Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  Simple Simon nodded his head wearily.

  "Explosives or lasers?" asked the Angel.

  "Lasers."

  "Why do you want to kill me?" demanded Virtue.

  "There's a guy on Pegasus who's put out a hit on you," replied Simon.

  "Dimitri Sokol?" she said, surprised.

  "Yeah, that's the one."

  "But he already tried on Goldenrod," said Virtue. "I thought that was all over."

  "This isn't a game, and it's not played by gentleman's rules," interjected the Angel. "Just because Sokol's failed once doesn't mean he's going to give up." He paused. "When I spotted our friend here standing outside the hotel, I realized that I had been wrong about Santiago sabotaging the ship. Simon had to scout the place out last night in order to learn your number, so he had to know that I wasn't staying here. The fact that he was here anyway meant it was you he was after. He was just waiting around so that he could confirm your death. Probably Sokol required a holograph, or maybe even your body itself." The Angel turned to Simon. "Obviously you sabotaged my ship to keep her on Sunnybeach until you could kill her—but why go to such elaborate lengths? Why not just pick her off when we landed at the spaceport?"

  Simon made no reply.

  "If I have ask again," said the Angel softly, "you'll wish you had answered the first time."

  Simple Simon stared into his colorless eyes and decided that he was telling the truth.

  "Sokol passed the word that she travels with bounty hunters—first the Songbird, then Father William, and now you. That meant if I tried for a hit out in the open, I'd have to go for you, too, and I didn't like the odds. So I figured the safest way to go about it was to damage your ship and kill her when she came back here. Believe me, Angel," he said sincerely, "I never intended to kill you. I did everything I could to keep you out of the way while I went about my business."

  "You make it sound as if killing me is perfectly acceptable!" snapped Virtue.

  "Well, you must have done something to him, or he wouldn't have ordered the hit," said Simon.

  "What I did is between him and me," said Virtue.

  "Not anymore, obviously," commented the Angel. He turned to Simple Simon. "I've got one last question to ask you: How much did Sokol offer?"

  "Fifty thousand credits."

  "That much?" said Virtue, impressed.

  "Virtue, I want you to remember that figure," said the Angel. "All right, Simon. It's time for that dryshower."

  "But I didn't try to kill you!" said Simon desperately.

  "You're a wanted man, with a price on your head."

  "Dead or alive!" protested Simon. "Contact the police and turn me over to them!"

  "The dryshower," said the Angel emotionlessly.

  "But why? I'm worth the same to you either way!"

  "I'm in a race, and you cost me three days."

  "And you're going to kill me for that? This is crazy!"

  The Angel pointed his weapon at Simple Simon. "Start walking or I'll kill you right where you're sitting."

  Simon, very real tears of fear streaming down his face, reluctantly got to his feet and walked into the bathroom. The Angel followed him, and a moment later Virtue heard a single shriek of utter agony. Then the Angel emerged.

  "Good riddance," said Virtue. "Imagine! The son of a bitch didn't see anything wrong with killing me!"

  "After I collect the reward, I think I'll inform your friend Sokol that I expect him to pay for the repairs to my ship."

  "He'll never do it."

  "I have ways of encouraging him," said the Angel dryly. "Now I want you to take a look at Simple Simon."

  "Why?"

  "Because I said to."

  She shrugged and walked into the bathroom. Simple Simon lay on his back, his face and part of his torso burned away by the hundreds of tiny laser beams that had struck him when the Angel activated the dryshower. There was a smell of cooking flesh, and thin streams of black smoke rose from a number of his wounds.

  Virtue resisted the urge to vomit and staggered back into the bedroom.

  "God, he looks horrible!" she admitted.

  "He died a horrible death," replied the Angel calmly.

  "Couldn't you have turned him over to the police?" she asked. "Nobody deserves to die like that."

  "I could have."

  "Then why didn't you?"

  "Because you needed an object lesson."

  "He died because you wanted to give me an object lesson?" she said incredulously.

