The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (52 page)

      
"It's not important," said Dante. "The important thing is that you're here."

      
"I
had
to come," said Taylor bitterly. "I needed the money."

      
"Silvermane's
paying
you? I thought he told me you owed him a favor."

      
"I don't owe him a big enough favor to put my life on the line without money—five thousand credits up front, twenty more when I'm done."

      
"Well, that's between you and him. I'm just here to lay out the situation for you."

      
"You can buy me a drink in the bar while you're talking."

      
"I thought he just paid you five thousand credits," said Dante with a smile.

      
"That's more than I've seen in two years," said Taylor. His eyes became unfocused, as if he was looking back across the last few years. "You back out of one goddamned fight . . ."

      
He fell silent, and while Dante was curious, he decided it would be best not to ask any questions at present. He led Taylor to the bar and let the newcomer order for both of them.

      
"A pair of Dust Whores," Taylor told the bartender. "Light on the smoke." He turned to Dante. "Okay, I'm paid and I'm here. Who does Silvermane want me to kill?"

      
"Hopefully no one. But there are two sisters who live on the edge of town, and one of them seems to have become a prime kidnap target."

      
"You got to have more information than that," said Taylor. "I can't just hang around until some local makes a move. It could take months."

      
"We're not worried about locals."

      
"Off-worlders?"

      
"Aliens," said Dante.

      
"Lady must be worth a bundle," said Taylor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

      
"Don't even think of it. You don't want Silvermane after you."

      
"You've got a point," admitted Taylor with a sigh. "So who are the aliens—Canphorites? Lodinites?"

      
"I don't know what they are. I've never seen them, and I don't think the ladies have either."

      
"Have you got
anything
I can go on?"

      
"Just their names—Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

      
Taylor didn't reply for a full minute. Finally he downed his drink, placed the empty glass on the bar, and turned to Dante.

      
"Nice to have met you," he said.

      
"What do you mean?"

      
"I mean I may be poor, but I'm not crazy." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of banknotes. He counted through them, and placed a pile on the bar. "That's three thousand credits. You tell your boss I'm keeping the rest for expenses. If he doesn't like it, he can try to take it back."

      
"You can't just leave!"

      
Suddenly Dante was looking down the barrel of a screecher. "Are you gonna stop me?" asked Taylor softly.

      
"No, but—"

      
"Then get the hell out of my way."

      
And with that, he was gone.

      
Wonderful, just wonderful,
thought Dante.
I've got a woman who's too proud to leave and a gunman who's too scared to stay. What the hell do I do now?

36.

      
      
The little sister, Fortune's bane,

      
      
Wishes she had not been born.

      
      
Filled with rage and hate and pain,

      
      
There she slinks—October Morn.

      
"He did
what
?" demanded Silvermane's image.

      
"You heard me," said Dante, sitting in the pilot's seat of his stationary ship and staring at the holograph that appeared just above the subspace radio. "That's why I'm not transmitting from my room. I don't think anyone's watching me, but if they are I don't want this to be overheard."

      
"He can't get away with this! I don't give a damn about the three thousand he returned."

      
"I don't care about the money either," replied Dante. "I'm still here with a woman who's a target for these two aliens. What are we going to do about it?"

      
"Get off the planet," said Silvermane. "I told you that the last time we spoke."

      
"And I told you that it's not that easy."

      
"If she's still there when I get there,
I'll
convince her to leave," said Silvermane confidently.

      
"Then you're coming to Hadrian?" said Dante, relieved.

      
"Eventually. First I have to hunt down Mongaso Taylor and make an example of him, or others will think they can break their word to Santiago."

      
"Goddammit!" shouted Dante. "He's nothing but a has-been killer who's lost his nerve!
I'm
the one who made you Santiago, and I need your help right now!"

      
"Nobody
made
me Santiago," answered Silvermane coldly. "You merely pointed out the fact of it."

      
"And nobody made your fortress on Valhalla and presented you with two hundred loyal men and women, and nobody killed the Bandit for you!"

      
"You didn't kill the Bandit," was Silvermane's calm reply. "
She
did."

      
"And now she needs your help."

      
"Everything in its proper order—first Taylor, then Hadrian."

      
"What do we do in the meantime?"

      
"You're the bright one," said Silvermane. "Use that brain of yours."

      
Dante broke the connection, cursed under his breath, then left the ship and returned to his hotel. Once there, he tried to raise September Morn on the vidphone. There was no answer.

      
"Damn it!" he snapped to her holo-message tape, making sure his face looked properly grim. "I told you not to leave your place without me!"

      
He went out, had lunch, and returned to his room, where he tried again without success to contact her. He checked his timepiece; it was only an hour and a half since his first attempt. He left another message about staying put, then lay down and took a nap.

      
He awoke in late afternoon and called September Morn a third time. The result was the same.

