Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  "Yes. I just got in." Cain glanced around the room. "I'm looking for somebody. I wonder if you can point him out to me?"

  "He's not here now."

  "You don't know who I'm looking for," said Cain.

  "Well, if it isn't Jonathan Stern, we've got a hell of a news story breaking here." said the man with a chuckle. "He's the only person anyone ever comes to Port étrange to see."

  "It's Stern," said Cain.

  "Well, I suppose I can pass the word. You got a name?"

  "Cain. Tell him Geronimo Gentry sent me."

  "Pleased to meet you, Cain," said the man, extending a lean white hand. "I'm Terwilliger. Halfpenny Terwilliger," he added as if the name was expected to mean something. He watched Cain for a reaction, discerned none, and got up. "Back in a minute."

  Terwilliger walked over to the bar, said something to the bartender, and then returned to the table.

  "Okay," he said. "He knows you're here."

  "When can I see him?"

  "When he's ready."

  "How soon will that be?"

  Halfpenny Terwilliger laughed. "That all depends. Does he owe Gentry money?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Then it'll probably be sooner rather than later." He pulled out a deck of cards. "Care for a little game of chance while you're waiting?"

  "I'd rather have a little information about Stern."

  "I don't doubt it," said Terwilliger. "Tell you what. You bet with money, I'll bet with pieces of Stern's life. I'll match every credit with a story."

  "Why don't I just pay you twenty credits for what I want to know and be done with it?" suggested Cain.

  "Because I'm a gambler, not a salesman," came the answer.

  "At a credit a bet, you're not likely to become a very rich one," observed Cain.

  Terwilliger smiled. "I got into my first card game with one New Scotland halfpenny. I was worth two million pounds before it was over. That's how I got my name." He paused. "Of course, I lost it all the next week, but still, it was fun while it lasted, and no one else ever had a run of luck like that one. Been trying to do it again ever since."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "Oh, maybe a dozen years," said Terwilliger with another smile. "I still remember how it felt, though—like the first time I was ever with a woman, except that it lasted longer: six days and five nights. That's why I always start small—out of respect for times past. If you want to raise the stakes later, we can."

  "If I raise the stakes, what can you bet to match it?"

  Terwilliger scratched his head. "Well, I suppose I can start betting rumors instead of facts. They're a lot more interesting, anyway—especially if they're about the fali."

  "What's a fali?" asked Cain.

  "It's what the natives call themselves. I don't suppose it's the best-kept secret in the galaxy that our friend Stern's got a couple of tastes that are just a bit out of the ordinary."

  "Let's stick to facts for the time being," said Cain. He nodded toward the cards. "It's your deal."

  They played and talked for more than an hour, at the end of which Cain knew a little bit more about Stern, and Terwilliger was some forty credits richer.

  "You know, you still haven't told me why you want to see him," remarked the gambler.

  "I need some information."

  "Who do you plan to kill?" asked Terwilliger pleasantly.

  "What makes you think I want to kill anyone?"

  "You've got that look about you. I'm a gambler, remember? My job is reading faces. Your face says you're a bounty hunter."

  "What if I told you I was a journalist?" asked Cain.

  "I'd tell you I believed you," replied Terwilliger. "I don't want no bounty hunter getting mad at me."

  Cain laughed. "Can you tell anything from Stern's face?"

  "Just that he's been with the fali too long. Not much human left in it."

  "What do these fali look like?" asked Cain.

  "Either pretty good or pretty strange, depending."

  "Depending on what?"

  "On how long you've been alone," answered Terwilliger.

  "You still haven't told me what they look like."

  Terwilliger grinned and ruffled the cards. "Shall we up the stakes a little?"

  Cain shook his head. "They're not worth more to me than Stern is."

  "They might be, when I tell you what they do."

  "Hearsay?"

  "Experience."

  Cain cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you disapproved of them."

  "Anybody's allowed to try something new once or twice, just to get the feel of it," explained Terwilliger. "What I object to is addiction, not experimentation."

