Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (47 page)

“That’s probably why you’re still
alive when so many men who view things differently are dead,” said Santiago.

“Perhaps.”

“Have you another explanation?”
asked Jacinto.

“When I was a very young man I
wasn’t afraid of death, and that gave me an advantage over the men I fought. As
the years went by, I realized that there was nothing fair or reasonable about
death, that it could come to anyone, so I became very careful; that gives me an
advantage of a different kind.”

“Which you’ve used with remarkable
success,” interjected Santiago. “I suppose all good bounty hunters do.”

“There
are
no bad bounty hunters,” replied Cain. “Just good ones and dead ones.”

“Why did you become a bounty
hunter in the first place?” asked Jacinto.

“When I realized that I wasn’t
going to make the galaxy a better place to live in in one bold stroke, I
decided to try doing it one small step at a time.”

“Have you ever regretted it?”

“Not really,” replied Cain. “We
all make choices; most of us get pretty much what we deserve.” He paused
thoughtfully. “I used to think, years ago, that someday I’d like to settle
down. I was always going to find the right woman when I got a little spare
time.” He smiled ruefully. “I never even began looking for her.” He shrugged.
“I suppose if it had meant more to me, I would have.”

Santiago nodded knowingly. “With
me it was children. I’d been an only child, and a very lonely one at that. I
always wanted a house filled with kids.” He chuckled ironically. “So now I have
one filled with killers and smugglers. Every now and then I stop and wonder how
the hell it happened.”

“People don’t come out to the
Frontier to raise families,” said Cain.

“Unless they’re colonists,” agreed
Santiago. “Or shopkeepers. Or merchants. Or farmers.” He sighed ironically. “Or
anyone but us.”

“It’s just as well,” said Jacinto.
“None of us expects to die of old age.”

Santiago turned to Cain.
“Second-guessing himself is not one of Jacinto’s strong points.” He smiled. “As
for dying of old age, I personally plan to live forever. There’s too much work
yet to do to worry about dying.”

“Then don’t take foolish chances,”
replied Cain.

“You’re referring to the Angel
again?”

Cain nodded.

Santiago sighed. “How can I ask my
supporters to risk their lives if I’m not willing to do the same thing?” he
said seriously.

“The operative word was
foolish,
” said Cain.

“He can’t run from the Angel,”
said Jacinto.

Cain turned to him. “I thought you
were the one who wanted to tighten his security.”

“I still do,” replied Jacinto.
“But if word gets out that Santiago can be frightened off, then before long
everyone we deal with will be surrounding themselves with killers and refusing
to honor their commitments to us.” He paused. “We don’t do business with
honorable men, Mr. Cain. It is their fear of Santiago that keeps them in line,
nothing more.”

“It’s probably all for the best
that you don’t have children,” remarked Cain ironically. “Being the most feared
man on the Frontier isn’t much of a legacy to leave them.”

“It
would
be more satisfying to lead my troops into glorious battle,” agreed Santiago.
“Unfortunately, that’s not the kind of war we’re fighting—and my troops, for
the most part, are a bunch of misfits, reprobates, and criminals who don’t even
know they’re involved in financing a revolution.”

“How often do you deal with them
directly?” asked Cain.

“Very seldom. Things seem to work
much more smoothly when they think I’m some kind of unapproachable demigod.
Even in this day and age there’s a considerable amount of primal mysticism in
the human soul; it would be foolish not to capitalize on it.” He paused. “This
doesn’t mean that I don’t take a very personal interest in my operation. I’m
away from Safe Harbor about half the time—but since only a handful of people
know what I look like. I can usually check up on my employees without any
danger of disclosure.”

“No one’s ever suspected you?”

“Let’s say that no one’s ever been
so bold as to voice their suspicions to my face,” replied Santiago with a
satisfied smile. “Every now and then I let them know—always well after the
fact—that they’ve been in my presence without being aware of it; it helps to
convince them that I’m a mysterious criminal kingpin from whom nothing can be
kept hidden.” He paused. “I would say that takes up most of my time abroad.”

“And the rest of it?”

