Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (27 page)

“A pass?” asked the Swagman,
puzzled.

“Quentin Cicero,” said Yorick,
nodding his head, his eyes still closed. “Hunted him down and then let him go.
Good man, the Songbird.”

“You let Quentin Cicero go?”
demanded the Swagman, turning to Cain.

“It wasn’t that open and shut,”
replied Cain. “He had a hostage.”

“That never stopped any other
bounty hunter,” said Yorick placidly. “So what if he’d have killed her? All the
more reason for you to bring him in.”

“You let him go?” repeated the
Swagman furiously. “That bastard killed two of my menials!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said
Cain.

“
You’re
sorry? One of them had fifty thousand credits of
my
money!”

“But the hostage lived,” said
Yorick.

“You see?” said the Swagman. “You
go around letting hostages live and sooner or later it winds up costing a
respectable businessman money!”

“I’ll keep that in mind next
time,” said Cain.

“Who are you after now, Songbird?”
asked Yorick. He paused. “I know where you can find Altair of Altair.”

“I already found her.”

“Was she human or not?” asked
Yorick. “I could never quite tell.”

“Neither could I,” said Cain.

“Beautiful, though.”

“Very,” agreed Cain.

“How much did you get for killing
her?” asked Yorick.

“Nothing.”

Yorick smiled. “Then you’re after
Santiago.” He sucked contentedly on the seed. “It’s amazing how clear
everything becomes after a minute or two, how absolutely pellucid. You killed
her, and you talked to her ship, and now you’re here.”

“That’s right.”

“And now you want me to tell you
where to go next?”

Cain nodded, and Yorick, not
hearing an answer, cracked his eyes open.

“How are you going to kill him,
Songbird?”

“I won’t know until I find him,”
said Cain.

“What if
he
has a hostage?”

“Does he?”

Yorick laughed. “How would I
know?”

“How would I?” answered Cain.

Yorick stared at Cain for a long
moment. “You’re a good man, Songbird,” he said at last. “I think I’ll tell you
what you want to know.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m a good man, so I think
you’ll pay me three thousand credits.”

“Fifteen hundred,” said the
Swagman quickly.

“Shut up,” said Cain, pulling out
a wad of bills and peeling off six five-hundred-credit notes.

“Thank you, Songbird,” said
Yorick, looking for a pocket and then realizing that he was naked. He walked
over to his dresser and tossed the money into the same drawer where he had
deposited the two alphanella seeds. He then returned to his chair and sat down
lazily. “The man you want is Billy Three-Eyes.”

“I’ve heard of him,” remarked
Cain.

“Everyone out here has heard of
him. There’s a lot of paper on him, Songbird.”

“What’s his connection to
Santiago?”

“He works for him.”

“Directly?”

Yorick nodded. “When I forged a
set of duplicate plates for New Georgia’s Stalin Ruble, it was Billy Three-Eyes
who picked them up and delivered them to Santiago. And the last time Santiago had
an assignment for Altair of Altair, I was the go-between.”

“Where is Billy Three-Eyes now?”
asked Cain.

“On Safe Harbor. Ever hear of it?”

“No.”

“It’s a colony planet, out in the
Westminster system.”

“How do I find him?”

Yorick chuckled. “He’ll be pretty
easy to spot. Giles Sans Pitié caught up with him about eight years ago and put
a notch in his forehead with that metal fist of his before he could escape.
That’s how Billy got his name; Orpheus thought it looked like a third eye.”

“How many cities are there on Safe
Harbor?”

“None,” replied Yorick. “None none
nine none nine none.”

“Suck on the seed again,” said
Cain. “You’re drifting.”

Yorick sucked noisily, and his
eyes became clear once more. “No cities at all,” he said lazily. “There are two
or three little villages. Most of the people are farmers. Just make the rounds
of the local taverns; he’ll be in one of them.” He paused. “Do you need any
more?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good.” Yorick smiled. “It’s
starting to wear off. It’ll be gone in another couple of minutes unless I bite
the seed.”

Cain got to his feet. “Thanks,” he
said.

“Anything for the Songbird.”

Cain walked to the door, then
turned to the Swagman, who remained where he was, leaning comfortably against a
filthy wall.

