Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  "How should I know? Possibly he thought it made him look dashing and romantic." Stern paused. "At any rate, I continued to enjoy a very profitable arrangement. Then, seven years ago, I received a shipment of goods that eliminated any lingering doubts I may have had that I was indeed doing business with Santiago."

  "And what was that?"

  "Do you see that paperweight over there?" asked Stern, indicating what appeared to be a small gold bar on a nearby table.

  "Yes."

  "Why don't you examine it?"

  Cain got up, walked over to the paperweight, and inspected it.

  "It looks like gold bullion," he said.

  "Pick it up and turn it over," suggested Stern.

  It required both hands for Cain to lift it. When he did so, he noticed a nine-digit number burned into the bottom of it.

  "That number corresponds to part of a gold shipment that Santiago stole from a navy convoy."

  "The Epsilon Eridani robbery?" asked Cain.

  Stern nodded. "I'm sure you can confirm the number through your various sources. The numbers had been eliminated from all the other bars, but somehow they missed that one—so I kept it for a souvenir, never knowing when it might be of some minor use to me." He smiled. "Anyway, it was then that I knew for sure that Black and the others were Santiago's agents."

  "That still doesn't prove the man you saw in jail was Santiago," said Cain, putting the gold bar back down.

  "I'm not finished," replied Stern. "About a year after I received the gold shipment, a smuggler named Kastartos, one of the agents I'd been dealing with, approached me with a fascinating proposition. Evidently he was displeased with his salary or his working conditions; at any rate, he had decided to turn Santiago in for the reward. Being a prudent man, he decided not to do so himself, but offered to split fifty-fifty with me if I would approach the authorities on his behalf. I questioned him further, and eventually he gave me a description of the man I had seen in the Kalami jail. There were a few discrepancies, as might be expected with the passage of eleven years, but it sounded like the same man, and when he described the scar on his right hand I was sure."

  "And what did you do?"

  "I was making a considerable amount of money from Santiago's trade, and I had no more desire to be the visible partner in this enterprise than Kastartos did. After all, not only would I have faced the threat of reprisal from Santiago's organization, but once word of such a betrayal got out, most of my other clients would have felt very uneasy about dealing with me as well," explained Stern. "So I followed the only reasonable course of action: I informed Duncan Black of his proposition, and let nature take its course." He shook his head. "Poor little man. I never saw him again."

  "Did he tell you where to find Santiago?"

  "I felt my longevity could best be served by not knowing the answer to that particular question."

  "Do you still deal with him?"

  "If I did, I wouldn't be parting with this information," said Stern. "But I haven't seen Duncan Black in almost three years now, and while it's always possible that Santiago is dealing with me through someone else, I very much doubt it."

  "Where can I find Duncan Black?"

  "If I knew that, this little chat would have cost you fifty thousand credits," replied Stern. "The only thing I can tell you is that during the time I did business with him, his ship bore a Bella Donna registry."

  "Bella Donna?" repeated Cain. "I've never heard of it."

  "It's an outpost world, the third planet of the Clovis system. I'm sure that it must be listed in your ship's computer." Stern paused. "Do you still want your money back, Mr. Cain?"

  Cain stared at him. "Not unless I find out you've been lying."

  "Why would I lie?" asked Stern. "I haven't been offworld for seven years now, and I have no intention of leaving in the foreseeable future. You would certainly have very little trouble finding me." He stood up. "Shall I assume that our conversation is over now?"

  Cain nodded his head.

  "Then you'll forgive me if I immerse myself once again?"

  He let his robe drop to the floor and walked over to the tub.

  "Come, my lovelies," he crooned, and the two fali walked over and gently helped lower him into the water.

  "I think I could do with a massage," he said. "Do you remember what I taught you?" The fali immediately entered the tub and began massaging his arms and torso with their long, sensitive, alien hands.

