by Mike Resnick
"Then let me recommend one I've just finished: A Tale of Two Cities."
"Maybe I'll give it a try tomorrow," said Cain. "If we're still talking."
"We will be," Santiago assured him. "A few minutes ago you asked how I differed from all the other revolutionaries you've fought for. We'll discuss it in detail tomorrow, but I'll give you a hint right now, if you'd like."
"Go ahead."
"My cause was lost before I ever joined it," replied Santiago with an enigmatic smile.
Cain was still considering that remark when he got up from the dinner table and went off to discuss literature with the King of the Outlaws.
23.
He lives on a mountain, a mountain of gold,
With a temper that's hot and a heart that is cold.
He issues his orders, makes known his demands,
Then sits back to watch while his empire expands.
* * * *
It wasn't a mountain of gold, of course—but it was as beautiful a farm as Cain had ever seen.
There were some 1,800 acres, divided equally between wheat, mutated corn, soybeans, and livestock, crisscrossed with streams, dotted here and there by ponds.
"Actually, the ground rolls a little too much to be truly efficient farmland." remarked Santiago as the two men sat on the veranda, looking out over the sloping fields. "It's a fact that realtors all over the galaxy have learned to appreciate: the prettier the landscape is, the harder it is to farm it effectively. Proper farmland is flat." He sighed. "But I took one look at this place and fell in love with it."
"It's restful." agreed Cain.
"It broke my heart to bulldoze the trees that were in the field. I kept the prettiest grove intact, and erected the house right next to it." Santiago pointed to a pair of nearby trees. "I have a hammock that I tie between those two." he said. "I love to lie on it, sipping an iced drink and feeling just like a proper country gentleman."
"You're an odd kind of revolutionary." remarked Cain.
"I'm fighting an odd kind of revolution," replied Santiago.
"Why?"
"Why is it odd?" asked Santiago.
"Why are you fighting it?"
"Because somebody has to."
"That's not much of a reason."
"It's the best reason there is," said Santiago. "The first duty of power is to perpetuate itself. The first duty of free men is to resist it."
"I've heard this song before," said Cain dryly.
"Ah, but it was sung by people who wanted power themselves, people who wanted to remake their worlds or even the Democracy."
"And you don't want to do that?"
"Remake the Democracy?" said Santiago. He shook his head. "The second you attain power, you become what you've been fighting against." He paused. "Besides, I'm enough of a realist to know that it can't be done. The Democracy has more ships than I've got men. It will still be abusing its power a millennium after you and I are dead."
"Then why persist?" asked Cain.
Santiago stared at him thoughtfully for a moment.
"You know, Sebastian, I have a feeling that you'd be happier if I were a gentle, white-haired old man who called everyone 'my son,' and told you that Utopia was just around the corner. Well, it isn't. I persist in fighting because I see something that's wrong, and the alternative to fighting is to submit."
Cain made no comment.
"If you want a philosophic justification, you'll find it in my library," continued Santiago. "I've got a much simpler explanation."
"What is it?"
He smiled a savage smile. "When someone pushes me, I push back."
"It's a good feeling," admitted Cain. "But..."
"But what?"
"I'm tired of losing."
"Then join me, and fight on my side," said Santiago.
"You've already admitted you can't win."
"But that doesn't mean I have to lose." He paused. "Hell, I wouldn't want to overthrow the Democracy even if I could."
"Why not?"
"First, as I said, because I don't want to become part of the establishment that I'm fighting. And second, because the Democracy isn't truly evil, or even especially corrupt. It's simply a government that, like all governments, makes its decisions based on what will result in the greatest benefit for the greatest number. From their point of view, and given their constituency, they're a moral and ethical institution. They undoubtedly feel that they have every right to plunder the Frontier and abrogate the rights of its citizens—and in the long run, if it strengthens their position in the galaxy, they may even be correct." He paused. "On the other hand, those of us who bear the brunt of these abuses don't have to stand idly by and hope that everything will work out for the best. We can fight back."
"How?" asked Cain, staring intently at him.
"By understanding the nature of the enemy," said Santiago. "This isn't some planetary military machine we're talking about. This is the Democracy. It encompasses more than a hundred thousand worlds, and it's not going to change—not overnight, not ever." He paused. "But if we harass and harry them enough, we can convince them that it's less expensive in terms of money and human life to leave us alone than to continue to oppress us." He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "After all, what do we really have that's worth such an expense? We're a mass of insignificant, underpopulated worlds."
"To say nothing of disorganized," commented Cain.
"That's part of our strength."
Cain arched an eyebrow.
"You look skeptical," noted Santiago.
"I never thought lack of organization was a virtue."
"It never was before. But if we organized, if we had an army and a navy and a chain of command, the Democracy would know where to strike, and we would be decimated within a week. In fact, the nature of the enemy makes it impossible for a leader to emerge from the masses and rally men to his banner."
"Except for you."
