Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future Read online

  It twisted to his right, then straightened out for a few hundred feet, and finally seemed to make a sweeping semicircle to the left, never once intersecting with any other corridor. Finally it broadened out, the walls gradually forming artificially perfect right angles with the floor and ceiling, and he noticed that the illumination was considerably brighter.

  Suddenly the corridor came to an abrupt end, and he found himself standing in a small vestibule that led to a large, well-lit chamber. He started to enter it, then jumped back as he discovered that his way was blocked by an electronic force field.

  He approached the entrance more cautiously and looked into the chamber. It was perhaps sixty feet on a side, and its smooth stone walls sparkled like polished prisms in the artificial light. He had no idea how high the ceiling was, because the room faded into darkness some thirty feet above the floor. Lining two of the walls, to a height of perhaps eight feet, were enormous water tanks filled with alien aquatic life-forms and contained not by glass walls but by translucent energy screens.

  In the very center of the room was a desk with a computer console and five small screens; one of them displayed some type of readout, and the other four seemed to show various areas of the labyrinth. Just to the left of the desk were two couches. One was empty, and on the other reclined a breath-takingly beautiful woman. Her features were human, but they were so exotic that they seemed somehow alien. Her skin was chalk white, her hair was long and black, her large eyes were almost too blue beneath her oddly arched eyebrows. Her facial features, from her full lips and delicate nose to her not-quite-pointed ears, were exquisitely chiseled. Her single garment, which was draped around her supple body like a corkscrew and exposed far more than it concealed, was made of some metallic fabric that seemed to change colors every time she breathed or moved.

  "Welcome, Sebastian Cain," she said in a lilting, singsong voice. "I have been watching you work your way through my labyrinth."

  "You're Altair of Altair?"

  "Of course."

  "I've come a long way to talk to you," he said.

  "I will enjoy talking to you. We have many things in common." She paused. "That is why I allowed you to find me. You are only the third person ever to enter this chamber."

  "I haven't entered it yet," he noted.

  "I must protect myself," she said apologetically. "After all, I have a price on my head, and you are a bounty hunter."

  "I have no professional interest in you," he assured her. "I just want to talk."

  "And yet you have been carrying your gun in your hand since entering my labyrinth."

  "You're not the only person who feels the need for protection," he replied. "I wouldn't be the first man you've killed."

  "We are both killers," said Altair of Altair. "Shall we declare a truce?"

  "For how long?"

  "You will be warned before it is over."

  "I'm willing."

  "Then leave your gun in the vestibule. You can pick it up when you leave."

  "Not a chance," he said.

  "Will you at least replace it in your holster?"

  He did so, and she rose, walked to the computer, and touched a small octagonal button.

  "The, shield is down," she announced. "You may enter now."

  "Thank you," he said, walking gingerly through the doorway and stepping into the chamber. The floor was covered by a soft yielding substance that was more resilient than it looked and glowed with different colors every time he set his foot down.

  "I have been wanting to meet you for a long time," said Altair of Altair.

  "Have you?"

  "Yes," she said. "Killing is a lonely profession. It is so rare that one gets to visit with one's peers."

  "We're not exactly peers," answered Cain. "You're an assassin; I'm a bounty hunter."

  "But many facets of our work are the same," she pointed out. "The endless waiting for the prey to appear, the moment of exultation at the kill, the distrust of confederates, the craving for solitude. Do you not agree?"

  "Perhaps," he said noncommittally. "But the differences are even greater, and the fact remains that you will commit murder for anyone who pays your fee, and I kill criminals at the behest of my government."

  "True," she said thoughtfully. "But then, even among bounty hunters you are a unique individual."

  "Oh? In what way?"

  "Most of those who make their living by killing lawbreakers were once lawbreakers themselves. Peacemaker MacDougal was a smuggler, Giles Sans Pitié and Barnaby Wheeler were bandits, even the Angel was an assassin. Of them all, only you have always operated within the law."

