The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (38 page)

      
The Bandit knew he didn't have the firepower to take on the Navy in space, so he waited until they landed and most of the ships departed. Then he touched down on Madras with Dante, Virgil, and three new hirelings.

      
The moment they emerged from their ship they were captured by an armed patrol. The Bandit meekly surrendered, the others followed suit, and shortly thereafter they found themselves incarcerated in an otherwise-empty stockade, surrounded by a sonic barrier that became intensely painful every time anyone got within four feet of it.

      
"I wonder how long they plan to keep us here?" mused one of the new men.

      
"Not long," said the Bandit. "They'll want to know what we're doing here."

      
"Well, it
is
a mining world," said Dante. "We could say we're here to consider investing in one of the mining complexes.

      
"We'll tell them the truth," said the Bandit.

      
"That we're here to rob them of their bullion?"

      
"That's right."

      
"You could save a lot of ammunition that way," said Virgil dryly. "Given our position, they just might laugh themselves to death."

      
"You mean this cell?" asked the Bandit. "I can leave it whenever I choose to."

      
"Then what are we doing here in the first place?" continued Virgil.

      
"Wasn't this easier than searching the whole planet for their headquarters?" said the Bandit.

      
"Now that you've found their headquarters, why are we still incarcerated?" persisted the Indian.

      
"So far all we're seen are the guards. I assume we'll be questioned by someone higher up the chain of command, someone who might know exactly where the bullion is."

      
"You know they're probably monitoring every word we say," put in Dante.

      
"So what?" replied the Bandit. "Sooner or later they're going to have to talk to us—and if it's too much later, I'll destroy the stockade and initiate the conversation myself."

      
"I don't know why you didn't do it in the first place," muttered Virgil.

      
"If I'd just walked in and blown them away, no one would know who was responsible. I plan to answer all their questions honestly, especially who I am, let them inform the Democracy exactly who it was that robbed them."

      
"Isn't this a little early in the game for that?" suggested Dante. "Shouldn't we accumulate a nest egg and some more manpower before we start taunting the Democracy?"

      
"How much is enough?" replied the Bandit. "The sooner we begin our mission, the better."

      
A quartet of armed guards suddenly appeared, flanking an officer with a chest full of medals.

      
"So you want the Democracy to know who you are?" said the officer. "I think we can arrange that."

      
"I am Santiago," said the Bandit.

      
The officer laughed in amusement. "Can you spell 'delusional'?"

      
"I'm here for the bullion," continued the Bandit. "Where is it?"

      
"I admire your sense of humor," said the officer. "I can't say as much for your grip on reality."

      
"I'm only going to ask you once more. Where is the bullion?"

      
"In a safe place," said the officer. "We've run retina scans on all of you. You're the One-Armed Bandit. This one here is Virgil Soaring Hawk, the one on your left is a thief and murderer called Danny Briggs, the one directly behind you is—"

      
"I am Santiago," repeated the Bandit.

      
"We've got a holo recording of your intention to rob the bullion," said the officer. "You can be the One-Armed Bandit or Santiago or Peter Pan, for all I give a damn. You might as well call yourself Methuselah, because you're going to spend one hell of a long time in this stockade."

      
"You've had your chance," said the Bandit. He waved his arm at the officer and the guards, and a moment later all five lay dead on the shining, multi-colored floor.

      
Then he stood back, pointed to the tiny control panel on the far wall, and melted it. The sonic field vanished, and they walked out.

      
"If it was that easy, why are any of the rest of us here?" asked Virgil.

      
"Four of you are here to carry the gold, and the Rhymer's here so he can chronicle my exploits," said the Bandit. "The stockade is at the far end of the compound. As we were brought in, I saw a barracks, a mess hall, and an office. I'll handle the opposition. You search every inch of the compound until you find the bullion."

      
The Bandit didn't wait for them to respond, but walked out the door and straight to the barracks. Dante heard some screams, and then all was silent. He went to the office and began to search through it. There was a safe with a complicated computer lock that took him almost thirty minutes to disable, but there was no bullion in the safe, nor even any money, just a handful of coded crystals that presumably showed the disposition of Navy ships in the sector.

      
"Any luck?" asked Virgil from the doorway.

      
"Not yet," said Dante, sitting at a computer and examining the crystals. "How about you?"

      
"Not a thing."

      
"Wait a minute!" said Dante, sitting at a computer and examining a decoded crystal. "Hey, Santiago—I've got it!"

      
The Bandit appeared in the doorway a moment later.

      
"What did you find?" asked Dante.

      
"There's a school about four miles from here. The bullion is hidden there."

      
"Why?" asked Virgil.

      
"Probably to safeguard it against what just occurred," said the Bandit. "Did it give the bullion's location at the school?"

      
"No, just that it's there."

      
"There were some vehicles out front," said the Bandit. "Let's go."

      
A moment later they were racing toward the school. It turned out to be a boarding school, with a pair of dormitories and a large cafeteria.

      
"No guards," noted Virgil.

      
"Guards would call attention to the place," replied Dante. "This way no one will assume there's anything here that
needs
guarding."

