you have any survival instincts at all, you'll remain onboard." He looked at each in turn. "I can't force you to behave intelligently. Just know that if you climb down onto the planet's surface, you're on your own—and I don't want any of you near me."

  "Agreed," said Moby Dick.

  "I got no problem with that," added Virgil.

  Dante was silent.

  "I'm waiting, Rhymer," said Silvermane.

  "If there's a chance to rescue September Morn, I'm going to try."

  "No."

  "That is what we're here for," insisted Dante.

  "We're here for me to face the aliens."

  "Only because they kidnapped September Morn," said Dante. "There's no other reason for you to be here or to have ever contacted them."

  "I'm here because no one challenges Santiago."

  "Yeah," said Dante, unimpressed. "Well, I'm here because they've kidnapped the woman who saved my life."

  Silvermane stared at him for a long time. It was a stare designed to make him back off. Dante stared right back, unblinking.

  Finally the tall man shrugged. "Have it your way," he said, breaking eye contact. "Just make sure you don't get between me and them."

  "I don't intend to."

  Silvermane turned back to Moby Dick. "And there's nothing more you can tell me about them?"

  "Their conquests are a matter of record. I didn't require any demonstrations."

  "Maybe you should have. Then at least I'd know exactly what I'm going up against."

  "Well, if I'd know you felt that way," replied the albino, "I'd have asked them to level Trajan so I could tell you what to expect."

  Silvermane glared at him. "You're not much help."

  "I gave you the imploder," Moby Dick shot back "Show me anyone else who's helped you as much."

  Silvermane made no reply. Instead, he picked up the molecular imploder, checked his pistols one last time, then commanded the hatch to open, and ordered the stairs to transport him to the planet's surface.

  Dante was about to follow him when he felt Moby Dick's hand on his arm.

  "Let him get a few hundred yards ahead of you," cautioned the albino.

  "Then you do know what their powers are!" said Dante accusingly.

  Moby Dick shook his head. "No, I truly don't. But if they're formidable enough to conquer an army, you really don't want to be standing next to him."

  "I'll be careful," Dante assured him. "I'm not here to fight anyone. I just want to rescue September Morn."

  "You may not have any choice once you leave the ship."

  "If Santiago risks his life, how can his followers do any less?"

  "That man's not Santiago," said Moby Dick with absolute conviction.

  "He's got to be," said Dante. He gave the albino a weak smile. "We're all out of candidates." He turned to Virgil. "Are you coming?"

  "It all depends," said the Indian.

  "On what?"

  "On you," replied Virgil.

  "On me?" said Dante, surprised.

  "Him I don't follow; you I do."

  "He's my leader," said the poet. "I'm going out."

  "Then I guess I'm going out too," said Virgil unhappily.

  "Then I guess you are," said Dante. He turned to Moby Dick. "How about you?"

  "They won't harm me. I work for them, remember?"

  "Then let's go."

  Moby Dick looked out. "He could have set it down closer. That's a long way to walk in any gravity."

  "What are you talking about?" sand Dante. "We're only a quarter of a mile away."

  "When you're built like me, a quarter of a mile it too much even at Earth Standard gravity," muttered Moby Dick unhappily. "I should have brought a gravity mat."

  "It's too late now," said the poet.

  "You two go ahead," said the albino. "I'll follow along at my own pace."

  Dante and Virgil stepped through the hatch, waited until the top stair gently lowered them to the ground, looked around to get their bearings, and spotted Silvermane walking toward the fortress. The poet wasn't inclined to wait until the tall man got there before starting to cross the planet's surface, so he headed off to his right on the assumption that he'd be just as safe, or unsafe, 200 yards to Silvermane's right as 200 yards behind him.

  There was no sign of life in the fortress, and Dante began wondering if it was a trap.

  He must have said it aloud, because Virgil responded: "Of course it's a trap. I just don't know what kind. If the place is as deserted as it looks, it could be rigged to blow up the second Silvermane sets foot in it."

  "His name's Santiago," muttered Dante, never taking his eyes off the fortress.

  And suddenly, standing in front of it, was a large blue being, some ten feet tall, vaguely humanoid in shape, very broad and heavily muscled, totally nude. Its eyes were large and glowed a brilliant yellow, its nose was a quartet of horizontal slits, its mouth seemed to be filled with scores of brownish, decaying teeth, its ears were shaped like small trumpets. It wore no weapons.

  "Where the hell did that come from?" whispered Virgil.

  "It just materialized."

  "So is it Tweedledee or Tweedledum?"

  "How the hell do I know?" snapped Dante.

  Silvermane took a step closer. "You wanted me," he said. "I'm here. Where's the woman?"

  The creature made no reply, and suddenly the imploder was in Silvermane's hands, aimed at the blue being. Its lips still didn't move, but the four humans seemed to hear a deep voice within their heads.

  "I am the Tweedle," it said. "You have intruded upon my world."

