Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (49 page)

“Then you and I will have to stop
him,” said Cain decisively.

“How?”

“By force, if necessary.”

“You’ll do whatever Santiago tells
you to do,” interrupted Silent Annie. “He’s your leader.”

“We’re trying to
keep
him our leader,” answered Cain.

She stared harshly at him. “When
you make a commitment to follow a man, you make a
total
commitment. You don’t just obey those orders you approve of, and disregard the
rest.” She paused for emphasis. “Whatever he decides, we’ll support it.”

“We’ll see,” said Cain
noncommittally.

There was an uneasy silence which
Virtue finally broke.

“Does anyone mind if I pour myself
a drink?”

Jacinto gestured toward the bar.
“Fix it yourself.”

She walked over and began
inspecting the rows of bottles. “This is a pretty well-stocked little bar,” she
said, impressed. She noticed one bottle in particular and picked it up.
“Korbellian whiskey!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t had any of this in, oh, it must
be five years!” She poured herself a glass and took a quick swallow. “He’s got
good taste, I’ll give him that.”

“I consider that a great
compliment,” said a voice from the dining room doorway, and they all turned to
see Santiago standing there.

“Well?” said Cain, looking at him.

Santiago walked across the room to
where Virtue was standing, glass in hand.

“Tell the Angel I’ll be there.” he
said.

“You’re crazy!” exploded Cain.

“Nevertheless, that’s my
decision.” He turned back to Virtue. “If you’ll wait in the vehicle that
brought you, I’ll have one of my men take you back to town. I’m sorry, but I’ll
have to tell him to blindfold you again.”

“And my camera?”

“It will be returned to you after
we’ve destroyed whatever it recorded here.”

Virtue finished her whiskey and
walked to the door. “Cain’s right, you know.”

“Thank you for your opinion,” said
Santiago, dismissing her.

She shrugged and left the house.
Santiago nodded to Silent Annie, who went off to find a driver.

“You can’t do it!” said Cain.

Santiago smiled. “Are you giving
me orders, Sebastian?”

“She as much as said that the
whole thing is a setup,” continued Cain. “If you really feel you’ve got to give
the Angel a crack at you, stay here at the house, and at least make him work
for it.”

“To what purpose?” asked Santiago.
“If he truly intends to kill me, why let him kill all of you as well? He’s good
enough to do just that, you know.”

“He won’t kill
me
,” promised Cain.

“Even you, Sebastian,” said
Santiago. “I’ve followed his career as closely as I have your own. I don’t mean
to hurt your pride, but you haven’t got a chance against him.”

“If that’s true, then you’ve got
even less of a chance,” said Cain as Silent Annie rejoined them.

“
If
he
wants to kill me,” said Santiago. “There’s a chance that he only wants to
talk.”

“There’s two chances—slim and
none.”

“Then,” said Santiago calmly,
“perhaps he’ll discover that it’s harder to kill me than he thinks.”

“You’re just flesh and blood like
anyone else,” said Cain.

“No, Sebastian,” said Santiago. “I
may be flesh and blood, but I am also myth and mystery and legend.”

“It won’t do you any good.”

“It has before.”

“You’ve never faced anyone like
the Angel before,” said Cain.

“If it ends, it ends,” said
Santiago. “I’ve led a satisfying life. I’ve seen hundreds of worlds, I’ve had
the pleasure of owning this farm—and, in some small way, I’ve made a
difference.” He shrugged and forced a smile to his lips. “And before you go
writing my epitaph, I wish at least one of you would consider the possibility
that I might not die.”

“I beg you not to do this,” said
Jacinto earnestly.

“I appreciate your concern,”
replied Santiago, “but my decision has been made.”

“Then let me go in your place,”
said Cain suddenly. “The Angel has never seen either of us. At least I’ll have
a chance against him.”

“I thought we decided that you
didn’t want to become Sydney Carton,” noted Santiago.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Well, I haven’t changed mine,”
said Santiago. “I appreciate your offer, Sebastian, but I have more important
things in mind for you.”

“What could be more important than
saving your life?” demanded Cain.

