Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (5 page)

“I understand that you’ve done
some bounty hunting in your time,” said Cain. “Why didn’t you go after him?”

“We all have our obsessions, Mr.
Cain,” replied Stern. “Yours is obviously chasing criminals all across the
galaxy. Mine, I soon discovered, lay in quite a different direction.”

“All right. Go on.”

“Shortly thereafter I noticed a
sudden dramatic increase in my business.”

“Which business was that?”
interrupted Cain.

“I like to think of it as my
wholesale redistribution network.”

“Fencing.”

“Fencing,” agreed Stern. “By the
time I reached Port étrange I had a pretty strong feeling that I was dealing
with Santiago, but of course I was never so tactless as to ask.”

“Who would you have asked?”

“I dealt primarily with a man
named Duncan Black—a large man, who wore a patch over his left eye—but from
time to time there were others.”

“Nobody wears eyepatches,” said
Cain sharply.

“Black did.”

“Why didn’t he just get a new eye?
I’ve got one: it sees better than the one I was born with.”

“How should I know? Possibly he
thought it made him look dashing and romantic.” Stern paused. “At any rate, I
continued to enjoy a very profitable arrangement. Then, seven years ago, I
received a shipment of goods that eliminated any lingering doubts I may have
had that I was indeed doing business with Santiago.”

“And what was that?”

“Do you see that paperweight over
there?” asked Stern, indicating what appeared to be a small gold bar on a
nearby table.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you examine it?”

Cain got up, walked over to the
paperweight, and inspected it.

“It looks like gold bullion,” he
said.

“Pick it up and turn it over,”
suggested Stern.

It required both hands for Cain to
lift it. When he did so, he noticed a nine-digit number burned into the bottom
of it.

“That number corresponds to part
of a gold shipment that Santiago stole from a navy convoy.”

“The Epsilon Eridani robbery?”
asked Cain.

Stern nodded. “I’m sure you can
confirm the number through your various sources. The numbers had been
eliminated from all the other bars, but somehow they missed that one—so I kept
it for a souvenir, never knowing when it might be of some minor use to me.” He
smiled. “Anyway, it was then that I knew for sure that Black and the others
were Santiago’s agents.”

“That still doesn’t prove the man
you saw in jail was Santiago,” said Cain, putting the gold bar back down.

“I’m not finished,” replied Stern.
“About a year after I received the gold shipment, a smuggler named Kastartos,
one of the agents I’d been dealing with, approached me with a fascinating
proposition. Evidently he was displeased with his salary or his working
conditions; at any rate, he had decided to turn Santiago in for the reward.
Being a prudent man, he decided not to do so himself, but offered to split
fifty-fifty with me if I would approach the authorities on his behalf. I
questioned him further, and eventually he gave me a description of the man I
had seen in the Kalami jail. There were a few discrepancies, as might be
expected with the passage of eleven years, but it sounded like the same man,
and when he described the scar on his right hand I was sure.”

“And what did you do?”

“I was making a considerable
amount of money from Santiago’s trade, and I had no more desire to be the
visible partner in this enterprise than Kastartos did. After all, not only
would I have faced the threat of reprisal from Santiago’s organization, but
once word of such a betrayal got out, most of my other clients would have felt
very uneasy about dealing with me as well,” explained Stern. “So I followed the
only reasonable course of action: I informed Duncan Black of his proposition,
and let nature take its course.” He shook his head. “Poor little man. I never
saw him again.”

“Did he tell you where to find
Santiago?”

“I felt my longevity could best be
served by not knowing the answer to that particular question.”

“Do you still deal with him?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be parting
with this information,” said Stern. “But I haven’t seen Duncan Black in almost
three years now, and while it’s always possible that Santiago is dealing with
me through someone else, I very much doubt it.”

“Where can I find Duncan Black?”

“If I knew that, this little chat
would have cost you fifty thousand credits,” replied Stern. “The only thing I
can tell you is that during the time I did business with him, his ship bore a
Bella Donna registry.”

