The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (46 page)

      
Silvermane looked up and nodded a greeting.

      
"Hi," said Dante. "Where's Billy Green-Eyes? Have you found him yet?"

      
"You're looking at him," said Silvermane.

      
"Him?"
said Dante, startled. "
He's
what you came to Trentino to kill?"

      
"He's not quite the man he used to be," said Silvermane with a grim smile. "Are you, Billy?"

      
The man on the bench muttered something unintelligible.

      
"What the hell did he do?" asked Matilda.

      
"About seven years ago a plague broke out on New Damascus, way out in the Belladonna Cluster. Billy-boy here stowed away on the ship that was racing the vaccine to them, killed the crew, and held them up for a few million credits before he delivered the vaccine. Thousands died during the negotiations." He paused. "Sweet man, our Billy."

      
"So what happened to him?"

      
"Six of the survivors happened to him," continued Silvermane. "Billy killed them all, but not before they did what you see. He'd blown all his money on seed, and his deeds made him a pariah even among the scum he associated with, so no one would help him or give him money to go back to the Democracy for the necessary prosthetics. Hell, even if he'd managed to borrow the money, they'd have jailed and executed him the second they spotted him. So Billy has been rotting out here for the past few years, isn't that right, Billy?"

      
Another unintelligible answer.

      
"He lives in the filthiest corner of the filthiest warehouse on Trentino. Each morning he comes out to the park and sits here, hat in hand, begging, but of course everyone knows he's the man who extorted millions for the New Damascus vaccine, so he probably takes in about three credits a week, all from newcomers. We're just been discussing his situation, haven't we, Billy?"

      
Billy glared at him balefully with his one remaining green eye, but said nothing.

      
You cold son of a bitch,
thought Dante.
Whatever he's done, I don't know how you can shoot a helpless old cripple who can't lift a finger to defend himself.

      
"And now we're all through discussing it," concluded Silvermane.

      
"All right," said Dante uncomfortably. "Shoot him and let's get it over with."

      
"I'm not shooting anyone," replied Silvermane.

      
"Oh?"

      
"Four thousand men, women and children died on New Damascus while Billy was negotiating a price for the vaccine. Killing's too easy for him."

      
"So what
are
you going to do to him?" asked Dante.

      
Silvermane stared at the emaciated one-eyed, one-armed, one- legged beggar. "Not a thing," he said. "Have a long life, Billy." He turned and began walking back to the spaceport.

      
Jesus, you're even colder than I thought,
mused Dante. And then:
Still, that's very much like justice.

      
"I hope he lives another century," said Silvermane.

      
"He deserves to," agreed Matilda.

      
"Still, I'll give him credit for facing those New Damascans. There were six of them, and he stood his ground, for what little good it did him."

      
"You sound like you admire him."

      
"I admire the trait, not the man," explained Silvermane. "I suspect there's a lot to admire about your One-Armed Bandit as well."

      
"There is," she admitted.

      
"Seems a shame," he continued. "From what I've heard, he's a moral man doing the best he can."

      
"His best isn't good enough," said Dante firmly. "He can destroy what we're trying to build."

      
"I know," said Silvermane. "That's why I've decided to accept your offer."

31.

      
      
The Plymouth Rocker mourns a love

      
      
That used to be and is no more.

      
      
He curses to the skies above—

      
      
A most unhappy troubadour.

      
Bodini II wasn't much of a world. Small, flat, green, agricultural, dotted here and there by impenetrable thorn forests. It had a trio of towns, each with a small spaceport where the local farmers and agricultural cartels brought their goods to ship to the nearby colonies and mining worlds.

      
It was here that Silvermane took Dante, Matilda and Virgil when they left Trentino. They passed through Customs without incident and stopped for a quick lunch in one of the spaceport restaurants.

      
"Couldn't you just send this guy a subspace message telling him to join us?" asked Dante.

      
"Not the Plymouth Rocker," answered Silvermane.

      
"And we really need him?"

      
"He's the one I want."

      
"What makes him so special?"

      
"I trust him." Silvermane paused. "There aren't many men I've trusted over the years. He's the best of them."

      
"I heard a lot about him maybe ten, fifteen years ago," volunteered Virgil. "Not a word since then. I figured he was dead."

      
"Why?" asked Dante.

      
"When you stop hearing about people out here, especially people like him, you just naturally assume someone or something caught up with them."

      
"I heard someone mention him not too long ago," said Matilda. "Dimitrios, maybe, or perhaps the Bandit."

      
"He had quite a reputation back then," said Virgil. "What happened to him?"

      
"To him?" replied Silvermane. "Nothing."

      
"The way you emphasized that," interjected Dante, "something happened to
someone
."

      
"You're a perceptive man," said Silvermane. "I suppose that goes with being a poet."

      
"So what happened?" said Dante, ignoring the compliment.

      
"He had a woman," answered Silvermane. "Lovely lady. Mind like a steel trap. Totally fearless. Devoted to him. They made a hell of a team."

      
"Did she have a name?" asked Dante, pulling out a stylus.