“I do have other business to
conduct.” answered Santiago. “I search for potential recruits, look for weak
spots in the Democracy’s defenses, and try to determine which worlds can best
use our money and our manpower.”

“Always without their knowledge,
of course,” added Jacinto. “If we let them know, then the Democracy would
realize what Santiago really is.”

“So it’s like a chess game.” said
Cain. “Move and countermove.”

“I really couldn’t say,” said
Santiago. “I’ve never played chess.”

“Never?” asked Cain sharply.

“Never,” replied Santiago. “You
say it like I’ve committed some kind of sin.”

“I apologize,” said Cain. “I was
just surprised.”

“No offense taken,” said Santiago.
He paused. “You’re sure I can’t offer you some dinner?”

“In a little while, perhaps.”

“Or another drink?”

Cain shook his head. “No, thanks.
I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Were you ever in jail on Kalami
Three?”

“I think if you’ll go there and
check the records, you won’t find any mention of me,” replied Santiago.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Suddenly Santiago grinned. “I’ve
got it!” he announced. “Stern told you that I played chess with him!”

“Did you?”

“I’ve already told you: I don’t
play chess.”

“Why would he have said you did?”

“Probably to embellish a story for
which he was receiving a considerable amount of money.”

“But you
were
imprisoned on Kalami Three?”

“For a very brief period. My
memory of Stern is that he bragged about the men he’d swindled and killed, and
kept relating grandiose schemes about how he intended to find a solar system of
his own to rule. It seems to me that we played cards until one of the prison
attendants took away his deck.” Santiago smiled. “As I recall, he still owes me
money from that game.” He looked at Cain. “Were there any other questions you
wanted to ask?”

“Just two.”

“Ask away.”

“First, now that I’ve joined you,
there’s no sense keeping me here on Safe Harbor once we’ve taken care of the
Angel. What will you be wanting me to do next?”

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t
decided,” replied Santiago seriously. “There’s the little matter of getting our
money back from the late Mr. Kchanga’s heirs. The sooner we do it, the sooner
we can purchase food and ship it to Bortai.”

“Bortai?” asked Cain.

“A mining world about two hundred
light-years from Bella Donna,” replied Santiago. “They’ve only got a three-week
supply of food remaining.”

“Can’t they import more?”

Santiago shook his head. “The
Democracy’s tied up their funds.”

“Why?”

“Because a month ago they sold two
hundred tons of iron ore—perhaps a week’s output, certainly no more than
that—to a pair of alien worlds that have refused to join the Democracy’s
economic network. This is the Democracy’s way of telling them never to do so
again.” A savage expression crossed his face. “In the meantime, more than a
hundred and fifty human children stand an excellent chance of starving to
death.”

“When do I leave?”

“
If
you
leave, it will be in about a week,” answered Santiago. “We’ll give Kchanga’s
associates every opportunity to honor his commitment first.”

“That’s cutting it awfully close,”
said Cain. “Once I get the money, you’ll still have to buy and ship the food.”

“I know. As I told you before,
it’s a balancing act. It’s worth the delay if we can find someone in Kchanga’s
organization that we’ll be able to deal with in the future. And if not,” he
added with a quiet ferocity, “we’ll show them what it means to play fast and
loose with Santiago.”

“And if they
do
come up with the money?”

“What do you think, Jacinto?”
asked Santiago.

“Zeta Piscium.” answered Jacinto
promptly.

Santiago shook his head. “Too
risky.”

“What about Zeta Piscium?” asked
Cain.

Santiago studied the bounty hunter
for a long moment, and then began speaking. “The navy has a large base on the fourth
planet of the Zeta Piscium system. We have a number of reports on it
somewhere.” He paused. “All their supplies for the entire Quartermaine Sector
are purchased through the Zeta Piscium office and routed through the supply
base there.”

“And?”

“If someone were to destroy their
computer system, it would be months before they could bring their records up to
date,” explained Jacinto. “Arms shipments couldn’t be forwarded, payrolls
couldn’t be processed, they couldn’t purchase so much as a cup of coffee until
their accounting department was able to determine how much money was in their
various accounts.” He paused. “We would have to lay the blame elsewhere, of
course: Santiago is a criminal, but he cannot be perceived to be a
revolutionary.”

