The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  He shrugged. "There are four more cities on Gandhi III. I'll check them out, one by one."

  "That could take awhile."

  "I've got plenty of time."

  "I don't."

  Dimitrios looked up at her curiously. "What are you getting at."

  "I'm leaving here first thing in the morning," answered Matilda.

  "Where to?"

  "Heliopolis II."

  "That's a couple of hundred light-years away—and you came here in my ship," he noted. "Just how do you plan to get to the Heliopolis system?"

  "I'll get as close as a spaceliner will take me, which is probably the mining colony on Gregson VI."

  "And then?"

  "Then I'll rent or charter a small ship," said Matilda.

  "You think you've found a candidate?"

  "I've found one worth looking at."

  "Care to tell me who it is?"

  "The One-Armed Bandit."

  "Yeah, I figured you'd go out after him sooner or later," said Dimitrios.

  "Do you care to tell me anything about him?"

  "I never met him. But they say he's formidable."

  "So I hear."

  "Well, as soon as I find Mikva, I'll hook up with you again."

  "I'll look forward to it," she said, knowing full well that even if he found the man he was hunting for, some new ladykiller would take precedence over his joining her on Heliopolis.

  Still, it didn't really matter. The Frontier needed a Santiago more than she needed a traveling companion. Maybe this would be the one.

  14.

  Heliopolis is its name;

  Death and mayhem is its fame.

  Death of hope and death of dreams,

  Death of men and all their schemes.

  That verse was true a thousand years before the first man set foot on Heliopolis II. It was true when Matilda arrived there. It was true when Dante Alighieri visited the place. It would be true a thousand years after both were dead. That's the kind of world it was.

  To begin with, it was hot. The daytime temperature often reached 135 degrees Farenheit. At night it cooled done to a bone- melting 100.

  It was heavy. At 1.18 Galactic Standard gravity, it meant you felt like you were carrying an extra 18 pounds for every 100 pounds of actual body weight.

  It was thin. The oxygen content was 87% of Galactic Standard. Even strong fit men often found themselves gasping for breath, especially after exerting themselves in the Heliopolis II gravity.

  It was dusty. The wind whipped across the barren surface of the planet, causing dust devils to rise hundreds of feet high as they swept through human and alien cities alike.

  It was dry. Oh, there was some water, but hardly enough for the planetary populace. The natives made do with what was there; a water ship landed twice a week to make sure that the Men didn't run out of the precious stuff.

  It was hostile. The native inhabitants, a humanoid race known as the Unicorns, doubtless due to the single rudimentary horn that grew out of each forehead, didn't like each other very much, and they liked Men even less. Almost everything Men did seemed to give offense, and no matter how often they lost their battles against the humans, they never tired of regrouping and fighting again.

  So why did Men risk their lives and sacrifice their comfort to stay on Heliopolis II?

  Simple. It possessed two of the most productive diamond pipes in the galaxy. The diamonds couldn't be mined with water, of course, not on Heliopolis II, but they could be separated from the rocks in which they were embedded by carefully-focused bursts of ultrasound. It was a delicate operation: not enough strength in the bursts and nothing was accomplished, too much and even the diamonds could be shattered.

  It never occurred to the miners that the ultrasound, which was beyond human hearing, might be what was driving the Unicorns to such violent states of aggravation—and, in truth, it probably wasn't, since they were a violent sort even before Men began mining. Probably the ultrasound merely served to remind them that Men were still working on the planet, and that knowledge was more than enough to work them into a killing frenzy every few weeks.

  Matilda hadn't spent as much as five minutes' researching Heliopolis II before she decided to rent a ship. It was more expensive than chartering one, but at least she would have the comforting knowledge that the ship was there if she needed to leave in a hurry.

  As she approached the planet, she wondered why the One-Armed Bandit was there. Was he there to rob the mines? Well, if he was, she had no serious problem with that. The Democracy owned the mines, which meant he'd be robbing the Democracy, just as Santiago had done so many times more than a century ago.

