Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future Page 18

  "Who is your owner?"

  "She was Altair of Altair," replied Schussler.

  Just then the Swagman entered the ship.

  "Too damned hot out there," he said, walking over to a cushioned seat and flopping down on it. He turned to Cain. "Has he popped the question to you yet?"

  "What question?" asked Cain.

  The Swagman laughed. "If he's got more than one, he's been holding out on me." He paused. "Well, Schussler—have you?"

  "Not yet," said the cyborg.

  "I repeat: what question?" said Cain.

  "We still have things to discuss," said Schussler. "Then I will make my request."

  "You know," said the Swagman to Cain, "I offered him good steady work back at Goldenrod, and he turned me down flat."

  "I won't transport stolen goods," said Schussler firmly.

  "You yourself might be considered stolen goods," noted the Swagman amiably, "since there's still thirteen years outstanding on your contract."

  "I am not stolen goods," replied Schussler. "I belong to Cain for the next thirteen years."

  "What?" said Cain, startled. "That's not Altairian law."

  "It is one of the conditions of my contract with the Graal," said Schussler. "They understood that Altair of Altair operated beyond the scope of human law, and it was explicitly stated that should she be killed by any representative of any human government before my contract was up, I would become the possession of that representative. As a bounty hunter who will ultimately be paid by the Democracy for slaying her, you qualify as my new owner."

  "I don't want to be your owner," said Cain.

  "Just a minute," interjected the Swagman. "Let's not be too hasty about this."

  "Schussler, when I was in the cavern, you indicated that you might be able to help me," said Cain, staring at the panel behind which the essential Schussler existed. "What did you have in mind?"

  "I can show you where Altair of Altair has been, and who she spoke to, and many other things."

  "If you'll feed it all into my ship's computer, I'll make you a free agent right now," said Cain. "I don't have any use for another ship."

  "Terwilliger needs your ship, if you're really sending him to Lambda Karos," the Swagman pointed out.

  "He can use yours," said Cain. "We're partners, remember?"

  "It's a moot point," said Schussler. "I can't feed my information to your computer. The language my systems use is different."

  "Come off it," said Cain. "You use the same language as my computer every time you receive landing coordinates. What's your real problem?"

  "Please take me with you!" said Schussler suddenly, a note of desperation in his voice. "It's been so long since I've been able to talk with another human being!" Cain seemed hesitant, and Schussler continued: "I will serve you with complete loyalty until we find Santiago. I will guide and protect you, feed and ferry you, and I ask nothing in return except your company."

  "Nothing?" repeated the Swagman meaningfully.

  "Until you have found Santiago," said Schussler. "Then I have one single request to make of you."

  "What is it?" demanded Cain.

  "Kill me," said Schussler the Cyborg.

  13.

  The Songbird stalks, the Songbird kills,

  The Songbird works to pay his bills.

  So, friend, beware the Songbird's glance:

  If you're his prey, you'll have no chance.

  * * * *

  "Those don't belong to you," said Schussler.

  The Swagman, tired of sitting in a chair that was almost comfortable, had gotten to his feet and was examining a number of alien artifacts that were attached to a wall of the command cabin.

  "By the same token, they don't belong to you, either," he replied easily. He pulled at an onyx carving, breaking the magnetic field that joined it to the wall. "Interesting piece," he commented, examining it closely. "Where did your late lamented owner pick it up? Hesporite Three?"

  "Neiburi Two," answered Schussler.

  "Same star cluster," remarked the Swagman with an air of satisfaction. "I wouldn't have given her credit for such exquisite taste. Do you know what this little piece is worth on the open market?"

  "No," said Schussler.

  "Neither do you," interjected Cain, looking up from the table where he had disassembled one of his pistols and was meticulously cleaning it. "But I'll bet you can give us its black market value to the nearest tenth of a credit."

  "Touché," grinned the Swagman.

  "Put it back now," said Schussler.