“Everyone knows he was responsible
for the Epsilon Eridani raid.” Cain pointed out.

“But that was a gold robbery,”
explained Jacinto with a smile. “He was merely a cunning criminal who robbed
the navy of its bullion.” He paused. “But no conceivable profit will accrue from
destroying the computer complex at Zeta Piscium Four. Therefore, he can’t be
associated with it.”

“What’s their security like?”
asked Cain.

“Very tight.” said Santiago.
“That’s why I’m not inclined to try it, despite Jacinto’s enthusiasm.”

“But think of the lives we’ll be
saving if we can disrupt their system for even two months!” urged Jacinto.

Santiago stared at him. “I
appreciate your arguments, but passionate advocacy is no excuse for rashness.
The odds are hundreds to one against success.”

“But—”

“We can’t join
every
battle,” interrupted Santiago. “Our purpose is to
perform meaningful actions, not to die with poetic futility. The subject is
closed.” He turned back to Cain. “You had a second question, Sebastian?”

“It’s not quite of the same
magnitude,” said Cain apologetically.

“Good. One question of that
magnitude is all I really care to discuss before dinner. What was it that you
wished to know?”

“I was curious about that scar on
your hand.”

Santiago held up his right hand,
staring at the S-shaped scar on it. “I wish there was a heroic story to go
along with it, but the simple truth is that I caught it on a fishhook when I
was a small boy.”

“I would have guessed that it was
a knife wound.”

Santiago chuckled. “Nothing so
exciting. Shall we adjourn to the dining room now?”

“I haven’t asked my question yet.”

Santiago looked puzzled. “I beg
your pardon. What, exactly, did you wish to know about it?”

“Why do you still have it?” asked
Cain. “It’s the only physical feature of yours that seems to be known beyond
Safe Harbor. Why didn’t you get rid of it when you underwent your cosmetic
surgery?”

Santiago stared at his hand for
another moment, then laughed. “I’ll be damned if I know,” he replied. “It’s
been a part of me for so long that I never even mentioned it to the surgeon.”

“I hope you wear gloves when
you’re traveling incognito.” said Cain.

“I always do. I was born in the
Democracy; my fingerprints are on file there somewhere. I wear contact lenses
that distort my retina pattern for the same reason.” He rose to his feet.
“Shall we eat now?”

They went off to the dining room
and spent the rest of the evening talking about Santiago’s immediate and
long-range plans for the future. Cain went to bed with another book—Tanblixt’s
poetry, which he found totally incomprehensible—and continued his discussion
with Santiago and Jacinto the next day, his enthusiasm for their enterprise
growing by the hour.

Then, just before
sunset, Virtue MacKenzie showed up on Santiago’s doorstep, and all of the
revolutionary’s plans for the future were forcibly put on hold.

He burns
brighter than a nova;

He stands
taller than a tree;

He shouts
louder than the thunder;

He flows deeper than the sea.

“Actually,” Santiago was saying as
he leaned back in his easy chair and sipped his brandy, “I’m told that he was
the patron saint of the oppressed Spanish nobility. They used to invoke his
spirit before doing battle to drive the Moors out of their country.”

“Santiago means Saint James in
Spanish, a language they used to speak on old Earth,” added Jacinto, who was
sitting on a large, comfortable couch with Cain.

“Not quite as biblical as your own
name, Sebastian,” remarked Santiago.

“It’s my middle name that bothers
me,” said Cain. “I should never have let Orpheus know what it was. Then I
wouldn’t have to put up with this Songbird nonsense.” He sighed. “Still, I
suppose we can’t choose our names.”

“Everyone out here does just
that,” noted Santiago.

“Those are names for the
Frontier,” replied Cain. “They’re not official.”

“If you stay on the Frontier,
they’re official enough.”

Suddenly the security system
warned them that a vehicle was approaching. It was identified as Silent
Annie’s, and a moment later the door slid back to reveal her slim figure.