The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (43 page)

      
"Well what?"

      
"What I said. Does it sound like something that might interest you?"

      
Silvermane continued staring at him. Finally he spoke. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that you were recruiting the Black Death to go to war with the Democracy?"

      
"No. I was interviewing him about eradicating a mistake—but he wasn't the man for the job. We were just about to leave when you showed up."

      
"What is the mistake?"

      
Now it was Dante's turn to stare in silence for a long moment, as he tried to decide how much to tell the tall man. "We chose the wrong man for the job."

      
"The job you're offering me?"

      
"The job I'm willing to discuss with you. I'm not offering anything yet."

      
"All right. Who did you choose originally?"

      
"A man known as the One-Armed Bandit."

      
"I've heard of him."

      
"Everyone has," Virgil put in.

      
"I heard he vanished from sight a few months ago," continued Silvermane. "I assumed he'd been killed. Eventually that happens to just about everyone in our line of work."

      
"The One-Armed Bandit is no more," said Dante. "But the man who
was
the One-Armed Bandit is still around."

      
"Oh?"

      
"These days he calls himself Santiago."

      
"The King of the Outlaws," said Silvermane. "If he wanted to attract attention, he couldn't have chosen a more obvious name. Tell me about it."

      
"We convinced him that it was time for Santiago to return to the Inner Frontier, to walk among Men again, to harass and harry the Democracy."

      
"The way I heard it, Santiago harassed and harried everyone for profit," said Silvermane.

      
"That's the way he
wanted
people to hear it," said Matilda.

      
Silvermane didn't have to be force-fed the proper assumption. "Okay, so he was a revolutionary. He didn't get very far. We've still got a Democracy."

      
"We need the Democracy," said Dante. "No one's trying to overthrow it."

      
Again the tall man surprised them with the speed with which he could assimilate what was being said. "So he was trying to lessen their abuses out here, and of course he had to convince them he was an outlaw. Even Santiago couldn't have held off the Navy."

      
Dante and Matilda exchange looks.

      
He's awfully fast on the uptake. Maybe, just maybe . . .

      
"That's it in a nutshell," said Dante.

      
"And what's the problem with the One-Armed Bandit?" asked Silvermane. "Has he gone overboard on the outlaw part?"

      
"I wish it was that easy," admitted Dante with a grimace.

      
"What is it, then?"

      
"We were on Madres a couple of weeks ago . . ." began Dante.

      
"That was
him
?" said Silvermane. "That made the news everywhere on the Frontier, as well as the Democracy. More than 300 kids slaughtered."

      
"That was him."

      
"What the hell got into him?"

      
"He says that's 300 kids that won't grow up to be 300 members of the Democracy."

      
"He's a fool," said Silvermane. "99 percent of the Democracy is just like the men and women who walked past my father when he was dying. They're not heroes or villains, they just don't want to get involved. Hell, they're what the Democracy's there to protect. If you've got a problem with the Democracy, eventually you emigrate and come out to the Frontier." He paused. "You've got yourself a real problem, and of your own making. I assume that without you, there'd be no Santiago."

      
"I was part of it," interjected Matilda. "It wasn't just him."

      
"We've been a century without Santiago," said Silvermane. "A trillion people have been born and died in that time, maybe more. Why is it that you two have decided to resurrect him?"

      
Matilda gestured to Dante. "He's the new Black Orpheus."

      
"Self-appointed?"

      
"I've got the original's manuscript," said Dante. "That's how I was able to find out what Santiago really was. I'm continuing his work—and if it's to be about anything besides a handful of misfits and losers, if there's to be any balance in the galaxy, then we need a Santiago."

      
"So you want me to become Santiago because it'll make a satisfying poem," said Silvermane noncommittally. He turned to Matilda. "What about you?"

      
"I'm his great-granddaughter."

      
"You want me to plunder the Frontier and then die so you can claim your inheritance?"

      
"It's simpler than that," she answered. "I need Santiago to take the heat off me, to give the Democracy a bigger target."

      
Silvermane smiled. "I was wondering if we'd ever meet, Matilda."

      
"I haven't told you my name."

      
"You didn't have to. I heard that Waltzin' Matilda was traveling with the new Black Orpheus. And you just told me as much yourself: if only Santiago will draw the Democracy's attention away from you, you have to be Waltzin' Matilda." The smile vanished as he stared at her. "I've been hearing about you for years. Given your accomplishments, you're younger than I expected."

      
"I started early."

      
Silvermane turned to Virgil. "What about you?"

      
"I'm with him," said Virgil, jerking a thumb in Dante's direction.

      
"Why?"

      
"It's too complicated to explain—or maybe too simple."

      
"Try."

      
"He's Dante. I'm Virgil."

      
"How many circles of hell have you led him through so far?" asked Silvermane.

      
"Sonuvabitch!" exclaimed Virgil, obviously impressed. "You've read it!"

      
"It seems to me there's an awful lot of poetry going on around here," said Silvermane. "But it seems that these days even poets wind up relying on the sword."

      
"Maybe the two aren't mutually exclusive," suggested Dante. "Maybe it's the pen that must direct the sword."

      
Silvermane patted his pistol. "Maybe I'm writing history with my own pen."