  "Would you like to join us, Mr. Cain?" asked Stern, suddenly aware that Cain had not yet left the room. "It isn't an invitation I extend to many of my guests, and it certainly won't break my heart if you should decline, but I suppose it's the least I can do for a man who has just spent fifteen thousand credits for a useless tidbit of information."

  "Useless?"

  "The Angel is after Santiago now, or hadn't you heard?"

  "I know."

  "And yet you paid me anyway?" said Stern. "You must be a very efficient killer, Mr. Cain—or a very overconfident one." He moaned with pleasure as one of the fali began stroking his left thigh. "How many men have you actually killed?"

  "Pay me fifteen thousand credits and I might just answer that question," said Cain.

  Stern laughed hollowly in amusement.

  "I'm afraid not, Mr. Cain. What you have done in the past may eventually find its way into Black Orpheus' songbook, as I myself have done, but you are simply another spear-carrier passing through my life—and an incredibly minor one at that."

  "And them?" asked Cain, indicating the two fali.

  "They represent my fall from Grace," said Stern with a smile. "Far more important than mere supporting players, I assure you. Someday I suppose I shall even give them names." He turned to one of them. "Gently, my pretty—gently." He took her hand and began guiding it gingerly.

  Cain stared at the three of them for another few seconds, then turned and summoned the elevator. The sound of Stern's voice, trembling with eagerness, came to him as the doors were closing:

  "Here, my pet. Lie back and let me show you how."

  Cain descended to the main floor, walked out across the dusty thoroughfare, entered his own hotel, and shortly thereafter unlocked his room. He found Halfpenny Terwilliger sitting on his bed, playing solitaire.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded as the door slid shut behind him.

  "Waiting for you," replied the little gambler.

  "How did you know this was my room?"

  "I asked at the desk."

  "And they gave you the combination to the lock?"

  "In a manner of speaking," said Terwilliger. "Of course, they probably don't know they gave it to me."

  "All right," said Cain. "Why are you waiting for me?"

  "Because I know who you are now. You're the Songbird, right?"

  "I'm Sebastian Cain."

  "But people call you the Songbird?" persisted Terwilliger.

  "Some people do."

  "Good. Because if you're the Songbird, you ought to be leaving Port étrange pretty soon in search of better pickings."

  "Get to the point," said Cain.

  "I'd like a ride."

  "I don't take passengers."

  "Let me word that a bit more strongly," said Terwilliger. "I need a ride. My life depends on it."

  "Why?"

  "It's a long and rather embarrassing story."

  "Give me the gist of it," said Cain.

  Terwilliger stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "When I was in the Spinos system about four months ago, I passed two hundred thousand credits' worth of bad notes to ManMountain Bates."

  "He's a gambler, isn't he?"

  "A very large, ill-tempered one," said Terwilliger devoutly.

  "I'd say that was an unwise thing to do."

  "I intended to make them good. I was just indulging in a little deficit spending. Hell, the Democracy does it all the time." He paused. "But I just got word a few minutes ago that he's due to land on Port étrange the day
after tomorrow—and truth to tell, I'm a little bit short of what I owe him."

  "How short?"

  "Oh, not much."

  "How short?" repeated Cain.

  "About two hundred thousand credits, give or take a few," said Terwilliger with a sickly smile.

  "I certainly don't envy you," commented Cain.

  "I don't want you to envy me," said Terwilliger with a note of desperation in his voice. "I want you to fly me the hell out of here!"

  "I told you: I don't take passengers."

  "I'll pay for my fare."

  "I thought you didn't have any money," noted Cain.

  "I'll work it off," said Terwilliger. "I'll cook, I'll load cargo, I'll—"

  "The galley's fully automated, and the only cargo I handle doesn't need loading so much as killing," interrupted Cain.

  "If you don't take me, I'll die!"

  "Everybody dies sometime," replied Cain. "Ask someone else."

  "I already did. Nobody wants ManMountain Bates on their trail. But I figured a man like the Songbird, a man who's all written up in song and story, you wouldn't be bothered by a little thing like that."