  "You're wrong," he said. "I once had a price on my head, too."

  "You were fighting on behalf of what you believed to be a legal government in exile," she replied with a smile.

  "How do you know that?"

  "I have been studying you for a long time," said Altair of Altair. "In our business, one does not live long without knowing the face of the enemy."

  "I'm not your enemy."

  "And Santiago is not yours," she replied. "Why do you want him dead?"

  "What makes you think I'm after Santiago?" he asked.

  "Who else could have brought you this far from Keep-sake?" she replied. "I repeat: Why do you wish to kill him?"

  He smiled. "Have you seen the size of the reward?"

  "You are a very successful bounty hunter. You have no need of money."

  "Everyone needs money."

  "A man like you must have another reason," she persisted.

  He stared at her, then shrugged. "It would mean something," he said at last.

  "Ah!" She smiled. "I knew you were different!" She walked back to the couch and sprawled on it. "Do you know that not a single murder I have committed has ever meant anything?"

  "What about killing the governor of Alsatia Four?" he asked.

  "One second later there was a new governor, and what had changed?" She shook her head. "No, the beauty of the assassin's profession is that nothing ever means anything, and hence the perceived need for assassination never diminishes. Only you, of all the killers I know, want your actions to make a difference."

  "Tell me about some of the killers you know," said Cain.

  "Had you someone in mind?"

  "Santiago."

  "I have never met him."

  "I think you have," persisted Cain.

  "Why?"

  "Because you killed a man named Kastartos."

  "What has one to do with the other?" she asked.

  "Kastartos planned to double-cross Santiago," answered Cain. "He tried to get Jonathan Stern to help him. Stern didn't think it was worth the risk, and sent word of Kastartos's plans to Santiago. It stands to reason that Santiago commissioned his death."

  She stared at him pleasantly but made no comment.

  "If the order came directly from him, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that you've met him and know where he is, would it?" he continued.

  "He has never directly commissioned my services," she replied. "He works only through intermediaries."

  "Who are they?"

  "That is not your concern."

  "If you're saying that from fear of reprisal, there's no reason for Santiago to know that we ever met."

  "He already knows."

  "How?"

  "Because he is Santiago."

  "You make him sound like some kind of superman," said Cain.

  "He is just a man, and he can be killed like any other man," she replied. "You have much in common with him."

  "You mean because we can both be killed?" he asked sardonically.

  "That, too," she said with an enigmatic smile.

  Suddenly there was a flurry of motion in one of the aquarium tanks, as a bright orange eyeless fish, slim as a dagger, burrowed into the soft sand at the bottom and emerged with a yellow-and-black-striped crustacean. The orange fish tossed the crustacean up above him and darted for its soft underbelly, guided unerringly to its mos
t vulnerable parts by what Cain assumed was some form of sonar. The water around them turned pink with the fluid that coursed through the crustacean's veins, and instantly half a hundred other marine forms of perhaps ten different species had gathered in a feeding frenzy.

  "They are beautiful creatures, are they not?" said Altair of Altair, a look of almost inhuman excitement on her face. "And savage," she continued in a singsong chant. "They kill for food, and when they are sated, they kill for the love of killing."

  "Interesting," he said noncommittally.

  "Fascinating," she replied with conviction. "There is one you cannot see, who lives beneath the sand. Not this clumsy shellfish, but a beautiful animal, bright as the morning sun. The others hunt for him endlessly, but they cannot find him." She smiled. "I have named him Santiago."

  "And which fish is Altair of Altair?" he asked.

  "None of them." She stared at him through half-lowered lids. "I kill only for recompense."

  "Nobody's asking you to kill at all," said Cain patiently. "I just need to know where to find Santiago." He paused. "I'm prepared to give you a percentage of the reward if your information proves useful."

  "Are you indeed?"

  "Ten percent of the price on his head would keep you in fish for a long time."