  Of course, if he was there to rob the mines, he'd probably accomplished his mission already and gone on to some other world. After all, her information wasn't current; all she knew is that he was on Heliopolis II six days ago.

  On the other hand, the mines could be so well-guarded that he was still casing the job, still studying the opposition. If that was the case, she'd have a chance to see how he performed against overwhelming odds.

  She was still considering all the possibilities when her ship touched down and she approached the robot Customs officer.

  "Name?" asked the machine.

  "Matilda."

  "Last name?"

  "No."

  "Matilda No, may I please scan your passport?"

  She held her titanium passport disk up to its single glowing eye.

  "Your passport is in proper order, but your name is not Matilda No. Please step forward so that I may scan your retina."

  She stepped forward and looked into its eye.

  "Thank you," said the robot. A sword-like finger shot out, and its needle-thin extremity touched her passport. There was a brief buzzing sound. "I have given you a five-day visa. If you plan to stay longer, you will have to go to the Democracy consulate and have it renewed."

  "Thank you," said Matilda, starting to step forward. The robot moved to its left, blocking her way.

  "I am not finished," it said, and she could have sworn she detected a touch of petulance in its mechanical voice. "The world of Heliopolis II accepts Democracy credits, Far London pounds, New Punjab rupees, and Maria Theresa dollars. There is a currency exchange just behind me that can convert 83 different currencies into credits."

  "I have credits and Maria Theresa dollars," replied Matilda.

  "You will almost certainly be using personal credit for your larger expenses," ," continued the robot. "The machines at all the commercial ventures on Heliopolis II are tied in to the Bank of Deluros VIII, the Bank of Spica, the Roosevelt III Trust, and the Far London Federated Savings Bank. If you have not established credit with one of these banks through their thousands of planetary branches, you will be required to spend actual currency. Should you try to leave Heliopolis II without settling all your bills, your ship will be impounded and you will be detained by the military police until a satisfactory settlement has been arranged."

  "Is that all?" asked Matilda.

  "No," said the machine. "Will you require adrenaline injections while you are here?"

  "No," she said. "At least, I don't think so."

  "Do you wish to have your blood oxygenated?"

  "No."

  "Will you require intravenous injection of fluids?"

  "No."

  "Should you change your mind, all of these services are available, for a nominal fee, at the military infirmary. I am required to warn you that Heliopolis II, while habitable, is considered inhospitable to the race of Man."

  She waited for the robot to continue, but it fell silent and moved back to its original position.

  "Is there anything else?" she asked after a minute had passed.

  "I am finished."

  "What do I do now?"

  "Pass through the disease scanner just beyond my booth, and then arrange for your accommodation."

  "I'd rather go into the city first and see what's there."

  "You
will not want to walk from one hostelry to another. You can examine 360-degree holographs of all of them right here in the spaceport. Then you will hire a vehicle, enter it, instruct the governing computer where to take you, and emerge only after the vehicle is inside the climate-controlled hostelry. After that you are free to do whatever you wish, but I am programmed to warn you not to go outside unless it is essential."

  "Thanks."

  She walked to the disease scanner, passed through it without incident, checked the holographs of the human city's seven hotels and choose one called the Tamerlaine, then walked to a row of vehicles. The first in line opened its doors as she approached. Once she was seated it slid the doors shut, asked her if she was the woman who had booked her room at the Tamerlaine, and then raced forward. Just as she was sure it was going to crash into a wall the entrance irised just long enough to let her through, then snapped shut behind her.

  They sped across the dry, dusty, reddish, featureless countryside. As they circled a small hill a heavy rock, obviously thrown, probably by an irate native, crashed down on the windshield and bounced off without leaving a mark. She suspected that nothing short of a pulse gun could put a dent in the vehicle, and relaxed during the rest of the ten-minute trip. The vehicle approached the Tamerlaine, and just as at the airport, the wall spread apart at the last instant to let it enter, then shut tightly behind it.