“Come on,” he said.

“You go ahead,” said the Swagman.
“I’ve got a little business to talk over with friend Yorick.”

“I’ll wait downstairs.”

The Swagman shook his head. “It
could take days to consummate.”

“What the hell are you talking
about?” demanded Cain.

“I want to commission some
paintings.”

“Then do it and let’s get out of
here.”

“You’ve seen him,” said the
Swagman. “If I’m going to get what I want, I’m going to have to nursemaid him
while he works.”

“Suit yourself,” said Cain. “But
I’m not hanging around this pigsty while you add to your collection.”

“You go ahead to Safe Harbor,”
said the Swagman. “I’ll charter a ship and join you there.”

“If I walk out of this hotel
alone, the partnership’s over,” said Cain.

“If you kill Santiago before I
catch up with you, the partnership’s over,” agreed the Swagman. “But if I get
to you before you reach him, it’s in force again.”

“For half the original deal.”

“You have no use for what I want,”
said the Swagman.

“I’ll
find
a use.”

The Swagman looked perturbed.
“Safe Harbor is just another stop along the way. You still need me.”

“Not as much as you need me,” said
Cain. He frowned. “What brought this about, anyway? How much can his paintings
be worth?”

“Not as much as Santiago, I’ll
admit,” said the Swagman. “But Yorick’s here now, and Santiago could still be
years away. I’ll catch up with you.”

“For half.”

The Swagman sighed. “For half.” He
paused. “If you leave Safe Harbor before I get there, leave a message telling
me where to find you.”

“Leave it where?”

“If you don’t find anyone you can
trust, have Schussler send it back to Goldenrod.”

Cain turned to Yorick. “Once I
leave here, nothing that happens between the two of you is of any concern to
me—but I ought to warn you that leaving three thousand credits in the same room
with the Swagman is like leaving a piece of meat in the same room with a hungry
carnivore.”

“I resent that,” said the Swagman,
more amused than offended.

“Resent it all you like,” said
Cain. “But if you’re a religious man, don’t deny it or God just might strike
you dead.” He walked to the dresser and stood next to it. “What about having
the hotel hold it for you until he leaves?”

Yorick smiled. “This hotel makes
the Swagman look like an amateur.”

“Have you got any friends I can
leave it with?”

Yorick shook his head.

“All right,” said, Cain. “What if
I deposit it with the branch bank at the spaceport and tell them to release it
only to you? Your voiceprint ought to be registered there.”

“That would be nice,” said Yorick.
“But leave a thousand credits behind. I don’t want to go to the spaceport the
first time I run out of seeds.”

“He’ll take it from you,” said
Cain.

“A thousand credits? He doesn’t
need it.”

“That’s got nothing to do with
it.”

“It’s
my
money. Leave a thousand credits.”

Cain opened the drawer and took
out four of the five-hundred-credit notes. “I’m going to tell them not to
release this to you unless you’re alone.”

“Thank you, Songbird,” said Yorick
placidly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to
count the phony jewels before you leave?” asked the Swagman sardonically.

“No,” said Cain. “But I’ll have
Schussler do a quick inventory of Altair of Altair’s artwork before we take
off.”

Cain turned and walked out the
door. The Swagman immediately walked over to the dresser, searched around for
another seed, and brought it over to Yorick.

“Here,” he said. “Don’t start
chewing until we’ve talked.”

Yorick removed the first seed, now
a pale yellow, from his mouth and carefully set it down on his windowsill, then
inserted the new one. The Swagman stepped over to the window and stared out
through the rain until he could make out Cain’s figure walking back to the
vehicle.

“What kind of paintings do you
want, Swagman?” asked Yorick pleasantly, luxuriating in the juices of the fresh
seed.

“None,” said the Swagman.

“Then what was that all about?”

“Billy Three-Eyes is dead.
Peacemaker MacDougal caught up with him four months ago.”

“Poor Billy,” said Yorick, smiling
tranquilly. “I loved that notch on his forehead.” He looked up at the Swagman.
“Maybe you’d better go tell the Songbird.”

The Swagman shook his head. “I’m
just waiting for him to get off the planet before I leave.”

“Well, nobody ever accused you of
the sin of loyalty.”

