The Return of Santiago

Part 6: SANTIAGO'S BOOK

38.

He's proud and he's arrogant, fearless and bold;

If you travel with him you'll never grow old.

Those who oppose him have drawn their last breath:

He's the King of the Outlaws—his partner is Death.

Moby Dick stood in the corridor, waiting for the security system to identify him and inform Dante of his presence. Finally the door dilated and he stepped into the poet's room.

"Did you get it?" asked Dante anxiously.

"No problem."

"No problem?" repeated Dante disbelievingly. "Molecular imploders are outlawed on almost every planet in the galaxy, including out here on the Frontier."

"I am not without my connections," answered the albino with a smug smile.

"So where is it?"

"Back at my casino," replied Moby Dick.

"But I told you that Silvermane needs it this morning!"

"He'll have it—but I'm coming along with it."

Dante stared at him sharply. "Why?"

"Because I agree with you that it's time for another Santiago, and I want to see how this one measures up."

"We're not holding auditions," said Dante. "He's it."

"Right now he's just a name, and I don't follow names. If I'm going to join your crusade, I want to see just who it is I'm joining."

"I don't know if he'll let you come along," said Dante.

"He will if he wants that imploder," said Moby Dick.

"He's going to be hard-pressed enough without having to protect you as well."

"I don't need any protecting. They won't bother me. I've dealt with them, remember?"

Dante shrugged. "Have it your way. It's his decision anyway, not mine."

"Good," said Moby Dick, approaching the largest chair in the room. It expanded to accommodate his bulk, then wrapped its arms partway around him and began rocking very gently. "When it's all over, I'll let you know how it went."

"You won't have to," said Dante. "I'm going."

"Didn't you just tell me that he likes to fight alone?" asked the albino.

"I'm not fighting. I'm there to write it up, and hopefully bring back September Morn."

"He could bring her back himself, you know."

"He's never met her," said Dante. "What if they've got 20 women imprisoned there?"

"Then he'll bring back all 20 and you'll tell him which one she is."

Dante listened politely, then uttered a two-word response: "I'm going."

The Security system blinked. Moby Dick began laboriously to lift his 500-pound bulk from the chair, but Dante gestured him to stay seated.

"It's not him," he announced.

"Who is it, then?"

"The friend whose ship I borrowed."

"Are you sure this is a hotel room and not a public meeting place?"

Dante smiled. "Not as sure as I was 15 minutes ago." He muttered a code to the door and it irised, allowing Virgil to step through it.

"How are you doing, Rhymer?" said the Indian. "You don't look any the worse for wear." A pause. "So the Bandit is really dead?"

"Really and truly."

"You know, I didn't believe it when I first heard the news. I didn't think anyone or anything except maybe Silvermane could kill him." He chuckled. "So it was the lady poet that shot him down?"

"That's right."

"Doesn't sound to me like the kind of woman who needs rescuing," said Virgil.

"She needs it from these captors," spoke up Moby Dick.

"Yeah, that's what everybody who knows them says," agreed Virgil. He stepped forward and extended a hand. "Virgil Soaring Hawk. Pleased to meet you."

"Moby Dick."

"Not the Moby Dick who used to live in the Carnasus system?" said the Indian.

"No, that was another one," replied the albino. "He was the wrong color, but the right mutation. The way I hear it, he was born with gills, and he could breathe in the water just as easy as in the air."

"I didn't know whales could breathe water," said Virgil. "Of course, there ain't been any around for a couple of thousand years, so what do I know?"

"They can't breathe water," agreed Moby Dick. "But my namesake could."

"He still alive?"

"I don't think so."

"Someone harpoon him?"

Moby Dick shook his head. "Got shredded by a pleasurecraft's motor, or so I heard."

"Serves him right for spending all his time in the water when he could have been chasing the ladies—or the gentlemen, for that matter," said Virgil with his usual single-mindedness. He turned back to Dante. "Silvermane hasn't shown up yet, I take it?"

"Not yet. And call him Santiago."

"Yeah, I know—I keep forgetting."

"How did things go on Valhalla?" asked the poet.

"Pretty smoothly since word reached them that the Bandit wouldn't be coming back." He paused, then smiled. "Matilda's put together a team she calls the Thieves Carnival."

"Catchy name. Any reason for it?"

"There's half a dozen of them, they work together, and she sent them to Calliope."

"That's the carnival planet, isn't it?"

"That's the place," said Virgil. "Ten million vacationers any given day, all of them with money. You couldn't ask for a better world for Santiago to pick up operating funds." He glanced out the window. "When's he due here?"