  She emerged into the cool, dry air of the Tamerlaine's garage, instructed a liveried robot to carry her luggage to the front desk, then fell into step behind it. She found the gravity oppressive, but manageable.

  The reception clerk was ready for her. He'd already run a credit check through the spaceport, and had assigned her a room overlooking the garden behind the hotel.

  "Have my bags put in my room," said Matilda. "I'm going to take a look around first."

  "Outside?" said the clerk. "I wouldn't advise it."

  "I won't be long," she assured him.

  She walked to the elegantly-designed airlock that passed for the front entrance, and found she couldn't get the outer door to open until the door behind her had sealed itself shut.

  Two steps outside the door she knew why. The heat was oppressive, the air almost unbreathable. Her dancing had kept her in excellent shape, but she found herself panting before she'd walked thirty paces. The air was as thin as mountain air at three thousand meters, the heat was like an oven, and the gravity pulled fiercely at her.

  Still, while Heliopolis II was horribly uncomfortable, it wasn't deadly. After all, she told herself, men worked here every day. (Between the conditions and the Unicorns, she hoped they were getting hazard pay.)

  She decided to continue her tour of the small city while she was still relatively fresh, turned a corner—and found out what a Unicorn looked like close up.

  There were eight of the creatures walking in her direction. Each stood about seven feet tall, though they were so stocky and muscular that they looked shorter. Their arms were jointed in odd places, but bulged with muscles. Their thighs were massive, as they would have to be on beings that had evolved in this gravity. Their heads were not quite humanoid, not quite equine, ellipsoid in shape, each with a rudimentary horn growing out of the forehead. They didn't wear much clothing, but they were loaded down with weapons: pistols, swords, daggers, a few that she'd never seen before but which looked quite formidable.

  She stepped aside to let them pass. They paid her no attention—until one of them brushed against her shoulder as he walked by. He immediately halted and spoke harshly to her in his native tongue.

  "I can't understand you," said Matilda.

  He said something else, louder this time.

  "I left my t-pack at my hotel," she replied. "Do any of you have a Terran t-pack?"

  Suddenly the other Unicorns joined the one that was yelling at her. Three of them began talking at once.

  She pointed to her ear, then shook her head, to show she couldn't understand what they were saying.

  This seemed to anger them. One of them approached her ominously, growling something in his own tongue. When she made no response, he reached out and shoved her. She gave ground, barely keeping her balance in the unfamiliar gravity.

  She looked up and down the street. There were no Men in sight.

  Another alien pushed her. This is ridiculous. I'm going to die on this godforsaken world, not because I'm a thief with a price on her head, but because I left my t-pack in my room.

  They formed a semi-circle around her and began approaching her again—

  —and suddenly a man she hadn't realized was there stepped forward and stood in front of her, pushing her gently behind him.

  "Stand still, ma'am," he said.

  "It's all a misunderstanding," said Matilda. "I left my t-pack in my room, and they don't understand me."

  "They understand every word you're saying," said the man. "Please step back a couple of feet. If they charge, I may not be able to hold my ground." He looked the Unicorns. "But I'll kill the first three or four of you who try."

  Matilda noticed that the man was unarmed. Great! I'm being attacked by aliens and protected by a lunatic.

  "You've had your fun," said the man. "Now get the hell out of here."

  The Unicorns didn't move—but three other Unicorns, seeing the tense little scene, came over to join their brethren.

  "What will you do now?" grated one of the Unicorns in a guttural Terran.

  "We will kill both of you!" growled another.

  "And when we are through, we will find more Men to kill."

  "No you won't," said the man, never raising his voice. "You'll disperse right now, or the survivors will wish you had."

  "Death to all Men!" screamed one of the new arrivals.

