The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  Snakepit extended about two miles in each direction. Since the planet had never been inhabited by a sentient race, the native quarter—the exclusive domain of offworld non-Men—was a little smaller and more upscale than usual. There were a number of banks—all far more heavily-guarded than the one on Heliopolis II—and the usual array of traders, assay offices, hotels, brothels, casinos, restaurants, subspace stations, holo theaters, and permanent residences.

  Dante checked into a hotel and then decided to take a look around and get the feel of the place. The first building he passed was a grocery selling fruits from Pollux IV, vegetables from Greenveldt and Sunnyblue, mutated beef from Alpha Bezerine IV, even some wine from distant Altagore.

  He continued walking, came to a grubby bar, and entered it. He studied the faces he found there. These weren't the hard men who traveled the Frontier, living by their wits and their skills. These men weren't traveling anywhere, and such skills as they had once possessed were long gone. You're the bottom of the food chain. There will be too many connections between you and the man I'm after.

  He turned and left, ignoring the catcalls that followed him, then began looking into store windows until he found one that sold formal wear. He went in, purchased the finest outfit they had, waited while the robot tailor shortened the sleeves and took in the waist, then returned to his hotel and napped until dinnertime.

  Then he donned the formal outfit, changed some of his larger bills at the hotel desk so that his roll of money would look even bigger, and had the desk clerk direct him to the most expensive restaurant in Snakepit. He wasn't very hungry, and found the food mediocre and overpriced, but he stayed long enough to be seen by a goodly number of people. Then, after he paid his bill with cash, flashing his huge roll of the money, he went off to the Golden Flush, the most expensive casino in town.

  He made quite a production of peeling bills off his roll to bet at the craps table, broke even after half an hour, then wandered over to the jabob table (the one alien game that had taken hold on the Frontier's casinos), and dropped a quick fifty thousand credits.

  Next he went to the men's room, ostensibly to rinse his face off, actually because it was the most private spot in the casino and the one where he was most likely to be approached. And sure enough, a blond man with almost colorless blue eyes followed him in.

  "I saw you at the tables," he said.

  There was a long silence. Dante wasn't going to make it any easier on the man. He'd sell harder if Dante offered him no encouragement.

  He hadn't asked any questions, so Dante offered no reply.

  "You look like a man with money to spend," continued the man. "You ever spend it on anything besides the tables?"

  "From time to time," replied Dante.

  "How about tonight?"

  Dante finished wiping off face, then turned to the blond man. "The only thing I buy is seed, and I don't buy it from flunkies."

  "I'm no flunky!" said the man angrily.

  "Bullshit," said Dante. "I can smell a flunky a mile off. You go tell your boss I'll make a buy, but only from him."

  The man seemed to be considering his answer, and whether to admit that he even had a boss. Finally he said: "He doesn't deal with the customers."

  Dante pulled his wad out. "I've got two million credits here. I have another million Maria Theresa dollars back on my ship. I'm going to spend it on seed. Now, I can spend it with your boss, or I can buy it from someone else, it makes no difference to me." He paused. "But it'll make a difference to you, because I'll pass the word that you're the reason I went elsewhere."

  "Maybe I'll just kill you and take your money," said the man menacingly as he stepped closer and loomed over the much smaller Dante.

  "Just how dumb do you think I am?" said Dante, allowing his contempt to creep into his voice. "See this diamond stickpin I'm wearing? It's a miniaturized holo camera. Your face, your voiceprint, everything you've said since you came in here are already in half a dozen computers."

  It was a lie, but told with utter conviction, and the blond man hesitated uneasily. "Why should I believe you?" he demanded.

  "Because we're alone in a bathroom on your turf, and if it wasn't true I'd be inviting you to blow me away. Is everyone in your organization as stupid as you?"

  "You call me stupid once more and I'll kill you, camera or no camera!" snarled the blond man.

  Don't push it too hard. These guys shoot first and ask questions later.