“There’s still work to be done,
whether I’m here or not,” said Santiago gently. “And now, if no one minds, I
think I’d like to have dinner.”

Cain and Jacinto spent the entire
meal trying to argue Santiago out of his position, but he remained adamant.
When he had finished eating he went out to the dell by himself and returned at about
midnight, seemingly content. He invited Silent Annie to spend the night in one
of the guest rooms, bade the three of them good night, and went off to bed.

Cain retired to his room, pulled
two pistols out of his luggage, and spent the next hour oiling and cleaning
them. He set his alarm for twenty minutes before sunrise and was totally
dressed and checking his ammunition when he heard a knock at the door.

“Open,” he commanded in a low
voice, and Santiago and Silent Annie entered the room.

“I was afraid of this,” said
Santiago, staring at the pistols that Cain had laid out on the dresser.
“Sebastian, what are you doing?”

“I’m going into town,” replied
Cain, making no attempt to hide his weapons.

“I’ve told you not to.”

“I know what you told me,” said
Cain. “I’m going anyway.”

“Annie?” said Santiago, stepping
aside, and suddenly Cain was looking down the barrel of a sonic pistol.

“What the hell is this?” demanded
Cain.

“I appreciate what you want to do,
Sebastian,” said Santiago, “but I can’t allow it.” He turned to Silent Annie.
“I’m leaving in ten minutes. You’ll keep him here?”

She nodded.

“Good-bye, Sebastian,” said
Santiago.

He walked down the hall, and the
door slid shut.

“You know he’s going off to get
killed, don’t you?” said Cain bitterly.

She stared unblinking at him.
“Santiago can’t be killed.”

“Santiago could do with a few more
realists in his organization, and a few less fanatics.” He got to his feet. “If
you let me pass, I can still stop him.”

“Stay where you are,” she warned
him.

“You’re letting him drive off to
his death!” snapped Cain. “Why?”

“Because it’s his decision, and I
plan to abide by it.”

“Why the hell is he doing it?”
said Cain, still mystified.

“To save the lives of everyone
here,” she replied. “If the Angel wants to kill him, he’ll kill him wherever he
is.”

“We could have tightened our
security.”

“In one night?” said Silent Annie,
shaking her head and smiling sadly.

“We could have laid a trap for
him.” He glanced desperately at the door. “We still can.”

“The die has been cast.”

“That’s a feeble thing to say,”
replied Cain. “He’s going off to face the Angel, and all I get from you is
platitudes!”

She stared at him. “He rescued me
from a life of despair, and gave meaning to it. I love him more than you ever
could. If I can let him do what he has to do, then so can you.”

Cain heard the sound of Santiago’s
vehicle starting off down the farm’s long, twisting driveway.

“He’s gone,” he said, his emotions
draining away. “And you’ve helped to kill him.”

“I told you: Santiago cannot die.”

“Be sure you write that on his
tombstone!”

“Why are you so enraged?” she
asked, honestly curious. “You’ve only known him for two days.”

“I’ve been searching for him all
my life,” said Cain bitterly. “And now, thanks to you, I’ve lost him.”

She smiled. “He would approve of
that answer.”

“He’s not going to be around to
approve of anything much longer.”

They sat there in silence for the
next five minutes, Cain glaring at her with a growing sense of futility and
frustration, Silent Annie watching his every movement with a fanatical
intensity.

Suddenly there were footsteps in
the hall, and then they heard Jacinto’s voice.

“Are you in there, Annie?”

Silent Annie turned her head
toward the door for just an instant—and in that instant Cain dove across the
room and sent the pistol flying against a wall. She leaped toward it, but he
was faster, grabbing her and hurling her roughly onto the bed.

“What’s going on in there?”
demanded Jacinto, pounding on the door.

Cain picked up the sonic pistol,
disconnected the charge, and tossed it onto the dresser. Then he picked up his
own guns and loaded his pockets with ammunition, never taking his eyes off her.
Finally he walked to the door and commanded it to open, only to find himself
confronted by Jacinto, whose face was streaked by tears.

“I’m going into town,” Cain
announced.