  "I don't plan to be here long enough to do either," said Cain. "You can put the cards away."

  "Oh, we can always find a little something to wager about," said Terwilliger. "For fifty credits a hand, I could tell you where to find the Suliman brothers."

  "You're too late. They were taken a week ago."

  "All three?"

  Cain nodded.

  "Damn!" said Terwilliger. "Well, for a hundred, I might tell you about some competition that's moved into the area."

  "I know about the Angel."

  "News sure travels fast," commented Terwilliger ruefully.

  "Tell you what," said Cain. "I'll play for a thousand a hand if you have any information about Santiago."

  "You and five hundred other guys." The gambler shook his head. "It beats me how he can still be free after all these years with so many people looking for him."

  Just then the bartender walked across the room and came to a stop in front of their table.

  "Are you Cain?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "He wants you."

  "Where do I find him?" asked Cain.

  "I'll show you the way," offered Terwilliger.

  The bartender nodded and returned to his duties.

  "Follow me," said the gambler, getting to his feet.

  Cain stood up and left a few bills on the table.

  They walked out through a side door, across the dusty road that had once been a major thoroughfare, and into the smaller of Port étrange's two functioning hotels. Terwilliger led him through a lobby that had once been quite elegant but was now showing the signs of age and neglect: sleek chrome pillars were now tarnished, the ever-changing choreopattern of colored lights was out of synch with the atonal music, the front door remained dilated for almost a full minute after they passed through it.

  They approached a bank of elevators and walked to the last one in line. Terwilliger summoned it with a low command.

  "This'll take you right to him," he announced.

  "Has he got a room number?"

  "He's got the whole damned floor. Take one step out and you're in the middle of his parlor."

  "Thanks," said Cain, stepping into the elevator as it arrived. As the doors closed behind him he realized that he didn't know the floor number, but then the elevator began ascending swiftly and he decided that it only went to one floor.

  When it came to a stop, he emerged into a palatial pent-house. It was fully fifty feet by sixty, and filled to overflowing with objets d'art gathered—or plundered—from all across the galaxy. In the center of the room was a sunken circular tub with platinum fixtures, and sitting in the steaming water was an emaciated man with sunken cheeks and dark, watery eyes. His narrow arms were sprawled over the edges of the tub, and Cain noticed that his fingers were covered by truly magnificent rings. He smoked a large cigar that had somehow avoided becoming waterlogged.

  Standing on each side of the tub were a pair of humanoid aliens, both obviously female. Their skins, covered with a slick secretion that may or may not have been natural, glistened under the lights of the apartment. Their arms seemed supple and boneless, their legs slender and strangely jointed. Each had a round, expressive face, with a generous, very red triangular mouth and pink eyes that were little more than angular slits. Both were nude and were devo
id of any body hair. They had no breasts, but their genitalia, thus exposed, seemed close to human. There was a supple, alien grace to them, which Cain found fascinating and mildly repugnant. Neither of them seemed to notice him at all.

  "You're staring, Mr. Cain," said the man in the tub.

  "I'm sorry," said Cain. "I had heard about the fali, but I hadn't seen them before."

  "Nice, useful pets," said the man, reaching up and giving a friendly pat to a bare fali buttock. "About as bright as a potted plant, but very pleasant in their way." He took a puff of his cigar. "I understand that you wish to see me."

  "If you're Stern."

  "Jonathan Jeremy Jacobar Stern, at your service," he said. "Is this going to take long?"

  "I hope not."

  "What a shame," he said with mock regret. "If it was, I'd invite you to join me. There is absolutely nothing like sitting in warm water to relax a man and help him shed the cares of the day. I'll be with you in just a moment." He turned to one of the fali and extended his arm. "Give me a boost up, my pretty."

  She reached down, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to his feet, while her companion walked to a closet and returned shortly with a robe.