  "I'm admiring it."

  "Evaluating it, anyway," said Cain dryly.

  "Force of habit," admitted the Swagman, holding the carving near the wall until the magnetic field took it from him. He began studying another piece.

  "I'm still watching you," said Schussler.

  "How comforting."

  "You'd better not try to steal anything," continued the cyborg.

  "I never steal from my friends," said the Swagman.

  "I know all about you, Swagman," said Schussler. "You don't have any friends."

  "It does simplify matters," replied the Swagman with a smile. "If it will allay your fears, I also don't steal from my partners when one of them happens to be a bounty hunter." Suddenly a small carving caught his eye, and he pulled it out of the field. "Well, well," he mused. "Life is a torrent of never-ending surprises."

  "What have you got there?" asked Cain.

  The Swagman held the piece up.

  "It doesn't look all that special."

  "As a matter of fact, it's a rather mediocre work of art," agreed the Swagman. "It's where it originated that makes it interesting."

  "And where was that?"

  "Pellinath Four."

  "Never heard of it," said Cain.

  "It's the planet where I was raised. This was carved by one of the Bellum."

  "Your benefactors?" asked Schussler, interested.

  The Swagman nodded, studying the carving. "I think I must have sold this thing, oh, ten or twelve years ago, out by New Rhodesia. I wonder how Altair of Altair got her hands on it?"

  "What were the Bellum like?" asked Schussler.

  "Not bad at all, considering that we had some serious disagreements about laissez-faire capitalism," replied the Swagman. "Still, they fed me and gave me shelter, and I'm grateful to them for that."

  "Not so grateful that you didn't rob them," noted Cain wryly.

  "True," agreed the Swagman. "On the other hand, if God had any serious objections to what I do, He wouldn't have made insurance companies." He paused. "Besides, I didn't take very much. They were exceptionally poor artisans. I suppose it comes from being color-blind and not having thumbs." He glanced at the piece again and replaced it on the wall, then turned to the panel that hid Schussler's essence. "Tell me about the Graal."

  "They were basically humanoid," replied the cyborg, "if you consider a race humanoid because it walks erect on two legs. Beyond that, they didn't have a lot in common with Men."

  "That's not too difficult to believe, given the contours of the seats in here," said the Swagman with a grimace. "What kind of art did they produce?"

  The ship uttered an amused, melodic chuckle. "Nothing that would interest you. They don't have any eyes; they use a form of sonar. And while I never saw their artwork, I'm sure it would reflect their limitations."

  "What a pity," sighed the Swagman. "At least my aliens gave me a little something to remember them by, however unwillingly."

  "So did mine," said Schussler, the melody of his voice conflicting with the irony of his words.

  "Where is this world where they put you together, anyway?" asked the Swagman. "I've never heard of the Kalkos system."

  "In the Corbellus Cluster," replied Schussler.

  "I was out there once," remarked the Swagman. "Ever hear of Fond Hope?"

  "I've heard of it," answered the cyborg, "but I've never been there."

  "I've heard of it, too," said Cain. "
Didn't Orpheus write it up? Something about the Deneb Arabian, or the Delphini Arabian, or something like that?"

  "The Darley Arabian," said the Swagman. "Orpheus gave him his name. In fact, he gave all three patriarchs their names." He paused. "My own modest dealings were solely with the Barb."

  "I don't recall any mention of him," said Cain.

  "I fear I may have left him with a certain distrust of outsiders," grinned the Swagman. "He refused to speak to Black Orpheus."

  "Smart man," muttered Cain.

  "I didn't understand the song," volunteered Schussler. "It sounded, well, racy."

