by Mike Resnick
He stopped and inspected an enormous ear of corn.
"Three more weeks and it'll be ready to harvest," he announced. "Four at the most. Have you ever been on a farm at harvesttime, Sebastian?"
Cain shook his head. "No, I haven't."
"There's a sense of accomplishment, of nature fulfilled and renewed," said Santiago. "Even the air smells better."
Cain smiled. "Maybe you should have been a farmer."
"I suppose I am, in a way."
"I meant full-time," said Cain. "I wasn't referring to this."
"Neither was I," replied Santiago. "Saint Peter was a fisher of men. I'm a sower of revolution." He seemed pleased with himself. "I rather like that."
They walked another quarter mile or so. The cornfields were supplanted by long rows of soybeans, which in turn dwindled into nothingness as they reached the top of a ridge.
"What's that down there?" asked Cain, pointing to a neatly manicured clearing within a small dell. There was a wooden bench facing a pond that was dotted by colorful water plants.
"My very favorite place," said Santiago, leading him over to it. "I often come here to read, or simply meditate. You can even see some of the livestock from here." He took a deep breath, as if even the air tasted better in this clearing. "I've planted some flowers, but they've already blossomed and died; they won't bloom again for another five or six months."
"Flowers aren't all you've planted," commented Cain, gesturing to two mounds of earth.
"They were two of the best men I ever knew," said Santiago quietly.
"Then why put them in unmarked graves?"
"Nobody ever comes here except me, and I know who they are," replied Santiago.
Cain shrugged, then noticed a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a man walking toward them. The sun caught the white streak in the man's hair, and Cain realized that it was Jacinto.
"I thought I'd find you here," said Jacinto when he finally joined them. He turned to Cain. "Rain or shine, he spends a couple of hours a day here."
"It's a pretty place," said Cain.
"Are you just visiting?" asked Santiago.
Jacinto shook his head. "Father William is at the house."
"It's unusual for him to come out to the farm. I suppose he's just making sure that Sebastian hasn't killed me."
"He did say that he's here to talk to Mr. Cain," said Jacinto.
"He's about as subtle as an earthquake," remarked Santiago. He stepped away from the graves. "Well, I suppose we shouldn't keep him waiting."
He began walking back toward the house, and Cain and Jacinto fell into step behind him.
"Will you be staying with us for any length of time, Mr. Cain?" asked Jacinto.
"It's a possibility," replied Cain.
"I hope so. We've needed someone like you."
"We need about a thousand people like him," said Santiago. "However, we'll settle for the one we've got."
"May I ask a question that requires your professional expertise, Mr. Cain?" said Jacinto.
"Go ahead."
"What do you think of our security?"
"It stinks."
Jacinto shot a triumphant smile at Santiago. "That's what I've been trying to tell him for months." He turned back to Cain. "How would you change it?"
"Triple your manpower and put them on round-the-clock watches, for starters. And try to explain to them that if they can see in the dark, so can the Angel."
"You see?" Jacinto demanded of Santiago.
"We've been through all this before," said Santiago irritably. "I won't be a prisoner on my own planet." He increased his pace, and Cain and Jacinto lagged behind.
"I apologize for involving you in this argument," said Jacinto softly. "But he simply will not bring any more men back to Safe Harbor."
"How many has he got here?" asked Cain.
"You mean on the planet?"
"Not counting doctors and technicians and the like."
"Perhaps fifty."
"And on the farm?"
"Fifteen, counting myself."
"That won't stop the Angel."
"I know. Hopefully you will be all that we need."
"I haven't said I'm staying."
"Then perhaps Father William..."
"I doubt it." Cain paused. "By the way, there's one other bit of professional advice I can give you."
"Yes?"
"If you ever leave Safe Harbor, dye your hair."
Jacinto looked surprised. "I will," he said. "Thank you."
They caught up with Santiago shortly thereafter, and the three men walked the remaining distance to the house together, Santiago pointing out various facets of the farm to Cain as they passed them. Father William was waiting for them on the veranda.
"Good morning, Santiago," said the preacher. "Jacinto." He turned to Cain. "Hello again, Sebastian. Have you enjoyed your stay?"
"It's been interesting," replied Cain.
"Are you getting along well with your host?" he asked sharply.
"So far."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"I was sure you would be."
"I understand you want to talk to Sebastian." said Santiago. "If you wish, we'll leave you two alone."
"That won't be necessary." said Father William with a curious smile. "Actually, I'm just here to deliver a message from a new arrival."
"The Angel?" asked Cain, suddenly tense.
Santiago shook his head. "He's out by the Cantrell system."
"Who is it, then?" persisted Cain.
"Why don't you just read this?" said Father William, handing him a folded sheet of very expensive stationery.
Cain saw that it was written in an elegant, near calligraphic script, and read it aloud:
"The Jolly Swagman sends Greetings and Felicitations to his Partner, Sebastian Cain, and cordially invites him to the Barleycorn Tavern for aperitifs at four this afternoon, at which time they will renew their Friendship and also discuss certain Matters of Business."
Cain tossed the note onto a table. "That's the Swagman, all right," he said.
