by Mike Resnick
"Tonight," he said, still scanning the spaceport. "Now let's go back to the hotel."
She made no reply, so he turned back to her—and found that she was gone.
"Shit!" he muttered, trying and failing to grab her arm as she darted through the entrance and raced toward the private ships.
He didn't know how they would stop her, but he knew in his gut that she'd never make it to McNeil's ship. Then he heard a hideous roar, and he turned to see a huge animal, almost four feet at the shoulder, not canine and not feline but clearly a predator, racing toward the Duchess.
"Get into a ship now!" he yelled, breaking into a run.
The Duchess turned back to him, startled, then saw the creature bearing down on her. It was possible that she couldn't even have made it into the ship she had just passed, but she didn't even try. She screamed and raced toward McNeil's ship, and the animal swerved to run her down.
Dante saw that he couldn't reach her in time, even if he hadn't been carrying the huge manuscript. He looked for a weapon, even something as primitive as a club, as he ran, but the spaceport was neat as a pin, and he couldn't see anything he could use. Then he saw another motion out of the corner of his eye—the animal's keeper.
It made sense. Someone had to be able to control it, or it might savage someone with a legitimate reason for being there. The keeper, armed with a pulse gun, was walking leisurely after the animal, obviously in no hurry to call it off. Dante raced to him, knocked him down just as the creature reached the Duchess. It took about ten seconds to wrestle the pulse gun away from the keeper and crack him across the head with it—and those were ten seconds the Duchess didn't have.
Dante whirled and fired at the animal, killing it instantly—but it fell across the Duchess's torn, lifeless body.
"Damn you!" yelled Dante at the senseless body by his feet. "She didn't do anything worth dying for!" He stared at the main terminal. "Damn you all!"
He knew he couldn't stay where he was or return to the hotel. A sweeping security camera or another beast and keeper would spot the Duchess in a matter of seconds. He tucked the gun into his belt and ran to McNeil's ship.
He followed the Duchess's instructions, claiming to be McNeil. That bought him enough time to reach the stratosphere. Then came all the warning messages, which meant they'd either found the Duchess or McNeil or both. He alternately lied and threatened for the next thirty seconds, spent another fifteen seconds admitting that he was Danny Briggs and promising to return to the spaceport—and while they were debating whether to shoot him down his ship passed through the stratosphere and reached light speeds.
And because he was Dante Alighieri and not one of the larger- than-life characters he planned to write about, he did not vow to avenge the Duchess. Someone would avenge her; that much he did promise himself. When he found the right person, he would tell him the story of the Duchess and point him toward Bailiwick, and he would enjoy the results every bit as much as if he had physically extracted his vengeance himself.
Then he was on his way to the Inner Frontier, where he would assume his new identity and his new career among legendary heroes and villains who, he suspected, couldn't be any more dangerous than the Democracy's finest.
4.
Hamlet MacBeth, a well-named rogue,
Loves the women, when in vogue.
Loves the gents when no one cares,
Gets rich off his perverse affairs.
That was the first poem that Dante Alighieri wrote once he reached the Inner Frontier. There was nothing very special about Hamlet MacBeth except his name, which fired Dante's imagination. He decided he couldn't leave anyone named Hamlet MacBeth out of his history, so he began finding out what he could about the man.
What he found out was a little embarrassing to both parties, because it turned out that what Hamlet MacBeth was was a gigolo who rented himself out to both sexes. The people of Nasrullah II, his home world, didn't much give a damn what MacBeth did as long as he didn't do it to or with them, but some of the men who were just passing through found that they were not only expected to pay for MacBeth's sexual skills, but also for his silence.
Nasrullah II was the first world that Dante touched down on. He stayed only long enough to trade in his stolen ship for another one and to have a drink in a local bar, which was where he heard about MacBeth. He didn't write the poem until he had landed on New Tangier IV in the neighboring system, where he proceeded to recite it in a couple of taverns.
He spent a couple of days on New Tangier, a dusty, ugly reddish world with nothing much to recommend it except one diamond mine about ten miles east of the planet's only Tradertown. There was one hotel—a boarding house, actually, since not enough people visited New Tangier to support a hotel; one casino, which was so obviously rigged that the humans gave it a wide berth and the only players were the Bextigians, the mole-like aliens that had been imported to work the mine; and the two taverns.
Dante was standing at the bar in the larger of the taverns, sipping a beer and idly wondering how Orpheus had been able to spot colorful people when they weren't doing colorful things, when a slender man with sunken cheeks, dark piercing eyes, and braided black hair sidled up to him. Everyone else instantly moved away.
"Hi," said the man, paying no attention to anyone but Dante.
"Hi," replied Dante.
"I heard your little poem yesterday. Have you written any others?"
"Some," lied Dante. "Why?"
"Just curious. I like poems. Especially erotic ones. You ever read anything by Tanblixt?"
"The Canphorite? No."
"You should. Now there's someone who truly understands the beauty of interspecies sex."
"If you say so."
"I also like epic poems of good and evil, especially if Satan himself is in them." He smiled. "It gives me someone to root for."
"You have interesting taste in poetry."
"I have interesting taste in everything." The man paused. "What's your name, poet?"
