The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (54 page)

      
"The giveaway?" repeated Dante, puzzled.

      
"Yeah. You described his gun and his bullets, you told me how tall and graceful he is, you told me that he looks like some artist's dream, you told me about his silver hair. You told me almost everything I need to know about him—except who and what he is."

      
"I told you: he's Joshua—" began Dante.

      
"You described a very beautiful and efficient killer," interrupted Moby Dick. "And except for being very beautiful, I don't see much to differentiate him from your last killer, the Santiago you and September Morn . . . ah . . . deposed right here on Hadrian II."

      
"He's
totally
different," said Dante. "For one thing, he's not a fanatic. For another, he really does understand what being Santiago means, what's required of him."

      
"I don't know," said Moby Dick. "I think they're both dead ends."

      
"Would you care to explain that?"

      
"Sure. But first let's generalize a bit. What causes a species to evolve?"

      
"What are you talking about?" asked Dante irritably.

      
"You heard me," said the huge albino. "What makes a species evolve?"

      
"How the hell do
I
know?"

      
"You would, if you were using your brain. If you don't, you're just like them."

      
Dante stared at him, but made no reply.

      
"The answer," continued Moby Dick, "is that evolution is a response to environmental need. Are the branches of a tree too high? Grow a long neck. Is the sun too bright? Grow bigger eyes and better ears and sleep all day. Are you too small to kill prey animals? Develop opposable thumbs and a brain, and learn to make weapons."

      
"You
are
going to get to the point sooner or later, aren't you?"

      
"The point is obvious. You found two of the most efficient killers on the Frontier, maybe
the
two best. But because they've always been able to get anything they wanted with their weapons and their physical skills, why should they develop social skills, or be adept at teamwork, or inspire loyalty when they've never required any help before? I'm sure your Silvermane is a dangerous man, and I'm sure he wants to be Santiago—but based on what you've told me, I don't think I'd be inclined to lay down my life for him, or to follow him into battle if the odds were against us."

      
"You wouldn't be asked to risk you life—or lose it—for
him
," said Dante, "but for the cause."

      
"The two should be indistinguishable," answered Moby Dick. "And I get the distinct impression that neither of your Santiagos could describe the cause in terms that would make people willing to die for it."

      
"All right," said Dante. "So you won't join us. Will you at least help us?"

      
"You really want me to contact them, even after what I've told you?" asked the albino.

      
"She saved my life. I owe her."

      
"Noble," commented Moby Dick. "That's not a trait I see much of out here—nobility."

      
Another pause. "Then you'll do it?"

      
"I'll do it. Where can I reach you?"

      
"The Windsor Arms."

      
"Wait for me there. I'll be in touch."

      
Dante got up. "Thanks."

      
"It's a pity," said Moby Dick.

      
"What is?"

      
"I like you, Dante Alighieri. You're a little too noble for your own good, but I really like you. I hate to send you and your boss to your deaths."

      
"I've got to at least
try
to save her," answered Dante simply.

      
"I know."

      
Dante turned and left the casino, window-shopped his way back to the hotel, and took the airlift up to his room, where he found a message from Virgil waiting for him.

      
"I'm on Laministra IV, encouraging a couple of drug dealers to voluntarily join our network of freedom fights"—a nasty grin—"and I realized I'm just a hop, skip and a jump from Hadrian, so I thought I'd pop over there and take my ship back if you're through with it. See you in the morning."

      
Dante wiped the message, waited a few minutes for Moby Dick to contact him, and finally lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

      
He didn't know how long he'd slept, but his computer awoke him by gently repeating his name over and over. Finally he sat up groggily.

      
"All right, I'm awake," he mumbled. "What is it?"

      
"A Mr. Dick is attempting to communicate with you, Mr. Alighieri."

      
"I don't know any—" Suddenly he straightened up. "Put him through!"

      
Moby Dick's image flickered into existence above the computer.

      
"I've contacted them," he announced, staring straight at him.

      
"And?"

      
"As I told you, they can't laugh—but they
did
seem amused."

      
"Will they meet with me?"

      
"No. I gave them the message, exactly as you worded it. They'll meet only with Santiago."

      
"Where?"

      
"Kabal III."

      
"Never heard of it. How far away is it?"

      
"Perhaps ten light-years."

      
"Is it an oxygen world?"

      
"Yes," replied the albino. "That's their only concession to Santiago."

      
"Concession?" repeated Dante, surprised. "Don't they breathe oxygen?"

      
"I'm not aware that they breathe anything at all," answered Moby Dick.

      
"Why would they choose this particular world?"

      
" It's a deserted colony world, with a couple of empty Tradertowns. There won't be anyone there to interfere."

      
"Which means they'll have time to booby-trap every inch of it."

      
"They won't need to," said Moby Dick. "Try to understand: These are aliens who conquer entire worlds with no help from anyone. You have no conception of their powers, no idea what they're capable of."

      
"So tell me."