  "Thank you," he said, slipping the robe on. "Now I want both of you to stand over there and not bother us for a while." He pointed to a spot near the farthest wall, and both fali immediately walked over to it and stood motionless.

  "They seem very obedient," remarked Cain as Stern led him to a grouping of chairs and couches.

  "Obedient and docile," agreed Stern, sprawling on a couch and staring at them with unconcealed desire.

  "That oil on their skins—is it normal?"

  "Why should you suppose that it isn't?"

  Cain shrugged. "It just seems rather unusual."

  "It is," replied Stern, smiling at the fali. "It smells like the finest perfume." He turned to Cain. "Go over and experience it for yourself."

  "I'll take your word for it."

  "As you wish," said Stern with a shrug. "It feels exquisite, as well—soft and sensual. Actually, I'm convinced that it's a secondary sexual characteristic. It doesn't do much for Men, of course," he added with marked insincerity, "but I imagine it drives their boyfriends right out of their minds. Seductive odor, sensual feel." He stared admiringly at them again. "It makes them look like a pair of alien mermaids emerging from the water." Suddenly he tore his gaze away from them and turned back to Cain. "So Geronimo Gentry sent you here?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought he'd be dead by now."

  "Not quite," said Cain, finally taking a seat.

  "How is he getting along?"

  "He's got a bar and whorehouse out on Keepsake," replied Cain. "I guess he's doing all right. Talks too much, though."

  "He always did." Stern paused. "Why did he send you here?"

  "He told me that you might have some information I need."

  "Very likely I do. I know an inordinate number of things. Did he also tell you that I'm not a charitable institution?"

  "If he hadn't, I would have figured it out after seeing some of your trinkets," said Cain, nodding toward a number of alien artifacts that were prominently displayed.

  "I'm a collector," said Stern with a broad smile.

  "So I gathered."

  "You haven't yet told me what business you're in, Mr. Cain."

  "I'm a collector, too," replied Cain.

  "Really?" said Stern, suddenly more interested. "And what is it that you collect?"

  "People."

  "There's a good market for them," said Stern. "But unlike my collection, they don't increase in value."

  "There's one who does."

  "So you want to know about Santiago." It was not a question.

  Cain nodded. "That's what I'm here for. You're the only person who's seen him."

  Stern laughed in amusement. "His organization spans the entire galaxy. Don't you think any of them ever see him?"

  "Then let me amend my statement," said Cain. "You're the only person I know who's seen him."

  "That's probably true," agreed Stern pleasantly. His cigar went out and he snapped his fingers. One of the fali immediately came over with a lighter and relit it. "That's my girl," he said, giving her boneless hand an affectionate squeeze. She wriggled all over with delight like a puppy, then returned to her position across the room. "A wonderful pet," commented Stern. "Faithful, adoring, and totally unable to utter a sound—three qualities I never found in any woman of my acquaintance." He paused and stared fondly at her. "What a sweet, mindless little thing she is! But back to business, Mr. Cain. You wish to talk about Santiago."

  "That's right."

  "You are prepared to pay, of course?"

  Cain nodded.

  "There is an old saying, Mr. Cain, that talk is cheap. I hope you do not believe in it."

  "I believe in paying for value received," replied Cain.

  "Excellent! You're a man after my own heart."

  "Really?" said Cain dryly. "I would have been willing to bet that not a single thing in this apartment had been paid for."

  "They have all been paid for, Mr. Cain," said Stern with an amused smile. "Not with money, perhaps, but with human grief and suffering and even human life. A much higher price, wouldn't you say?"

  "It depends on who was doing the paying," replied Cain.

  "Nobody very important," said Stern with a shrug. "Oh, they probably all had wives and husbands and children, to be sure, but they were merely spear-carriers in my own saga, which is of course the only one that matters to me. Certainly you must share my point of view, since the taking of lives is your business."

  "I value the lives I take a little more highly than you do," said Cain. "So does the government."

  "And here we are, back to discussing value and money once more," said Stern. "I think I shall charge you fifteen thousand credits to continue our conversation, Mr. Cain."