  "He was always going to die, whether I killed him or the government did," replied the Angel. "Don't waste too many tears on him. He murdered more than twenty-five men and women, and the death he died was meant for you."

  "What am I suppose to have learned from all this?" asked Virtue.

  "You are a reasonably courageous and resourceful woman," began the Angel.

  "Thank you," she said sardonically.

  "But you are also completely unimaginative," he continued. "You act rashly, without any thought of consequences. I wanted you to see Simon's corpse, because I want you to know that you're associating with people for whom this is not an exciting adventure but a deadly serious business."

  "I already know that."

  "I wanted to reinforce that knowledge," said the Angel, "before I told you what I have to say next."

  "And what is that?" she asked apprehensively.

  "I have had to kill two men in the past twenty-four hours. Neither of them had any argument with me."

  "Bates didn't have any argument with me, either," she interrupted. "He was after Terwilliger."

  "Who in turn was here to see you," said the Angel. "You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience, and have cost me three days in my pursuit of Santiago."

  "What are you leading up to?"

  "Up until now I was perfectly willing to let you go your own way whenever you wanted," he said. "But after our stay on Sunnybeach, you owe me, and when we reach Santiago's planet you're going to pay off."

  "How?"

  "I'll let you know when we get there. But if you try to leave me before then, or disobey my orders once we're there, then I promise you that I'll accept Dimitri Sokol's commission and kill you myself."

  As she looked into his cold, lifeless eyes, she knew that he was telling her the truth, and that knowledge terrified her more than anything Sokol or even Santiago could ever threaten to do to her.

  Part 5: Moonripple's Book

  19.

  Moonripple, Moonripple, touring the stars,

  Has polished the wax on a thousand bars,

  Has trod on the soil of a hundred worlds,

  Has found only pebbles while searching for pearls.

  * * * *

  Beneath the grease stains and the tattered clothes, she was actually, quite a pretty girl. She had blue eyes that had seen too many things and shed too many tears, square shoulders that had borne too many burdens, slender fingers that would have been soft and white in a gentler life.

  If she had any name other than Moonripple, she couldn't remember it. If she had ever called any world home, she couldn't remember it, either.

  She was nineteen years old, and she had already met Black Orpheus four times. He even began joking that he'd wander into the least likely bar on the least likely planet he could think of, and there would be Moonripple, scrubbing floors, cleaning tables, or washing dishes. The highlight of her brief life was the single verse he created about her one evening on Voorhite XIV, when he was playing his lute and singing his ballad to keep his mind off the storm that was raging through the chlorine atmosphere just beyond the human colony's domed enclosure.

  She fascinated him, this waif with a future that seemed no more promising than her past. Where did she come from? How many worlds had she been to? What was she searching for? Had she no higher aspiration than to be a barmaid to the galaxy? She tried to help him, but she truly didn't know any of the answers.

  The last time he saw her was on Trefoil III. She w
as waiting on some twenty-five tables by herself and falling increasingly behind. When her employer began yelling at her and threatening to beat her if her performance didn't improve, Orpheus stepped forward and stated that since she couldn't remember when she had been born, he was officially declaring this to be her seventeenth birthday and was taking her out to dinner. The crowd was thirsty and ill tempered, and probably not even Sebastian Cain or Peacemaker MacDougal could have taken the tavern's only barmaid away and emerged unscathed, but because he was Black Orpheus they let him lead her out of the bar without a word of protest.

  He fed her, and bought her new clothes, and even offered to take her with him until he could find her a permanent job on some other world. She replied with disarming sincerity that she bore her employer no ill will and had no desire for any other type of work. Orpheus got the feeling that she was afraid to form any bond, either emotional or financial, that might tie her down to a particular world until she finally found the as-yet-undefined thing she was searching for. They talked far into the morning, the Bard who took such pleasure in the endless variety of Men and worlds he visited, completely unable to understand the wanderlust of one who seemed to take no pleasure in anything.

