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

“Then let me recommend one I’ve
just finished:
A Tale of Two Cities
.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try
tomorrow,” said Cain. “
If
we’re still talking.”

“We will be,” Santiago assured
him. “A few minutes ago you asked how I differed from all the other
revolutionaries you’ve fought for. We’ll discuss it in detail tomorrow, but
I’ll give you a hint right now, if you’d like.”

“Go ahead.”

“My cause was lost before I ever
joined it,” replied Santiago with an enigmatic smile.

Cain was still
considering that remark when he got up from the dinner table and went off to
discuss literature with the King of the Outlaws.

He lives on a
mountain, a mountain of gold,

With a temper
that’s hot and a heart that is cold.

He issues his
orders, makes known his demands,

Then sits back to watch while his empire expands.

It wasn’t a mountain of gold, of
course—but it was as beautiful a farm as Cain had ever seen.

There were some 1,800 acres,
divided equally between wheat, mutated corn, soybeans, and livestock,
crisscrossed with streams, dotted here and there by ponds.

“Actually, the ground rolls a
little too much to be truly efficient farmland.” remarked Santiago as the two
men sat on the veranda, looking out over the sloping fields. “It’s a fact that
realtors all over the galaxy have learned to appreciate: the prettier the
landscape is, the harder it is to farm it effectively. Proper farmland is
flat.” He sighed. “But I took one look at this place and fell in love with it.”

“It’s restful.” agreed Cain.

“It broke my heart to bulldoze the
trees that were in the field. I kept the prettiest grove intact, and erected
the house right next to it.” Santiago pointed to a pair of nearby trees. “I
have a hammock that I tie between those two.” he said. “I love to lie on it,
sipping an iced drink and feeling just like a proper country gentleman.”

“You’re an odd kind of
revolutionary.” remarked Cain.

“I’m fighting an odd kind of revolution,”
replied Santiago.

“Why?”

“Why is it odd?” asked Santiago.

“Why are you fighting it?”

“Because somebody has to.”

“That’s not much of a reason.”

“It’s the best reason there is,”
said Santiago. “The first duty of power is to perpetuate itself. The first duty
of free men is to resist it.”

“I’ve heard this song before,”
said Cain dryly.

“Ah, but it was sung by people who
wanted power themselves, people who wanted to remake their worlds or even the
Democracy.”

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“Remake the Democracy?” said
Santiago. He shook his head. “The second you attain power, you become what
you’ve been fighting against.” He paused. “Besides, I’m enough of a realist to
know that it can’t be done. The Democracy has more ships than I’ve got men. It will
still be abusing its power a millennium after you and I are dead.”

“Then why persist?” asked Cain.

Santiago stared at him
thoughtfully for a moment.

“You know, Sebastian, I have a
feeling that you’d be happier if I were a gentle, white-haired old man who
called everyone ‘my son,’ and told you that Utopia was just around the corner.
Well, it isn’t. I persist in fighting because I see something that’s wrong, and
the alternative to fighting is to submit.”

Cain made no comment.

“If you want a philosophic justification,
you’ll find it in my library,” continued Santiago. “I’ve got a much simpler
explanation.”

“What is it?”

He smiled a savage smile. “When
someone pushes me, I push back.”

“It’s a good feeling,” admitted
Cain. “But...”

“But what?”

“I’m tired of losing.”

“Then join me, and fight on my
side,” said Santiago.

“You’ve already admitted you can’t
win.”

“But that doesn’t mean I have to
lose.” He paused. “Hell, I wouldn’t want to overthrow the Democracy even if I
could.”

“Why not?”

“First, as I said, because I don’t
want to become part of the establishment that I’m fighting. And second, because
the Democracy isn’t truly evil, or even especially corrupt. It’s simply a
government that, like all governments, makes its decisions based on what will
result in the greatest benefit for the greatest number. From their point of
view, and given their constituency, they’re a moral and ethical institution.
They undoubtedly feel that they have every right to plunder the Frontier and
abrogate the rights of its citizens—and in the long run, if it strengthens
their position in the galaxy, they may even be correct.” He paused. “On the
other hand, those of us who bear the brunt of these abuses don’t have to stand
idly by and hope that everything will work out for the best. We can fight
back.”

