by Mike Resnick
"All right," said Breshinsky. "What's your offer?"
"Your life, Mr. Breshinsky," said the Angel calmly.
The portly little man gasped, then emitted a nervous giggle. "You're joking!"
"I never joke about business."
Breshinsky stared at him for a long moment, then uttered a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a sob. "The account was initiated on Sunnybeach."
"Thank you, Mr. Breshinsky," said the Angel. "You've been most helpful."
"May I leave now?"
The Angel nodded, and the little banker walked rapidly to the door.
"Would you really have killed him if he hadn't told you what you wanted to know?" asked Virtue.
"Of course."
"I thought you only killed fugitives."
"And fools," added the Angel. "Eventually one comes to the realization that everyone is one or the other."
"Including Santiago?"
"Almost everyone," he amended.
"You're a very cynical man," she said.
"It must be the company I keep," he replied. He noticed that his cigar had gone out again, and unwrapped and lit a fresh one. "We'll leave for Sunnybeach at sunrise tomorrow morning."
"Then I'd better go back to my hotel and start packing," said Virtue. She paused. "What will I do with my ship?"
"That's not my concern," said the Angel.
"Thanks a lot."
"If you're unhappy with the arrangements, you can always remain on New Ecuador," said the Angel.
"Not a chance," she replied. "We're partners now. I'm staying with you."
"We are not partners," he corrected her. "We are traveling companions, nothing more. And you'll stay with me only so long as you prove useful." He stood up. "Meet me at my ship at sunrise."
"How will I know which one it is?" she asked as he began walking toward the doorway.
He stopped and turned to her.
"You're an investigative reporter," he said. "You'll find it."
Then he was gone, and Virtue MacKenzie found herself sitting alone in the almost deserted tavern. She remained motionless, lost in thought, for a number of minutes, trying to assimilate what she had seen and learned of the Angel. There was no longer any question in her mind that he would find Santiago, and very little that he would succeed in killing him. But for the first time since she had begun her search, she felt unsure of her course of action; the Angel frightened her as no other man she had ever met.
She reviewed her various options, which included finding and teaming up with Cain or the Swagman once more, proceeding on her own, or chucking the whole thing and living on the remainder of her unspent advance, compared them against remaining with the Angel, and finally concluded that while she hadn't made the safest decision, she had made the right one.
She stood up, walked to the far side of the table where the Angel had placed her bottle, downed two large swallows, and headed back to her hotel, trying to come up with various facts about Cain and Santiago that would make her of continuing value to the Angel.
16.
Come to the lair of the cold Virgin Queen!
Come and see sights that have never been seen!
Money that's piled as high as the sky,
And a bandit queen anything other than shy!
* * * *
People used to ask Black Orpheus about that verse, since it seemed so different from his original stanza about Virtue MacKenzie. At first he was genuinely puzzled—after all, he hadn't written it—but after a while he put two and two together, figured out who wrote it and why, and decided to let it stand, probably to further confuse the academics who had made careers out of continually misinterpreting him.
Once the Angel had let drop that he had a constant need for money, Virtue decided to convince him that she had access to it—so she jotted down the four lines, spread some untraceable cash around, and made sure that the verse continually came to his attention.
She was guilty of overwriting a bit more than usual; at any rate, it didn't have quite the effect she had anticipated. The first time the Angel heard it he remarked that Orpheus must have discovered a second Virgin Queen; he never referred to it again. When it reached the Swagman's ears, he concluded that money wasn't the only thing Virtue was capable of piling as high as the sky. As for Cain, who heard it after he'd reached Safe Harbor, he grimaced and commented to Schussler that some of the sights referred to had been seen altogether too often. Of all the men and aliens Virtue had met on the Inner Frontier, only Sitting Bull, chief of the Great Sioux Nation, assumed that the verse had actually been written by Black Orpheus, and he found himself in full agreement that shyness was not exactly one of the Virgin Queen's more noticeable traits.
In truth, the only positive effect it ever did have was that Virtue gained another little piece of immortality when Orpheus incorporated it into his ballad.
In the meantime, it was business as usual during the two-day voyage to Sunnybeach. The Angel questioned her thoroughly about every aspect of Cain's character, every portion of his past, every hope he may have expressed for his future. She answered with the truth when she could and lied when she couldn't.
Even though he assumed that her knowledge of Cain was fragmentary at best, the picture that emerged puzzled and disturbed the Angel. He understood men who killed for profit, and men who killed for hatred, and even men who killed for ego—but Cain seemed to fall into none of those categories. And, as with anything that ran counter to his experience, he distrusted it, as he now distrusted Cain.
For her part, Virtue tried to learn more about the Angel, especially his past and his reasons for becoming first an assassin and then a bounty hunter. He didn't overtly refuse to answer her; he merely ignored her questions, and when he stared at her with his colorless eyes, she felt disinclined to force the issue.
