by Mike Resnick
Giles Sans Pitié looked amused. "You picked a mighty strange profession for a man who feels that way."
"Perhaps."
"Well, shall we talk?"
"What about?"
"What about?" repeated Giles Sans Pitié mockingly. "What do two bounty hunters ever talk about when they meet over a bottle of rum?"
And so they fell to discussing Santiago.
They spoke of the worlds where he was most recently thought to have been, and the crimes he was most recently thought to have committed. Both had heard the rumor that he had robbed a mining colony on Bemor VIII; both discounted it. Both also had heard that a caravan of unmanned cargo ships had been plundered in the Antares region; Cain thought it might well be the work of Santiago, while his companion felt he was far more likely to have been on Doradus IV at the time, masterminding a triple assassination. They exchanged information about the planets they themselves had been to without finding any trace of him, and of the other bounty hunters they had encountered who had added still more planets to the list.
"Who's after him now?" asked Giles Sans Pitié when their tallies had been completed.
"Everyone."
"I mean, who most recently?"
"I hear the Angel has moved into the area," answered Cain.
"What makes you think he's come for Santiago?"
Cain merely stared at him.
"Stupid remark," said Giles Sans Pitié. "Forget I made it." He paused. "The Angel's supposed to be just about the best."
"So they say."
"I thought he worked the Outer Frontier, somewhere way out on the Rim."
Cain nodded. "I guess he decided Santiago's not there."
"I can name you a million places Santiago isn't," said Giles Sans Pitié. "Why do you suppose he thinks he's on the Inner Frontier?"
Cain shrugged.
"Do you think he's got a source?" persisted Giles Sans Pitié.
"Anything's possible."
"It's more than possible," he said after a moment's consideration. "He wouldn't move his base of operations halfway across the galaxy if he didn't have hard information. What planet is he working out of?"
"How many worlds are there out there?" replied Cain with a shrug. "Take your choice."
Giles Sans Pitié frowned. "Still, he might know something worth listening to."
"What makes you think he'll talk to you, even if you find him?"
"Because the one thing bounty hunters never lie about is Santiago; you know that. As long as he stays alive, he makes all of us look bad."
"Maybe the Angel does things differently where he comes from," suggested Cain.
"Then I'll just have to explain the ground rules to him," said Giles Sans Pitié.
"I wish you luck."
"Interested in throwing in with me until we catch up with the Angel?"
"I work alone," said Cain.
"Just as well," said Giles Sans Pitié, suddenly remembering his rum and taking a long swallow of it. "Where did you hear about him?"
"In the Meritonia system."
"I think I'll head out that way later this week," said Giles Sans Pitié, rising to his feet. "It's been an interesting conversation, Cain."
"Thanks for the rum," said Cain wryly, staring at the empty bottle.
"Any time," laughed his companion. "And you will make an effort to keep out of the Praeteep system from now on, won't you?" He flexed his steel fist. "I'd hate to have to give you an object lesson about trespassing."
"Would you?"
"Not really," was the frank answer.
Cain made no reply, and a moment later Giles San Pitié placed the empty bottle on the bar, left enough money to cover another one he ordered for Cain, promised Gentry he'd be back to sample some nonalcoholic wares later in the evening, and walked out into the hot, humid night air of Moritat in search of some dinner.
Gentry finished serving the girl with the melancholy eyes, then brought the bottle over to Cain's table.
"What is it?" asked Cain, staring at the clear liquid.
"Something they brew out Altair way," replied the old man. "Tastes kind of like gin."
"I don't like gin."
"I know," replied Gentry with a chuckle. "That's why I'm just dead certain you're gonna invite me to sit down with you and help you drink it."
Cain sighed. "Have a seat, old man."
"Thank you. Don't mind if I do." He lowered himself carefully to a chair, uncorked the bottle, and took a swallow. "Good stuff, if I say so myself."
"You could save a hell of a lot of money by not supplying glasses," remarked Cain. "Nobody around here seems to use them."
"Savin' money ain't one of my problems," replied Gentry. "And from what I hear, makin' it ain't one of yours."
Cain said nothing, and the old man took another swallow and continued speaking.
"Did old Giles Without Pity warn you off the Praeteep system?" he asked.
Cain nodded.
"Gonna pay him any heed?"
"Until the next time I have business there," replied Cain.
The old man laughed. "Good for you, Songbird! Old Steelfist is gettin' a little big for his britches these days."
"I'm getting tired of telling you what my name is," said Cain irritably.
"If you didn't want to be a legend, you shouldn't have come out here. Two hundred years from now that's the only name people'll know you by."
"Two hundred years from now I won't have to listen to them."
"Besides," continued Gentry, "Songbird ain't on any Wanted posters. I seen Sebastian Cain on a flock of 'em."
"That was a long time ago."
"Don't go gettin' defensive about it," chuckled the old man. "I seen posters on just about all you bounty hunters at one time or another. Ain't no skin off my ass. Hell, if Santiago himself walked in the door and asked for one of my sportin' gals, I'd trot him out the prettiest one I've got."
"For all you know, he already has," remarked Cain.
"Not a chance," said Gentry. "He ain't that hard to spot."