      
"Are you ready to write an epic?" asked Dante. "Or are you going to keep writing little unrelated pieces that will all be forgotten?"

      
"I'm happy curing the ills of the Frontier one by one," said Silvermane. "I don't know how I'd feel about trying to cure them wholesale."

      
"I can't make you," said Dante. "I just want you to think about it."

      
"You say that, but what you mean is that you want me to think about killing the One-Armed Bandit—who, I should point out, wouldn't need killing if you hadn't chosen
him
to be your secret hero."

      
"I really don't want him killed if it can be avoided, if we can find some other way."

      
"How many deposed tyrants are walking around these days?" asked Silvermane. "If he's got the bit between his teeth, if he believes in what he's doing, there's only one way to replace him, and we both know what that is."

      
"You're a cold son of a bitch, you know that?" said Dante irritably.

      
"I'm in a cold business."

      
"You're not in a business at all. You don't demand pay for what you do." Dante paused and studied him carefully. "How do we know you won't be as much of a fanatic as the Bandit is?"

      
"You don't."

      
"What do
you
think?" said Dante.

      
"I have no idea," admitted Silvermane. "I don't think I'm a fanatic, and I don't think I can be corrupted—but until you give me a cause I'm willing to die for and combine it with absolute power, how can I answer your question with any certainty?"

      
"You just did," said Dante. "I trust you."

      
"I thank you for your trust, but I haven't said I'm interested in the job yet."

      
"I know. Take some time and think about it. We'll explain how we're setting up an organization, what connections we've established so far." Dante paused. "But don't take too long. If he goes and slaughters another 300 kids, I'll have to take him on myself, and I don't have the chance of a snowball in hell."

      
"Then why do it?"

      
"Because he's my responsibility," answered Dante. "Because those kids would be alive if it wasn't for me."

      
"If I agree to become Santiago, I think we're going to get along just fine," said Silvermane.

      
"When do you want me to learn about the operation?"

      
"The first thing you'd better tell me about is the One-Armed Bandit," said Silvermane. "On the not-unreasonable assumption that he has no intention of resigning, he's the first obstacle, and if he can't be overcome, none of the rest matters. I've heard about that prosthetic arm of his, but I don't really know anything about it. Just how lethal is it?"

      
"Depending how he's using it, he pinpoint a target no bigger than a coin at 600 yards, or he can take out a city block."

      
"Is he inclined to shoot first or talk first?"

      
"Once upon a time he talked first," said Dante. "These days I don't know."

      
"Left arm or right?"

      
"Left."

      
"Any vision problems?" asked Silvermane.

      
"Not to my knowledge."

      
"Okay, I'll think about it."

      
"Where will we find you?"

      
"I'll be leaving for New Pategonia in an hour. That's about sixteen lightyears from here. You can find me at the Jong Palace."

      
"That's a casino?"

      
Silvermane smiled. "A hotel."

      
"With Henry—that's the Black Death—dead, we have no reason to stay here. We might as well go to New Pategonia with you."

      
"There's no room in my ship."

      
"I meant that we'll leave Tosca when you do."

      
"All right. I'll see you there." He walked to the door, then turned back to them. "If I decide to do it, you won't regret asking me. I'll be the best Santiago I can be." Then he was out in the street.

      
"Jesus, I hope so!" muttered Dante.

29.

      
Simon Ten Broek loves to draw attention;

      
Simon Ten Broek spent years in bleak detention;

      
Simon Ten Broek, with crimes too vile to mention;

      
Simon Ten Broek won't live to see his pension.

      
New Pategonia was everything that Tosca was not: green, temperate, pleasant, criss-crossed by rivers, framed with snow- capped mountains. It had been developed into a resort world by the cartel that had laid claim to it. They erected a ski lodge atop the snowiest mountain, then leased out the rest of the range, until the place was dotted with ski facilities. Next they expanded downward, building half a dozen fishing camps along the meandering rivers. Soon a quartet of towns sprang up, and before long the secluded little world was actually bustling with permanent and transient populations.

      
The largest of the towns, quickly approaching city status, was Belvidere, and it was there that Dante and his companions found the Jong Palace. After registering for a room, Virgil immediately went off by himself in search of a little professional love, hopefully from a different species, and Dante and Matilda sat down in a corner of the lobby while a small furry alien loaded their luggage onto an oversized airsled and carefully guided it up to their rooms.

      
"Have you done any further thinking about it?" asked the poet when he was sure no one could overhear them.

      
"That's all I've been thinking about," answered Matilda.

      
"Me too."

      
"And what have you concluded?"

      
"If the Bandit goes out and kills more innocent bystanders, kids or adults, it makes no difference. We'll have to stop him, and like it or not Joshua Silvermane is the only weapon we've got."

      
"I keep thinking that if we found the Bandit and Silvermane in less than four months, maybe we could find the perfect Santiago in a year or two," said Matilda.

      
"Maybe we could," admitted Dante. "Or maybe we found him already."

      
"Silvermane?"

      
"Maybe."

      
Matilda frowned. "Surely you're not referring to the Bandit?" she said.

      
"I don't know. Maybe I was a little too full of myself when I thought this thing up. What special insight do I have into what it takes to be Santiago? Hell, maybe killing them off before they grow up to be soldiers and cops and bounty hunters is the right way to go about it."