Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  "I'll tell you once we've left Sunnybeach."

  "This is silly!" she snapped. "Even if you tell me what planet we're going to, I don't know who or what you're looking for there. Do you really think I'll book passage out of here while you're waiting for the mechanic to check out your ship?"

  "No."

  "Then why are you being like this?"

  "Because for a man in my profession, the most important single virtue is not the mastery of weapons or physical combat, but meticulous attention to detail."

  "What has that got to do with what we're talking about?"

  "Listen carefully, because I'm only going to explain it once," said the Angel, lighting up a thin cigar. "If I tell you the name of our next port of call, there are only two things you can do with that information: ignore it or use it. If you ignore it, as you almost certainly will, you didn't need it in the first place—but if you use it, you will use it to my detriment."

  "But you told me back on New Ecuador that we'd be coming to Sunnybeach next," she pointed out.

  "My ship was operational on New Ecuador," he replied. "If you had acted independently on that information, you would never have lived to see Sunnybeach."

  "I can't tell you how touched I am by such trust," she said cynically.

  "My trust isn't lightly given," he responded. "You've done nothing to earn it."

  "What are you talking about? I told you all about Cain, didn't I?"

  "Betraying a partner is not exactly the sort of behavior that inspires confidence," said the Angel. He paused. "Did I mention that I stopped by the information center of your hotel while you were still asleep this morning?"

  "Oh?"

  He nodded. "I was curious about the message you had Terwilliger send to Cain yesterday afternoon. The person on duty was kind enough to show me a copy of it."

  "He's not allowed to do that!"

  "Once I discussed the alternatives with him, he seemed more than happy to accommodate me."

  "I told you about it last night," said Virtue defensively. "It doesn't mean a damned thing. I was just hedging my bets—but you're the one I've put my money on."

  He stared at her and made no reply.

  "Look," she continued. "I could have stayed at the spaceport yesterday after you left for town and caught the next ship out of here. I didn't. That ought to prove something to you."

  "It proves that you have a well-developed sense of self-preservation," he replied.

  "I don't know why I waste my time talking to you!" she snapped.

  "Because you want to find Santiago," said the Angel, signaling to a waitress and gesturing for her to bring two coffees. "The problem," he continued, "is that he seems to have found us first."

  "You think Santiago sabotaged the ship?" asked Virtue.

  "Not personally, of course. But I suspect that he ordered it done."

  "Why didn't he just have you killed?"

  "I'm a little harder to kill than you might think," he said quietly.

  "But what purpose could be gained by messing around with the ship?" she persisted. "It can't be a warning. He must know he can't scare you off."

  "That's what disturbs me," said the Angel. "It doesn't make any sense—and Santiago is not a stupid man."

  "Maybe it was ordered by Cain or the Swagman," she suggested. "They certainly have a stake in delaying you."

  He shook his head. "They have an even greater stake in stopping me."

  "Just because it hasn't exploded yet doesn't mean there's not a bomb."

  "Nobody is going to mourn or avenge either of us," replied the Angel. "If there was a bomb, it would have exploded the instant we entered the ship."

  "Speak for yourself!" she snapped. "I've got lots of friends."

  "I doubt it," said the Angel.

  The coffee arrived, and they waited until the waitress was out of earshot before speaking again.

  "Could it have been a friend of ManMountain Bates?" asked Virtue.

  "I doubt that he had any friends," replied the Angel. "Besides, one doesn't avenge a friend's death by damaging his killer's ship." He frowned. "It's got to be Santiago's doing. I just wish it made a little more sense to me."

  A woman dressed in mechanic's clothing entered the coffee shop, looked around, and approached their table.

  "Are you the ... Are you Mr. William Jennings?" she asked hesitantly.

  "Yes."

  "I've just taken a look at your ship," she said. "I'll have to go over it much more thoroughly before I can give you a complete damage report, but you were right: someone's been tampering with it."

