The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (14 page)

      
He made millions from Billy the Whip, and millions more from the New Bronte Sisters, and he had almost fifty other partners out there earning money for him—but the one he wanted the most, the one he was sure had amassed the greatest fortune, Waltzin' Matilda, had thus far eluded him. Oh, he knew where she worked and where she lived, and whenever she changed planets—which she did on an almost weekly basis—his network of informants always let him know where she came to rest. But she was so damned creative in her lawlessness that he had yet to catch her in a compromising position, and she remained his Holy Grail.

      
He knew she was on Prateep IV. He knew she was dancing at the Diamond Emporium. He knew that she had signed a six-day contract, and had already been there five days. He knew that this was the night she figured to strike. He knew that by morning someone would be short hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of credits, and that her alibi would be airtight.

      
He tried to think like her, to predict what she might do, but he had nothing to go on, no past performance, no
motus operandi
. The damned woman never operated in the same way twice, and trying to predict and out-think her was driving him to distraction.

      
He sat in the audience, aware that Dimitrios of the Three Burners was there too, and wondered if Dimitrios had come for Matilda. He had no desire to go up against Dimitrios—no one in his right mind did—but he wasn't going to give Matilda up without a fight.

      
So Simon Legree sat there, silent, motionless, going over endless scenarios and permutations in his mind, and wondering how long it would be before Matilda emerged from her dressing room and returned to her hotel.

      
But Matilda had more important things on her mind—or confronting her from a few feet away. She stared curiously at the young man who knew she had just plundered the brokerage house but wanted only to talk about Santiago.

      
"He's been dead for more than a century," she said at last. "What makes you think I know anything about him?"

      
"Tyrannosaur Bailey seems to think you know more about him than anyone else alive," answered Dante.

      
"Probably I do," she agreed. "So what? He's still been dead for over a century."

      
Dante met her stare. "
All
of them have been," he said.

      
She looked her surprise. "I thought I was the only one who knew!"

      
"You were, until a few weeks ago."

      
"What happened a few weeks ago?"

      
"I found Black Orpheus' manuscript."

      
"The whole thing?"

      
Dante nodded. "Including a bunch of verses no one's ever seen or heard."

      
"Okay, so you know there was more than one Santiago," said Matilda. "So what? That was
his
secret, not mine."

      
"Tell me about them," said Dante. "And tell me why you're the expert."

      
"I'm the only living descendant of Santiago."

      
"
Which
Santiago?"

      
"What difference does it make?"

      
"It would help me to believe you."

      
"I don't give a damn if you believe me or not."

      
"Look, I have no reason
not
to believe you, and I want very much to. It's in both of our best interests."

      
"Why?" she insisted. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

      
"My name is Dante Alighieri. The name I plan to be remembered by is The Rhymer."

      
"So you're the new Black Orpheus."

      
"You're very quick, Miss . . . ah . . ."

      
"Matilda." She frowned. "Okay, you're Orpheus. That's doesn't change anything. Santiago still died more than a century ago."

      
Dante stared at her for a long minute. "I think it's time for him to live again," he said at last.

      
Her eyes widened, and a smile slowly crossed her face. "Now
that's
an interesting idea."

      
"I'm glad you think so."

      
"Just a minute!" she said. "I hope to hell you're not thinking of
me
!"

      
"I'm not thinking of anyone in particular," said Dante. "But if we can talk, if you have any memorabilia, anything at all, I might get a better idea of what I'm looking for. As far as I can tell, of them all only Sebastian Cain could be considered truly skilled with his weapons, so they obviously had other qualities."

      
"They did."

      
"Qualities such as you exhibited tonight."

      
"I told you—I'm not a candidate for the job!" she snapped. "I'd like a Santiago, if only to take some of the pressure off me and give the law and the bounty hunters an even bigger target—so why in the world would I volunteer?"

      
"All right," he said. "I won't bring it up again." He paused. "
Do
you have any records or other memorabilia—letters, holographs, anything at all?"

      
"My family has lived like kings for three generations on what he chose to leave us—probably about two percent of what he was worth—but whatever we started with, it was converted into cash over a century ago. I've never seen any documents or anything like that."

      
"Did they ever speak of him?"

      
"How else would I know I was his great-great-granddaughter?"

      
"What did they say?"

      
"When people were around, the usual—that he was the greatest bandit in the galaxy, that he was a terrible man, that he might not have even been a man at all."

      
"And when people weren't around?"

      
She studied his face again, then shrugged. "What the hell. Who cares after this long?" She leaned back against a wall. "They told me that he was a secret revolutionary, that he was trying, not to overthrow the Democracy, but to hold it in check, to stop it from plundering the human colonies on the Frontier when there were so many alien worlds to plunder." She paused. "Does that agree with what Orpheus said?"

      
"No," replied Dante. "But Orpheus didn't know. It agrees with what I pieced together after reading the manuscript. Orpheus was too close to things. He studied all the people, but he never stepped back and really looked at the picture." He looked at her. "What else did they tell you?"