      
The Bandit got out of the vehicle. "Unload the air sleds," he instructed Virgil. "The bullion's going to be heavy."

      
"I wonder where it's hidden?" said Dante. "This is a pretty large complex."

      
"Let's find out," said the Bandit. He pointed at a window, and a second later it crashed into a hundred pieces. Ten more windows, chosen at random, followed.

      
Suddenly a number of adults—obviously teachers—burst out of the school's entrance.

      
"What the hell is going on?" demanded one of them, a gray- haired woman who seemed to be in charge.

      
"This is a robbery," said the Bandit calmly. "We're here for the bullion."

      
"Bullion? What are you talking about?"

      
"Please don't waste my time by feigning ignorance. We have just come from the military compound. We
know
that they stored their bullion here."

      
"We don't have any bullion!"

      
"I told you not to waste our time," said the Bandit. "I tell you now that if you don't immediately agree to produce the bullion, I will take out the east wing of your school, regardless of who might be in it."

      
"You wouldn't dare!" said the woman. "There are 300 children in that wing."

      
The Bandit turned and pointed toward the east wing.

      
"No!"
yelled Dante, hurling himself at the Bandit's arm and trying to hang onto it.

      
The Bandit shrugged and Dante went flying through the air. By the time he'd hit the ground, there was a deafening explosion and the east wing was no more.

      
"The bullion," said the Bandit calmly, "or the west wing goes next."

      
"Don't!" cried the woman. "I'll show you where it is!"

      
The Bandit nodded at Virgil and the three other men. "Follow her and bring it back out."

      
As they disappeared inside the school, the Bandit turned to Dante, who was still sprawled in the dirt.

      
"I will not tolerate another display of disloyalty," he said coldly.

      
"Goddammit to hell!" spat Dante. "Do you realize what you've done?"

      
"I got us the bullion."

      
"You killed 300 kids!"

      
"They were Democracy children," said the Bandit with an unconcerned shrug. "Why wait until they grow up to exterminate them?"

      
Dante stared long and hard at his hand-picked Santiago.
My God—what have I done?

Part 4: SILVERMANE'S BOOK

25.

      
      
      
There are those who will swear he's a hero,

      
      
      
Born to fulfill Mankind's dreams.

      
      
      
But listen to those who now are his foes:

      
      
      
Santiago is not what he seems.

      
The door opened and Matilda entered her room.

      
"Lights," she said, and instantly the room was filled with light.

      
She turned to walk to a closet, then jumped as she saw Dante Alighieri seated in a chair by her desk.

      
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

      
"We have to talk."

      
"I've spent two weeks on the road recruiting members for the organization. I'm tired. We'll talk tomorrow."

      
"Now,"
he said, and something in his voice convinced her to sit on the edge of her bed and face him.

      
"All right," she said, staring at him. "What's up."

      
"We've made a terrible mistake."

      
"What are you talking about?"

      
"The Bandit."

      
"You mean Santiago?"

      
"He's no more Santiago than I am," said Dante. "He never was."

      
"Just because he doesn't fit your image of—"

      
"Shut up and listen!" snapped Dante.

      
Again she stared at him. "Just what the hell did he do?"

      
"What would you say if I told you he killed 300 kids for no reason except that someday they'd grow up to be members of the Democracy?"

      
"Did he?"

      
"Yes. On Madras IV."

      
"He must have had some reason."

      
"I just gave it to you."

      
She frowned. "300 children?"

      
"In cold blood." Dante paused. "You and I can argue about whether he should have killed that crazy old lady back on Heliopolis. After all, she was a witness to a crime and could describe Santiago. But these were just kids. They never saw us, we never saw them."

      
"That doesn't seem like him."

      
"The hell it doesn't. He killed a couple of thousand people in the Blixtor Maze. This isn't the same guy we knew three months ago—or if it is, then we were terrible judges of character."

      
"Of course he's the same man. We didn't set out to select an angel."

      
"We don't want an angel," agreed Dante. "But we want someone who can discriminate between a Democracy officer or bureaucrat and a child who lives in the Democracy."

      
"Maybe we defined the parameters of the job wrong," suggested Matilda. "Maybe he thinks—"

      
"You're not paying attention," interrupted Dante. "Fuck the definitions. Do we want a Santiago who'll wipe out 300 kids for any reason at all?"

      
She sighed deeply. "No," she said at last. "No, we don't."

      
"Part of it is my fault. I told him to lose the 'sirs' and 'ma'ams', and never to apologize, that Santiago didn't do that. But he's gone overboard. I should have known it would happen before we ever set foot on Madras."

      
"How could you?"

      
"Virgil's helped me out of some tight spots, and introduced me to some people I wanted to meet . . . but let's be honest: he's a lying, drug-addicted killer who's probably sent half a hundred bedmates to the psycho ward. Whatever he is to me, he's nothing to Santiago—and yet thousands of men and aliens died in the Blixtor Maze just so the Bandit could set him free. That's not loyalty; that's out-and-out crazy."

      
"All right," said Matilda. "When you put it that way, I can't disagree with you."