  "I assume there were no explosives?"

  She shook her head. "Not that I've been able to find. It doesn't look like anyone was out to kill you, just to keep you here for a few days."

  "How many?"

  "Based on what I've found so far, I'd guess that it'll take two or three days to get the parts shipped in and installed." She paused. "It could come to a lot of money. Do you want an estimate first?"

  The Angel shook his head. "Just do whatever's necessary to get it working."

  "Where can I contact you when it's ready?" she asked.

  "You can't," he said. "But I'll be checking in a couple of times every day. Who should I ask for?"

  She gave him her name and identification number, then left the coffee shop.

  "You still look disturbed," observed Virtue.

  "I still am," he replied. "What does Santiago think he gains by tying me down here for two or three days? I can't be that close to him yet."

  He finished his coffee and ordered another.

  "Why don't we go to the bar?" suggested Virtue, staring distastefully at her coffee.

  "Because we want to keep our heads clear until we figure out what's going on," replied the Angel with equal distaste.

  She glared at him for a moment, then shrugged and sipped from her half-empty cup.

  They sat in silence for another five minutes, and then the security officer sought out the Angel.

  "I've been checking up on the mechanic..." he began.

  "His company never heard of him, and you can't find him in the directory," said the Angel. It was not a question.

  The officer sighed and nodded. "Somebody really screwed up on this one." He pulled out a two-dimensional copy of the mechanic's identification card. "This is the guy. Does he look familiar to you?"

  The Angel studied the photograph, which appeared just above the man's signature and thumbprint.

  "No," he said. "Do you mind if I keep this?"

  "Not at all," said the officer. "It's in the computer if we need another copy." He paused. "We'll keep checking from this end, and I assume that you have ... ah, certain private sources?"

  The Angel made no reply.

  "Well, then," said the officer, "if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to work."

  "On the saboteur?"

  He shook his head. "The scanner's broken down at one of the passenger terminals," he said apologetically. "Just one of those days. But I'll make sure that the office follows up on your mysterious mechanic."

  The Angel stared at him.

  "If they haven't got it solved by tomorrow morning, I'll take charge of the investigation myself," he promised with a nervous smile. He backed away, stumbled against a table, apologized, then turned and walked rapidly out of the coffee shop.

  "Mind if I take a look?" asked Virtue.

  "Be my guest," said the Angel, handing the card to her.

  She stared at the bearded face. "Five'll get you ten that he's clean-shaven by now—if all that hair was real in the first place."

  She returned the card to him. He took one last look at it, then slipped it into a pocket, threw a couple of coins on the table, and got to his feet.

  "Let's go," he said.

  "Where to?"

  "We're not going to come up with answers hanging around here," said the Angel. "And the spaceport's bureaucracy isn't going to be of any use to us." He paused. "In a way, this m
ay have been a blessing in disguise."

  "How do you figure that?" she asked.

  "Because if I can find the man who sabotaged my ship, I may be able to get a direct line to Santiago. It could save us a couple of weeks."

  "Where will we start looking for him?"

  "We aren't looking for him; I am," he said firmly. "You're going back to your hotel to wait for me."

  "The hell I am!"

  He stared coldly at her. "If I wouldn't tell you our next port of call, you may be sure that I won't allow you to come with me if there's a chance that I might actually find out where Santiago is."

  She was about to protest again, but something in his colorless eyes made her decide against it.

  They walked silently through the spaceport to the vehicle rental area. When they arrived, Virtue turned to the Angel.

  "Separate transportation again?" she asked caustically.

  He shook his head. "We'll go together."

  "It can't be courtesy, and we've already ruled out chivalry," she said suspiciously.

  "I want to make certain that you go directly to your hotel."

  "Are you going to stand guard outside my door to make sure I stay there?"

  "Once you've walked in the front door, I don't much care what you do, as long as you don't try to follow me."