“I know,” said Jacinto. He took a
step forward, and Cain saw that he held a wicked-looking knife in his hands.

“Don’t try to stop me,” Cain
growled ominously.

“That was never my intention.”

“Then let me pass.”

“There is one
thing that I must do first,” said Jacinto, still approaching him.

There are
those who will say he’s a sinner,

There are
those who will say he’s a saint;

There are
those who will swear he’s as strong as a bear,

But whatever they tell you—he ain’t!

Black Orpheus wasn’t so much
prophetic as he was just plain lucky. He wrote that verse for pretty much the
same reason that he wrote Silent Annie’s—because he had a feeling that there
was a lot more to his subject than met the eye.

He never knew just how right he
was.

Virtue MacKenzie was already
seated in the tavern when Father William and the Swagman showed up. The
preacher greeted her coldly, then sat down at his usual table and asked
Moonripple to prepare some breakfast for him, while the Swagman walked over and
joined her.

“Good morning, my love,” he said.
“I knew we were destined to meet again.”

“It’s a little early in the day
for you, isn’t it?” she responded, setting her 360-degree holographic camera on
the table and checking her microphone.

“What would life be without new
experiences?” he said with a smile. “I’ve always wondered what the world looked
like before noon.”

“Which world?” she inquired dryly.

“
Any
world.”

“Pretty much the same, I’d
imagine,” said Virtue.

“Blurrier,” he replied, blinking
his eyes. “Where’s your traveling companion?

“He’ll be along,” she assured him.

“Well, in his absence, I suppose
it wouldn’t hurt to talk a little business,” said the Swagman.

“I’ve got nothing to discuss with
you,” said Virtue, inserting the microphone into its slot in the camera.

“We
do
have an agreement concerning the disposition of the artwork,” persisted the
Swagman.

“That agreement’s only valid if
Cain kills Santiago,” replied Virtue. “And in case you hadn’t heard, Cain has joined
him.”

“Then put in a good word for me
with the Angel.”

She stared at him. “Swagman, I
don’t know any good words about you.”

“This is no time to deal in
acrimony,” said the Swagman. “Neither you nor the Angel knows how to dispose of
the artwork; I do. You need me.”

“I don’t care about the artwork,”
she said. “I’m getting what I want.”

“You think so?” asked the Swagman,
amused.

“The Angel wants the reward money,
I want the story. Our interests don’t overlap.”

“Ah, Virtue,” he said with a sigh,
“I wish you were as bright as you think you are.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you really think he’s going to
let you live?” asked the Swagman.

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“Because Dimitri Sokol’s put a
price of one hundred thousand credits on your pretty little head.”

“The Angel had him take the hit
off,” she said.

He shook his head. “The Angel had
him stop advertising it. There’s a difference.”

“Then why hasn’t he killed me
already?” she demanded.

“Because he needed you to get
Santiago to come here. Once he kills Santiago, he doesn’t need you for
anything—unless you can convince him that he can make a healthy profit by
letting you and me dispose of the artwork.”

“You and me?” she repeated
skeptically. “Why are you suddenly being so generous?”

“Because he knows you, whereas my
reputation has been besmirched by numerous small-minded parties who are jealous
of my success.” He leaned forward. “I’ll cut you in for ten percent.”

“Ten percent?” she said with a
harsh laugh. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

He shrugged. “All right—fifteen.
And you’ll still have your story.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re making a big mistake,”
said the Swagman.

“Somehow, as frightening as the
Angel is, I find him more trustworthy than you.”

“It’s your funeral,” he replied.
“Just think about what I said.” He signaled to Moonripple, who emerged from the
kitchen carrying Father William’s breakfast on a huge tray. “A cup of coffee
when you get the chance, my dear.”

“Right away, sir,” she answered.

“Coffee?” asked Virtue, grinning.

“They tell me it contracts the
pupils,” said the Swagman. “I’m certainly willing to give it a chance.”

“It steadies the nerves.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged. Suddenly
he noticed that Father William had clasped his hands before him and lowered his
head. “I’ve never seen you do that before,” he said.