"Dante. But people call me the Rhymer."
"They do?"
"They will."
The man smiled. "I think I'll call you Dante. We were made for each other."
"Oh?"
"I'm Virgil Soaring Hawk." He paused, waiting for the connection to become apparent. "Dante and Virgil."
"Virgil Soaring Hawk—what kind of a name is that?"
"It's an Injun name."
"Okay, what's an Injun?"
"It takes too long to explain. But once, when we were still Earthbound, white men and Injuns were mortal enemies—or so they say."
Dante frowned. "White men? You mean albinos?"
"No," replied Virgil with a sigh. "The Injuns were redskins, except that our skins weren't really red. And the white men weren't really white, either—they ranged from pink to tan. But a lot of people died on both sides because of what they thought their color was."
"You're making all this up, right?" said Dante.
"Yeah, what the hell, I'm making it all up." Virgil signaled to the bartender. "Two Dust Whores."
"What's a Dust Whore?" asked Dante.
"You're about to find out."
"I don't understand."
"You've got Democracy written all over you, poet," said Virgil Soaring Hawk. "Virgil was Dante's guide through Heaven and Hell. I figure a new Dante needs a new Virgil to show him the ropes. Right now I'm going to introduce you to one of our local drinks."
"What the hell, why not?" agreed Dante.
"Let's go sit at a table," suggested Virgil.
"What's wrong with standing here at the bar?"
"I don't like turning my back to the door. You never know what's going to come through it."
"Whatever you say," said Dante, walking to a table in the farthest corner of the tavern.
"Glad you agree," said Virgil, sitting down opposite him. The men at the two nearest tables immediately got up and moved to the other side of the tavern.
"Why does everyone move aw
ay from you?" asked Dante.
Virgil sighed deeply. "They don't like me very much."
"Have they got some reason?"
"Not any that I agree with," said Virgil.
"What the hell did you do?" asked Dante.
"I don't think I'm going to tell you."
"Why not?"
"I don't want you making a rhyme out of it and reciting it in bars all over the Frontier."
"I can always ask someone on the other side of the tavern," said Dante.
"You'd do that to the only friend you've made on the Frontier?" asked Virgil.
Dante stared at him in silence for a long moment. Virgil stared right back.
The bartender dropped off the drinks and left immediately.
"What goes into them?" asked Dante, staring at the purple- green liquid that was smoking as if on fire. "They look like they're going to explode."
"It varies from planet to planet," said Virgil, taking a long swallow of his own drink. When he didn't clutch his throat or collapse across the table, Dante followed suit, and promptly grimaced.
"Jesus! This stuff'll take the enamel off your teeth!" He paused. "Still," said Dante at last, "it's kind of warming. Got an interesting aftertaste." He frowned. "I don't know if I like it."
"After you've had a few more, you'll know," said Virgil with conviction.
"All right," said Dante. "Now the drinks are here and I've had half of mine. So why did you approach me and what do you want to talk about?"
"I want to talk about you."
"Me?" repeated Dante, surprised.
"And me."
"So talk."
"What are you doing out here?" asked Virgil. "Why have you come to the Inner Frontier? You're no settler, and you don't strike me as a killer. No human comes to New Tangier IV to play at the casino, so I know you're not a gambler. You haven't offered to trade or sell anything. So why are you here?"
"Did you ever hear of Black Orpheus?"
"Everyone out here has heard of Black Orpheus," answered Virgil. He grimaced. "He was probably about as black as you are white."
"I'm here to finish his poem."
Virgil Soaring Hawk stared at him expressionlessly.
"Well?" said Dante.
"Why not choose something easy, like going up against Tyrannosaur Bailey?"
"Who's Tyrannosaur Bailey?"
"It doesn't matter. Black Orpheus was one of a kind. He was unique in our history. What makes you think you can be another Orpheus?"
"I can't be," admitted Dante. "But I can follow in his footsteps." He paused, then added with conviction: "It's time."
"What do you mean?"
"I take it Tyrannosaur Bailey is a formidable figure?"
"He's about fifteen formidable figures all rolled into one ugly sonuvabitch."
"You make him sound fascinating—but I've never heard of him until just now. No one in the Democracy has, and probably ninety percent of the Inner Frontier hasn't either." Dante took another sip of his drink. "The Democracy is so damned regimented! All the really interesting characters are out here on the Frontier. It's time someone wrote them up the way Orpheus did, before they're gone and we have no record of them."
"You don't think the Secretary of the Democracy is interesting? What about Admiral Yokamina, who has six billion men under his command?"
"They got where they are by following the rules and fitting the mold," replied Dante. "All the men who broke the mold are out here, or on the Outer Frontier."
"Or dead," said Virgil.
"Or dead," agreed Dante. "Killing is one of the Democracy's specialties. They killed a friend of mine as we were preparing to come here."
"Did he have it coming?"
"Nobody has it coming—and it was a she."
"What was her crime?"
"She tripped a man," said Dante.
"That's all?"
"That's all," repeated Dante. "The Democracy doesn't seem to care who trips it these days."
"What uniquely individual crimes did you commit?" asked Virgil.