  "You figured wrong."

  "You really won't take me?"

  "I really won't take you."

  "My death will be on your hands," said Terwilliger.

  "Why?" asked Cain "I didn't pass bad notes to any-one."

  Terwilliger scrutinized him for a moment, then forced himself to smile. "You're kidding, aren't you? You just want to see me squirm a little first."

  "I'm not kidding."

  "You are!" the little gambler half shouted. "You can't send me out to face ManMountain Bates! He breaks people's backs like they were toothpicks!"

  "You know," remarked Cain with some amusement, "you seemed like a totally different man when I met you in the bar."

  "I didn't have an eight-foot-tall disaster coming after me with blood in his eye when we were in the bar!" snapped Terwilliger.

  "Are you all through yelling now?" asked Cain calmly.

  "I arranged for you to meet with Stern," said Terwilliger desperately. "That ought to be worth something."

  Cain reached into a pocket, withdrew a small silver coin, and flipped it across the room to Terwilliger. "Thanks," he said.

  "Damn it, Songbird! What kind of man are you?"

  "An unsympathetic one. Do you plan on leaving any time soon, or am I going to have to throw you out?"

  Terwilliger emitted a sigh of defeat, gathered up the cards from the bed, and trudged to the door.

  "Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically.

  "Any time," replied Cain, stepping aside to let him pass out into the corridor.

  The door slid shut again.

  Cain stood absolutely still for a moment, then opened it.

  "Hey, Terwilliger!" he yelled at the gambler's retreating figure.

  "Yes?"

  "What do you know about a man named Duncan Black?"

  "The guy with the eyepatch?" said Terwilliger, turning and taking a tentative step in Cain's direction.

  "That's the one."

  "I used to play cards with him. What do you want to know?"

  "Where am I likely to find him?" asked Cain.

  Suddenly Terwilliger grinned broadly. "I do believe I just booked passage out of here," he said.

  "You know where he is?"

  "That I do."

  "Where?"

  "I'll tell you after we've taken off."

  Cain nodded his agreement. "I'm leaving as soon as I have dinner. Get your gear together and meet me at the spaceport in two hours."

  Terwilliger pulled out his deck of cards.

  "I've got all the luggage I need right here," he said happily. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go down and find a little game of chance to while away the lonely minutes before we leave."

  With that, he turned on his heel and went off in search of the three or four newcomers to Port étrange who would still accept his marker.

  3.

  Halfpenny Terwilliger, the boldest gambler yet;

  Halfpenny Terwilliger will cover any bet;

  Halfpenny Terwilliger, a rowdy martinet;

  Halfpenny Terwilliger is now one soul in debt.

  * * * *

  "Gin."

  "Damn!" said Terwilliger, slapping his hand down on the table. "You caught me with nineteen." He pushed the cards over to Cain. "Your deal."

  "I've had enough for a while."

  "You're sure?"

  "I've played more cards during the past five days than in the twenty years preceding them," said Cain. "Let's knock off for a few hours."

  "Just trying to keep you amused," said Terwilliger, shuffling the deck and putting it back in the pocket of his brightly colored tunic. "Where do we stand?"

  "You owe me a little over twenty-two hundred credits."

  "I don't suppose you'd take a marker?" asked Terwilliger.

  Cain smiled. "Not very likely."

  "Mind if I mix up another pot of that coffee we broke open this afternoon?" asked the gambler, heading off for the galley. "Just as well you don't bring 'em back alive," he muttered as he searched for the coffee in the cramped confines of the galley. "This ship sure as hell wasn't built with an extra passenger in mind." He uttered a grunt of triumph as he finally found the coffee in amongst a stack of condensed rations.

  "Go a little easy on that stuff," said Cain. "It's expensive."

  "It tastes expensive. Where's it from—Belore or Canphor?"

  "Brazil."

  "Never heard of it."

  "It's a country back on Earth."