  "Okay, we're at an impasse. I've got millions to spend, your boss has millions to unload. You know I won't deal with anyone else. Do you take me to him, or do I spend my money somewhere else? It's getting late; I need a decision."

  The blond man frowned. Finally he said: "It may take a while to reach him."

  "That's not my problem. All he has to know is that my name is Dante Alighieri, and I'm staying at the Cheshire Hotel. He can find me there." He walked to the door, then turned back to the man. "I'm leaving in the morning. If I don't hear from him by then, I won't be back."

  He walked out of the men's room without waiting for a reply, kept walking past the bar and tables of the Golden Flush, and didn't stop until he reached his suite at the Cheshire a few minutes later. Then he considered his situation. By now they'd checked out his identity and his ship's registration. They wouldn't be able to find out where he got his money, but they'd be able to assure themselves that he was who he said he was, that he wasn't a Democracy undercover agent. It would take a few hours for the man to round up some muscle and come to the hotel. He had time to get out of his uncomfortable formal outfit, take a quick Dryshower, and get into his regular clothes.

  He finished dressing and had spent the next two hours hovering a few inches above the floor on a form-adapt chair, staring out his window at the city, watching the artificial lights play on the rough underground walls, when the Spy-Eye alerted him that he had visitors and showed him holographs of the seven humans who were standing at the door to the suite. He ordered it to open, then had his chair turn until he was facing his visitors.

  The muscle entered first. What surprised him was that the muscle that seemed to be in charge were both women. They were hard-featured, hard-muscled, hard-eyed, and heavily armed, one with long auburn hair, the other with short blonde hair, otherwise almost identical. They and the four men spread out and began searching the suite, examining it for hidden microphones, hidden cameras, hidden killers. Finally, satisfied, they stood aside and a stocky man entered with them. He was dressed in colorful silks and satins out of a previous, more spectacular galactic era, and he wore a hat with a huge feather in it, which he soon took off, revealing a colorfully-tattooed bald head.

  "Allow me to introduce myself," he said, showing no inclination to offer an exquisitely-gloved hand. "I am known as the Candy Man."

  "Pleased to meet you," said Dante.

  "Are you really?" asked the Candy Man. "In fact, why are you meeting me at all? You were told I don't deal directly with the customers."

  "And I told your man I don't deal with flunkies."

  "Of course you do. Every single time."

  "And yet here you are."

  "You act like a rich, foolish man, Mr. Alighieri, and yet based on what my associate told me, you are not foolish at all. Since you seem to be pretending to be something you are not, I thought we should meet. I just happened to be on Alibaster today"—he stared hard at Dante—"or did you already know that?"

  "All I know is that I came here to do buy some seed. How much can you supply?"

  "Subtlety is not among your virtues, Mr. Alighieri," said the Candy Man. I'm glad you think so. I must be a better liar than even I thought.

  "I'm in a hurry. Have you got any seed, or any I wasting my time?"

  "I have more than you could use in half a dozen lifetimes," said the Candy Man.

  "Prime?"

  "The best."

  "That's what they all say," replied Dante.

  "You show me the color of your money, I'll show
you the color of my seed."

  "Money is my other favorite subject," said Dante. "How much are we talking about?"

  "How many seeds are we talking about?" shot back the Candy Man.

  "Fifty now, more later."

  "You'd better go easy on them, Mr. Alighieri. Use them up in less than half a Standard year and there won't be any later."

  "How I use them is my business," said Dante irritably. "Yours is selling them to me, and you can't do that without naming a price."

  "For fifty? Are we talking credits, or New Stalin ruples, or . . . ?"

  "Whatever you want."

  "Most of my clients use credits," said the Candy Man. "Fifty seed will cost you two and a half million."

  "You've got to be kidding!" exclaimed Dante.

  "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

  "I can get fifty prime seeds for an even million on Beta Cordero II!"

  "Nobody lives on Beta Cordero II."

  "Somebody does now."