      
"She had a lot of them, depending on the situation," said Silvermane. "I first knew her as Priscilla, so that's the way I think of her. They did everything together, Priscilla and the Rocker. I don't remember ever seeing them more than eight or ten feet apart. He'd start a sentence and she'd finish it, or the other way around. If you were with them for any length of time, you finally appreciated what the term 'soulmate' really means."

      
"What did they do?"

      
"A little of everything. They were actually law officers together back in the Democracy, two of the best. They worked the entire Quintaro Sector, and they put one hell of a lot of bad guys away." He paused thoughtfully. "I think they did a little bounty hunting when they first moved out here. Then they spent a couple of years bodyguarding Federico Bogardus when he was King of New Lebanon. Just the two of them . . . but that was enough to scare off any potention assassins."

      
"How did she die?" asked Dante.

      
"What makes you think she died?"

      
"You said he
had
a woman. Past tense. You don't leave a woman like that—or bury yourself on an obscure little world like this one. Not without a reason."

      
"You're good, poet. We're going to get along just fine." Silvermane paused for a moment, staring sightlessly into the past. "She was quite a woman, that Priscilla. Been dead about a dozen years now."

      
"What happened?"

      
"She died," said Silvermane noncommittally. "The Rocker left Prateep a few weeks later, and he's spent the last few years on this little backwater planet."

      
"Is he a farmer?"

      
"No. He just rents a house from an absentee landlord."

      
"What
does
he do, then?" asked Dante.

      
"He hides."

      
"From what?" asked Matilda.

      
"From the past. From his memories." The tall man smiled grimly. "They always find him."

      
"And this is the man you want by your side?"

      
"Nobody fights by my side," said Silvermane with what Dante thought was just a touch of arrogance. "But this is a man I want for our organization."

      
"Why should he be willing rejoin the world?" asked Matilda curiously.

      
"Because I know him better than he knows himself," said Silvermane.

      
"I still don't see why you couldn't have just sent him a message to join us," said Dante.

      
"It's been years since he's seen any action," said Silvermane. "I want to make sure he's in good enough physical and emotional shape. A decade of seclusion and mourning can change a man beyond all recognition."

      
"Well, let's hope it didn't."

      
Silvermane got to his feet threw some Maria Theresa dollars on the table. "Let's go find out."

      
Dante and the others joined him, and a few moments later they were rapidly skimming a few inches above a dirt road in a sleek limo.

      
"Beautiful country," remarked Dante, looking out across the green fields.

      
"Dull country," said Silvermane. "Beautiful country has hills and mountains and valleys and makes lousy farmland. You need an expanse of flat characterless land like this to grow anything in quantity."

      
"I grew up surrounded by mountains and valleys," said Dante. "We paid a premium for the food we imported." He smiled wryly. "Maybe that's why I appreciate farmland."

      
"Take a look at
that
!" said Matilda, pointing to a huge cow that stood a good ten feet at the shoulder. Suddenly another enormous cow came into view, then a whole herd of them. "Aren't they remarkable?"

      
"Mutated," said Silvermane. "Cost a bundle to create them, but once they began breeding true they've more than paid back their cost."

      
"You sound like you've been here before," noted Matilda.

      
"Once, about eight years ago."

      
"You didn't get him to come with you back then. Why should this time be any different?"

      
"I didn't ask him to come with me then," answered Silvermane.

      
"What were you doing here?"

      
"I'd been wounded, and I needed a place to stay while I healed. The Rocker gave it to me."

      
"He sounds like a good friend."

      
"He was, once."

      
"Maybe he still is."

      
"We'll know soon enough," said Silvermane.

      
They rode the next half hour in silence, and then the limo came to a halt, hovered for a moment, and lowered itself gently to the ground.

      
"We have arrived at our destination," announced the navigational computer.

      
Silvermane climbed out of the limo, then helped Matilda out. When Dante and Virgil had also emerged, he turned and faced the farmhouse a short distance away.

      
The door irised and a burly man stepped through. He took one look at Silvermane and a broad smile crossed his sallow face.

      
"Joshua!" he called out. "How the hell are you?"

      
"Just fine this time," answered Silvermane, approaching him. The man trotted forward and threw his muscular arms around Silvermane.

      
"Damn, but it's good to see you!" He backed away a step. "Who are your friends?"

      
Silvermane introduced each by name. "And this is the notorious Plymouth Rocker," he concluded, indicating the man.

      
"It's been a long time since I was notorious," said the Rocker. Then: "Come on into the house. You must be thirsty after your trip out from the spaceport."

      
"One of us sure as hell is," volunteered Virgil, stepping forward.

      
The Rocker took them back to the farmhouse, and a moment later they were inside it. The walls of the foyer were covered with holos of a lovely woman, who Dante knew must be Priscilla. They passed to the living room, which had still more holos, plus a dozen little remembrances of her: a favorite book of poetry, a gold-handled hair brush, a crystal wine glass that had stood empty for more than a decade.

      
"It's like a goddamned shrine to her," Dante whispered to Matilda.

      
"It must be wonderful to be loved the way he loved her," she whispered back.

      
"Wonderful or stifling," whispered Danny. "Either way, it had to make losing her almost unbearable."