"Silent Annie urged me to kill him while I had the chance," said Santiago. "I think she may have been right."
"Is there any reply?" asked Father William, still amused.
"I'll deliver it in person," said Cain grimly.
24.
He robs and he plunders, he kills and he loots.
He stealthily sneaks up and suddenly shoots.
He never forgets and he never forgives;
He never relents while an enemy lives.
* * * *
One of the things Black Orpheus never understood was why the Jolly Swagman, who was his friend, refused to give him any information about Santiago, denying him even a physical description. He was sure the Swagman knew Santiago, had overheard two of his associates say as much, but that was the one subject upon which the loquacious criminal refused to speak.
It made a lot more sense from the Swagman's point of view. What nobody understood about him, not Orpheus, not even Father William or Virtue MacKenzie, was that money was just a tool, a means to an end—and that end was his collection of alien artwork. He kept his own counsel about Santiago not out of any loyalty or friendship for him, but simply because Santiago alive and free was plunderable, if he could just come up with a method, whereas Santiago captured and incarcerated was the property of the Democracy, as were all his possessions.
The third alternative was Santiago dead, and that was what he had come to Safe Harbor to discuss.
He sat in the tavern, sipping an iced mixture of exotic liqueurs from Antares and Ranchero, a small alien puzzle-game in his hand. He manipulated the oddly shaped pieces with a sureness that came from long hours of practice, looking up every now and then to admire Moonripple's face and figure—what he could distinguish of them beneath her unkempt hair and the ragged clothing.
Finally he tired of the puzzle, put it back in the pocket of his elegantly tailored satin t
unic, pulled out a small, transparent cube from another pocket, and spent the next few minutes admiring the tiny blue-and-white beetlelike insect, crusted with jewels, that resided there.
He had just put it away when Cain and Father William entered the tavern and approached him.
"Good afternoon, Sebastian," said the Swagman with a friendly smile. "I see you got my message."
Cain sat down opposite him. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"In a moment," said the Swagman, holding up his hand. "First I have a gift for your chauffeur."
"I assume you're referring to me," said Father William, amused.
"That I am. Moonripple!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Father William's present, if you please."
She went into the kitchen and emerged a moment later carrying an enormous tray, which contained a large roasted waterfowl in a cream sauce. It was surrounded by dumplings and potatoes.
"Where shall I put it, sir?" asked Moonripple.
"As far from this table as possible." He smiled apologetically at Father William, who was eyeing the waterfowl greedily. "I'd like to speak to my partner privately. This will give you something to do with your mouth."
"I'm not even going to take offense at that remark, given the magnitude of this thoroughly Christian gesture," said Father William, rubbing his hands together and walking over to the table where Moonripple had placed the tray. He signaled to the girl. "I think I'm going to need a pitcher of beer to wash this down, my child." She began to protest, but he held up a finger for silence. "I know what we discussed last night, but God understands that the flesh is weak. I'll begin my diet next Monday."
"For sure this time?"
"Unless Providence intervenes."
She looked her disbelief but brought him his beer, and a moment later he was attacking his dinner, oblivious to the rest of the universe.
"It's good to see you again, Sebastian," said the Swagman, lowering his voice just enough so that it wouldn't carry across the room.
"I wish I could say the same," responded Cain. "What are you doing here?"
"Simple. You followed a smuggling trail and the Angel followed a paper trail." He grinned. "I decided to follow the easiest trail of all—bounty hunters."
"There are a lot of worlds with more bounty hunters than this one."
"True," admitted the Swagman. "But they don't have you and Father William on them. You killed a man yesterday, but you didn't leave—and Father William has been here for more than a month."
"Santiago's not here." said Cain.
"Allow me the courtesy of asking if he is, before you start lying to me," said the Swagman. He paused. "If he isn't on Safe Harbor, Orpheus must be having a reunion of all the killers he's ever written up. You know that the Angel's on his way here, don't you?"
"How close is he?" asked Cain.
"Two or three days away," replied the Swagman. "And he's got another of your partners with him."
"Virtue or Terwilliger?" asked Cain.
"Hadn't you heard? Terwilliger, alas, has gone to that great gambling parlor in the sky."
"Who killed him—the Angel?"
The Swagman shook his head. "ManMountain Bates finally caught up with him."
Cain shrugged. "He shouldn't have cheated him."
"I knew you'd be heartbroken," said the Swagman with a chuckle. "If it'll make you feel any better, the Angel avenged his death."
Cain frowned. "There wasn't any paper on Bates."
"I guess the Angel must be one of nature's noblemen," commented the Swagman. "He gives work to incompetent journalists and he avenges crooked gamblers." He scrutinized Cain from beneath half-lowered lids. "Have you met any similarly public-minded citizens lately?"
"Who did you have in mind?" asked Cain expressionlessly.
"You know who," said the Swagman. "Has he enlisted you in the Great Crusade yet?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"If you play the fool, Sebastian, we're never going to get anywhere. I know he's here, and I can't believe that you've been on this world for two days without finding him."
Cain stared at the Swagman for a long moment.