  "For that, I want more than a physical description of a man you haven't seen in fifteen or twenty years," replied Cain. "I want the name and location of the jail, I want to know when you were incarcerated, and I want the name Santiago was using at the time."

  "But of course!" said Stern. "Do I strike you as a man who would withhold information, Mr. Cain?"

  "I don't know," said Cain. "Are you?"

  "Perish the thought," said Stern.

  "How comforting to know that."

  "I'm so glad that we understand each other, Mr. Cain. May I first see, as we say in the trade, the color of your money?"

  Cain pulled out his wallet, counted off the appropriate amount, and handed it over.

  "I realize that absolutely no one uses cash anymore in the heart of the Democracy," said Stern, "but it has such a nice feel to it that I'm glad we still indulge ourselves out here in the extremities." He quickly counted the bills, then signaled to a fail, who came over and took them from him.

  "Hold these for me, my pretty," he said, then nodded his head and watched her as she walked back to her position with an inhuman grace. "Lovely things!" he murmured. "Absolutely lovely!"

  "We were talking about Santiago...."

  "Indeed we were," said Stern, turning reluctantly from the fali and facing Cain once again. "I promise to give it my full attention. For fifteen thousand credits, you deserve no less."

  "My feelings precisely."

  "Now, where shall I begin? At the beginning, of course. I was serving a certain amount of time in durance vile on the outpost world of Kalami Three for some imagined infringement of the local laws or customs."

  "Robbery?" suggested Cain.

  "Receiving stolen goods and attempted murder, in point of fact," replied Stern with no hint of regret. "At any rate, the only other prisoner at the time was a man who went under the name of Gregory William Penn. He was between forty and fifty years of age, he stood about six feet four inches tall, he was heavyset without being fat, his hair was black and his eyes brown, his face was clean-shaven. He spoke at least six alien lan
guages—or so he informed me. I, myself, speak none, nor"—he smiled at the fali—"have I ever had any need to. On the back of his right hand he bore an S-shaped scar some two inches long. He seemed, overall, a pleasant and intelligent man. He didn't speak about himself or his past at all, but he proved to be an excellent chess player with a set that we borrowed from our captors."

  "How do you know it was Santiago?"

  "We had shared the hospitality of the Kalami jail for eleven days when suddenly five armed men broke in, subdued and bound the individual charged with our care, and set my fellow prisoner free. They were very thorough about wiping the prison's computer clean, and I later found out they had done the same over in the courtroom. Then, just as they were leaving, one of them called him Santiago."

  "If that's your whole story, I want my money back," said Cain. "There's probably a thousand petty crooks on the Frontier who would like people to think they're Santiago—and if the prison records have been destroyed, you can't even prove that this one existed, let alone that he was who he said he was."

  "Be patient, Mr. Cain," said Stern easily. "There's more."

  "There'd damned well better be. How long ago did this little incident take place?"

  "Seventeen Galactic Standard years. I bribed my way out about six months later."

  "I understand that you've done some bounty hunting in your time," said Cain. "Why didn't you go after him?"

  "We all have our obsessions, Mr. Cain," replied Stern. "Yours is obviously chasing criminals all across the galaxy. Mine, I soon discovered, lay in quite a different direction."

  "All right. Go on."

  "Shortly thereafter I noticed a sudden dramatic increase in my business."

  "Which business was that?" interrupted Cain.

  "I like to think of it as my wholesale redistribution network."

  "Fencing."

  "Fencing," agreed Stern. "By the time I reached Port étrange I had a pretty strong feeling that I was dealing with Santiago, but of course I was never so tactless as to ask."

  "Who would you have asked?"

  "I dealt primarily with a man named Duncan Black—a large man, who wore a patch over his left eye—but from time to time there were others."

  "Nobody wears eyepatches," said Cain sharply.

  "Black did."

  "Why didn't he just get a new eye? I've got one: it sees better than the one I was born with."