      
"I don't know the specifics. I just know that time after time they accomplish the seemingly-impossible with no visible effort."

      
Thanks for nothing,
thought Dante. "I want you to get back to them and tell them Santiago will only meet them on a world of our choosing."

      
"If you insist, but . . ."

      
"But what?"

      
"But
they
have September Morn. It would seem to be a seller's market."

      
"Tell them anyway. If they don't know what a bluff is, they might think Santiago won't come under any other conditions. I mean, hell, he's never even met her. He has no reason to walk into a trap to try to save her."

      
"Whatever you say. Stay there."

      
Moby Dick broke the connection, and contacted him again twenty minutes later.

      
"Well?" demanded Dante.

      
"No deal. They may not know how to tell a lie, but they know how to spot one. They'll only meet him on Kabal III."

      
"At least we tried."

      
"What now?" asked Moby Dick.

      
"It's obviously a trap. We can't let him go there alone." Dante did some quick mental calculations. "I can have half our men here in six days' time. Let's set the meeting for then."

      
Moby Dick's expression said it was a hopeless request, but he agreed to pass it on. He was back in communication with Dante ten minutes later.

      
"Big mistake," he said. "We gave them a time frame. Now they say that if Santiago's not on Kabal III in one Standard day, they'll kill September Morn rather than continue holding her for ransom."

      
"Shit!"
muttered Dante. "She's going to die, and it's my fault! If I'd left it alone, the goddamned government would have come up with the money!"

      
"Don't blame yourself too much," replied Moby Dick, not without sympathy. "You didn't know who or what you were dealing with."

      
"Excuse me, Mr. Alighieri," said the computer, "but there is a Priority communication coming in from a Mr. Santiago."

      
"No problem," said the albino. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. You can let me know what he said then."

      
He cut the connection, and an instant later Silvermane's visage replaced his.

      
"I found him," he announced.

      
"Mongaso Taylor?"

      
"That's right." Something in his manner precluded any questions about what had happened. "I should reach Hadrian II in about 13 Standard hours. I'll meet you in Trajan just before noon." He paused. "Did you talk any sense into the lady poet?"

      
"We have to talk about her. I'll go to my ship and get back to you in half an hour."

      
"I'm getting tired of that," said Silvermane. "Do you have any reason to think someone is monitoring this?"

      
"No, I'm just trying to be safe."

      
"Then talk to me now."

      
Dante sighed deeply. "The aliens kidnapped her."

      
Silvermane seemed unsurprised and unconcerned. "I told you to get her off the planet." He sighed. "Well, they'll pay the ransom and that'll be that. I hope you learned your lesson."

      
"It's not that simple."

      
"Oh?" asked Silvermane, suddenly alert.

      
"I made a terrible blunder," said Dante. "I tried to bluff them, to scare them with your name."

      
"Tell me about it."

      
Dante filled him in. "And their last message is that they've got her on Kabal III, and they'll kill her if you don't show up tomorrow."

      
"What are they asking for her?"

      
"You're not seriously thinking of going there?" demanded Dante. "It's a trap!"

      
"Of course it's a trap."

      
"I'm glad we agree on that," said Dante, relieved.

      
"I don't think my pistols will be much good against them. I can stop by Hadrian on the way to Kabal. Can you hunt up a molecular imploder by tomorrow morning?"

      
"What the hell are you talking about?" shouted Dante at the holographic image. "They're waiting there to kill you, and it's
their
world! They know every inch of it!"

      
"You don't seem to understand. They've called me out."

      
"So what?"

      
"This goes with the job, poet," explained Silvermane. "If I back down now and get away with it, I'll be tempted to back down again and again. What kind of Santiago would I be then?"

      
"A live one."

      
"Don't bury me just yet," he said wryly. "I plan to make a hell of a fight of it—and I've never lost."

      
"You told me once that you didn't ever want to be in the same sector with them," Dante reminded him.

      
"That was Joshua Silvermane talking," said the image. "I'm Santiago."

      
"Surely there's something I can say, something I can do . . ." said Dante.

      
"There is," replied Silvermane. "Make sure you have the imploder ready for me."

      
He broke the connection, though Dante stared at the spot where his image had been for a full minute before turning away.

      
He's going to die, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it,
he thought miserably.

      
He walked over to a mirror and stared at the face that confronted him, searching for all the hidden flaws that he knew must be lurking there.

      
We're going to lose another Santiago, and it's going to be my fault again, just like the last one. I don't understand it. I try so hard to do the right thing. Why am I as good at getting them killed as I am at finding them?

Part 6: SANTIAGO'S BOOK

38.

      
He's proud and he's arrogant, fearless and bold;

      
If you travel with him you'll never grow old.

      
Those who oppose him have drawn their last breath:

      
He's the King of the Outlaws—his partner is Death.

      
Moby Dick stood in the corridor, waiting for the security system to identify him and inform Dante of his presence. Finally the door dilated and he stepped into the poet's room.

      
"Did you get it?" asked Dante anxiously.

      
"No problem."