“Bella Donna?” repeated Cain.
“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s an outpost world, the third
planet of the Clovis system. I’m sure that it must be listed in your ship’s
computer.” Stern paused. “Do you still want your money back, Mr. Cain?”

Cain stared at him. “Not unless I
find out you’ve been lying.”

“Why would I lie?” asked Stern. “I
haven’t been offworld for seven years now, and I have no intention of leaving
in the foreseeable future. You would certainly have very little trouble finding
me.” He stood up. “Shall I assume that our conversation is over now?”

Cain nodded his head.

“Then you’ll forgive me if I
immerse myself once again?”

He let his robe drop to the floor
and walked over to the tub.

“Come, my lovelies,” he crooned,
and the two
fali
walked over and gently helped lower
him into the water.

“I think I could do with a
massage,” he said. “Do you remember what I taught you?”
The
fali
immediately entered the tub and began massaging his arms and torso
with their long, sensitive, alien hands.

“Would you like to join us, Mr.
Cain?” asked Stern, suddenly aware that Cain had not yet left the room. “It
isn’t an invitation I extend to many of my guests, and it certainly won’t break
my heart if you should decline, but I suppose it’s the least I can do for a man
who has just spent fifteen thousand credits for a useless tidbit of
information.”

“Useless?”

“The Angel is after Santiago now,
or hadn’t you heard?”

“I know.”

“And yet you paid me anyway?” said
Stern. “You must be a very efficient killer, Mr. Cain—or a very overconfident
one.” He moaned with pleasure as one of the
fali
began stroking his left thigh. “How many men have you actually killed?”

“Pay me fifteen thousand credits
and I might just answer that question,” said Cain.

Stern laughed hollowly in
amusement.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Cain. What
you have done in the past may eventually find its way into Black Orpheus’
songbook, as I myself have done, but you are simply another spear-carrier
passing through my life—and an incredibly minor one at that.”

“And them?” asked Cain, indicating
the two
fali
.

“They represent my fall from
Grace,” said Stern with a smile. “Far more important than mere supporting
players, I assure you. Someday I suppose I shall even give them names.” He
turned to one of them. “Gently, my pretty—gently.” He took her hand and began
guiding it gingerly.

Cain stared at the three of them
for another few seconds, then turned and summoned the elevator. The sound of
Stern’s voice, trembling with eagerness, came to him as the doors were closing:

“Here, my pet. Lie back and let me
show you how.”

Cain descended to the main floor,
walked out across the dusty thoroughfare, entered his own hotel, and shortly
thereafter unlocked his room. He found Halfpenny Terwilliger sitting on his
bed, playing solitaire.

“What the hell are you doing
here?” he demanded as the door slid shut behind him.

“Waiting for you,” replied the
little gambler.

“How did you know this was my
room?”

“I asked at the desk.”

“And they gave you the combination
to the lock?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said
Terwilliger. “Of course, they probably don’t
know
they gave it to me.”

“All right,” said Cain. “Why are
you waiting for me?”

“Because I know who you are now.
You’re the Songbird, right?”

“I’m Sebastian Cain.”

“But people call you the
Songbird?” persisted Terwilliger.

“Some people do.”

“Good. Because if you’re the
Songbird, you ought to be leaving Port étrange pretty soon in search of better
pickings.”

“Get to the point,” said Cain.

“I’d like a ride.”

“I don’t take passengers.”

“Let me word that a bit more
strongly,” said Terwilliger. “I
need
a ride. My life
depends on it.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long and rather
embarrassing story.”

“Give me the gist of it,” said
Cain.

Terwilliger stared at him for a
moment, then shrugged. “When I was in the Spinos system about four months ago,
I passed two hundred thousand credits’ worth of bad notes to ManMountain
Bates.”

“He’s a gambler, isn’t he?”

“A very large, ill-tempered one,”
said Terwilliger devoutly.

“I’d say that was an unwise thing
to do.”