"He's late already," answered Dante. "I expected him right after sunrise."

"Maybe he's not in such a hurry to die," offered Moby Dick.

"Are you saying he won't show up?" demanded Dante heatedly.

"What's the point? He can't defeat them. Whole armies have tried and failed."

"Anyone can be defeated," said Dante. "It's just a matter of coming up with the right strategy."

"Nonsense," said Moby Dick. "You're a minnow. I'm a whale. You can't defeat me. All you can do is escape to live another day."

"That's a defeat of sorts," answered the poet. "And if I tell all the other minnows how, and we all escape every day, you might find yourself growing a little weaker and a little slower, which will make you weaker and slower still, until you starve to death."

"By God, I knew I liked you!" said Moby Dick with a sudden laugh. "Santiago's got himself a hell of a biographer, young Dante Alighieri."

"I'm not his biographer," answered Dante. "Well, not exactly. Not primarily. I'm just carrying on what Black Orpheus started."

"Isn't it about time you stopped kidding yourself?" said the albino.

"What are you talking about?"

"From everything I can tell, just about the only thing you've done since you found that poem is try to find a new Santiago."

"What the hell do you know about it?" said Dante irritably. "I've written hundreds of verses, and I've spent days and weeks honing and revising them."

"What's more important to you?" asked Moby Dick. "Writing your poem or making sure that there is a Santiago?"

"What's more important to you—eating or breathing?" Dante shot back.

Virgil grinned. "Do you still like him?" he asked Moby Dick.

"Hell, yes!" said the albino. "He's as good at evading questions as answering them. That's a rare talent."

"Flatter me any more and I might take an axe to you," said Dante. "Or worse still—I might lock you in here with Virgil and not come back for a day or two."

"Promises, promises!" muttered the Indian.

Dante was about to reply when the Security system told him that Silvermane was at the door. He commanded it to dilate, and the tall man, immaculate as usual, strode into the room.

"Who are you?" he demanded, staring at Moby Dick.

"And I'm pleased to meet you too," said the albino.

Silvermane did not look amused, and Dante immediately stepped between them. "This is Moby Dick," he said. "He's the one who's supplying the imploder."

"Then I thank you," said Silvermane sternly. He looked around. "Where is it?"

"It's in a safe place," said Moby Dick.

"Get it. I don't have any time to waste."

"Once we reach an agreement."

Silvermane glared at him. "How much?"

"No money."

"Then what?"

"I'm coming along."

"I won't protect you," said Silvermane.

"I don't need protecting," said the albino.

"Against these two, everyone needs protecting."

"Not me," said Moby Dick. "I have an arrangement with them."

Silvermane looked at the huge man as if he was the lowest form of life, but he made no reply.

"Well, we don't have an arrangement," interjected Dante. "Maybe we could use some help." Silvermane turned to him. "This whole planet loves September Morn, practically worships her. Give me a day. I'm sure I can gather a few hundred men and women to come along and—"

"Santiago doesn't beg for help," said Silvermane.

"But he doesn't have to turn it down if it's freely offered," urged Dante.

"They didn't challenge Hadrian II. They challenged me."

"That's your final word?"

"It is."

"At least let me come with you," said Dante. "You don't know what she looks like. If they have more than one captive and they've done them any damage, you won't know which one's her."

Silvermane frowned. "Just how stupid do you think I am? I've pulled up a dozen holographs of her from the local newsdisc."

"Then consider this: if you're good enough to kill the aliens—aliens she felt could not possibly be defeated—she may find you so terrifying that she won't want to put herself in your power."

Silvermane considered what Dante had said for a moment, then nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "All right, you can come." He looked at Virgil. "But not the Indian. I don't like him."

"I go where he goes," said Virgil.

"You're staying here."

"I'm not one of your sycophants," said Virgil. "I don't take my orders from you. I work for the poet."

Suddenly Virgil was looking down the barrel of Silvermane's pistol.

"When I tell you to do something," began Silvermane, "you'll do it!"

"Stop!" yelled Dante, so suddenly and so loud that everyone froze. "Is this the way Santiago treats his allies? I thought you saved your bullets for your enemies."

Silvermane looked uncertain for just a moment, then holstered his gun.

"All right," he said to Virgil. "But stay clear of me, in the ship and on the planet." He turned to Moby Dick. "I've wasted enough time. Let's get the imploder."

He walked out the door, followed by Virgil.

"Four heroes off to slay the monsters," said Moby Dick to Dante, so softly that the other two couldn't hear him. A sardonic smile crossed his face. "I wonder how many of us will still be alive when we get there?"