  "You mean I've been drinking coffee from Earth itself?" said Terwilliger. "I'm impressed! You do right well by a guest, Songbird."

  "Thanks—and I keep telling you: my name's Cain."

  "I've been meaning to ask you about that. You don't sound like you've got much of a singing voice, so how come he dubbed you the Songbird?"

  "Because my name's Sebastian Nightingale Cain. He fell in love with my middle name, and I told him he couldn't use it." Cain grimaced. "I should have been more explicit."

  "Come to think of it, Black Orpheus does a lot of dumb things," said Terwilliger. "Like that line about me being a martinet. I'm the sweetest, friendliest guy in the galaxy. He just used it to make a rhyme."

  "I notice you don't object to the part about pawning your soul," noted Cain.

  Terwilliger laughed. "Hell, that's the first thing a man gets rid of when he comes to the Frontier. Excess baggage, nothing more."

  "Losing at cards seems to make you cynical," said Cain.

  "It's got nothing to do with cards," replied the little gambler. "It's an obvious fact. You kill men for a living; where would you be with a soul?"

  "Back on Sylaria, I suppose," said Cain thoughtfully.

  "That's the world where you were a revolutionary?"

  "One of them."

  "You should have known better," said Terwilliger. "No matter what kind of promises a man who's looking for power makes, he's not going to turn out to be any different from the one he replaces."

  "I was very young," said Cain.

  "It's hard to imagine you as a callow youth."

  Cain chuckled. "I wasn't so much callow as idealistic."

  "Well, cheer up—the Frontier is filled with men who were going to make the galaxy a better place to live."

  "So are the seats of power," said Cain wryly. "You'd think somebody would know how."

  "You keep talking like that and you're going to convince me you still believe in all that idealistic nonsense."

  "Don't worry about it," replied Cain, leaning back and propping a foot up against a bulkhead. "That was a long, long time ago."

  The gambler walked over to a sensor terminal, as he had done every few hours since leaving Port étrange, and satisfied himself that there was still no sign of pursuit by ManMountain Bates.

  "You know," said Terwilliger, finally pouring himself some coffee and ha
nding a cup over to Cain, "you never did tell me why you became a bounty hunter."

  "I'd been a terrorist for twelve years. The only thing I knew how to do really well was kill people."

  "How about that?" said the gambler with mock regret. "And here I thought it was because you believed in justice."

  Cain patted the weapon at his side. "I learned to use this gun because I believed in truth and honor and freedom and a lot of other fine-sounding things. I spent twelve years fighting for them and then took a good look at the results." He paused. "Now all I believe in is the gun."

  "Well, I've met disillusioned revolutionaries before, but you're the first one who ever fought on a free-lance basis."

  "Nobody paid me for what I did."

  "What I meant was that you seemed to go from one war to another."

  "When the first man I thought could put things right turned out to have feet of clay, I looked around for another. It took me three revolutions before I finally realized just how much clay God put into the universe." He smiled ruefully. "I was a slow learner."

  "At least you fought the good fight," said Terwilliger.

  "I fought three stupid fights," Cain corrected him. "I'm not especially proud of any of them."

  "You must have been a very serious young man."

  "Actually, I used to laugh a lot more than I do now." He shrugged. "That was when I thought one moral man could make a difference. The only thing I find really funny these days is the fact that so many people still believe it."

  "I had a feeling the first time I saw you that you weren't just your run-of-the-mill headhunter," said Terwilliger. "Like I told you, I've got this knack for reading faces."

  "Well, if it comes to that, I had a feeling the first time I saw you that you were a lousy cardplayer."

  "I'm the best damned cardplayer you'll ever meet."

  "I thought I beat you rather handily," remarked Cain.

  "I let you win."

  "Sure you did."

  "You don't believe me?" said the gambler. "Then watch this."

  He pulled out the cards, shuffled them thoroughly, and dealt out two five-card hands on the tiny chrome table.

  "Got anything worth betting?" he asked.