The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (26 page)

      
"And you showed them how?"

      
"For a few years. Then they were absorbed by Barioke, one of the major warlords on the Rim, and I went to work for him. Over the years I've worked for half a dozen organizations that needed to hide and, at the same time, maximize their resources." He smiled. "The one you dubbed the Scarlet Infidel tells me you may be putting together another one."

      
"It's possible," said Dante. "Who are you working for now?"

      
"I'm between jobs," said the Grand Finale, looking uncomfortable for the first time.

      
"They caught you with your hand in the till," said Dante. It was not a question.

      
"Why should you think so?"

      
"Because we're as far from the Rim as it's possible to get. There's the Rim, then the Outer Frontier and the Spiral Arms, then the Democracy, and then the Inner Frontier and the Core. Why else would you be a couple of hundred thousand light-years from your warlord? How much did you run off with?"

      
"Not enough," admitted the Finale, unable to hide his bitterness. "I thought I'd never have to work again. I forgot how much it costs to live when you're in hiding."

      
"Yeah, it gets expensive," agreed Dante. "How long have you been the Grand Finale?"

      
"A few months." He grinned guiltily. "I saw a bakery on Ribot IV called the Grand Finale."

      
"Silly name."

      
"Well, I'm hardly likely to call myself the Banker or the Accountant when I'm trying to hide my identity."

      
"True enough," said Dante. "What's your real name?"

      
"Wilbur Connaught."

      
"If we decided to invite you to join us, Wilbur, what is it going to cost us?"

      
"It varies."

      
"Explain."

      
"I don't work for a salary. I'll take some living expenses as a draw against what I earn, but you'll pay me three percent of the profit I make with the money you give me to work with."

      
"Three percent doesn't seem like very much for a man with your credentials," said Dante. "What's the catch?"

      
"No catch. After a couple of years, you'll find yourself resenting how much you pay me."

      
"Give me an example of what you do."

      
"Let's say you give me a million credits, to name a nice round number," said Wilbur. "And let's say you don't need it for a year."

      
"Okay, let's say so."

      
"I'll use my sources to find those planets that are suffering from hyperinflation. They can't be just
any
planets; their economies have to be backed by the Democracy." He paused. "With more than 50,000 words to choose from, it won't be too hard to find three worlds that are returning 100% per annum on deposits, again using a nice round number."

      
"Okay, so you can double the money."

      
Wilbur snorted contemptuously. "Any fool can double the money. Just for the sake of argument, let's say each world has a 24-hour day. I'll set up a computer program that transfers the money to each of the three worlds every eight Standard hours. Figuring simplistically, this will quadruple your money in a year, but actually, given compounded interest, it'll come much closer to quintupling. There's no stock market in the galaxy that can guarantee you an annualized 500% return, and we'll do this with the full faith and backing of the Democracy. If any of those banks fail, the Democracy will step in and make good their debts."

      
"Very interesting," said Dante. "I'm impressed."

      
"That's kindergarten stuff," said Wilbur. "I just used it for a simple-to-understand example. There are investments and machinations that can give you a tenfold return in half the time. You'll need to pay an army, to supply them with weapons and ship, to keep lines of communication open. It all costs money. You need
me
, Rhymer."

      
"I'm sold," said Dante. "But it could take awhile before we're ready for you, before we have anything for you to invest."

      
"I'm not going anywhere," said Wilbur. "I hate Heliopolis, but I'm probably safer hiding out in this hellhole than anywhere else." He sighed. "Almost makes me wish I'd stayed a banker."

      
"And we won't have an army, not in the normal sense of one."

      
"Neither did the Kalimort—but they sure killed a lot of people."

      
"That doesn't bother you?"

      
"My job is making money. I'm not responsible for what you do with it."

      
"That's a refreshing attitude," commented Dante.

      
"But if you use it against the Democracy, I won't be unhappy."

      
"Why should that be?"

      
"There's been a price on my head ever since I worked for the Kalimort," said Wilbur. "I've got two grandchildren in the Deluros system that I'll never see. That's reason enough."

      
"How will I get in touch with you?"

      
"I'm at the Royal Khan." The old man looked at him. "Have you found your Santiago yet?"

      
"I'm interviewing a very promising candidate tomorrow," said Dante.

      
"I didn't know they could apply for the job."

      
"They can't."

      
"But you just said—"

      
"He doesn't know what I want to talk to him about," said Dante.

      
"Well, if you're here for anyone, it's got to be the One- Armed Bandit," said Wilbur.

      
"What's your opinion of him?"

      
"You could do worse."

      
"That's all you've got to say?"

      
"My job is making money," said Wilbur. "Your job seems to be deciding who I make it for. I wouldn't let you tell me how to go about my business; I don't propose to tell you how to go about yours."

      
"You're going to be a pleasure to work with, old man."

      
"If you really think so, Rhymer, you might put me in a verse or two next time you're working on your poem."

      
"I might, at that."

      
The Grand Finale got to his feet. "I'm going back to my room now. No sense waiting til the sun starts coming out. It's hot enough as it is."

      
"We'll talk again soon," promised Dante.