  The Angel rented a vehicle, and as they began the ten-minute journey into town, it became apparent that the air-conditioning system had seen better days. Virtue decided not to complain about it until he did, and was amazed to find that his face was as dry at the end of the trip as it had been within the spaceport, while she herself was soaked to the skin.

  The Angel pulled up to the entrance of the Welcome Inn, where workmen were busily replacing the door ManMountain Bates had broken down, and turned to face her.

  "I won't be in touch with you until tomorrow, unless I find what I'm looking for. I warn you once again not to follow me. Since I don't know where to begin, I'm going to start with the lowest examples of the local criminal element and work my way up. They're not likely to prove a very friendly or accommodating lot, and there's very little likelihood that I can protect you if you're skulking around in the shadows—so just go to your room, have dinner, and relax."

  "And you think you can find out who sabotaged the ship by intimidating a bunch of small-time crooks?" she said sardonically.

  "Probably not," he admitted. "Most likely the man who worked on the ship is long gone from Sunnybeach. But I'm stuck here for the next few days, and I've got to start somewhere, so—"

  Suddenly he stopped speaking and stared intently out the window at a shabbily dressed panhandler who was begging for coins some fifty feet away.

  Finally the Angel smiled.

  "Now it all makes sense," he said softly.

  "What does?"

  "Never mind." He turned back to her. "When you go into the hotel, find yourself a nice, comfortable seat in the lobby."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You heard me."

  "I'm hot and I'm tired, and as long as I'm stuck in this hellhole, I intend to go to my room, take a dryshower, and change my clothes."

  "I wouldn't advise it," said the Angel.

  "I'm getting a little bit sick and tired of taking orders from you!" snapped Virtue.

  "All right," he said with a shrug. "Do what you want."

  "Why shouldn't I go to my room?" she demanded, suddenly unsure of herself.

  "Because I was operating under a false premise," he explained. "I thought someone was out to stop me. It's you he's after." He reached forward to the control panel and hit the door latch. "Now walk into the lobby and don't look around you."

  Suddenly Virtue found herself stepping out onto the sidewalk, oblivious to the intense heat, as the Angel pulled away and sped off into the distance. Forcing herself to look straight ahead, she walked past the desk, then turned left and found a chair that was partially hidden from the doorway.

  She sat absolutely motionless, afraid to call any attention to herself, and wondered what to do next. She began furtively studying the people in the lobby, trying to determine which of them looked like killers, and came to the uneasy conclusion that they all did.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the Angel entered the lobby, accompanied by the panhandler, who looked terribly confused. The bounty hunter glanced in her direction and jerked his head.

  She stood up immediately and gestured questioningly toward herself. He nodded, and as she joined them on their way to the elevator she noticed that the Angel had a small hand weapon pressed against the panhandler's back.

  "I keep telling you, sir—you're making a terrible mistake," whined the panhandler when the three of them were alone in the elevator, ascending to Virtue's floor. "I've never seen you before in my life, honest to God I haven't."

  "But I've seen you," replied the Angel grimly. "Staring out at me from the post office wall."

  "I've never even been to the post office."

  The Angel made no reply, and a few seconds later the elevator came to a stop.

  "Who is he?" asked Virtue as they stepped out into the empty corridor.

  "His name's Simple Simon," said the Angel, prodding the panhandler with his weapon until the man began walking. "And he's just a little more sophisticated than he appears to be."

  "Well, there you are, sir," said the panhandler. "My name's not Simon at all. It's Brubaker, sir, Robert Brubaker. I have my identification with me."

  "Keep walking," said the Angel.

  "If he's really a wanted killer, how did he get past customs?" asked Virtue.

  "The same way William Jennings did," said the Angel. "If I wanted, I could come up with ten authentic passports proving that I was Robert Brubaker."

  "I suppose you could, at that," acknowledged Virtue.

  "But I am Robert Brubaker!" protested the panhandler. "I'm an honest, hardworking man, I am."