  "The Darley Arabian, tall and wild,/Has gotten another wife with child," quoted the Swagman. "I suppose that's as close to racy as Orpheus ever gets." He turned to the panel that hid Schussler from view. "Fond Hope was settled by three very large families, who immediately had a falling-out and began fighting with each other. Since this was a blood feud, none of the families wanted to import outside mercenaries. Then one day the Arabian conceived the notion of buying a couple of hundred mail-order brides and siring his own army—all in the line of duty, to be sure." He chuckled. "It took each of the other two patriarchs about a week to follow suit, and they've spent the past twenty years fighting all day and making little soldiers all night."

  "What about the names?" asked Schussler.

  "Orpheus found out that all the racehorses back on old Earth descended from three foundation sires, so he named the three patriarchs the Darley Arabian, the Byerly Turk, and the Godolphin Barb, after the three horses."

  "What was your business with the Barb?" asked Cain.

  "I knew that he had no need for mercenaries, but I thought he might be interested in purchasing a shipload of weapons to carry on the battle."

  "Hot?"

  "Lukewarm," admitted the Swagman. "The navy confiscated them a month after I delivered them."

  "I wasn't aware that the navy ever got out to the Corbellus Cluster," said Schussler.

  "They didn't—until someone thoughtlessly appropriated a few thousand laser weapons from one of their munitions warehouses."

  "Is that why Santiago dropped you?" asked Cain.

  "Why should you think so?"

  "Because stealing from the navy isn't your style. You'd need Santiago's muscle for an operation like that. My guess is that he threw you out for selling weapons he wanted to keep."

  "You couldn't be more mistaken," said the Swagman indignantly.

  "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you stole those weapons yourself?" said Cain.

  "Oh, it was Santiago's operation from start to finish." acknowledged the Swagman. "And yes, we did have some slight disagreement over their ultimate disposition. But we parted ways for a totally unrelated reason."

  "The mind boggles," commented Cain wryly.

  "I'm surprised that Santiago or the Godolphin Barb didn't commission your death," said Schussler.

  "The Barb did," replied the Swagman. "Fortunately, my would-be assassin tried to attack me at my fortress on Goldenrod, where even the Angel would find it difficult to do me any damage."

  "How do you know that it was the Barb who hired the assassin, rather than Santiago?" asked the cyborg.

  "Because I'm still here." The Swagman wandered over to the table, where Cain had replaced the bullets in his first pistol and was preparing to clean and oil a second. "You know," he said, staring at the pieces that were neatly laid out on the table, "there's something I've been curious about ever since I observed you with Altair of Altair."

  "Ask away," said Cain without looking up.

  "Why do you use a projectile weapon?" said the Swagman.

  "It's more accurate than laser or sonic pistols, and since it doesn't have an energy pack to begin with, it can't run out of power."

  "But it makes such a loud noise."

  "So what?"

  "I would have thought stealth and silence were essential to your profession."

  Cain smiled. "They're essential while I'm stalking my prey. Once I start shooting, I don't much give a damn who knows I'm there." He paused. "I'm not one of your menials, Swagman. I operate within the law; I don't have to sneak away when my work is done."

  "A point well taken," admitted the Swagman.

  "A laser gun is all right if you have to fan a large area," continued Cain. "But it's not a precision instrument. To each his own; I prefer bullets."

  "I wonder what method the Angel used on Giles Sans Pitié?" mused Schussler.

  Cain shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out in good time. I don't imagine Black Orpheus will be able to resist putting it into his stupid song."

  "What's your objection to our friend Orpheus?" asked the Swagman.

  "He's your friend, not mine."

  "He's made you famous," noted the Swagman. "A century from now, that song is the only way people will know you and Schussler and I even existed. Consider it a form of immortality."

  "Immortality is a greatly overrated virtue," interjected Schussler, the beautiful melodic tones of his voice ringing with bitterness.

  "Most of the people I've known would disagree with that statement," said the Swagman.

  "Most of the people you've known have spent their whole lives one step ahead of the hangman," replied the cyborg.

  "Most of the people he's known have already met the hangman," commented Cain.

  "Some of them have met less formal executioners," retorted the Swagman. "I'm still annoyed with you over that little affair on Declan Four."

