by Mike Resnick
"Then what happened to your men on Pico Two?"
"They were taken by surprise, before they could destroy themselves." She stared at him levelly. "You look disapproving, Mr. Cain. I should think that you of all people would know that revolution is not a gentleman's sport and is not played by gentleman's rules."
"True enough," he said after some consideration. "I just don't like the thought of killing one's own people."
"I hope you don't think he does," replied Silent Annie. "This is a grim business. There's nothing romantic about harassing an overwhelming power with no hope of winning."
"If he knows he can't win, why does he do it?"
"To avoid losing."
"That sounds profound, but it doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense," said Cain.
"I'm sure he'll be happy to expand upon it for you."
"When?"
"Soon," she replied, deactivating the computer and heading back toward the vehicle. "Come along, Mr. Cain."
He fell into step behind her, and a moment later they were once again driving through the humid night air on a single-lane country road.
"Was he born on Safe Harbor?" asked Cain after a momentary silence.
"No."
"How long has he been here?"
"Safe Harbor has been his headquarters for about fifteen years now, though he spends about half his time off-planet."
"Have I ever seen him?" he asked, curious.
"I really couldn't say," she replied. "It's possible." She smiled. "Black Orpheus has, though he doesn't know it."
"There are a lot of things that damned folksinger doesn't know," said Cain.
"You're a very disapproving man, Mr. Cain," said Silent Annie. "Your life must have been filled with disappointments."
"No more than most," he answered. Then he smiled wryly. "On the other hand, there has been a noticeable lack of triumphs."
"Let's have no false modesty. You're a very successful bounty hunter."
"You've been watching too many video fictions," he said. "I don't call villains out to fight in the midday sun. There's nothing very challenging about walking up to a man who's never seen you before and blowing him away before he knows what you're up to."
"And is that what you did to Altair of Altair and the Jack of Diamonds?" she asked with a smile.
"No," he admitted. "I was careless in one case and clumsy in the other."
"What about Alexander the Elder? He had six men protecting him when you took him."
"Four." he corrected her.
"You're evading the point."
"I thought the point was that you were interested in me because of the people I didn't kill."
"That's true. But you're a man of many talents, and I'm sure Santiago can make use of all of them."
"We'll see," he said noncommittally.
They rode in silence for another half hour, the corn and wheat fields broken only by an occasional methane production plant, where the waste of Safe Harbor's farm animals was converted into energy. Finally she turned off the road and approached a row of silos.
"More spoils of conquest?" he asked as the vehicle came to a halt.
"A medical center," she replied.
"Why camouflage it?" he asked. "The Democracy has got better things to do than make raids on hospitals."
"Because Safe Harbor's population isn't large enough to support a facility of this size," explained Silent Annie. "A complex like this would draw unwanted attention to ourselves."
He got out of the vehicle and followed her into one of the silos. She led him to an elevator, and after a brief descent he found himself in a white, sterile environment some sixty feet beneath the ground.
"How big is this place?" he asked, looking down the polished corridors that radiated in all directions.
"I don't know the square footage," she replied, "but it extends beneath the entire silo complex. We have twenty-three laboratories, half a dozen observation wards, a pair of surgeries, and four isolation wards. There's also a commissary, as well as extensive staff quarters so that our people aren't seen arriving and leaving every day."
They began walking past the laboratories, each with its white-frocked medics and scientists, and finally came to the first of the observation wards. Cain paused to look in through a thick, one-way glass and saw nine men and women lying in beds, plugged in to life-support and monitoring units. They reminded him of burn victims, with blackened skins that blistered and peeled away from their bodies.
"What happened to them?" asked Cain, staring at an elderly woman whose cheekbones were both exposed.
"They're from Hyperion."
"Never heard of it."
"It was opened up five years ago," she said. "There were about five thousand initial settlers, all of them members of an obscure religious sect."
"They look like they believe in walking through fire," he commented.
She shook her head. "They believe in living in peace with their neighbors. In this particular case, their neighbors were a very aggressive humanoid race, and it took them almost two years to reach an accommodation—but they finally did." She paused. "Then the Democracy decided that Hyperion was strategically desirable as a military base. There were a couple of incidents involving the native population, and Hyperion was declared off limits to civilians. The colony, which had made its peace, refused to leave."
"And the navy did this to them?"
"Indirectly," she replied. "After the navy came to the conclusion that pacifying the native humanoids was more trouble than it was worth, they released a chemical agent in the atmosphere which killed off the entire race. It's far from the first such instance out here." She looked through the glass at the nine humans. "Unfortunately, it also caused a bacterial mutation that resulted in a virulent skin disease among the colonists. Since they had been warned to leave, the navy refuses to take responsibility for them."
"How many colonists survived?" asked Cain.
"Of the original five thousand, a little less than half of them are still alive."
"And how many of them are here?"