  "And they're selling seed at fifty for a million?" demanded the Candy Man.

  "Right. Are you going to match their price, or am I going to walk?"

  "Walk if you want, Mr. Alighieri, but I guarantee you won't be dealing with anyone on Beta Cordero II."

  "Why not?" said Dante.

  "Because I don't take kindly to people poaching in my sector. When I'm done with them, Beta Cordero II will be unpopulated again."

  "Maybe this guy is thinking of coming to Alibaster and taking over your operation," said Dante. "It makes no difference to me, as long as I get my seed."

  The Candy Man threw back his head and laughed. "I like your sense of humor, Mr. Alighieri! I'm so well-protected that not even Santiago himself could lay a finger on me."

  Dante returned his smile. "Not even Santiago?" he repeated. "That's must be a comforting thought."

  He was still smiling when the Candy Man went off to plot his next move against his newest rival.

  21.

  One is the Blade, one is the Knife,

  One takes your money, one takes your life.

  They're never alone, they're never apart,

  Stay on your guard or they'll cut out your heart.

  Dante followed the Candy Man's female bodyguards—one tall and auburn-haired, one tall and blonde—down the streets of Snakepit until they stopped at an elegant restaurant. He waited to make sure they were there to eat rather than extort money or perhaps meet their boss, and then he entered and approached their table.

  "Good evening," he said. "We met briefly at my hotel last night. May I join you?"

  Their expressions said they'd just as soon kill him as look at him.

  "I just want to talk to you for a few minutes," he said. "Tell you what: if you don't like what I have to say, I'll pay for dinner."

  They exchanged glances, and then the auburn-haired one nodded her assent.

  "Sit," she said.

  "Thank you." Dante pulled up a chair and sat down.

  "What do you want?" said the blonde.

  "I told you: I want to talk to you."

  "You'd better make it good," said the blonde. "You've already lied to the Candy Man."

  "Me?" said Dante, surprised. "About what?"

  "You've never chewed a seed in your life."

  "Why would you say something like that?" asked Dante with mock indignation.

  "Because they were delivered to you this morning, and you're still clear-eyed and clear-headed," she said. "No seed chewer in the galaxy could go all day without chewing one, and once they do that, they're in their own world for days."

  "I have excellent self-control."

  A waiter approached, and the blonde waived him away. He bowed obsequiously and went off to serve a table at the far end of the restaurant.

  The auburn-haired woman suddenly laid a screecher on the table next to her fork. "If you lie one more time, Mr. Alighieri, I'm going to kill you right here, right now. I assure you this is not an idle threat. Now tell us why you are here."

  "What makes you think—?" he began, and her hand closed on the sonic pistol. He stopped and sighed. "I followed you here because I want to talk a little business with you."

  "And you've never chewed a seed, have you?"

  "No, I never have."

  "All right, Mr. Alighieri," said the blonde. "You have a business proposition for us. We're listening."

  "If we don't like what we hear," added the auburn-haired one, "we can always kill you later."

  "Just relax," said Dante. "You're going to want to thank me, not kill me."

  "I hope so for your sake," said the blonde.

  "Before I begin, I'd feel much more comfortable if I knew your names," said Dante. They exchanged glances again. "How can it hurt?"

  "I'm the Knife," said the blonde. She gestured to her partner. "She's the Blade. That's all you have to know."

  "Interesting sobriquets," commented Dante.

  "Get on with it," said the Blade impatiently.

  "All right," said Dante. "Let me begin by saying that the Candy Man has an impressive organization, not the least of which are you two."

  "Flattery will get you nowhere," said the Blade.

  "Except an early death," chimed in the Knife. "Now either tell us what you came to tell us or we'll kill you."

  He stared at them. They had lovely faces, but there was no compassion in them, no trace of mercy at all. These ladies were not ambivalent about killing.

  "As I was saying, the Candy Man has a good organization, as well he should. He's the biggest fish in a small pond—but a bigger fish has come to the Frontier. Not to put too fine a point on it, your boss's days are numbered."