“And nobody ever will,” replied
the Swagman. “Just the same, I was prepared to stay with him all the way to
Santiago’s doorstep.” He paused. “But he isn’t the one.”

“The one?”

“The one who can kill Santiago.”

“I know,” said Yorick with a
euphoric smile. “That’s why I told him the truth.”

“What truth?” demanded the
Swagman.

“About Safe Harbor. That’s his
next step.”

“I just told you: Billy Three-Eyes
is dead. Now,” said the Swagman, pulling out a roll of bills and holding them
enticingly before Yorick’s nose, “where’s
my
next
step?”

“Who knows?” replied Yorick
pleasantly. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think I should go to
find Santiago?”

“To
find
him?” repeated Yorick. “Go with the Songbird.”

“Let me amend that,” said the
Swagman. “Where should I go to kill him?”

“He’s my best customer,” said
Yorick. He paused thoughtfully. “He’s my
only
customer. I don’t want him killed.”

“I’ll buy you enough alphanella
seeds so that you never need him again.”

“I won’t live long enough to spend
the money the Songbird gave me,” said Yorick placidly. “Why do I need more?”

The Swagman stared at him for a
moment, then shrugged. He began walking around the room, examining the
artificial gems, and finally stopped in front of the canvas.

“Are you ever going to finish
this?” he asked.

“Probably not.”

“I’ll buy it from you if you do.”

“It’s already sold to your friend
Black Orpheus.”

The Swagman studied the portrait
with renewed interest. “Eurydice?”

“I think that’s what he called
her. He left a couple of holographs with me, but I lost them a long time ago.”

“You could have been one hell of
an artist.”

“I’m happier this way,” said
Yorick.

“What a stupid thing to say.”

“My painting brings pleasure to
others. My weakness brings pleasure to me.”

“You’re a fool,” said the Swagman.

Yorick smiled. “But I’m a loyal
fool. Have you got anything else to say to me, Swagman?”

“Not a thing.”

“Good.” He ground the seed to pulp
between his molars. “I’ve got about a minute before it hits. Do you mind
letting yourself out?”

The Swagman picked up a number of
discarded sketches from the floor and carefully tucked them inside his tunic.

“Mementos,” he said with a smile,
walking to the door.

“Now that you’ve deserted your
partner, where will you go next?” asked Yorick.

“I am not without prospects,”
replied the Swagman confidently.

“People like you never are,” said
Yorick, his vision starting to blur.

“People like me get what they
want,” said the Swagman, taking a tentative step into the room and watching for
a reaction. “People like Cain don’t even
know
what
they want.”

Yorick was beyond replying, his
frail body totally catatonic. The Swagman watched him for another moment, then
walked over to the dresser and took one of the two remaining
five-hundred-credit notes.

“Reimbursement of expenses,” he
explained to his motionless host.

He took two steps toward the door,
stopped, shrugged, and went back to the dresser, appropriating the final note
and placing it in his pocket.

“Filthy habit, drugs,” he said,
staring at Poor Yorick and shaking his head with insincere regret. “Someday
you’ll thank me for removing temptation from your path.”

A few minutes later
he was on his way to the spaceport, lost in thought as he examined every angle
of his situation with the cold precision of a mathematician. He finally
balanced all the diverse elements and came up with a solution just before he
arrived. Shortly thereafter he began making the arrangements that would once
again put him back into the heart of the equation.

The Angel’s Book

They call him
the Angel, the Angel of Death,

If ever you’ve
seen him, you’ve drawn your last breath.

He’s got cold
lifeless eyes, he’s got brains, he’s got skill,

He’s got weapons galore, and a yearning to kill.

Nobody knew where he came from. It
was rumored that he had been born on Earth itself, but he never spoke about it.

Nobody knew where he got his
start, or why he chose his particular occupation. Some people say that he had
been married once, that his wife had been raped and murdered, and that he took
his revenge on the whole galaxy. Some were sure that he had been a mercenary
who had gone berserk during a particularly bloody action—but no one who ever
met him and lived to tell about it thought him crazy; in fact, it was his
absolute sanity that made him so frightening. Others thought that, like Cain,
he was simply a disillusioned revolutionary.