Santiago chuckled. "I'm not a leader," he said. "I'm a lightning rod. I raid and I loot and I kill, and the Democracy wrings its hands and offers rewards for the King of the Outlaws." A satisfied smile crossed his face. "If they knew why I was doing this, if they had the slightest inkling what I was financing with the spoils of my conquests, they'd have fifty million men out here, scouring every inch of every world for me." He paused. "I'm good at hiding, but I'm not that good. I'd much rather be thought of as a successful villain than a successful revolutionary."
"Are you a successful revolutionary?" asked Cain.
"You were at the medical center," replied Santiago. "You've seen what we're trying to do."
"Any team of doctors could do the same thing."
"True," admitted Santiago. "But any team of doctors couldn't pay for the facility, and they certainly couldn't mine the area where the navy plans to build its base on Hyperion."
"Silent Annie says it was an accident."
"Was it also an accident that they killed off a native population of millions of sentient beings?" demanded Santiago. "That scenario has been played over and over again all across the Inner Frontier. I'm trying to convince them that there's a better way—and failing that. I'll damned well convince them that there's a less painful way."
"Is it working?"
"It depends on your point of view," answered Santiago. "Hundreds of colonies exist that would have been decimated. Tens of thousands of Men are alive who otherwise wouldn't have been. A handful of alien races who hated all Men have learned that some of us are a bit less hateful than others." He smiled. "It's a matter of proportion. I would say it's working; the Democracy would probably wonder why we had wasted so many lives and so many years to produce such insignificant results."
A man in his early thirties, with a streak of white running through his coal-black hair, emerged from the interior of the house just then and approached them.
"Yes?" said Santiago. "What is it?"
The man looked at Cain hesitantly.
"This is Sebastian Cain,"
said Santiago. "While he is my guest, I have no secrets from him." He turned to Cain. "Sebastian, this is Jacinto, one of my most trusted associates."
Cain nodded a greeting.
"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Cain," said Jacinto, inclining his head slightly. He turned back to Santiago. "Winston Kchanga has refused to deliver our merchandise to us."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Santiago, frowning. "Has he offered any reason?"
Jacinto snorted contemptuously.
"I'm afraid Mr. Kchanga has outlived his usefulness to us," said Santiago.
Jacinto nodded and went back into the house.
"I suppose I should explain."
"It's none of my business," replied Cain.
"Hopefully it will be before much longer. Winston Kchanga is a smuggler operating out of the Corvus system. He made a commitment to us, money was exchanged, and he has elected not to honor that commitment. He doesn't know that I am involved, but that's neither here nor there." He sighed. "Regrettable."
"Not that regrettable," said Cain. "There's paper on him."
"Perhaps I should clarify my statement," said Santiago. "I find it regrettable that one of the people we are fighting for should try to swindle us. I have no regrets whatsoever about ordering his death." He looked sharply at Cain. "I'm fighting a war, and whenever one fights a war there are going to be casualties. My main concern is that they aren't innocent ones."
"From what I hear, there's wasn't a hell of a lot that Kchanga was innocent of," said Cain. He paused. "There's paper on your friend Jacinto, too. He used to go under the name of Esteban Cordoba."
"Jacinto hasn't left Safe Harbor in seven years," said Santiago. "You have a remarkable memory, Sebastian."
"It's that white streak in his hair," replied Cain. "It's pretty hard to forget."
"He's the most trusted associate I have," said Santiago. "He's served me loyally for almost fifteen years." He stared at Cain again. "What do you propose to do about him?"
Cain shrugged. "Nothing."
A broad smile spread over Santiago's face. "Then you're joining us?"
"I didn't say that. We've got a lot more to talk about."
Santiago got to his feet. "Shall we walk while we talk?" he suggested. "It's too beautiful a day to just sit in the shade."
"Whatever you want."
"Then come with me, and I'll show you the farm while we speak."
Cain followed Santiago down off the veranda.
"Are you a fisherman. Sebastian?" asked Santiago.
"No."
"You should try it sometime. I've stocked three of the ponds."
"Maybe someday I'll take it up."
"You should. It's very relaxing." He began circling one of the ponds. "I believe you had some questions to ask me?"
"A few," said Cain, falling into step beside him. "For starters, when did you decide you needed a bodyguard?"
"Is that what you think I have in mind for you?"
"If it isn't, then it should be." said Cain. "The Angel can't be too far away."
"I already have bodyguards."
"They couldn't stop me if I decided to kill you right now."
"True—but I know that you won't. And I have no intention of giving the Angel a tour of my farm."
"I assume that you haven't helped him to find you?"
Santiago frowned and shook his head. "No. He's a remarkable man."
"And as I said last night, you're a wanted one."
"He won't get past Father William."
"He's gotten past better men than Father William," said Cain.
"There are no better men than Father William," replied Santiago.
"If you don't want me as a bodyguard, just why am I here?" asked Cain.
"I've been a very fortunate man, Sebastian," said Santiago. "But nobody lives forever. I would like to think my work will go on after I'm gone. It can't do that unless I leave good people behind me—people like Jacinto and Silent Annie, and people like you."
Cain stared at him. "You do think he's going to kill you."
Santiago shook his head. "No, I truly don't. But I can't conscript men to my cause the way the navy can. I have to study them carefully and then try to convince the best of them to join me."