“I
intended
to make them good. I was just indulging in a little deficit spending. Hell, the
Democracy does it all the time.” He paused. “But I just got word a few minutes
ago that he’s due to land on Port étrange the day after tomorrow—and truth to
tell, I’m a little bit short of what I owe him.”

“How short?”

“Oh, not much.”

“
How
short?” repeated Cain.

“About two hundred thousand
credits, give or take a few,” said Terwilliger with a sickly smile.

“I certainly don’t envy you,”
commented Cain.

“I don’t want you to
envy
me,” said Terwilliger with a note of desperation in
his voice. “I want you to fly me the hell out of here!”

“I told you: I don’t take
passengers.”

“I’ll pay for my fare.”

“I thought you didn’t have any
money,” noted Cain.

“I’ll work it off,” said
Terwilliger. “I’ll cook, I’ll load cargo, I’ll—”

“The galley’s fully automated, and
the only cargo I handle doesn’t need loading so much as killing,” interrupted
Cain.

“If you don’t take me, I’ll die!”

“Everybody dies sometime,” replied
Cain. “Ask someone else.”

“I already did. Nobody wants
ManMountain Bates on their trail. But I figured a man like the Songbird, a man
who’s all written up in song and story, you wouldn’t be bothered by a little
thing like that.”

“You figured wrong.”

“You really won’t take me?”

“I really won’t take you.”

“My death will be on your hands,”
said Terwilliger.

“Why?” asked Cain “
I
didn’t pass bad notes to any-one.”

Terwilliger scrutinized him for a
moment, then forced himself to smile. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? You just
want to see me squirm a little first.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“You
are
!”
the little gambler half shouted. “You can’t send me out to face ManMountain
Bates! He breaks people’s backs like they were toothpicks!”

“You know,” remarked Cain with
some amusement, “you seemed like a totally different man when I met you in the
bar.”

“I didn’t have an eight-foot-tall
disaster coming after me with blood in his eye when we were in the bar!”
snapped Terwilliger.

“Are you all through yelling now?”
asked Cain calmly.

“I arranged for you to meet with
Stern,” said Terwilliger desperately. “That ought to be worth
some
thing.”

Cain reached into a pocket,
withdrew a small silver coin, and flipped it across the room to Terwilliger.
“Thanks,” he said.

“Damn it, Songbird! What kind of
man are you?”

“An unsympathetic one. Do you plan
on leaving any time soon, or am I going to have to throw you out?”

Terwilliger emitted a sigh of
defeat, gathered up the cards from the bed, and trudged to the door.

“Thanks a lot,” he said
sarcastically.

“Any time,” replied Cain, stepping
aside to let him pass out into the corridor.

The door slid shut again.

Cain stood absolutely still for a
moment, then opened it.

“Hey, Terwilliger!” he yelled at
the gambler’s retreating figure.

“Yes?”

“What do you know about a man
named Duncan Black?”

“The guy with the eyepatch?” said
Terwilliger, turning and taking a tentative step in Cain’s direction.

“That’s the one.”

“I used to play cards with him.
What do you want to know?”

“Where am I likely to find him?”
asked Cain.

Suddenly Terwilliger grinned
broadly. “I do believe I just booked passage out of here,” he said.

“You know where he is?”

“That I do.”

“Where?”

“I’ll tell you after we’ve taken
off.”

Cain nodded his agreement. “I’m
leaving as soon as I have dinner. Get your gear together and meet me at the
spaceport in two hours.”

Terwilliger pulled out his deck of
cards.

“I’ve got all the luggage I need
right here,” he said happily. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go
down and find a little game of chance to while away the lonely minutes before
we leave.”

With that, he
turned on his heel and went off in search of the three or four newcomers to
Port étrange who would still accept his marker.

Halfpenny
Terwilliger, the boldest gambler yet;

Halfpenny
Terwilliger will cover any bet;

Halfpenny
Terwilliger, a rowdy martinet;

Halfpenny Terwilliger is now one soul in debt.

“Gin.”

“Damn!” said Terwilliger, slapping
his hand down on the table. “You caught me with nineteen.” He pushed the cards
over to Cain. “Your deal.”