"Eleven feet three inches, with orange hair?" asked Cain with an amused smile.
"You start huntin' for a man who looks like that and you're going to be out here a long, long time."
"What do you think he looks like?"
The old man took a small swallow from the bottle.
"Don't know," he admitted. "Do know one thing, though. Know he's got a scar shaped like this"—he traced a crooked S on the table—"on the back of his right hand."
"Sure he does."
"Truth!" said the old man vigorously. "I know a man who saw him."
"Nobody's seen him," replied Cain. "Or at least, nobody who's seen him knew it was him."
"That's all you know about it," said Gentry. "Man I used to run with spent a couple of weeks in jail with him."
Cain looked bored. "Santiago's never been arrested. If he had been, we'd all know what he looked like."
"They didn't know it was him."
"Then how come your friend knew?"
"'Cause Santiago's gang broke him out, and one of 'em called him by name."
"Bunk."
"Here I am, offerin' to do you a favor, and you turn your nose up at it," said Gentry. "Damned good thing for you I'm an old man who ain't got the wherewithall to give you a thrashing for insulting me like that."
"What favor?"
"I thought maybe you might be interested in knowing who my friend is and where you can find him."
"There are half a dozen bounty hunters who frequent this place," said Cain. "Why give it to me?"
"Well, now, give ain't exactly the term I had in mind," answered Gentry with a grin. "Name like that, name of a man who actually spent some time with Santiago, it ought to be worth a little something now, shouldn't it?"
"Maybe."
There was a momentary silence.
"I didn't hear no cash offer yet."
"Let's get back to my question," said Cain. "Why me?"
"Oh, it
ain't just you," said Gentry. "Sold it to Barnaby Wheeler a couple of months ago, but I heard on the grapevine that he got killed chasing down some fugitive or other. And I offered it to Peacemaker MacDougal just last week, but he didn't want to come up with no money. And I'll see if I can't tempt old Steelfist with it before he takes advantage of one of my poor innocents tonight." He smiled. "I got to be fair to all my customers."
"People have been after Santiago for thirty years or more," said Cain. "If you have any information worth selling, why did you wait until now to put it on the market?"
"I ain't got anything against Santiago," said the old man. "He ain't ever done me any harm. Besides, the longer he stays free, the longer you guys'll stay on the Frontier lookin' for him, and the longer you stay out here, the more money you'll spend at Gentry's Emporium."
"Then what caused this change of heart?"
"Hear tell the Angel has moved in. Wouldn't want no outsider picking up the bounty fee."
"What makes you think he will?" asked Cain.
"You know what they say about him," replied Gentry. "He's the best. I'll bet you Black Orpheus gives him a good twenty verses when he finally gets around to meetin' him. So," said the old man, taking yet another swig, "I'm hedging my bets as best I can. The Angel collects that money, he'll be back on the Rim before he has a chance to spend it. But if you get it, you'll spend a goodly chunk of it on Keepsake."
"If I don't retire."
"Oh, you won't retire," said Gentry with assurance. "Men like you and Sans Pitié and the Angel, you like killing too damned much to quit. It's in your blood, like wanderlust in a young buck."
"I don't like killing," replied Cain.
"Gonna give me that bounty hunter guff about how you only kill people for money?" said the old man with a sarcastic laugh.
"No."
"That makes you the first honest one I've met. How many men did you kill for free before you found out there was gold in it—two? Three?"
"More than I hope you can imagine," replied Cain.
"Soldier?"
Cain paused before answering. "I thought so once. I was wrong."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Never mind, old man." Suddenly Cain sat erect in his chair. "All right—how much do you want for the name?"
"What kind of currency can you lay your hands on?"
"What kind do you want?"
"Credits'll do, I suppose," replied Gentry. "Though I'd be real interested in Bonaparte francs or Maria Theresa dollars if you got any."
"I haven't seen a Bonaparte franc in ten years," said Cain. "I don't think they're in circulation anymore."
"I hear tell they're still using 'em in the Binder system."
"Let's make it credits."
The old man did a quick mental calculation. "I think ten thousand would do me just fine."
"For the name of a man who might or might not have seen Santiago ten or twenty years ago?" Cain shook his head. "That's too much."
"Not for a man like you," said Gentry. "I saw the poster for the body you brought in. I know how much you got for it."
"And what if this man is dead, or if it turns out he didn't see Santiago after all?"
"Then you got a free pass to fertilize my flowers for a full month."
"I visited your garden last night," said Cain. "It needs weeding."
"What are you quibbling about?" demanded Gentry. "How long have you been on the Frontier, Cain?"
"Eleven years."
"In all that time, have you ever met anyone who's seen Santiago? Here I am offering you what you ain't never found before, for maybe a tenth of what you just picked up on Praeteep, and you're haggling like some Dabih fur trader! If you're gonna just sit there and insult the most beautiful blossoms on the Frontier and haggle with an old man who ain't got the stamina to haggle back, we ain't going to be able to do no business."
Cain stared at him for a moment, then spoke.
"I'll tell you what, old man. I'll give you twenty thousand."
"There's a catch," said Gentry suspiciously.