"Why now?"
"It took me this long to be sure you were the man I wanted."
"How many others have you asked?"
"Recruiting people is nothing new, Sebastian. I've been doing it ever since I came out here. You're the most recent, but you're not unique."
"How many of them have I met?"
"More than you might suppose," replied Santiago. "How else would I have known about you?"
"I know Geronimo Gentry is one of them."
"That's correct."
"What about Terwilliger?"
Santiago shook his head. "No."
"Stern?"
"No." Suddenly Santiago laughed. "I suppose I'll have to recruit him if I ever want to organize the fali."
"He says he met you when you were in jail on Kalami Three."
"Then I suppose he did."
"You don't match his description of you."
Santiago shrugged. "As I told you, I've had cosmetic surgery."
"Did it take four or five inches off your height?"
"That was many years ago, and Stern has been with the fali for a long, long time—and he was a much smaller man than you are." He looked amused. "Or are you suggesting that I'm an imposter?"
"No," said Cain. "Are you suggesting that I become one?"
"I don't think I follow you."
"I looked at your Tale of Two Cities last night," said Cain. "It occurs to me that the Angel has never seen either of us."
"And you think I want you to impersonate me if and when he arrives?"
"Do you?"
"Absolutely not. I fight my own fights." He paused. "Other than that, how did you like the book?"
"Other than that, it was pretty boring."
"I'm sorry that you didn't enjoy it."
"I had other things on my mind," said Cain. "I still do."
"Such as?"
"Such as whether or not I can believe you," replied Cain. "I've killed an awful lot of people for men I believed in, and I've always been disappointed."
"I'm not asking you to kill anyone for me, Sebastian," said Santiago. "That would be presumptuous. I'm asking you to help me protect people from the abuses of a distant government that couldn't care less about them."
"Not ten minutes ago you ordered Jacinto to kill someone for you," Cain pointed out.
"That was for the cause, not for me," answered Santiago. "Since I can't fund my operation through legitimate means, I must resort to questionable tactics. Winston Kchanga cannot be allowed to cheat us and escape punishment for his actions. If word got out that we didn't protect our interests, it wouldn't be long before the criminal element preyed upon us just as the Democracy does." He turned and began walking alongside a field containing row upon row of huge, mutated corn. "Revolution is no place for the squeamish. Surely you must understand that."
"I understand that," said Cain. "How many men will you want me to kill?"
Santiago stopped and met his gaze levelly. "I'll never ask you to kill anyone who doesn't deserve killing."
"I do that now, and I get well paid for it."
"If you come with me, you'll continue doing it. You'll get paid nothing, there will be a price on your head, and even the people you're fighting for will want you dead." Santiago smiled wryly. "That's not much to offer, is it?"
"No, it isn't."
"Then let me sweeten the pot," continued Santiago. "You'll have one benefit that you don't have in your present occupation."
"What?"
"The knowledge that you'll have made a difference."
"It would be nice to have, just once," said Cain sincerely.
"Nobody will know it but you," said Santiago.
"Nobody has to."
There was a momentary silence.
"What are you thinking, Sebastian?"
"That I'd like to believe you."
"Do you?"
"I haven't made up my mind." He paused in the shadow of a twelve-foot-high cornstalk. "What if I decide not to?"
"I'm unarmed, and my bodyguards are back at the house."
"I was more concerned with what you might do to me."
"We'll worry about that when the time comes."
"You'll have to kill me," said Cain. "Or try to, anyway. I know what you look like and where to find you."
"There are a few others who do, too," said Santiago. "It would make things much less complicated if you joined me, though."
They continued walking, Santiago listing his grievances against the Democracy, telling Cain of the actions he had taken and the people he had saved and failed to save. Cain listened thoughtfully, asking an occasional question, making an occasional observation.
"It's the judgment calls that age you," said Santiago as they walked alongside a stream that made a natural boundary between two of the fields. "There's an enormous amount of work to be done, and we have very little money and manpower. Do we spend it on salvation or retribution? Do we put everything we have into patching up the Democracy's victims and sending them back to be stomped on again, or do we let them lie where they've fallen and take steps to see that the same thing doesn't happen to their neighbors?"
"You prevent it from happening again," said Cain firmly.
"Answered like a bounty hunter," replied Santiago. "Unfortunately, it's easier said than done. The Epsilon Eridani raid was atypical. We don't have the firepower to stand up to the navy." He sighed. "Oh, well, that's what keeps it challenging. We do what we can, where we can. It's a balancing act—saving people when it's possible, punishing others when we can get away with it, and financing the whole thing with enterprises and associates that make the Swagman look honorable by comparison."
"How did you miss killing Whittaker Drum?" asked Cain.
"Socrates?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm not some kind of phantom avenger, righting all the wrongs of the galaxy," said Santiago. "I knew what he had done on Sylaria, even before I knew that you had fought for him." He turned to Cain and stared at him. "But that was twenty years ago, and Sylaria is thousands of light-years away. Socrates was useful to me, so I used him, just as I've used hundreds of men who are far worse than him."