39.

Oh, Tweedledee and Tweedledum,

The parts are greater than the sum.

They send their foes to Kingdom Come,

Do Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Kabal III was a dark world, considering how close it was to its yellow sun, dark and bleak and gray. Rocky surfaces with jagged edges covered the surface. Undrinkable water created small canyons as it wound through the landscape. Opaque clouds crawled slowly across the sky.

"I don't like the looks of this place," said Dante, looking at the viewscreen as the ship took up orbit around it.

"Nobody asked you to come," answered Silvermane, who sat in the pilot's chair, meticulously oiling and cleaning his pistols and checking his ammunition.

"I've never seen them," said Virgil, "but based on all the stories I've heard, you're wasting your time. The most a bullet or two will do is make 'em angry."

"Probably," agreed Silvermane. "But if the imploder doesn't function or doesn't work, I need fallback protection."

"Mine would be: run like hell," said the Indian.

"That's why I'm Santiago and you're not."

Dante hadn't taken his eyes off the screen. "Seven degrees Celsius, 1.17 times Standard gravity, not much oxygen." He sighed deeply. "So you can't use your speed, you can't stand a sustained battle, and you're not going to be able to work up a sweat. Are you sure you don't want to wait until I can mobilize some of the people on Hadrian?"

"If I can't defeat them, they can't either."

"I see that being Santiago is not necessarily conducive to modesty," noted Virgil wryly.

"They've destroyed entire armies," shot back Silvermane. "There's no reason to believe 200 yokels from Hadrian will turn the tide of battle. I'm the best there is. Either I can beat them or I can't." He turned to Moby Dick. "It's about time you told me what you know about them."

"I know they're undefeated," said the albino.

"So is every man out here who carries a weapon."

"They don't carry weapons."

"Oh?" said Silvermane. "What did they to get you to work for them?"

"Nothing."

Silvermane's face mirrored his contempt. "You gave in without a fight?"

"They didn't conquer me," answered Moby Dick. "They dealt with me."

"And you dealt with the enemy."

"I thought the Democracy was the enemy," said Moby Dick. "Or is the enemy whoever you're mad at this week?"

"You're here under sufferance," said Silvermane coldly. "Don't forget it."

"Fine," said the albino. "Give me back my imploder and I'll leave."

Silvermane stared coldly at him but made no reply.

"Got 'it!" said Dante, still looking at the screen. "Increase the image and sharpen it," he commanded, and suddenly a small fortress came into view. It was made of local stone, poorly constructed, unimpressive from any angle. "Bring that up in three dimensions, and give us a 360-degree view of it, then give us an overhead."

"That doesn't look like it'd keep anyone out," remarked Virgil, studying the image.

"It won't," said Moby Dick.

"Then what—?"

"They have hostages," interrupted the albino. "It was built to keep them in."

"Computer, take us down," commanded Silvermane. "Land us 400 yards due south of the fortress that's on your screen."

"The terrain is too uneven," replied the ship. "There is a flat area that will accommodate my bulk 427 yards south-southeast of the fortress. Will that be acceptable?"

"Do it."

The ship broke out of orbit and headed toward the planet. A few moments later it touched down on the precise spot the computer had pinpointed.

"Computer," said Silvermane, "I want you to analyze the area immediately surrounding the ship."

"Done."

"I oxygenated my blood just before we took off from Hadrian II, and I have injected adrenaline into my system. I've let you take readings of both. Is there anything else I should do to prepare myself for extreme physical exertion on the planet's surface?"

"Please wait while I scan you . . . done. I recommend the following vitamins and amphetamines . . ." The computer reeled off a small catalog of pills.

"Get 'em ready," said Silvermane, getting up and walking toward the galley. A small packet of pills appeared and he swallowed them all, washing them down with a mouthful of distilled water.

Then he turned to his three shipmates.

"I didn't want you here," he said, "and I won't waste any effort protecting you. If you have any survival instincts at all, you'll remain onboard." He looked at each in turn. "I can't force you to behave intelligently. Just know that if you climb down onto the planet's surface, you're on your own—and I don't want any of you near me."

"Agreed," said Moby Dick.

"I got no problem with that," added Virgil.

Dante was silent.

"I'm waiting, Rhymer," said Silvermane.

"If there's a chance to rescue September Morn, I'm going to try."

"No."

"That is what we're here for," insisted Dante.

"We're here for me to face the aliens."

"Only because they kidnapped September Morn," said Dante. "There's no other reason for you to be here or to have ever contacted them."

"I'm here because no one challenges Santiago."

