Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (33 page)

Simple Simon
likes the taste of his new outlaw life:

It’s not for pies that Simon needs his shining steel knife.

He never used a knife; that was
just a case of Black Orpheus practicing a little poetic license.

And he was anything but simple.

In fact, he had degrees in
mathematics and laser optics and two or three of the more esoteric sciences,
and he taught at one of the larger universities on Lodin XI for the better part
of a decade. He was heavily invested in the commodities market when a bumper
crop of
kirtt
, the Lodinian equivalent of wheat,
sent prices plummeting down and wiping out his life’s savings. It was shortly
thereafter that he decided a professor’s salary would never buy him all the
things that he wanted.

So he left the Democracy and set
out for the Inner Frontier, where he embarked on a new course of studies, which
included a major in murder and a minor in bigamy. He killed his first four
wives and managed to collect the insurance on three of them before it occurred
to him that there was a lot more money to be made if he didn’t limit his
killing to his spouses.

He forthwith became a free-lance
killer for hire. Because he had a scientific turn of mind, he favored laser
weapons of his own creation; and because he had a healthy respect for those
with greater physical skills than himself, he tended to specialize in
meticulously devised deathtraps rather than in personal confrontations.

His new profession forced a
certain degree of modesty upon him, so much so that he took on the protective
coloration of the scientific illiterate. Orpheus saw right through him, of
course—seeing through facades was one of the things he did best—and named him
Simple Simon as a private joke. The name stuck, and before long Simple Simon’s
holograph was gracing the walls of the Inner Frontier’s postal stations.

The Angel stood in the spaceport’s
post office, glancing briefly at Simon’s face while checking to see if there
were any new fugitives worthy of his attention, while Virtue, her satchel slung
over her shoulder, stood in the doorway and waited for him.

“I thought you were closing in on
Santiago,” she said as he rejoined her. “Why bother studying a bunch of
second-rate villains?”

“Force of habit,” he replied,
heading off down the corridor that led to his spaceship. “Besides, for all I
know Cain or somebody else has already killed him—and I’ve still got a planet
to buy.”

“So in effect, the post office
wall is your professional trade journal,” commented Virtue.

“I never thought of it that way.”

“That’s because you’re not a
journalist,” she said.

There was considerably less red
tape this time than during their last trip through the spaceport—Virtue guessed
that the local authorities had issued orders to get the Angel off the planet as
swiftly as possible—and a few minutes later they were in one of the three dozen
rental hangars for private spacecraft, climbing into the ship.

“Something’s wrong,” said the
Angel, inspecting the auxiliary control panel that was just inside the hatch.

“What do you mean?”

“The security system’s been
tripped. Don’t touch anything.”

“Is it going to explode?” she
asked apprehensively.

He shook his head. “I doubt it. If
they’d planted a bomb, you’d have triggered it the moment you set foot on the
ship.”

“Is that why you let me go through
the hatch first?” she demanded.

He made no reply, but looked
carefully around for another minute without moving farther into the ship, then
turned back to her.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get
back on the ground—carefully.”

She followed him through the
hatch, and a moment later she was standing some fifty feet away, staring at the
ship, while the Angel was speaking to spaceport security on an intercom.

“Nothing’s happening,” she said
when he rejoined her.

“If it didn’t blow up while you
were walking around in it, it’s not likely to blow up just because you’re
looking at it,” he said.

“Then what was done to it?” she
asked.

“That’s what I intend to find
out.”

A moment later a harassed-looking
security officer appeared.

“What seems to be the problem?” he
asked.

“Someone’s been in my ship since I
landed,” said the Angel.

“Oh? Who?”

“That’s what I’d like to find
put.”

The security officer walked to the
intercom, asked for an office extension, whispered in low tones for a moment,
and then returned to the Angel.

“From what I understand, your
mechanic came by just before sunrise.”

“I don’t carry a mechanic.”

“They tell me that his papers were
all in order, and that he even had a work order with your signature on it.”

“Which signature?” demanded the
Angel sharply.

“The Angel, I suppose,” responded
the officer. “Your identity isn’t exactly a secret since last night.”

“How did they know it was my
signature?” said the Angel. “What did they compare it against?”

“How the hell do I know?” asked
the officer. “My guess is that they didn’t bother to check it against anything.
The man works for a reputable firm. They probably took him at his word.”

“What repairs did he say he
planned to make?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,”
said the security officer.

“Why not?”

“Look—I’ve spent the last five
hours helping the shipping department trying to track down a missing animal
that was supposedly flown in from the Antares Sector. I can find out what you
want to know, but I’ll have to check with security and maintenance and whoever
the hell else is likely to have his work order on file.”

“Do so immediately,” said the
Angel. “Then check with his employer and see if they’ve ever heard of him. And
then get a mechanic that you can personally vouch for and have him check my
ship over from top to bottom.”

“Where can I reach you?” asked the
security officer.

“I’ll be in the restaurant,
waiting for your report.”

“It may take a while.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

The Angel headed off down the
corridor, followed by Virtue. They passed several souvenir shops and a pair of
alien restaurants and finally came to a large restaurant that catered to Men.
The bounty hunter looked around, then walked past a number of empty tables
until he came to one in the corner of the room that suited him.

“Why here?” asked Virtue, sitting
down opposite him.

“Somebody sabotaged my ship,” he
said. “I feel more comfortable sitting with my back to the wall.”

“But you don’t mind having
my
back facing a doorway?” she demanded.

“Not in the least,” he replied.

“Were you always this considerate
of others, or did it just come with maturity?” she asked sarcastically.

“Sit anywhere you want,” he said,
indicating a number of empty tables. “It makes no difference to me.”

She sighed. “Let’s change the
subject. Did you learn anything useful this morning?”

“I learned the name and location
of the next world we’ll be visiting.”

“Would you care to share that
little tidbit of information, or are we going to play guessing games?”

“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.