The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (58 page)

      
"Let me get this straight," said Dante. "He's a preacher. He's not a bounty hunter, like legend says Father William was. He doesn't carry weapons, just invectives?"

      
"You got it," said Moby Dick. "if we land him next to the fortress, they'll probably kill him before his ship touches down. At any rate, you won't be able to sneak in." Suddenly he grinned again. "But what if we program his ship to land a thousand miles away, give it a state of the art communication system, something that'll carry his voice a hundred miles or more, and tell him to start preaching?"

      
"The Tweedle would want to see what the hell's going on," continued Dante excitedly. "And once he got there, he'd probably be more curious than deadly. He'd want to know what this guy is carrying on about before he kills him." He closed his eyes, did some quick calculations, then looked at the albino. "Even if the Tweedles can get there in five minutes, if Priest can keep them amused or interested or even just curious for another five minutes before they kill him or leave him alone, that's bought me a quarter of an hour. If we monitor them, I can land when they're halfway to Priest. The fortress isn't that big. I'll bring sensors, she can yell, one way or another I can find her in a couple of minutes, and I can blast her out of any cell she's in." Suddenly he frowned. "Only one problem. Will the Tweedle show up on our ship's sensors? Is he so alien that it won't be able to read where he's at? After all, Silvermane's ship didn't find any sign of life when we landed."

      
"I didn't think of that," admitted Moby Dick.

      
"It's not your job to," said Dante. "All right, we'll just have to assume the Tweedles become aware of him almost as soon as he lands. Now, will they go there immediately, or will they stay put and see if he's waiting for allies?"

      
"They don't worry about losing battles," said Moby Dick. "I think they'll go right away."

      
"I agree," said Dante. "If they can't teleport, how soon can they get there?"

      
"The planet's got a heavy atmosphere. Whatever kind of vehicle they're using, if they go too fast they'll burn up. Let's land him a thousand miles away and give them six minutes to get there. Maybe it'll take them an hour, but I sure as hell doubt it."

      
"Okay, I'll just have to assume they act like rational beings and show a little curiosity."

      
"And if they don't?"

      
"Then I'll have to do some mighty fast talking when they ask me what I'm doing there," said Dante.

      
"Is there anything else?"

      
"Lots," replied the poet. "But let's see if your preacher's available first."

      
"Let me get to the radio and I'll contact him," said Moby Dick, relaxing as his chair gently changed shapes and helped lift his huge bulk onto his feet.

      
Dante suddenly realized that he hadn't slept the night before, that he'd been sitting here at the table for almost 20 hours working out all the ramifications of his plan. Suddenly he could barely keep his eyes open, and he went back his room at the Windsor Arms. He didn't even bother taking his clothes off or climbing under the covers. He just collapsed on the bed, and was asleep ten seconds later.

      
When he awoke, he felt like he'd just come out of the Deepsleep pod. All his muscles ached, and he was starving. He looked at the timepiece on his nightstand: he'd been asleep for 22 hours.

      
His mouth felt dry and sour, and he wandered into the bathroom, drank a glass of cold water, threw some more on his face, took a quick shower, rubbed a handful of depilatory cream on his face, climbed into the robe the hotel had supplied, and went back to the bedroom. He put on fresh clothes, and was considering having breakfast delivered to his room when the security system told him he had visitors. The moment he saw that one of them weighed in excess of 500 pounds, he commanded the door to dilate.

      
"I trust you slept as well as you slept long," said an amused Moby Dick, stepping into the room.

      
Accompanying him was a pale, thin, almost emaciated man with piercing blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin lips above a pointed chin. He was dressed all in black, except for a glowing, diamond-studded silver cross that hung around his neck.

      
"Dante Alighieri, allow me to introduce you to Deuteronomy Priest," continued the albino.

      
"Pleased to meet you," said Dante, staring at the strange- looking man.

      
"More pleased than this fucking alien will be, I can promise you that," said Deuteronomy Priest in a vigorous voice that seemed much too powerful for his body. "The blue bastard will never be the same. Once I convert the fuckers, they
stay
converted!"

      
Dante looked at Moby Dick with an expression that seemed to say:
Is this a joke?

      
Moby Dick grinned back so happily that Dante knew it wasn't a joke at all, that this was the person September Morn's—and his own—life depended on.

      
"You got anything to drink?" asked the preacher, looking around the room.

      
"Sorry," said Dante.

      
"What the hell kind of hotel doesn't supply booze for its guests?" groused Deuteronomy Priest. He looked up. "How about drugs?"

      
"I don't have any."

      
"What the hell are you good for?" muttered the preacher. He walked to the door. "I'll be back in the casino. Let me know when we're ready to read the riot act to this alien bastard."

      
And with that, he was gone.

      
"I wish you could see your face right now!" chuckled Moby Dick.

      
"Is this guy for real?" said Dante.

      
"He's perfect for the job," answered the albino. "Nothing in the world can shut him up or scare him. Once he touches down, he's the one person you can be sure won't be tempted to cut and run when the Tweedles confront him. Hell, he might actually convert them!"

      
"Just keep him sober enough to stand up and talk once he gets there."

      
"When are we leaving?"

      
"Not for a week, maybe even a bit longer."

      
"That long?"

      
"We've got a lot of work to do first."

      
"We do?"

      
"Matilda and I have built a formidable organization. In Santiago's absence, I'm going to put it to work—and you're going to help."