  Finally, when it was time for him to leave, he offered her a few hundred credits, enough to book passage to another planet with another tavern, but she refused, explaining that it rarely took her more than a month or two to save enough money to move on to the next world, and that she would feel guilty about taking money from a man who had already done so much for her.

  As Orpheus left for his next port of call, he was convinced that he would regularly encounter her every couple of years—but they never met again, for while he continued his aimless journey, immortalizing men and events, Moonripple finally came, after many false starts and digressions, to the colony world of Safe Harbor, which was where Cain first encountered her.

  He wandered into the Barleycorn, the larger of the two local taverns, shortly after Schussler landed in late afternoon. It was totally empty. He checked the sign on the door, which proclaimed "We Never Close," shrugged, and sat down at a table.

  "I'll be with you in just a moment, sir," said Moonripple, coming out of the kitchen with a huge pitcher of beer, which she carried over to a large table across the room.

  She smiled at him, disappeared again, and returned half a minute later carrying an enormous roast, which she set down next to the pitcher.

  "That looks like real meat," remarked Cain.

  "It is," she said proudly. "We grow our own beef on Safe Harbor." She approached Cain's table. "May I help you, sir?"

  "It's a possibility," he replied. "I'm looking for someone."

  "Who?"

  "Billy Three-Eyes. Ever hear of him?"

  She nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "Do you happen to know where he is?"

  "He's dead, sir."

  Cain frowned. "You're sure?"

  She nodded again.

  "When and where?"

  "He was killed right out there," she said, indicating the street, "by a man called MacDougal."

  "Peacemaker MacDougal?" asked Cain.

  "Yes, sir. That was his name."

  "Shit!" muttered Cain. He looked up at the girl. "Did he have any friends here?"

  "Mr. MacDougal?"

  "Billy Three-Eyes."

  "Oh, yes," she said. "Everybody liked Billy."

  "We must not be talking about the same man."

  "I'm sure we are, sir," said Moonripple. "After all, how many men could have been called Billy Three-Eyes?"

  "He had a big scar on his forehead?"

  "Right above the bridge of his nose. Yes, sir."

  "And everybody liked him?" continued Cain, surprised.

  "Yes, sir," replied Moonripple. "He was always telling funny stories. I was very sorry when he died."

  "Who would you say was his closest friend on Safe Harbor?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I only saw him when he was in here."

  "Did he usually come alone?"

  "Yes, sir. But once he got here, he talked to everybody."

  "I see," said Cain. He sighed. "Well, I might as well stick around and talk to some of the people he talked to. Bring me a beer, will you?"

  "Yes, sir," said Moonripple. She walked to the bar, held a glass under a tap, and returned to him.

  "Thanks," said Cain.

  "I should tell you, sir, that hardly anybody will show up for another three or four hours."

  "How about the group that's coming by for dinner?" asked Cain, pointing toward the roast.

  She smiled. "Oh, that's not a group. It's just for one man."

  "There's got to be four or five pounds of meat there," said Cain. "Do you mean to tell me that one man is going to eat it all?"

  Moonripple nodded. "Oh, yes, sir. And the chocolate cake that's in the oven."

  Cain stared at the roast again. "Is he doing it on some kind of a bet?" he asked, curious.

  "No, sir," answered Moonripple. "He has the same meal every day."

  "He wouldn't happen to be eleven feet three inches tall, with orange hair, would he?" asked Cain, only half joking.

  The girl laughed. "No, sir. He's only a man."

  "If he can pack that much food away, there's nothing only about him," replied Cain. He paused. "By the way, how long has Billy Three-Eyes been dead?"

  "Four or five months, sir." She paused. "Oh!" she said suddenly. "I forgot the potatoes!"

  "You ought to change your sign out front," commented Cain. "I thought this place was just a tavern."

  "It is."

  "But you're serving food," he observed.

  "Only to Father William. He's kind of a special customer."

  She turned to go to the kitchen, but Cain grabbed her arm.

  "Father William's on Safe Harbor?" he demanded.

  "Yes, sir. He'll be by in just a few minutes."