"Just those that you see. We haven't the room or the money to treat them all, so we brought a representative sample here to see if we could effect a cure. If we can come up with a serum or a vaccine, we'll ship it back to Hyperion with them."
"And you do this for how many worlds?"
"As many as we can."
"It must cost a small fortune to run this kind of operation," he commented.
"A large fortune," she corrected him. "We have four other facilities on the Inner Frontier."
"All functioning covertly?"
She nodded. "If the Democracy knew about them, they'd be that much closer to finding Santiago." She looked directly at him. "And if they find him, the people of Hyperion and a hundred other worlds of the Inner Frontier will have no place to turn."
They walked out into a corridor leading to the next ward, and Cain immediately stepped back to allow an orderly to wheel an enormous, elephantine being into one of the surgery rooms.
"What the hell was that?" he asked.
"A native of Castor Five," she replied.
"You work on aliens, too?"
"Her race is sentient, and it has been oppressed by the Democracy. We have no third qualification."
"You start treating all the aliens the Democracy has oppressed, and you won't be able to build enough hospitals to hold them," said Cain.
"I know," she said. "But we do what we can. It's just a gesture, but a very important one." She eyed him carefully. "Or are you of the opinion that it is Man's manifest destiny to rule the galaxy alone?"
"I never gave it much thought," he answered. "I suppose if might makes right, he's got a jump on the rest of the field."
"Does might make right?" she asked.
Cain shrugged. "No. But it makes it pretty difficult for anyone to tell you you're wrong."
"But not impossible," she pointed out. "And that's precisely what we're doing—by example." She
stared at him again. "I hope this is making some impression on you, Mr. Cain. It's very important that you understand exactly what we're fighting for."
"It's making an impression," he said noncommittally.
"I hope so," she repeated.
They walked through the remainder of the complex in silence, then returned to the elevator.
"How many more public works do I have to see before I get to meet Santiago?" asked Cain as they ascended to the surface.
"There aren't any more," said Silent Annie. "At least, not on Safe Harbor. We don't want to do anything that might call attention to this planet."
She stepped out into the interior of a silo, and he followed her as she made her way to the vehicle. A moment later they were once again speeding across the countryside.
"How much farther?" he asked after a few minutes.
"About fifteen miles," she replied. "It's been dark for almost three hours now. Are you getting hungry?"
"I can wait."
"I can signal ahead and have dinner waiting for you when we arrive."
"It's not necessary."
"Do you still intend to kill him?" she asked suddenly.
"I don't know."
She made no further comment, and they drove the next twenty minutes in silence. Then she took a hard left turn and began driving down a bumpy dirt road. In the distance Cain could see a white prefabricated house with a huge veranda that seemed to circle it completely.
"That's it?" he asked.
"That's it."
"He's not very well protected," he commented. "I've only spotted three sensing devices since we turned onto this road."
"You're not supposed to see any."
"It's my business to see them."
She shrugged. "It's dark out. Probably some of them have escaped your attention."
"I doubt it."
"You must also remember that he has no enemies on Safe Harbor," said Silent Annie. "Except perhaps for you."
"Just the same, his security's lousy," said Cain. "That guy on the roof stands out like a sore thumb."
"What guy?"
"The one with the laser rifle. He let the moonlight glint off his infrared scope a minute ago."
"I don't see anyone," she said, peering into the darkness.
"He's there, big as life—and twice as easy a target. It's going to take more than this to keep the Angel out."
"Is that your professional opinion?"
"It is."
"I'll tell him you said so."
"I'll tell him myself," said Cain.
They pulled up to the house and climbed out of the vehicle. Silent Annie led the way to the front door, which slid back into the wall before she reached it, letting out a burst of cool dry air in the process.
Cain followed her into the foyer, which was empty, and then into the large living room. There were a number of slightly shabby, very comfortable chairs and couches arranged in little groupings, and a heatless pseudofire roared in a brick fireplace. There was also a portable bar, a large holo screen, and a trio of elegantly framed mirrors—but it was the books that overwhelmed everything else in the room. They were everywhere—stacked neatly in floor-to-ceiling cases, piled on tables, casually tossed onto window seats, spread open over chair and sofa arms, even laid out on the hearth.
The only person in the room was a man dressed in a tan lounging suit. He sat on an easy chair, reading a leather-bound book and sipping an Alphard brandy.
He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. His hair was brown and thinning, and had started to turn gray at the sides. His eyes, too, were brown, and stared curiously at Cain from under long, thin eyebrows that sloped gently upward, giving him a perpetually questioning look. His nose had been broken at least once, possibly many times, and his teeth were so white and straight that Cain immediately decided they weren't his own. There was an S-shaped scar on the back of his right hand.
He was a burly man who was starting to put weight on a once powerful figure, but when he stood up he did so with an athletic grace.
"I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Sebastian," he said in a deep voice.
"Not as long as I've been waiting to meet you," said Cain.
Santiago smiled. "And now that you're here, which do you propose to do—talk or shoot?"