  "Hardworking, anyway," said the Angel as they came to Virtue's room. "Stop here."

  The panhandler came to a halt.

  "All right," said the Angel, backing about fifteen feet down the corridor. "Virtue, open the door and then step aside. You," he continued, gesturing toward the panhandler with his weapon, "walk in first."

  "Then can I go home?" asked the man.

  "Then we'll talk about it."

  Virtue extended her hand, let the computer lock scan her thumbprint, and jumped back as the door slid into the wall. The panhandler, shaking his head and looking as if he truly believed he had fallen into the company of a madman, sighed and stepped into the room.

  Nothing happened.

  The Angel walked to the doorway.

  "Go over to the window," he commanded.

  The panhandler did as he was told.

  "Now sit on each chair and then on the bed."

  The Angel waited while the panhandler followed his orders, then nodded to Virtue. She entered the room, and then the Angel stepped inside the doorway.

  "You must have been wrong," commented Virtue.

  "Close the door and be quiet," said the Angel, scrutinizing the room.

  "Hey!" said the panhandler irately. "You promised to let me go!"

  "I promised that we'd talk," said the Angel, walking carefully around the perimeter of the room, his gaze darting from one piece of furniture to another. "Are you ready to tell me where it is?"

  "Where what is?" demanded the man.

  "My closet!" exclaimed Virtue suddenly.

  "Open it," the Angel ordered the panhandler.

  "It's already open," said Virtue, starting to back away from it. "This is just a holographic projection."

  "How do you turn it off?"

  "I don't know."

  "Call down to the desk and tell them to disconnect it," said the Angel.

  She did as he ordered, and a moment later the closet flickered out of existence, leaving a single metal rod stretched along a four-foot length of wall.

  "That's a relief!" she br
eathed. "You had me believing you for a minute there."

  The panhandler walked up to the Angel. "I've got a wife and three kids depending on me," he said plaintively. "Can't I go now?"

  The Angel pushed him down into a chair. "You're dead meat, Simon," he said. "The only question is whether I kill you now or later."

  "But my name isn't Simon!" shouted the man desperately. "I'm Robert Brubaker!"

  "Shut up," said the Angel quietly. He continued his methodical inspection of the room. When he came to the bathroom door he stopped and turned to the panhandler with a smile on his face.

  "Smart," he said admiringly. "Very smart, Simon."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "The way you rigged it."

  "I didn't rig anything!"

  "You couldn't be sure a maid wouldn't enter the room before Virtue did, so you couldn't rig it to kill the first person to walk through the door or reach into the closet."

  "Look," said the panhandler. "If I walk into the bathroom, then will you let me go?"

  "Yes," assented the Angel. "But you look hot and uncomfortable. I think maybe you'd better treat yourself to a dryshower, first."

  "I don't need a dryshower. I just want to leave."

  "But I insist."

  "Damn it!" yelled the panhandler. "You pull a weapon on me, drag me up here, accuse me of being someone I never heard of, and threaten to kill me! Isn't that enough? Can't you just leave me alone now?"

  "After your dryshower," said the Angel.

  "I'm not getting undressed in front of a strange woman."

  "You can keep your clothes on."

  "Ma'am?" he pleaded, turning to Virtue. "Can't you make him leave me alone? I'm just a street beggar who never did anyone any harm!"

  "She's not in charge here," said the Angel, reaching out and grabbing him firmly by the wrist. "Let's get on with it."

  The panhandler pulled back, and the Angel released him.

  "All right," muttered the panhandler. "You win."

  "Then he really is Simple Simon?" exclaimed Virtue.

  "I told you he was."

  "Why the dryshower?" she asked.

  "It's the one thing a maid could reasonably be expected to leave alone, even if she cleaned the bathroom," said the Angel. "And on a planet where the average temperature is somewhere around a hundred and twenty-five degrees, it's the first thing you'd head for once you came back here." He turned to Simon. "Am I right?"