  "How long has he been here?"

  "I'm not sure, sir," said Moonripple. "Maybe a week."

  "I didn't see his tent on my way into town."

  "Tent, sir?"

  "He's a preacher."

  "I know, sir, but he says he's on vacation."

  Cain frowned. "Did he ask about Billy Three-Eyes, too?"

  "No, sir." She looked uncomfortable. "You're hurting my arm, sir."

  "I'm sorry," said Cain, releasing the girl. "You're sure he didn't say anything about Billy Three-Eyes?"

  "Not to me, sir." She began walking to the kitchen. "Excuse me, but I have to get his potatoes."

  "Did he mention Santiago?" asked Cain.

  "Why should he do that?" asked Moonripple, stopping a few feet short of the kitchen door.

  "Because he's a bounty hunter as well as a preacher."

  "What does that have to do with Santiago?"

  Cain stared at her, amazed by her ignorance. "He's the most wanted outlaw on the Frontier."

  "You must be wrong, sir," said Moonripple, leaning forward so that the door could sense her presence and slide back to admit her. "Santiago is a hero."

  "To who?" asked Cain.

  She laughed as if he had just told a joke, and before he could question her further she was inside the kitchen, leaving him to sip his beer thoughtfully and stare at the door that quickly hid her from view.

  She emerged a moment later, carrying a large serving dish filled with potatoes au gratin.

  "Tell me about Santiago," said Cain as she walked over to Father William's table.

  "I don't know him, sir," said Moonripple.

  "What makes you think he's a hero?"

  "Everybody says so."

  "Who's everybody?" persisted Cain.

  "Oh, just lots of people," she said with a shrug. "Can I get you another beer, sir?"

  "I'd rather you talked to me about Santiago," said Cain.

  "But I don't know him," protested Moonripple.

  "He's eleven feet tall and he's got orange hair," said a deep voice from the doorway. "What
else do you want to know?"

  Cain turned and saw a large, extremely heavy black-clad man, his twin laser pistols clearly visible, standing in the doorway.

  "You're Father William?" he asked.

  "At your service," said Father William, walking over and extending a huge hand. "And you are...?"

  "Sebastian Cain," said Cain, surprised by the strength in the pudgy fingers.

  "Ah!" said Father William with a smile. "You're Virtue MacKenzie's friend!"

  Cain nodded. "And you're the man who saved her life back on Goldenrod."

  "The Lord was her savior," replied Father William. "I am merely His instrument."

  "What's His instrument doing on an out-of-the-way little world like Safe Harbor?" asked Cain.

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Father William with a smile.

  "Probably not—but suppose you tell me anyway and let me make up my own mind."

  "Well, the truth of the matter is that when I found out what wonderful food this child cooks"—he smiled at Moonripple—"I decided that it was time to take a vacation, and since I'm a man who likes his comforts, what better place than right here?"

  "Do you really cook the food yourself?" asked Cain.

  "Yes, sir," said Moonripple.

  He turned back to Father William. "You still haven't told me what you were doing here in the first place."

  Father William smiled again, and the fingers of his right hand drifted down toward the hilt of a pistol. "I wasn't aware that I was obliged to do so."

  "Just trying to make conversation," said Cain with a shrug.

  "As long as you aren't insisting, then I have no objection to telling you," said the preacher. "I set down here a few days ago because my ship needed some minor repairs." He walked over to his table. "I'll be happy to continue our conversation, but it would be sinful to let this magnificent repast get cold. Will you join me?"

  "I'll sit with you," said Cain, getting up and walking over. "But I'm not very hungry."

  "What a shame," said Father William insincerely. He picked up an oversized napkin, tied it around his neck, pulled the serving platter toward him, and sliced off a few large pieces of meat. He then impaled one of the pieces on his fork, brought it to his mouth, and began chewing noisily. "Perhaps you'll allow me to ask you the same question you asked me: What is a famous bounty hunter like Sebastian Cain doing on Safe Harbor?"