      
"Just who are you going to war with, besides the Tweedle?" asked Moby Dick.

      
"No one. The key to survival is avoiding wars, not fighting them."

      
"Then what are you going to do?"

      
"Arrange a war between two other parties," answered Dante.

41.

      
He killed a man by accident, then two, then six, then ten.

      
He's got to where he likes it, and longs to kill again.

      
His name is Accidental Barnes, he cannot lose that yen—

      
His weapon is the crossbow, his game is killing men.

      
Dante arranged for the hotel to give Deuteronomy Priest the Presidential Suite, and put Moby Dick in charge of him. Then he went back to his own room and raised the Grand Finale on the subspace radio.

      
"Well, hello, Rhymer," said Wilbur Connaught's image as it flickered into existence. "I haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?"

      
"I'm fine, thanks," replied Dante.

      
"What's all this I hear about someone called Silvermane taking over?"

      
"Forget it. He's dead."

      
"Then I still report to the bandit?"

      
"He's dead, too."

      
Wilbur frowned. "Who's left?"

      
"Until we find another Santiago, you'll report to me," said Dante. "But that's not what I'm contacting you about. You've been operating inside the Democracy for a few months now. Have you got three or four men or women, also within the Democracy, that you can trust?"

      
"Four for sure. Maybe five."

      
"Stick to the sure ones."

      
"Okay," said Wilbur, lighting a smokeless cigar. "What do you want them to do?"

      
"I want them to spread out, thousands of parsecs from each other. And I want each of them, independently, to report to the Navy that an alien entity that calls itself the Tweedle was responsible for slaughtering all those children in the Madras system, that it's been bragging about it all across the Inner Frontier."

      
"Didn't the Bandit do that?"

      
"That's one crime Santiago doesn't need the credit for," answered Dante. "Once the Democracy has someone to blame, they'll be out in force."

      
"Okay, so we'll lay the blame on this alien. I assume you have a reason?"

      
"I do. Now listen to me, and capture and save this conversation, because if you mess up the details you've killed me." Dante paused. "Are you ready?"

      
"Shoot."

      
"I want you and each of your people to inform the Navy, all independently of each other, that no one knows where the Tweedle lives, but they know it will be on Kabal III, on the Inner Frontier, six days from now, for a payoff. It's a very cautious creature, and it travels with its own army. It will arrive at a fortress that's at latitude 32 degrees, 17 minutes, and 32 seconds north, and longitude 8 degrees, 4 minutes, and 11 seconds east. It will show up exactly two hours after sunrise at the fortress—my computer tells me that's 1426 Galactic Standard time, keyed to Deluros VII; make sure you tell them that—and it'll be gone ten minutes later. The planet is uninhabited. The only way to defeat the Tweedle is to pound the whole fucking planet until there's nothing left of it."

      
"You're giving yourself an awfully small window, Rhymer," noted Wilbur.

      
"Any earlier and they'll kill me and someone who's working with me. Any later and the Tweedle almost certainly
will
be gone, and I hate to think of what it'll do to Hadrian if it gets away from Kabal."

      
"I'll take your word for it."

      
"Can you convince the Navy to do it?" asked Dante. "Everything depends on that."

      
"Probably. I'm not without my connections—and you haven't been back here since Madras. It's still in the news every day. They've been looking for the culprit ever since it happened. Our pal the Bandit didn't leave any clues."

      
"I'll be in touch with you in five and a half days. I can still call it off then, if you don't think the Navy's bought your story."

      
Dante broke the connection, then left the room, took the airlift down to the main floor, and took a slidewalk over to the Fat Chance. Moby Dick sat sitting at his usual table, and Dante quickly joined him.

      
"Is your preacher going to hold up for six days?" he asked by way of greeting.

      
"He's been abusing his body with bad booze and worse drugs for the better part of thirty years now," answered the huge albino. "I don't imagine another few days will make much difference."

      
"I hope you're right," said Dante. "I've got another job for you."

      
"What is it?"

      
"Find me an engineer. I want to be able to operate Priest's ship from a thousand miles away."

      
"What's the matter with auto-pilot?"

      
"Nothing, once he's taken off. In fact, I want it programmed to take him to some uninhabited world—but I have to be able to make it take off when I want it to."

      
The albino frowned. "Why an uninhabited world?"

      
"If my plan goes wrong, the Tweedle is going to be chasing one or the other of us, and I don't intend for either of us to lead them to Hadrian or any other populated world."

      
Moby Dick grinned. "He's gonna be that pissed, is he?"

      
"That's a pretty fair assessment," agreed Dante.

      
"I take it you're really going to go back for September Morn?"

      
"That's right."

      
"How much time do you think you'll have before the Tweedle knows you're there and tries to stop you?"

      
"I don't know. Five minutes. Ten at the outside."

      
"Then I want you to take a friend of mine along."

      
Dante looked sharply at him. "Oh?"

      
"He's as brave as they come, he can help you look for her, and if it gets rough, he'll be another distraction. It might just buy you the extra few seconds you need."

      
"I'll be taking Virgil."

      
"Take my friend, too," urged the huge man. "You're telling me you've only got five minutes. The more people you have trying to find where he's stashed her, the better."

      
"I hope
you're
not going to volunteer, too," said Dante with a smile. "It'd take you ten minutes just to get from the ship to the fortress, even if I land right next to it."