  "Do you know what I would do if you tried to take my very bright fish?" she asked suddenly.

  "What?"

  "I would kill you, Sebastian Cain. I would kill you because that fish is mine, and you would be taking something that didn't belong to you."

  "Are you trying to tell me that you think you have some prior claim on Santiago?"

  "Santiago is mine."

  "Then why is he still alive?"

  "Because the reward increases every year, and I am very patient. When it becomes large enough, then I shall kill him."

  "It's large right now."

  "It will become larger," she said with certainty.

  "And you're not worried about someone beating you to it?"

  "Do you really think it is that easy to kill him?" she asked, obviously amused. "He is Santiago."

  "If you think he can't be killed, why not give me the information I want?"

  "It would do you no good."

  "In that case, it would do you no harm," said Cain.

  She stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "There are more important things than information."

  "For instance?"

  "The gift of life," she said. "No one who has ever entered my lair has been given it. But because I lead the solitary life of a killer, I respect all others who do as well. Pledge to return to Keepsake and fish for lesser prizes, and you may leave here alive."

  "After I find Santiago," he replied, suddenly wary.

  "Then you are a fool," she said. "Did you know that even as we speak, Virtue MacKenzie is racing to the Angel's side to betray you?"

  He looked surprised for just an instant, then shrugged. "It won't be the first time I've been betrayed," he said. "And it won't do her any good."

  "That much is true," said Altair of Altair. "For when we are through here, I must hunt down the Angel and all who stand with him."

  "For poaching?" he asked wryly.

  "Yes."

  "If you start killing every bounty hunter who's looking for Santiago, you're going to have a full-time job on your hands."

  "Most of them are insignificant specks of debris in the cosmos," she replied. "Even Peacemaker MacDougal and Johnny One-Note will never find Santiago. Of them all, only you and the Angel have the ability to find him."

  "What about Giles Sans Pitié?"

  "The Angel killed him last week," replied Altair of Altair. "Giles Sans Pitié sought him out on Glenovar and proposed an alliance." She paused. "The Angel has no more use for competition than I have."

  "I warned him to stay away from the Angel," commented Cain.

  "You realize, of course, that I have every reason to do to you what the Angel did to Giles Sans Pitié."

  "I wouldn't advise it," said Cain ominously.

  "Forget your weapon, Sebastian Cain," she said, an unfathomable expression on her exotic face. "It will do you no good."

  "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it," he said, withdrawing his gun and pointing it at her.

  "How will you kill me?" she asked, her blue eyes alive with amused interest. "A bullet to the head? That is your trademark, isn't it?"

  "I don't have a trademark."

  "All good killers have trademarks," she replied. "With Giles Sans Pitié it was his metal fist, with Peacemaker MacDougal it is a pencil-thin beam of light, with ManMountain Bates it is his bare hands, with you it is a bullet. Only the Angel, who is adept with all weapons, slaughters with variety."

  "And what is your trademark?" asked Cain.

  "You shall see," she said softly.

  And then, suddenly, he was no longer in a subterranean chamber on Altair III. Instead, he stood at the edge of a clear blue brook, the hot Sylarian sun beating down on his neck. He was barefoot, and the grass, long and swaying in the gentle breeze, felt like velvet between his toes.

  He looked across the brook and saw a girl, her blond hair meticulously braided, her skin tanned and healthy. She wore a plain blue dress, and she gingerly held its skirt up to her knees as she stood ankle deep in the water.

  "Help me," she said, her voice heavy with worry.

  "It's shallow," replied Cain with a laugh. "Just walk across it."

  "I'll fall."

  "No, you won't."

  "Don't tease me, Sebastian," she pleaded, reaching her hand out to him. "Please!"

  "All right," he said with a smile.

  It was funny, he reflected as he placed a foot in the brook and felt the cold water swirl around it. He had known her for years, had loved her from the first day he had met her, yet for the life of him he couldn't remember her name.

  "It's Jennifer," she said.