“How?” asked Cain, staring
intently at him.

“By understanding the nature of
the enemy,” said Santiago. “This isn’t some planetary military machine we’re
talking about. This is the
Democracy.
It encompasses
more than a hundred thousand worlds, and it’s not going to change—not
overnight, not ever.” He paused. “But if we harass and harry them enough, we
can convince them that it’s less expensive in terms of money and human life to
leave us alone than to continue to oppress us.” He took a deep breath and
exhaled it slowly. “After all, what do we really have that’s worth such an
expense? We’re a mass of insignificant, underpopulated worlds.”

“To say nothing of disorganized,”
commented Cain.

“That’s part of our strength.”

Cain arched an eyebrow.

“You look skeptical,” noted
Santiago.

“I never thought lack of
organization was a virtue.”

“It never was before. But if we
organized, if we had an army and a navy and a chain of command, the Democracy
would know where to strike, and we would be decimated within a week. In fact,
the nature of the enemy makes it impossible for a leader to emerge from the
masses and rally men to his banner.”

“Except for you.”

Santiago chuckled. “I’m not a
leader,” he said. “I’m a lightning rod. I raid and I loot and I kill, and the
Democracy wrings its hands and offers rewards for the King of the Outlaws.” A
satisfied smile crossed his face. “If they
knew
why
I was doing this, if they had the slightest inkling what I was financing with
the spoils of my conquests, they’d have fifty million men out here, scouring
every inch of every world for me.” He paused. “I’m good at hiding, but I’m not
that
good. I’d much rather be thought of as a successful
villain than a successful revolutionary.”

“
Are
you a successful revolutionary?” asked Cain.

“You were at the medical center,”
replied Santiago. “You’ve seen what we’re trying to do.”

“Any team of doctors could do the
same thing.”

“True,” admitted Santiago. “But
any team of doctors couldn’t pay for the facility, and they certainly couldn’t
mine the area where the navy plans to build its base on Hyperion.”

“Silent Annie says it was an
accident.”

“Was it also an accident that they
killed off a native population of millions of sentient beings?” demanded
Santiago. “That scenario has been played over and over again all across the
Inner Frontier. I’m trying to convince them that there’s a better way—and
failing that. I’ll damned well convince them that there’s a less painful way.”

“Is it working?”

“It depends on your point of
view,” answered Santiago. “Hundreds of colonies exist that would have been
decimated. Tens of thousands of Men are alive who otherwise wouldn’t have been.
A handful of alien races who hated all Men have learned that some of us are a
bit less hateful than others.” He smiled. “It’s a matter of proportion. I would
say it’s working; the Democracy would probably wonder why we had wasted so many
lives and so many years to produce such insignificant results.”

A man in his early thirties, with
a streak of white running through his coal-black hair, emerged from the
interior of the house just then and approached them.

“Yes?” said Santiago. “What is
it?”

The man looked at Cain hesitantly.

“This is Sebastian Cain,” said
Santiago. “While he is my guest, I have no secrets from him.” He turned to
Cain. “Sebastian, this is Jacinto, one of my most trusted associates.”

Cain nodded a greeting.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr.
Cain,” said Jacinto, inclining his head slightly. He turned back to Santiago.
“Winston Kchanga has refused to deliver our merchandise to us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said
Santiago, frowning. “Has he offered any reason?”

Jacinto snorted contemptuously.

“I’m afraid Mr. Kchanga has
outlived his usefulness to us,” said Santiago.

Jacinto nodded and went back into
the house.

“I suppose I should explain.”

“It’s none of my business,”
replied Cain.

“Hopefully it will be before much
longer. Winston Kchanga is a smuggler operating out of the Corvus system. He
made a commitment to us, money was exchanged, and he has elected not to honor
that commitment. He doesn’t know that
I
am involved,
but that’s neither here nor there.” He sighed. “Regrettable.”