"I found him," he said at last.
"And of course you didn't kill him."
"No, I didn't."
The Swagman smiled. "I knew you wouldn't. So did Yorick." He shook his head. "I would have thought you'd have gotten all that idealism out of your system after getting the hell pounded out of you in your impetuous youth."
"I thought so, too," admitted Cain.
"There's no drunk like an old one," said the Swagman. He signaled to Moonripple, who had just brought Father William a pan of hot biscuits. "A refill, if you please."
"Yes, sir." She looked at Cain. "Will there be anything for you, sir?"
"Maybe a change in company."
"I beg your pardon?"
He sighed. "I'll have a beer."
"Right away, sir."
"I can't imagine what Orpheus saw in her." commented the Swagman as he watched Moonripple walk to the bar.
"No, I don't suppose you can," said Cain.
The Swagman smiled. "I have a feeling that I've just been insulted."
Cain stared at him and made no reply.
"By the way," continued the Swagman, "I didn't see Schussler on my way into town."
"He's dead."
"That was stupid, Sebastian. You receive an absolutely free spaceship with an enormous bank of interesting information, and you destroy it? How wasteful."
"I gave him my word."
"I sincerely doubt that a promise given to a machine is legally binding."
"All the more reason for keeping it," said Cain.
"You're sounding more like him every day," said the Swagman, amused.
"Like Schussler?" asked Cain, puzzled.
"No. Like him."
Moonripple arrived with their drinks.
"I want to thank you once again for saving my life, sir," she said to Cain.
"I was happy to do it," he replied.
"I hope Silent Annie was able to help you."
He nodded.
She smiled. "I'm glad. That means I've done something good for you, too."
"Yes, you have."
She smiled again and went back into the kitchen to work on Father William's dessert.
"That's a very touching mutual admiration society you two have going," commented the Swagman.
"If you say so."
"If I save her life, will she take me to see Santiago, too?"
"I very much doubt it."
"What commitment have you made to him?"
"None, as yet."
"But you will?" he persisted.
"Perhaps."
The Swagman grimaced and shook his head sadly. "Stupid. Just plain stupid."
"Then I suggest you don't join him," said Cain dryly.
"The man is sitting on the biggest collection of artwork on the Frontier!" said the Swagman in exasperation. "And nobody seems to care about it except me!"
"He's also sitting on the biggest collection of bluefever vaccine," answered Cain calmly.
"Who the hell cares about vaccine?" demanded the Swagman. "We're talking about irreplaceable objects of art!"
"Talk about them a little more softly," said Father William from across the room. "You're spoiling my digestion."
"You're a bigger fool than he is," said the Swagman, lowering his voice and nodding his head toward Father William. "At least he thinks he's serving the Lord."
"Maybe he is," said Cain.
"You're in danger of becoming a bore, Sebastian," said the Swagman distastefully. "A newfound sense of purpose is one thing; a newfound religious conviction is another."
Cain stared across the table at him. "Just what the hell is it that you want, Swagman?"
"You know perfectly well what I want."
"You'll have to get it yourself."
"Nonsense. We're partners."
"
Our partnership is dissolved."
"That doesn't change a thing," said the Swagman.
"Oh? Just how do you figure that?"
The Swagman leaned forward. "Santiago is a dead man, Sebastian. If you don't kill him, the Angel will. It's as simple as that." He withdrew the cube from his pocket and began examining the jewel-encrusted beetle again. "Why let him pick up the reward for doing what you can do right now?"
"He won't."
The Swagman smiled. "Who's going to stop him—Father William?" He chuckled. "Killing run-of-the-mill sinners is one thing; killing the Angel is another." He stared intently at Cain. "Or do you think that you're going to stop him?"
"It's a possibility."
The Swagman snorted contemptuously. "You haven't got a chance."
"I didn't have a chance against Altair of Altair, either."
"This is different." said the Swagman earnestly. "He's the Angel."
"I'm getting tired of hearing about him," said Cain.
"You're going to get a lot more tired of it when everyone starts talking about how he killed Santiago."
"Santiago has stayed hidden for the past three decades," Cain pointed out. "He strikes me as a man who can take care of himself."
"What are you talking about?" demanded the Swagman. "Do you think you're the first bounty hunter to set foot on Safe Harbor?"
Cain shook his head. "Peacemaker MacDougal was here four months ago. He killed Billy Three-Eyes right in front of this tavern." He smiled grimly. "But of course you knew that, didn't you?"
"I'm not talking about Peacemaker MacDougal!" snapped the Swagman. "Hell, half a dozen bounty hunters have gotten this far. Two of them even made it out to his farm."
"What farm?" asked Cain innocently.
"The goddamned farm where Father William gave you my note," said the Swagman, holding the cube up to the light. "I told you: I'm not totally without resources."
"You didn't even know he lived on Safe Harbor when I left you two weeks ago," said Cain, unimpressed.
"Not until yesterday," admitted the Swagman. "But I knew that he lived on a farm, and I knew that he buried the two bounty hunters who found him out there in one of his wheat fields. I just didn't know where the farm was."