"There's a condition," replied Cain. "You don't supply the name to anyone else."
Gentry frowned. "Ever?"
"For six months."
"Make it four."
"Deal," said Cain. "And if you're lying, may God have more mercy on your soul than I will."
"Ain't got no reason to lie. Only two more of you fellers due in here in the next four months, which means one of 'em's probably dead, and there's only a fifty-fifty chance the other'd come up with the money. Not everyone makes out as well as you and Sans Pitié."
"All right. Where do I find this man?"
"I ain't seen no money yet."
Cain pulled out a sheaf of bills, peeled off the top twenty, and placed them on the table. Gentry picked them up one at a time, held each up to the light, and finally nodded his head and placed them in his pocket.
"Ever hear of a world named Port étrange?"
Cain shook his head. "Where is it?"
"It's the seventh planet in the Bellermaine system. That's where he'll be."
"And his name?"
"Stern."
"How do I locate him?"
"Just pass the word you're looking for him. He'll find you."
"What's he like?" asked Cain.
"A real sweet feller, once you get used to a couple of his little peculiarities."
"Such as?"
"Well, he drinks too much and he cheats at cards, and he ain't real fond of people or animals or aliens, and he out-and-out hates priests and women, and he's been known to have an occasional disagreement with the constabularies. But taken all in all, he's no worse than most that you find out here, and probably better'n some."
"Should I use your name?"
"It ought to get him to sit up and take notice," said Gentry. "When are you planning on leaving?"
"Tonight," said Cain, getting to his feet.
"Damn!" said Gentry. "If I'd of known you were that anxious, I could've held out for thirty!"
"I'm not anxious. I just don't have any reason to stay here."
"I got seven absolutely splendid reasons, each and every one personally selected and trained by Moritat's very favorite son, namely me."
"Maybe next time around."
"You got something better to spend it on?"
"That depends on whether you told me the truth or not," said Cain, walking to the door. Suddenly he stopped and turned to Gentry. "By the way, I assume your friend Stern is going to want to be paid for this?"
"I imagine so. Man sells his soul to the devil, he spends the rest of his life trying to stockpile enough money to buy it back." Gentry chuckled with amusement. "Have fun, Songbird."
"That's not my name."
"Tell you what," said Gentry. "You bring in the head of Santiago, and I'll hold a gun to old Orpheus until he gets it right."
"You've got yourself a deal," promised Cain.
2.
He's Jonathan Jeremy Jacobar Stern,
He's got lust in his heart, and money to burn;
He's too old to change, and too wild to learn,
Is Jonathan Jeremy Jacobar Stern.
* * * *
They say that Black Orpheus caught Stern on an off day, that in point of fact Stern never stopped changing and learning, until he'd changed so much that nobody knew him any longer. He began life as the son of a miner and a whore, and before he was done he'd set himself up as king of the Bellermaine system. In between, he learned how to gamble and did a pretty fair job of it; he learned how to steal and became more than proficient; he learned how to kill and did a bit of bounty hunting on the side; and somewhere along the way he learned the most important lesson of all, which was that a king with no heirs had better never turn his back on anybody.
Nobody knew why he hated priests; rumor had it that the first time he'd gone to jail it was a priest who turned him in. Another legend held that he'd once trusted a couple of priests to keep an eye on his
holdings while he was fleeing from the authorities, and when he'd finally come back there'd been nothing waiting for him but a note telling him to repent.
It wasn't all that difficult to figure out why he hated women. He grew up in a whorehouse, and the women he met once he went out on his own weren't much different from the ones he'd known all his life. He was a man of enormous appetites who couldn't leave them alone and couldn't convince himself that their interest in him wasn't as cold and calculating as his interest in them.
A lot of people whispered that that was the real reason he'd set up shop on Port étrange, that since he couldn't control his passion for women he'd decided to do without them and had hunted up a world with a humanoid race that willingly allowed him to commit terrible crimes of pleasure for which nobody had yet created any words.
Port étrange itself had a long and varied history. Originally a mining world, it had since been a glittering vacation spa, then a low-security penal colony, and finally a deserted ghost world. Then Stern had moved in, set up headquarters in a once luxurious hotel, and turned a small section of the human habitation into a Tradertown, while allowing the remainder to linger in a state of disrepair and decay. Despite reasonably fertile fields which sustained the native population, the citizens of the Tradertown imported all their food and drink from a pair of nearby agricultural colonies. When the men began outnumbering the women, they imported the latter, too, until Stern put a stop to it.
All this Cain learned during his first hour on Port étrange. He had landed his ship at the local spaceport—only huge worlds like Deluros VIII and Lodin XI possessed orbiting hangars and shuttle service for planetbound travelers—and rented a room at the larger of the two functioning hotels, then descended to the ground-floor tavern he'd spotted on the way in.
It was crowded, and despite the chrome tables and hand-crafted chairs—leftovers from the hotel's halcyon days of glory—it felt as dingy and seamy as any other Tradertown bar. The only chair available was at a small table that was occupied by a short, slender man who sported a shock of unruly red hair.
"Mind if I sit down?" asked Cain.
"Be my guest," said the man. He stared at Cain. "You new around here?"