      
"That he had to do some morally questionable things, that he killed a lot of men because he felt his cause was just. Since it was essential that the Democracy think of Santiago as an outlaw rather than a revolutionary, almost everyone who worked for him was a criminal. Some looted and murdered on their own and let him to take the blame—and some did terrible things on his orders." He paused. "They all served his cause, one way or another."

      
"Sounds about right. He came into existence because we needed him. I think we need him again."

      
"And if you and I select him and train him and control him, there's no reason why we shouldn't get a little piece of the action," she agreed.

      
"I don't want it," said Orpheus. "I just want
him
."

      
She looked at him like he was crazy. "Why?"

      
Dante shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. But he helps define me: there can't be an Orpheus without a Santiago. And God knows the need still exists. I've seen more brutality practiced in the name of the Democracy than I've ever seen practiced against it. Nothing's changed. They still don't seem to remember that they're in business to protect us, not plunder us."

      
"They would say they're doing just that."

      
"They're doing that if you're a citizen in good standing," replied Dante. "But out here, on the Frontier, they prevent alien races from running roughshod over us only so they can do it themselves. It's time to remind them just what the hell the Navy is
supposed
to be doing out here."

      
"What makes you think one man can stand up to them?" asked Matilda.

      
"Your great-great-grandfather did."

      
"
They
didn't know that, or they'd have used the whole Navy to hunt him down," she replied. "I know he robbed a lot of Navy convoys, and I know he ran the Democracy ragged trying to hunt him down—but what good did it do? All the Santiagos are dead, and the Democracy's still here."

      
"They stopped it from being worse," said Dante. "They built hospitals, they misdirected the Navy, they saved some alien worlds from total destruction. That's
some
thing, damn it."

      
"And who knows it besides you and me?" said Matilda. "Everyone he fought for thought he was a criminal out for
their
property."

      
"You know who knows it?" shot back Dante. "The
Democracy
knows it. They were scared to death of him—of them—for more than half a century . . . and if Santiago comes back, they'll be scared again."

      
She grimaced. "You know why there are no more Santiagos?"

      
"Why?"

      
"Because the Democracy blew Safe Harbor to smithereens when they got word that an alien force was hiding there. They never knew it was Santiago's headquarters, or that they'd killed him and his chosen successors. We live out here on the Frontier, so we think of him as King of the Outlaws—but if you're the Democracy, he's no more than a bothersome insect that's hardly worth swatting."

      
"You're wrong," said Dante. "I've studied it. The Democracy had eleven different agencies charged with finding and terminating him. Even today there's still one agency whose job is to find out who he was, how he got to be so powerful, and to stop history from ever repeating itself."

      
"Really?" she asked, interested.

      
He nodded. "Really." He paused. "So are you in or out?"

      
"Like I told you, I could use a Santiago to take the heat off me. Hell, I could use a couple of dozen. I'm in. Now what do I do?"

      
"Now we pool our knowledge and try to find the next Santiago."

      
"We could do a lot worse than the Tyrannosaur," she suggested.

      
"He's out. Doesn't want any part of it—and he's not what we need anyway."

      
"Why not? He's well-named."

      
"Santiago wasn't just a physical force, or even primarily one," answered Dante. "He was a
moral
force. Men who never gave allegiance to anyone laid down their lives for him." He paused. "Do you see anyone giving up their lives because Bailey tells them to?"

      
"If that's your criterion, we'll never find a Santiago," she complained.

      
"We'll find him, all right," said Dante firmly. "The times will bring him forth."

      
"They haven't brought him yet."

      
"He's out there somewhere," said Dante. "But he doesn't
know
he's Santiago. It was easier for most of the others, all of them except the first one; they were recruited by the man they succeeded.
Our
Santiago doesn't know that the Santiago business still exists."

      
"All right, we'll proceed on that assumption," said Matilda. "I'll see what I can remember from my childhood." She paused. "I'm leaving Prateep tomorrow, for New Kenya. What should I be looking for?"

      
"I don't know. They were all different. Reading between the lines, I figure the original collected animals for zoos, and he was followed by a chess master, a farmer, a bounty hunter, and a bank robber. You'll just have to use your judgment, look for the kind of qualities you think he should have."

      
"That's not much to go on."

      
"We're planning to take the Frontier back from the Democracy. We can't put too many restrictions on the man who will lead us."

      
"All right," she said. "Where will you be? How can I contact you?"

      
"
I'll
contact
you
." She stared at him curiously. "I'm a little hotter than you are right now," he explained. "I've got to keep moving."

      
"What did you do?"

      
"Nothing," he said wryly. "
That's
one of the things I have against the Democracy."

      
"I saw Dimitrios in the audience," she said. "Is
he
looking for you?"

      
"I doubt it," answered Dante. "If he was, I'm sure he'd have found me by now."

      
"He's one hell of a bounty hunter," Matilda noted. "You don't seem very worried about it."

      
"I'm not without my resources."

      
"They must be formidable."

      
"They're okay." He got to his feet. "I think I'd better be going now. I'll contact you again before you leave New Kenya."

      
"I don't know where I'll be staying yet."

      
"I'll find you."

      
He turned toward the door, which opened before he could reach it—and Simon Legree, dressed in his trademark navy blue, entered the dressing room, a burner in one hand, a screecher in the other.