  "There are two of you," said Silvermane, looking around. "Where's the other one?"

  "He is here when I need him," said the Tweedle.

  "Turn over the woman, or you're going to need him pretty damned soon," said Silvermane.

  "You think to impress me with your talk?"

  "No. I think to kill you with my weapon."

  "Alone, I am a target," said the Tweedle. "But I am never alone."

  And suddenly it seemed to split right down the middle. An instant later there were two identical Tweedles, both confronting Silvermane. They moved a few feet apart as they spoke, silently but in unison, with similar thought not identical telepathic voices.

  "I am the last of my kind," said the Tweedles. "All the others died in warfare or of disease or old age. I alone have survived, for I alone have learned how to release my doppelganger, and by freeing him I have freed all the powers that lay dormant within myself and every other member of my race. Together there is nothing we cannot do. Does the terrain hurt your tender feet? Then behold."

  The Tweedles moved their left arms in a theatrical gesture, and suddenly the ground between the fortress and the ship was totally flat.

  "Do you peer in the darkness with dilated pupils?" continued the Tweedles.

  Suddenly the area was bathed in light, so bright that the humans had to squint to adjust to it.

  "Perhaps you shiver w
ith the cold."

  Another gesture, and suddenly the temperature was a pleasant 22 degrees Celsius.

  "We would change the gravity and the atmosphere, but it would deleteriously affect you after the various medications that we see you have taken into your body." They smiled at him. "Do you still wish to match your strength and skills against ours?"

  "All I've seen are some parlor tricks," said Silvermane, trying his best to sound unimpressed. "You could have rigged them all before we arrived. But if you will produce the woman and turn her over to me, and promise never to bother her or her planet again, I will leave in peace."

  "Is he crazy?" whispered Virgil to Dante.

  "He's bluffing," answered the poet just as softly.

  "You can't bluff these two," said Moby Dick, who had just joined them seconds ago. The albino was panting heavily from his exertions.

  "You are a very courageous being. But we have killed courageous beings before."

  "You've never faced Joshua Silvermane before," said the tall man.

  "Moby Dick was right," muttered Dante. "He'll never be Santiago."

  "Makes no difference," whispered Virgil. "They're going to kill him no matter what name he gives them."

  Silvermane aimed the imploder at the being on his left. The weapon hummed with power, but had no effect.

  He instantly dropped the imploder, drew his pistols and began emptying them, one into each of the Tweedles.

  The bullets didn't pass through them, for the Tweedles weren't transparent images with no substance. The bullets entered them, left discernable entry holes, but had no more effect that the imploder. Their bodies simply absorbed whatever he threw at them.

  Then each of the being slowly raised an arm. Nothing more than that. But Silvermane dropped to his knees, obviously in agony. The pistols dropped from his hands and clattered noisily on the rocky ground.

  The one on the left made a sudden gesture, and blood began pouring out of Silvermane's ears. He staggered to his feet to face his attackers. The one on the right slowly closed his hand into a fist, and Silvermane clawed at his chest, as if the alien were squeezing his heart.

  Finally, with one last effort that took all his remaining strength, Silvermane pulled a knife out of his boot and hurled himself at the creature on his right—and froze in mid-air, his body suspended four feet above the ground, his knife hand extended, his perfect face filled with hatred. The two creatures made one final gesture in unison, and Joshua Silvermane fell to the ground, headless. His head wasn't severed; it simply vanished. His body twitched once or twice, then lay still as bright red blood gushed out of it.

  "Jesus!" muttered Dante. "Did you ever see anything like that?"

  "Only during bad trips," answered Virgil, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

  Moby Dick stepped forward. "I tried to warn him," said the albino.

  "That is because you are a rational being, and hence a coward. It stands to reason that you could not dissuade this Silvermane, who was a brave and hence irrational being, from confronting us."

  "That's not quite the way I would have worded it," said Moby Dick.

  "How you would have worded it is of no interest to us." The creatures turned toward Dante and Virgil. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

  "I am a friend of September Morn," said Dante. "I want to be sure that she is in good health, and is being well-treated."

  "I'm with him," added Virgil.

  "She is healthy."

  "May I see her?"

  "No. We will permit you to gather your companion's body and leave Kabal III with it. You may not return."

  "Before we do, I have a question," said Virgil.

  All eyes turned to him.

  "Which of you is Tweedledee and which is Tweedledum, and how can I tell you apart?"

  "We did not choose those names."

  "I'd like to know anyway, just out of curiosity."

  "Your curiosity is of no concern to us."

  And, as quickly and easily as they had split in two, they now joined in a fraction of a second and became simply the Tweedle once more.

  "What do you propose to do with September Morn?" persisted Dante.

  "We will give Hadrian II 20 Galactic Standard days to ransom her for five billion credits."

  "That's a lot of money," said Dante. "What if they can't come up with it?" "Then we shall kill her."

  40.

  He felt the call to serve his God,

  His indiscretions quickly ceased.