  "Explain," said the Knife.

  "Santiago has set up shop in this sector. It's as simple as that. Your boss is a walking dead man."

  "Santiago?" repeated the Knife, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

  "Santiago has been dead for centuries!" added the Blade.

  "A popular misconception," replied Dante. "He's alive, he's nearby, and he will not tolerate any competition. His organization dwarfs what the Candy Man's set up, and he's getting more powerful every day. You wouldn't believe some of the people who've joined him."

  "Like who?" said the Knife dubiously.

  "Like Waltzin' Matilda. Like Dimitrios of the Three Burners. Like the Rough Rider." He paused after each name for it to sink in, then added the clincher. "Like the One-Armed Bandit."

  The Blade looked impressed. The Knife looked dubious. "If he's got all that firepower, why did he send you?" she demanded. "In fact, why are we still alive?"

  "That's what I'm here to discuss with you."

  "Why we're alive?"

  "Why he's allowing you to live," said Dante. "There's a reason. Would you like to hear it?"

  "We're listening," said the Blade.

  "Santiago's got his fingers in a thousand pies on ten thousand worlds," said Dante. "He can't be bothered with the day- to-day operation of one obscure little drug ring that only covers half a dozen systems."

  Suddenly the Knife's eyes widened.

  Good, thought Dante. You've figured it out.

  "Are you suggesting he wants us to take it over?" she said.

  "He prefers to promote from within," said the poet. "Who knows the clientele and the routes better than you? Who can defend it better while he's occupied elsewhere?"

  "Why doesn't he try to buy off the Candy Man?"

  "Because it would be a demotion for the Candy Man, a step down no matter how you cut it. He couldn't help but be resentful, and a resentful partner isn't a loyal one. Santiago demands absolute loyalty from his partners." He paused while the words sank in. "But it wouldn't be a step down for you two. There'd be more money, more authority, more autonomy."

  There was a moment of silence.

  "What's he offering?" asked the Blade at last.

  "Half—which is a hell of a lot more than you're making now," Dante pointed out. "I should add that we have a man who will aud
it you regularly. Santiago has no use for people who try to cheat him."

  "Half?" repeated the Blade.

  "Half," agreed Dante.

  "Just for standing aside while Santiago kills the Candy Man?"

  "He's going to want a little more than that as a token of your good faith," said Dante.

  "Oh?" said the Knife suspiciously.

  "He wants to know that you're fully committed to him and his organization," said Dante.

  The Knife looked blank, but not the Blade. "Are you telling me he wants us to kill the Candy Man!"

  "That's right."

  "What's to stop us from killing the Candy Man and not splitting with anyone?" asked the Knife.

  "You wouldn't live out the day," said Dante, amazed that he could lie with such absolute conviction. He leaned forward. "You're looking at it all wrong. Join him and you'll be millionaires within a Standard month, and you'll have the protection of Santiago's galaxy-wide organization if you should ever need it. As long as you're Santiago's partners, no outsider will ever be able to do to you what you're going to do to the Candy Man."

  "What about insiders?" asked the Blade. "There will be people who already work for the Candy Man who may think they should be running things."

  "This is a test of your leadership abilities," said Dante. "If you can take this organization over and run it successfully, Santiago will help you go on to bigger and better things."

  The Blade picked up her screecher and tucked it back in her belt, then stood up.

  "We have to discuss this. In private."

  "I can wait outside for you," said Dante.

  "That won't be necessary." She turned to her blonde companion. "Come on."

  The Knife got up and followed her to the women's bathroom while Dante ordered a Cygnian cognac. He had just about finished it when they returned and sat down opposite him.

  "All right," said the Blade. "It's a deal."

  Dante looked at the Knife. "Yeah," she said, "it's a deal."

  "Fine. I think you've made a wise decision. You'd gone as far as you could with the Candy Man. You'll advance much farther with Santiago."