“Not
that
regrettable,” said Cain. “There’s paper on him.”

“Perhaps I should clarify my
statement,” said Santiago. “I find it regrettable that one of the people we are
fighting for should try to swindle us. I have no regrets whatsoever about
ordering his death.” He looked sharply at Cain. “I’m fighting a war, and
whenever one fights a war there are going to be casualties. My main concern is
that they aren’t innocent ones.”

“From what I hear, there’s wasn’t
a hell of a lot that Kchanga was innocent of,” said Cain. He paused. “There’s
paper on your friend Jacinto, too. He used to go under the name of Esteban
Cordoba.”

“Jacinto hasn’t left Safe Harbor in
seven years,” said Santiago. “You have a remarkable memory, Sebastian.”

“It’s that white streak in his
hair,” replied Cain. “It’s pretty hard to forget.”

“He’s the most trusted associate I
have,” said Santiago. “He’s served me loyally for almost fifteen years.” He
stared at Cain again. “What do you propose to do about him?”

Cain shrugged. “Nothing.”

A broad smile spread over
Santiago’s face. “Then you’re joining us?”

“I didn’t say that. We’ve got a
lot more to talk about.”

Santiago got to his feet. “Shall
we walk while we talk?” he suggested. “It’s too beautiful a day to just sit in
the shade.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Then come with me, and I’ll show
you the farm while we speak.”

Cain followed Santiago down off
the veranda.

“Are you a fisherman. Sebastian?”
asked Santiago.

“No.”

“You should try it sometime. I’ve
stocked three of the ponds.”

“Maybe someday I’ll take it up.”

“You should. It’s very relaxing.”
He began circling one of the ponds. “I believe you had some questions to ask
me?”

“A few,” said Cain, falling into
step beside him. “For starters, when did you decide you needed a bodyguard?”

“Is that what you think I have in
mind for you?”

“If it isn’t, then it should be.”
said Cain. “The Angel can’t be too far away.”

“I already have bodyguards.”

“They couldn’t stop me if I
decided to kill you right now.”

“True—but I know that you won’t.
And I have no intention of giving the Angel a tour of my farm.”

“I assume that you haven’t helped
him
to find you?”

Santiago frowned and shook his
head. “No. He’s a remarkable man.”

“And as I said last night, you’re
a wanted one.”

“He won’t get past Father
William.”

“He’s gotten past better men than
Father William,” said Cain.

“There
are
no better men than Father William,” replied Santiago.

“If you don’t want me as a
bodyguard, just why
am
I here?” asked Cain.

“I’ve been a very fortunate man,
Sebastian,” said Santiago. “But nobody lives forever. I would like to think my
work will go on after I’m gone. It can’t do that unless I leave good people
behind me—people like Jacinto and Silent Annie, and people like you.”

Cain stared at him. “You
do
think he’s going to kill you.”

Santiago shook his head. “No, I
truly don’t. But I can’t conscript men to my cause the way the navy can. I have
to study them carefully and then try to convince the best of them to join me.”

“Why now?”

“It took me this long to be sure
you were the man I wanted.”

“How many others have you asked?”

“Recruiting people is nothing new,
Sebastian. I’ve been doing it ever since I came out here. You’re the most
recent, but you’re not unique.”

“How many of them have I met?”

“More than you might suppose,”
replied Santiago. “How else would I have known about you?”

“I know Geronimo Gentry is one of
them.”

“That’s correct.”

“What about Terwilliger?”

Santiago shook his head. “No.”

“Stern?”

“No.” Suddenly Santiago laughed.
“I suppose I’ll have to recruit him if I ever want to organize the
fali.
”

“He says he met you when you were
in jail on Kalami Three.”

“Then I suppose he did.”

“You don’t match his description
of you.”

Santiago shrugged. “As I told you,
I’ve had cosmetic surgery.”

“Did it take four or five inches
off your height?”

“That was many years ago, and
Stern has been with the
fali
for a long, long
time—and he was a much smaller man than you are.” He looked amused. “Or are you
suggesting that I’m an imposter?”