      
He went down to the lobby, had the desk clerk summon a robotic rickshaw, and took it out to her house.

      
The door was missing.

      
Not broken, or melted, or shattered. Missing. Like it had never been there.

      
He wished he had a weapon of some kind. He looked cautiously into the interior, took a tentative step inside, then a second and a third.

      
The place was as neat as ever. Nothing was out of place. There were no signs of a struggle. There were no messages, written or transcribed.

      
And there was no September Morn.

      
He spent half an hour scouring the house for clues. There weren't any. Finally he sat down on a chair in the living room to consider his options.

      
He'd been sitting there pondering the situation for perhaps five minutes when he heard footsteps approaching the house.

      
"Who's there?" he said.

      
Suddenly the footsteps began retreating. He jumped to his feet and raced to the door, just in time to see a feminine figure racing away.

      
"September Morn!" he shouted. "Wait!"

      
The figure kept running, and he took off after her.

      
"Damn it! Wait for me!"

      
The figure kept ahead of him for perhaps 200 yards, then began slowing noticeably, and finally he was able to reach out and grab her by the arm.

      
"Stop!" he snapped. "What the hell is—?"

      
He stopped in mid-sentence as the girl turned to face him. There were similarities to September Morn—the same high cheekbones, the same light blue eyes, the same neck, the same rounded shoulders—but this girl had a stronger jaw, a broader mouth, and was between five and ten years younger.

      
"You're the sister," said Dante. It was not a question. "Why did you run away?"

      
"I wasn't sure who you were."

      
"Who did you think I might be?"

      
She wrenched her arm free. "I don't have to talk to you!"

      
"You have to talk to me now or Santiago later," he lied. "I'm a lot more pleasant."

      
She glared at him without answering.

      
"What's going on?" continued Dante. "You saw that the door was gone. That didn't frighten you.
I
frightened you." Still no reply. "But I'm not a frightening guy—at least not until you know me better—and besides, you didn't see me. You were frightened by who you
thought
I was." He gripped her arm harder. "Suppose you tell me who you were expecting?"

      
"No one!"

      
"Let me re-word that. I know you expected to come home to an empty house. But if it wasn't empty, who did you think would be waiting for you?"

      
"None of your business!" she snapped, trying to pull her arm free.

      
"I told you: it's Santiago's business, and he has very unpleasant ways of getting what he wants."

      
"Fuck off! He's been dead for a century!"

      
"The king is dead, long live the king. He's back, twice as big and three times as deadly. If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll turn you over to him." He paused. "You won't enjoy it, take my word for it."

      
"Why should I believe you?"

      
Dante shrugged. "Okay," he said, pulling her by the arm. "We'll wait for him at your place."

      
"Stop pulling me!"

      
"Stop dragging your ass."

      
She stared at him. "He really exists?"

      
"I just told you he does."

      
Another paused. Then: "All right, I'll tell you what you want to know."
Thank God for that. I don't know what I'd have done if we got to the house and you hadn't given in.

      
"Let's start with names," he said. "Mine is Dante. What's yours?"

      
"It depends on who you talk to."

      
"I'm talking to you."

      
"It's Belinda—but ever since my sister got famous, they call me October Morn."

      
"I take it you don't like the name?" said Dante.

      
"I hate it!"

      
"You don't like her much either, do you?"

      
"That's an understatement."

      
"She likes you," said Dante.

      
"She told you that?"

      
"In essence."

      
"Then she's an even bigger fool than I thought," said Belinda.

      
"Next question," said Dante. "Why did you run from the house?"

      
"I thought it had been broken into."

      
"One more lie and you can tell your story to Santiago." He continued pulling her toward the house. "Why did you run?"

      
"I thought they had come for me."

      
"They?" asked Dante.

      
"The aliens."

      
"Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

      
"Yes." She came to a stop.

      
"Why would they come for you?" he asked. "Your sister's the one who's worth all the ransom money."

      
"I thought she had tricked them," said Belinda.

      
"Explain," said Dante, taking her hand and once more leading her to the house.

      
"I told them where we lived, when she was likely to be home, what she looked like, and—"

      
"You sold your sister out to aliens?" Dante interrupted.

      
"I didn't take any money!"

      
"Then why—?"

      
"Because I hate her!" yelled Belinda as they reached the house and entered it.

      
"Okay, you hate her and you gave her to the aliens. Why did you run?"

      
"She's smart, smarter than anyone suspects," said Belinda bitterly. "I was afraid she'd convinced them that she was me and I was September Morn. When I realized someone was inside the house, I was afraid they'd come back for me."

      
"Where would they have come back from?" asked Dante.

      
"I don't know."

      
"How did you contact them?"

      
"Through an intermediary."

      
"Who?"

      
"I can't tell you," she screamed, panic reflected in her face. "He'll kill me!"