Finally they reached Sunnybeach, which handled considerably more traffic than she had expected. On most Frontier worlds one simply decelerated and landed, but the procedure here was not unlike that back in the heart of the Democracy.
First a voice came over their radio and asked them to identify themselves.
"This is the Southern Cross, two hundred eighty-one Galactic Standard days out of Spica Six, William Jennings, race of Man, commanding," replied the Angel.
"Registration number?"
The Angel rattled off an eleven-digit number.
"Purpose of visit?"
"Tourism."
"Are you equipped to land planetside, or will you require use of an orbiting hangar?"
"I can land in any spaceport rated Class Seven or higher."
"Please maintain your orbit until we can confirm you," said the voice, breaking the connection.
"Who is William Jennings?" asked Virtue.
"I am—until we pass through customs."
"I assume the ship's point of origin and registration number are phony, too."
"They're untrue," said the Angel. "Which is different from being phony. I can prove they're what I say, just as I can prove that I'm William Jennings."
"Why not tell them who you really are?" asked Virtue. "It's not as if bounty hunting is illegal."
"It tends to scare off one's prey and alert one's competition."
"Then why ever identify yourself at all?" she persisted.
"I don't care who knows I've been to a world once I've left it," replied the Angel disdainfully.
The radio came to life again.
"Attention, Southern Cross. We need to know how many other sentient entities are aboard your ship."
"One other, besides myself," replied the Angel.
"Please identify."
"Virtue MacKenzie, passenger, race of Man, who boarded at New Ecuador two Standard days ago."
"What was your business on New Ecuador?"
"Tourism."
"Proposed length of stay on Sunnybeach?"
"I have no idea," said the Angel.
"I require a definite answer," said the voice petulantl
y.
"I propose to stay here for ten days."
"The Sunnybeach economy is based on Plantagenet sovereigns. Will you require the use of a currency exchange?"
"All I require is a clearance to land my ship."
"Please maintain orbit," said the voice, and again the connection was broken.
"I feel like I'm right back in the Democracy," commented Virtue.
"It's a bother," he agreed. "When I have my own planet, I won't tolerate this bureaucratic nonsense."
"Your own planet?" she repeated.
He nodded.
She laughed. "Are you laboring under the delusion that a grateful Democracy is going to give you your very own planet just for killing Santiago?"
"No."
"Then what are you talking about?"
He turned to her, and for just a moment she thought he might put a forceable end to her unwanted questioning then and there. Instead, he instructed his ship's computer to create a hologram of a cross section of the Galactic Rim.
"Do you see this?" he asked, indicating a glowing yellow star.
She nodded.
"It's a G-Four star with eleven planets, the fourth of which is named Far London. Its population has grown to almost three hundred thousand since it was initially colonized." He paused. "Far London has been ruled by a hereditary monarchy, the last descendent of which died a few years ago and left a considerable debt. The government has advertised for a new monarch."
"The stipulation being that you'll pay off the late lamented family's debts?" asked Virtue.
"In essence," said the Angel.
"How much more do you need?"
"Killing Santiago should just about do it."
"And then you'll retire to a quiet life of ruling the peasants?" she asked.
"I've always wanted to have my very own world to rule."
"Well," she said, "at least there'll be one world where we don't have these idiot delays before we can land." She paused. "Have you thought about what other improvements you'll make?"
"No. But I think I can make one guarantee."
"Oh? What is that?"
"It will be safe to walk the streets of my city."
"I don't suppose I'd like to be a lawbreaker in your city," she agreed. "What does the populace think of this idea?"
"Given the previous few monarchs, they'll approve."
"And if they don't?"
"Then they'll learn to adjust," he said softly.
Suddenly the radio crackled with static.
"Southern Cross, you are cleared for landing. We will now feed the coordinates into your computer." There followed two seconds of high-pitched humming, after which the ship began decelerating and heading downward toward the surface of Sunnybeach.
"I trust your passport is in order," remarked the Angel. "I don't suppose customs will be any less pompous and self-important."
"Of course," she replied.
But when they landed, she found herself the object of some ten minutes' worth of mild harassment, since her passport hadn't been scanned or registered since Pegasus. When they finally released her, the Angel was nowhere to be seen, and she walked rapidly through the spaceport, looking for him. She passed a handful of human vendors, as well as a number of aliens selling everything from indigestible sweets to incomprehensible wood carvings, and eventually found the bounty hunter at a tobacco stand, purchasing a fresh supply of cigars from a pink, tripodal being from Hesporite III.
"This place is simply lousy with aliens," she remarked. "I didn't know Sunnybeach was so cosmopolitan."
"It isn't," said the Angel. "They're not allowed to leave the free trade zone around the spaceport."
"By the way, I want to thank you for all your help back there at the customs desk," she said sarcastically.
"My papers were in order," he replied.
"You could have waited."
"Partners wait. Traveling companions don't."
He paid for the cigars, placed them in a lapel pocket, and began following the signs to the ground vehicle rental area. Virtue fell into step beside him.