  Now sinners all are threatened by

  Deuteronomy Priest.

  "Do you get the feeling we're back where we started?" asked Virgil, as he sat in the Fat Chance with Dante and Moby Dick, sipping a drink and watching a trio of Canphorites squabbling over the result of a nearby jabob game. "We don't have a Santiago, we don't have September Morn, Dimitrios is dead, and who the hell knows where Matilda is? Maybe we should have anointed Tyrannosaur Bailey and let it go at that. Look at the time we could have saved."

  "Shut up," said Dante.

  "Every time I've opened my mouth since we got here you've told me to shut up," complained Virgil.

  "I'm thinking."

  "Leave him alone," said Moby Dick. "Your friend's at his best when he's thinking."

  "I don't notice that thinking's done us any good," said Virgil.

  "That's because you're a fool," said the albino.

  "Could be," agreed Virgil. "But what gives you the right to say so?"

  "You've still got an organization. You've got millions of credits. You've got a couple of hundred operatives. And from what I can tell, you've eliminated two unsuccessful candidates for the top job. That's not bad for six or eight months, or however long the poet's been out here."

  "We're not in the business of eliminating Santiagos," said Virgil. "We're trying like all hell to find one."

  "One will manifest himself," said Moby Dick. "And if not, you can still plunder the Democracy six ways to Sunday."

  "That's more or less my own line of thought," said Virgil. "We're been spending too much time searching and not enough plundering."

  "Shut up," said Dante.

  "Just what the hell is your problem, Rhymer?" demanded Virgil angrily.

  "We need a diversion," said Dante to no one in particular.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "September Morn."

  "Forget her. You saw Tweedledee and Tweedledum. There ain't no way you're going to get her back without five billion credits. Either the planet antes up or she's dead meat."

  "Shut up."

  "Fuck you!" snapped Virgil. "Now that I know what you've been thinking about, I don't feel any need to kowtow to you. Even if you steal her back, all you've done is sign a death warrant for the whole goddamned planet."

  "You're a fool," said Dante.

  The Indian looked annoyed. "Maybe you should talk to the whale here, since that's all either of you can say to me."

  "Do you really think you can rescue her without catastrophic repercussions?" asked Moby Dick.

  "Of course," said Dante distractedly. "Avoiding repercussions is the easy part."

  "No more drinks for him," said Virgil. "He's had enough."

  "Shut up," said Moby Dick.

  "Are you guys brothers?" said Virgil disgustedly.

  "Go out back and molest one of the servo-mechs," said Moby Dick. "I'll let you know if you're needed."

  Virgil stared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

  "Am I smiling?" replied the albino.

  "I never had a servo-mech before," said Virgil. "How does one . . . ah . . . ?"

  "You're a creative sort of pervert. You'll figure it out."

  Virgil got to his feet. "Talk some sense into him while I'm gone." He headed off toward the back door, and a moment later was out of the building.

  Moby Dick ordered his chair to glide closer to Dante's. Once there he laid a hand on the poet's shoulder. "Take a break, Rhymer. All you're going to do is give yourself a head
ache. There's no way to beat the Tweedle."

  "Oh, I know how to do that," said Dante distractedly. "It's the other details I'm having trouble with."

  The albino stared at him. "You really think you know how to defeat them?"

  "Yeah—but I have to go to Kabal III first."

  "Go back? Why?"

  "I've got to get September Morn off the world before I do anything else." Dante paused, still staring at his untouched drink. "That's the tricky part. Everything else follows from that."

  "If you know how to kill Tweedledee and Tweedledum, kill 'em first and then get the girl."

  Dante shook his head. "I can't."

  "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me why?"

  "Wait until I work it all out," said Dante. "Damn! I wish Matilda was here. She can spot the flaws in a scheme quicker than anyone."

  "So send for her."

  "It'll take her seven or eight days to get out here, and if I'm wrong, we don't have time to come up with a different scheme. They gave Hadrian 20 days to come up with the money—and that was two days ago."

  "You can talk to her on the subspace radio," suggested Moby Dick.

  "I will, once I work out all the details."

  "Just how the hell many details are there? Either you can rescue her or you can't."

  Dante finally looked up, as if paying attention to him for the first time. "You don't understand," he said at last.

  "Enlighten me."

  "Rescuing September Morn is just the first step."

  "And killing the aliens is the last, I know."

  Dante shook his head. "No, that's just another step along the way."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" asked Moby Dick.

  "I came out here to accomplish something," said Dante. "I've been so busy trying to do it piecemeal that I lost sight of the whole."

  "All right," said Moby Dick. "I know better than to argue with a genius when he's working."

  "I'm no genius," said Dante. "I'm just a guy who doesn't want to go back to being Danny Briggs."

  "Who's Danny Briggs?"

  "An unimportant thief who never did a memorable thing in his life."

  There was a brief silence.

  "You mentioned a diversion before," said the albino. "What kind of diversion? Is there some way I can help?"