"Nothing that deserved that kind of retaliation."
"They obviously saw it differently."
"They always do. That's why I'm here. The Democracy stops at the borders to the Inner and Outer Frontiers."
Virgil stared at him as one would stare at a child. It was a look that seemed to say: If you're that dumb, is it even worth the effort to set you straight? "The law may stop," he said at last. "But the Democracy doesn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"They come out in force and take what they need," said Virgil, "whether it's fissionable material, or food for newly colonized worlds, or conscripts for the military. Any Man or planet that objects gets the same treatment that any alien or alien planet would get."
"I didn't know," admitted Dante. "None of us do."
Virgil shrugged. "Maybe I'm being a little hard on them. Sometimes they pay for what they take, though it's never what it's worth. And if they come to a mining world with, say, thirty miners working it, and grab a couple of hundred pounds of plutonium, well, they'll probably use it to fight off some alien army that would otherwise subjugate a planet with ten million Men on it." Virgil paused. "But we don't know that. We just know they come and they take and they leave and no one can stand up to them. So maybe it's comforting to think they have some noble purpose for plundering the Frontier whenever they want."
"Are they on New Tangier IV?"
"The Democracy?" Virgil shook his head. "You might go years without running into them. Or you might run into them three times in a month. It depends on where you are and what they want at the moment."
"Okay, forewarned is forearmed. But in the meantime, I still need material for my poems, so I still plan to travel the Frontier."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Why?"
"Because we're going to make a deal," said Virgil. "You'll need a guide, and I've worn out my welcome in the New Tangier system."
"How?" asked Dante.
"How," replied Virgil, holding up his right hand in a sign of greeting.
"I beg your pardon?"
"An old Injun joke. Forget it."
"How did you wear out your welcome?"
"How can I put this delicately?" said Virgil. "I indulge in certain, shall we say, unmentionable acts with members of . . ."
"The opposite sex?" Dante offered.
"The opposite species," Virgil corrected him.
"Is that against the law?"
"We don't have too many laws on the Frontier," answered Virgil. "It's against at least 400 laws back in the Democracy."
"What species do you perform these unmentionable acts with?" asked Dante.
"Why should I limit myself to one species?"
"So what's you're saying is . . ."
"What I'm saying is that I've worn out my welcome," answered Virgil. "We'll talk about it more after you've adjusted to the Frontier."
"Okay—but I'll probably spend all my spare time wondering who you did what with."
"It'll give you something to do while we're traveling between planets."
Dante finished his drink and slapped some bills on the table. "I'll have another one of these."
"Credits," noted Virgil. "They'll take them here, but most Frontier worlds don't have much use for Democracy currency."
"Speaking of Frontier worlds, where are we going next?"
"As I remember my Inferno, I guide you through the nine circles of hell." Virgil paused. "Of course, you were in hell when you lived in the Democracy. You just didn't know it."
"I knew it. That's why I came out here."
"Oh, you're still in hell. It's just a less structured, less orderly one."
At that moment a tall, burly man appeared in the doorway. He was covered with reddish dust, which he brushed from his heavy coat.
"I'm looking for the poet," he announced.
"You mean the Rhymer," Dante corrected him.
The tall man gla
red at Dante. "I'm Hamlet MacBeth," he said furiously. "Does that mean anything to you?"
"I know who you are."
"Have we ever met before?"
"No," answered Dante.
"Then why are you spreading lies about me?"
"What I wrote was the truth and you know it," said Dante.
"Hi, Hamlet," interjected Virgil. "Come join us."
Hamlet stared at Dante. "You're with him?" he demanded, jerking a thumb in Virgil's direction.
"That's right," answered Dante.
"You don't choose your friends any more carefully than you choose your subject," said MacBeth. He stepped into the tavern, and two more men entered with him. "How many worlds have you been kicked off of, Injun?"
"I stopped counting when I ran out of fingers and toes," replied Virgil easily.
"I hear tell you turned a couple of your mutant ladyfriends into corpses," added one of the other men, staring at Virgil through narrowed eyes.
"That's a lie," replied Virgil. "They were corpses before I met them."
"Did you hear that?" roared the man. "Did you hear what he just said?"
"Excuse me for a moment," Virgil said softly to Dante. "I'll be back as soon as I clear up this little misunderstanding." He got up and began walking toward the three men. "I know you don't mean what you say, but I wish you wouldn't embarrass me in front of my new friend."
"Your new friend ain't gonna be around that long, Injun, " said MacBeth. "We got nothing against you, at least not today. If you're smart you'll keep out of our way."
"Come on over to the bar," said Virgil. "I'll buy you a round of drinks, and then maybe we can all be friends."
"Keep your distance, scumbag!"
"You really shouldn't call people names like that," remarked Virgil, still approaching them. "Even scumbags have feelings."
"What are you going to do about it?" demanded MacBeth pugnaciously, his right hand resting on the butt of his holstered burner.
"This," said Virgil softly.
His hands moved so fast that Dante couldn't follow them, but suddenly he had a knife in each, and an instant later all three men lay writhing on the floor, gagging and clutching their necks as blood spurted forth. None of them had had a chance to draw a weapon.