  "You had some use for Socrates?" asked Cain.

  "Socrates?" snorted the Swagman contemptuously. "Of course not. There are twelve million Men on Declan Four, all of them interchangeable and infinitely replaceable." He paused. "But you destroyed a Robelian bowl that I'd been after for three years."

  "It was just a bowl," said Cain. "I was there for something more important."

  "Just a bowl?" repeated the Swagman, morally outraged. "My good man, it was one of only six such bowls in existence!"

  "I've seen lots like it."

  For just a moment the Swagman looked interested. Then he sighed. "I suppose one bowl looks just like another to you."

  "Pretty much so," said Cain, sliding the barrel of his pistol into place and turning it gently until he felt a discernible click. "Just the way people all look alike to you."

  "And it means nothing to you that there are almost a trillion people spread across the Democracy, and only six Robelian bowls of that shape and design?"

  "It means you'll run out of work before I do."

  "It means," the Swagman retorted, "that you have destroyed an irreplaceable work of art."

  "I also destroyed a man who was in serious need of destruction," replied Cain. "On the whole, I'd say the ledger came out on the plus side."

  "There wasn't even any paper on Socrates."

  "Then view killing him as a service to humanity."

  "I wasn't aware that you were in the philanthropy business," said the Swagman.

  "There are more important things than money," said Cain.

  "True—but all of them cost money." The Swagman raised his arms above his head, emitted a loud grunt as he stretched, and then turned to Schussler's panel. "I'm getting hungry. What have you got in your galley?"

  "I have a full complement of soya products," answered the cyborg.

  "Don't you have any meat?"

  "I'm afraid not—but I can prepare some dishes that will be almost indistinguishable from meat."

  "I've heard that before," muttered the Swagman.

  "You might as well take what he's got," said Cain. "We're not about to divert to a planet with a grocery store."

  The Swagman shrugged. "Can you come up with something that tastes like shellfish in a cream sauce?"

  "I can try." Schussler paused. "What would you like, Sebastian?"

  "Whatever's easy," said Cain.

  "How about a steak?" suggested the cyborg.

  "How about a salad?" countered Cain. "I've had so
ya steaks."

  "If you'll come to the galley, your dinners are ready," announced Schussler.

  "What are you talking about?" said the Swagman suspiciously. "We just ordered them."

  "The Graal's technology makes meal preparation almost instantaneous," explained the cyborg. "Especially when I can work with adaptable raw materials such as soya products."

  Cain and the Swagman exchanged dubious glances and entered the galley, a long narrow room in which almost all of the equipment was hidden from view.

  "Where are we supposed to eat?" asked the Swagman.

  "I can unfold a small table," said Schussler, "but there won't be room for both of you at it."

  "We'll stand," said Cain. "Where's the food?"

  "I'll have it in just a second," said Schussler. "Ah, here it comes."

  A shining metal panel receded, and two nondescript plates appeared on a polished counter.

  The Swagman reached out for his shellfish, then withdrew his hand and muttered a curse.

  "I forgot to tell you: the plate is hot."

  "Thanks," said the Swagman caustically. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a monogrammed silk handkerchief, wrapped it around his fingers, and pulled the plate over. "I could use a knife and fork."

  "I wish I could help you," said Schussler apologetically. "But Altair of Altair didn't use human utensils. She preferred these."

  A pair of odd-looking metal objects emerged onto the counter.

  The Swagman picked one up and examined it. "Wonderful," he said. "It looks about as practical as eating soup with chopsticks."

  Cain picked up the other, studied it for a moment, and then began using it on his salad.

  "How did you do that?" asked the Swagman.

  "I've seen these things in the Teron system," said Cain, impaling an artificial tomato and twisting a piece of artificial lettuce around it. "A Teroni bounty hunter showed me how to use it. It's not too bad once you get the hang of it."

  "How are they on cream sauce?" asked the Swagman, staring at his plate.