  "Don't let them frighten you, ma'am," said the man softly. "If you're carrying a weapon, don't let them see it. It's better that they concentrate on me." I have no problem with that. But what am I going to do after they kill you?

  "Move to the right, ma'am," he continued without ever taking his eyes off the Unicorns. "The one on the left looks the most aggressive. He'll be the first to charge."

  And almost as the words left the man's mouth, the Unicorn on the far left, the one who had initially yelled at Matilda, launched himself at the man.

  The man pointed a finger at the Unicorn—and suddenly the Unicorn literally melted in mid-charge. The other Unicorns began screaming, and two more charged. The man pointed again; this time energy pulses shot out of his hand, embedding themselves in the Unicorns' chests.

  Then the man was striding among them. Two fell to sledgehammer blows, another to a karate kick. He simply pointed to all but one of the remainder and fried them instantly.

  He walked up to the last Unicorn, planted his feet firmly, and looked into the creature's eyes.

  "I'm letting you live," he announced. "Go tell your friends that this lady is under my protection. To offend or threaten her is to offend or threaten me, and you saw what happens when you offend or threaten me." He paused. "Nod if you understand."

  The Unicorn nodded.

  "Now go back to your people and give them my message."

  The Unicorn literally ran down the street and disappeared around a corner, as the man turned back to Matilda.

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked solicitously.

  "I'm fine," she said. "You were awesome!"

  "All in a day's work, ma'am," he replied.

  "My name's Matilda," she said, extending her hand. "I want to thank you for saving my life."

  He took her hand and shook it. "I'm glad I was here to do it." He gestured to the restaurant behind her. "I saw them harassing you from in there. By the way, my name's—"

  "I know who you are," she said. "The One-Armed Bandit."

  He smiled. "You're well-informed, ma'am."

  "What should I call you?"

  "I've got more names than I can remember," he said. "Why not just call me Bandit and be done with it?"

  "I'll be happy t
o." She stared at him. "That's some set of arms you have!"

  He flexed his right arm. "This one's real." He tapped his left arm with the fingers of his right hand; it made a drumming sound. "This one's the fake. I lost the original arm in the war against the Sett."

  "'Fake' is a feeble word for it," enthused Matilda. "It's the most impressive weapon I've seen! What can it do?"

  "I don't like to talk about it," he said uncomfortably. "Most people think I'm some kind of freak."

  "Not me," Matilda assured him. "And I do have a reason for asking."

  He shrugged. "All right, ma'am," he said. "Depending on how I manipulate my wrist and fingers, it can be a burner, a pulse gun, a screecher, or—if I'm carrying the proper munitions—even a laser cannon."

  "Amazing!" she said. "And you act as if the heat and gravity don't even affect you!"

  "Oh, I feel 'em, ma'am," he said with a smile. "I just don't like to let them know it."

  She looked at the bodies littering the street. "I'm surprised the law hasn't shown up yet."

  "They don't have any reason to," said the Bandit. "Someone'll be along presently to do a body count and dispose of them."

  "A body count?"

  He nodded. "It's really quite oppressive out here, ma'am," he said. "You may not be aware of it, but I can see that you're gasping for air and having trouble swallowing. Let's go back into the restaurant and get you something cold to drink."

  "Yes," said Matilda, suddenly dizzy. "I think that would be a good idea."

  She turned to open the door and found herself falling. The Bandit caught her in his arms, set her back on her feet, and escorted her into the restaurant.

  "Ah, that's much better!" she breathed as they sat at a table. Not only was the temperature comfortable, but she could tell that the oxygen content of the air had been increased.

  "Your eyes look like they're focusing again," he noted.

  "Yes, they are." A robot waiter brought two glasses of water to the table. She took one, soaked her napkin in it, dabbed her face and neck, and then took a sip of what was left. "Aren't you having any?"

  "I'll get around to it," the Bandit assured her. "Right now I'm more concerned with you."