      
"Not necessary," replied Wilbur. "I've told you what I can do and you've agreed to hire me. Contact me again when you're ready for me."

      
He walked out of the bar, crossed through the lobby, and went out the airlock while Dante sipped his beer and watched him bend over as the force of gravity hit him.

      
The poet considered going back to sleep, but decided that he didn't feel like wrestling the Injun for his bed, so he activated the bar's holo set and watched news and sports results from back in the Democracy until the first rays of the huge sun began lighting the streets.

      
He checked his timepiece, decided it was still a couple of hours too early to visit the Bandit, and walked out to the lobby.

      
"May I help you, sir?" said the night clerk.

      
"Yeah. Where do I go for breakfast around here?"

      
"We have our own restaurant."

      
"I know. But it doesn't open for another hour, and I'm hungry now."

      
"It's against our policy to recommend any other restaurants, so I am not permitted to tell you that The Deviled Egg is an excellent establishment and is located 60 yards to your right as you leave the Tamerlaine," said the clerk with a smile. "I hope you will forgive my reticence, sir."

      
Dante flipped him a coin. "All is forgiven and forgotten," he said, walking to the airlock.

      
The heat hit him the second he stepped outside. So did the gravity. He had a feeling he was adjusting to the thin air, because he walked the block to the restaurant without panting.

      
He walked through the near-empty Deviled Egg, found a table in the corner where he could look out through the front window and observe the few people who were out on the street, and ate a leisurely breakfast.

      
He sipped his coffee, checked his timepiece again, and decided that it was almost time to leave for the Royal Khan. He wondered if he should have Matilda come with him, but decided against it. He couldn't help feeling that she was a little bit in love with the One-Armed Bandit, and while he had no problem with that, he felt he'd rather present the proposal alone, with no emotional undercurrents distracting the Bandit.

      
He paid his bill, got up, and walked back into the hot, humid, thin Heliopolis air. The Royal Khan was half a block away, and he headed toward it.

      
A young woman was walking in his direction. As they passed each other she veered slightly and brushed against him. He thought nothing of it until he reached the lobby of the Royal Khan. A human waiter seemed to be charged with the task of bringing every person who entered the lobby a cold drink, and Dante reached into his pocket to grab a coin and tip him. Instead, he found a folded piece of paper which the woman had obvious placed there. He unfolded it and read it:

      
I know why you are here. The Scarlet Infidel thinks you will be raising an army, but that's not the way Santiago fought in the past, and it's not the way to fight now.

      
"That goddamned Injun's got a big mouth," muttered Dante. He continued reading.

      
I have no love for the Democracy. If you would like to discuss matters of mutual interest, fold this up and put it back in your pocket, and I will contact you after you speak to the man you came to Heliopolis II to see.

      
Virgil hadn't known he'd be seeing the Bandit this morning. Which meant she'd figured it out herself. It didn't make her a genius, but it made her bright enough to talk to. Dante carefully folded the note and replaced it in his pocket.

      
He looked around to see who was watching him. The lobby was empty and there was no one in the street outside, but somehow he knew that his action had registered with
someone
.

      
He tipped the waiter, who had waited impatiently while he'd read the note, and then went to the airlift. He was going to the Bandit's room as the successor to Black Orpheus; he had every hope that he would leave as the creator of Santiago.

17.

      
      
A blossom, a petal, an odor so nice,

      
      
The Flower of Samarkand's sugar and spice.

      
      
She eschews the moral and practices vice,

      
      
With a passion that's hot, and a heart cold as ice.

      
The door slid open and Dante entered the room. It was a little larger than his room at the Tamerlaine, but the air conditioning didn't seem to be working as well. Then he found himself gasping for breath, and he realized that the window was half-open.

      
"You sure you want the bring the outdoors in?" he asked, pointing to the window.

      
The One-Armed Bandit, who was floating a few inches above the ground on an easy-chair that constantly remolded itself to his body's movements, glanced at the window.

      
"You can shut it if you like, Mr. Alighieri."

      
Dante walked over and commanded the window to close. It sealed itself shut an instant later.

      
"Don't you find the heat uncomfortable?" asked Dante curiously.

      
"Of course I do."

      
"Then why—?"

      
"Because then I find the outdoors a little less uncomfortable, and that's where I do most of my work."

      
"Makes sense," said Dante. He looked around and saw an empty chair by the desk. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

      
"You're my guest, Mr. Alighieri," said the Bandit. "You can have
this
chair if you like."

      
"The desk chair will be fine," said Dante, as he walked over and sat down. "I take it you're free for the day?"

      
"My services aren't needed." The Bandit paused. "So far, anyway."

      
"I think you're wrong," said Dante. "I think your services are needed more than you can imagine."

      
"Have the Unicorns—?"

      
"This has nothing to do with the Unicorns," said the poet. "Shall I continue?"

      
The Bandit nodded.

      
"What do you know about Santiago?"

      
"Not very much," admitted the Bandit. "They say that he was King of the Outlaws, and that he died more than a century ago. Why?"

      
"He was an outlaw, all right," said Dante. "But what if I told you that it was just a cover?"

      
"A cover?" said the Bandit, frowning. "For what?"