"We'll talk first," said Cain. He looked around the living room. "You've got quite a library. I don't think I've ever seen so many books in one place before."
"I like the heft and feel of a book," replied Santiago. "Computer libraries are filled with electronic impulses. Books are filled with words." He patted his book fondly and tossed it onto his chair. "I've always preferred words."
"You've also got a lot of mirrors," noted Cain.
"I'm a vain man."
"Tell whoever's behind them not to get overeager. I could have taken them out the second I entered the room."
Santiago laughed. "You heard him," he said, turning to the mirrors. "Leave us alone." He turned back to Silent Annie, who had been standing quietly behind Cain. "You can leave us, too. I'll be quite safe."
"You're an optimist," said Gain as Silent Annie left the room.
"A realist," said Santiago. "If you kill me, you'll do it in such a way that you live to spend the reward." He paused. "Can I offer you some brandy?"
Cain nodded, and Santiago walked over to the bar and poured out a glass while the bounty hunter studied him.
"Here you are," said Santiago, approaching him and handing him the brandy.
"You're too young," said Cain.
"Cosmetic surgery," replied Santiago with a smile. "I told you I was a vain man."
"You're also a wanted man."
"Only by the Democracy," said Santiago. "Let me suggest that sometimes it's not a bad idea to judge a man by his enemies."
"In your case it's an absolute necessity," said Cain sardonically. "I've met your friends."
Santiago shrugged. "One works with what's at hand. If I could have enlisted better allies than Poor Yorick and Altair of Altair and the others, I assure you I would have." He paused. "In fact, that's why you're here."
"So I've been told."
"We're very much alike, Sebastian. We hold the same values, we fight against the same oppression, we even subscribe to the same methodology. I very much want you on my side."
"I've retired from the revolution business," said Cain.
"You fought for the wrong causes."
"The causes were right," said Cain. "The men were wrong."
"I stand corrected."
"What makes you any better than they were?"
Santiago stared at him for a moment.
"I have a proposal," he announced at last. "You've had a long, hard day, Sebastian. You've killed a man, you've seen things that no member of the Democracy has ever seen, and you've finally come face to face with the most wanted man in the galaxy. You must be hot and tired and hungry." He paused. "Let's declare a truce for tonight. We'll have dinner, we'll get to know each other a little better, and tomorrow morning, when you're feeling rested, I promise that we'll talk business—mine and yours."
Cain stared at him impassively, then nodded. "I think I'll skip dinner, though." he said.
"You've only had one sandwich all day."
"You're very well informed," remarked Cain.
"And you're worrying needlessly," said Santiago. "I've had numerous opportunities to kill you since you landed on Safe Harbor. I didn't permit you to come all this way just to poison you."
"Makes sense." admitted Cain.
Santiago led him into the dining room, which was as cluttered with books as the living room.
"I trust you'll be a little easier on my pantry than Father William," said Santiago. He shook his head wonderingly. "The way that man eats, I don't know why he isn't dead by now."
"A lot of people are wondering the same thing about you," said Cain, seating himself across from Santiago.
"A lot of people think I am dead." said Santia
go. Suddenly he chuckled. "You wouldn't believe some of the stories they tell about me, Sebastian. I've heard that I was killed three different times last year, and that I laid waste to a little world called Silverblue out on the Galactic Rim. One story even had me assassinating some diplomat on Canphor Seven."
"You're also eleven feet tall and have orange hair." remarked Cain wryly.
"Really?" asked Santiago, interested. "I hadn't heard that one." He shrugged. "Well, I suppose that's the price of anonymity."
"I'd hardly call you anonymous." said Cain. "There are hundreds of men making full-time careers out of trying to hunt you down and kill you."
"And here I am, alive and well." said Santiago. "I'd say that's a pretty good definition of living anonymously."
"If you really want to be anonymous, why not scotch some of these myths and legends that have sprung up about you?"
"The more crimes the Democracy thinks I've committed, the more manpower they'll divert from people who can't defend themselves," he replied. "But here we are, talking business again, after I promised to let you relax."
"I don't mind," said Cain.
"We'll have ample time for it tomorrow," said Santiago. "Shall we talk about literature?"
Cain shrugged. "Whatever you like."
"Good," said Santiago as a pair of young men emerged from the kitchen and began serving them. "Have you ever read anything by Tanblixt?"
"I never heard of him."
"He's an it, not a him," said Santiago. "A Canphorite, in fact—and an absolutely brilliant poet."
"I've never been interested much in poetry," said Cain.
"Excellent soup," commented Santiago, sipping a spoonful. "Father William drinks it by the gallon."
"It's very good," agreed Cain, taking a taste.
"I've also been rereading a number of novels written in the days when we were still Earthbound," continued Santiago. "I've developed a special fondness for Dickens."
"David Copperfield?" suggested Cain.
"Ah!" Santiago smiled. "I knew you were a learned man."
"I just said I'd read it," replied Cain. "I never said I liked it."