  "Right." He nodded. "Jennifer."

  "Please hurry, Sebastian," she said. "I'm frightened."

  "I'm coming."

  He crossed the brook in five large steps, feeling remarkably invigorated by the water.

  "You see?" he laughed. "There's nothing to it." He paused, momentarily disoriented. "Now what?"

  "Now carry me across."

  "Why don't I just hold your hand and lead you?" he asked.

  "The stones hurt my feet," she said, half crooning the words. "Won't you please carry me?"

  He sighed. "If that's what you want."

  "You'll have to drop the stick first," she said.

  He frowned. "What stick?"

  "The stick you're carrying in your right hand. You can't lift me up if you're carrying a stick."

  "Sure I can," he said, suddenly uneasy.

  "It will hurt me," she said, "and it might even rip my dress. Please drop it, Sebastian."

  He took a step back, still reluctant to drop the stick. "Something's wrong," he said, frowning again.

  "What is it?" she asked innocently.

  "I don't know," he said. "Maybe it's the dress."

  The dress became a burgundy skirt and a frilly white blouse.

  "Is this better, Sebastian?"

  He stared at it. "I suppose so," he said at last.

  "Then carry me across the brook. I'm late."

  "For what?"

  She giggled. "You know," she said with a sense of shared intimacy.

  "Oh."

  He stood motionless.

  "Well?" she said at last.

  "It's still wrong," he said, puzzled.

  "What is, Sebastian?"

  "I don't know. Let me think for a minute."

  "We haven't got a minute, Sebastian. I'm late. Don't tease me like this."

  He took a step toward her. "I've almost got it."

  "Hurry, Sebastian!" she said, a note of urgency creeping into her voice.

  He reached out to her uneasily.

  "The stick, Sebastian," she chanted seductively. "Put it
down."

  He dropped the stick.

  "Thank you," she said, a strange smile on her lips. "Are you happy, Sebastian?"

  "I suppose so," he said, forcing himself to return her smile.

  "I'm so glad."

  "What's that in your hand?" he asked, peering at some shining object he hadn't seen before.

  "A flower," she said. "A lovely silver flower."

  "It's very pretty," he said, the uneasiness growing within him once again.

  "Would you like a closer look, Sebastian?"

  "Yes, I—Shit!" he muttered, diving for the stick. He grabbed it as he rolled over on the ground, pointed it at her, and squeezed it.

  Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and he was once again in the subterranean chamber, and Altair of Altair lay on her back, blood pouring out from a small hole between her eyes, a silver dagger clutched in her hand.

  Cain stood motionless, panting, sweat pouring down his body, trying to regain his bearings. It took his hands a full minute to stop shaking, and finally he put the gun back in its holster.

  Then he walked over to Altair of Altair and looked down at her.

  "There aren't any brooks on Sylaria," he said weakly.

  He examined her to make sure there were no signs of life, then stood erect, his hands on his hips.

  "Great," he muttered. "Back to square one again."

  "Not necessarily," said a voice.

  "Who's there?" he demanded, crouching down beside the corpse and drawing his pistol.

  "My name is Schussler," said the voice, and now Cain realized that it was coming from the computer. "If you will retrace your steps, you'll find me waiting for you at the entrance to the labyrinth."

  "How will I recognize you?" asked Cain.

  "You'll have very little difficulty," said the voice with a bitter chuckle. "This I promise you."

  12.

  He aches for the touch of flesh upon flesh,

  He wonders why Fate had to end his beguine,

  He longs for a woman, all virginal fresh:

  Schussler the Cyborg, unhappy machine.

  * * * *

  Black Orpheus met many unique characters during his wanderings on the Inner Frontier. There were killers and gamblers, preachers and bounty hunters, millionaires and paupers, saints and sinners, an entire panorama of outcasts and adventurers and misfits—but not one of them measured up to Schussler the Cyborg, whose tragedy was that he didn't want to be unique at all.