When they arrived, he stopped and turned to her.
"You're not coming with me. Find your own transportation, and register at the Welcome Inn."
"Why can't we go into town together?" she asked. "It'll be more convenient."
"Because you're feeling followed."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I didn't see anybody," Virtue protested.
"I did."
"Then how do you know that you're not the one who's being followed?"
"Because when I left customs, he stayed behind and waited for you."
"What does he look like?" asked Virtue.
"He's not that clumsy," replied the Angel. "I've only gotten two brief glimpses of him."
"How do you know he's following me if you've only had two glimpses of him?"
"I know," he said calmly.
"And now you're just going to leave?" she demanded.
"He's not after me," said the Angel.
"I hope they're not expecting a chivalrous king on Far London."
"They're not," said the Angel, walking toward a rental vehicle.
"Wait!" said Virtue. "What should I do about this guy?"
"That's entirely up to you. But if I were you, I'd try to find out what he wanted before I led him to my hotel."
"It's your hotel, too," she said desperately. "If you don't help me lose him, he'll know where you're staying. That might be worth quite a bit of money to someone."
"It's not my hotel," he answered.
"It isn't? Then where will you be staying?"
"That's not the sort of information I share with traveling companions."
"Then how will I find you?"
"I'll find you," he replied. "I'll meet you in the Welcome Inn's lobby at sunset."
"If I'm still alive," she said bitterly.
"If you're still alive," he agreed.
He tossed his single piece of luggage into the back of the vehicle, climbed into the driver's seat, registered it to his account with an identification card, and drove off.
Virtue waited for ten minutes, casting frightened glances into the shadows, then rented her own vehicle and drove out into the bright Sunnybeach sun. When she was halfway to town she realized that she'd left her overnight kit at the spaceport, but decided not to return for it.
Her initial idea upon reaching the nearby city, which, unsurprisingly, bore the same name as the planet, was to walk up and down the streets, window-shopping, until she got a glimpse of her pursuer. That resolve lasted about thirty seconds. Whoever had named the planet had possessed a mordant sense of humor: Sunnybeach was a desert world, with about five hundred miles of beach for every foot of seashore. The heat, once she left the confines of her air-conditioned vehicle, was oppressive, and she got the feeling that the only variation in the weather was an occasional sandstorm.
She had almost collapsed from the simple exertion of walking half a block when she came to a small, elegant restaurant. She entered it, requested a table that faced the front door, and pretended to study the menu while keeping a watchful eye on the doorway.
Some five minutes later a familiar bearded face, topped by a shock of unkempt red hair, peered in through the window, and an instant later Halfpenny Terwilliger entered the restaurant and walked directly to her table.
"Goddamn it!" she snapped, both relieved and annoyed. "Are you the one who's been following me?"
"Yeah," he said breathlessly. "We've got to talk."
"I've got nothing to say to you."
"You've got more to say than you think," said Terwilliger, watching the door as intently as Virtue had been doing a moment earlier. He signaled to the waiter. "Has this place got another room?"
"Another room, sir?"
"One that can't be seen from the street," explained Terwilliger.
"We don't open it until dinnertime," said the waiter.
Terwilliger w
aved a one-hundred-credit note in front of him. "Open it now," he said. "And close it as soon as we're seated."
The waiter took the note with no sign of embarrassment and led them through a doorway into a smaller room which possessed only six lace-covered tables.
"Take money for two beers out of that and keep the rest," said the little gambler when he and Virtue had been seated.
The waiter arched a supercilious eyebrow and left the room.
"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded Virtue when they were alone.
"Waiting for you," replied Terwilliger. "I was going to give you two more days to show up, and then hop over to Hallmark."
"Why were you skulking after me like some kind of criminal?"
"I have my reasons," he said.
"You mean the Angel?" asked Virtue. "He doesn't give a damn who I talk to."
"I'm not worried about the Angel."
"Then what are you worried about?"
"ManMountain Bates."
"Is he still after you?"
"The man simply will not let bygones be bygones!" complained Terwilliger peevishly. "He's chased me halfway across the Inner Frontier."
"You seem to have done the same to me," remarked Virtue. "Were you on New Ecuador, too?"
The little gambler shook his head. "I followed you as far as Questados Four. Then Bates started breathing down my neck again, so I decided to jump a few worlds ahead of you, just in case he was using you to find me." He paused for breath, then continued. "The Swagman told me that the Angel would probably pass through Sunnybeach or Hallmark, depending on what he learned on Lambda Karos, and I came here first. It sounded like a vacation planet." He grimaced. "They ought to draw and quarter the guy who named it. Hanging's too good for him."
"Why were you looking for me in the first place?"
"Cain sent me."
"To spy on me?"
"Well, now, spy is a pretty ugly word," said Terwilliger, pulling a deck of cards out of his pocket and nervously starting to shuffle them. "Besides, if I was really spying on you, I'd stay in hiding. You'd never know I was around."