"Yeah," said Dante, unimpressed. "Well, I'm here because they've kidnapped the woman who saved my life."

Silvermane stared at him for a long time. It was a stare designed to make him back off. Dante stared right back, unblinking.

Finally the tall man shrugged. "Have it your way," he said, breaking eye contact. "Just make sure you don't get between me and them."

"I don't intend to."

Silvermane turned back to Moby Dick. "And there's nothing more you can tell me about them?"

"Their conquests are a matter of record. I didn't require any demonstrations."

"Maybe you should have. Then at least I'd know exactly what I'm going up against."

"Well, if I'd know you felt that way," replied the albino, "I'd have asked them to level Trajan so I could tell you what to expect."

Silvermane glared at him. "You're not much help."

"I gave you the imploder," Moby Dick shot back "Show me anyone else who's helped you as much."

Silvermane made no reply. Instead, he picked up the molecular imploder, checked his pistols one last time, then commanded the hatch to open, and ordered the stairs to transport him to the planet's surface.

Dante was about to follow him when he felt Moby Dick's hand on his arm.

"Let him get a few hundred yards ahead of you," cautioned the albino.

"Then you do know what their powers are!" said Dante accusingly.

Moby Dick shook his head. "No, I truly don't. But if they're formidable enough to conquer an army, you really don't want to be standing next to him."

"I'll be careful," Dante assured him. "I'm not here to fight anyone. I just want to rescue September Morn."

"You may not have any choice once you leave the ship."

"If Santiago risks his life, how can his followers do any less?"

"That man's not Santiago," said Moby Dick with absolute conviction.

"He's got to be," said Dante. He gave the albino a weak smile. "We're all out of candidates." He turned to Virgil. "Are you coming?"

"It all depends," said the Indian.

"On what?"

"On you," replied Virgil.

"On me?" said Dante, surprised.

"Him I don't follow; you I do."

"He's my leader," said the poet. "I'm going out."

"Then I guess I'm going out too," said Virgil unhappily.

"Then I guess you are," said Dante. He turned to Moby Dick. "How about you?"

"They won't harm me. I work for them, remember?"

"Then let's go."

Moby Dick looked out. "He could have set it down closer. That's a long way to walk in any gravity."

"What are you talking about?" sand Dante. "We're only a quarter of a mile away."

"When you're built like me, a quarter of a mile it too much even at Earth Standard gravity," muttered Moby Dick unhappily. "I should have brought a gravity mat."

"It's too late now," said the poet.

"You two go ahead," said the albino. "I'll follow along at my own pace."

Dante and Virgil stepped through the hatch, waited until the top stair gently lowered them to the ground, looked around to get their bearings, and spotted Silvermane walking toward the fortress. The poet wasn't inclined to wait until the tall man got there before starting to cross the planet's surface, so he headed off to his right on the assumption that he'd be just as safe, or unsafe, 200 yards to Silvermane's right as 200 yards behind him.

There was no sign of life in the fortress, and Dante began wondering if it was a trap.

He must have said it aloud, because Virgil responded: "Of course it's a trap. I just don't know what kind. If the place is as deserted as it looks, it could be rigged to blow up the second Silvermane sets foot in it."

"His name's Santiago," muttered Dante, never taking his eyes off the fortress.

And suddenly, standing in front of it, was a large blue being, some ten feet tall, vaguely humanoid in shape, very broad and heavily muscled, totally nude. Its eyes were large and glowed a brilliant yellow, its nose was a quartet of horizontal slits, its mouth seemed to be filled with scores of brownish, decaying teeth, its ears were shaped like small trumpets. It wore no weapons.

"Where the hell did that come from?" whispered Virgil.

"It just materialized."

"So is it Tweedledee or Tweedledum?"

"How the hell do I know?" snapped Dante.

Silvermane took a step closer. "You wanted me," he said. "I'm here. Where's the woman?"

The creature made no reply, and suddenly the imploder was in Silvermane's hands, aimed at the blue being. Its lips still didn't move, but the four humans seemed to hear a deep voice within their heads.

"I am the Tweedle," it said. "You have intruded upon my world."

"There are two of you," said Silvermane, looking around. "Where's the other one?"

"He is here when I need him," said the Tweedle.

"Turn over the woman, or you're going to need him pretty damned soon," said Silvermane.

"You think to impress me with your talk?"

"No. I think to kill you with my weapon."

"Alone, I am a target," said the Tweedle. "But I am never alone."

And suddenly it seemed to split right down the middle. An instant later there were two identical Tweedles, both confronting Silvermane. They moved a few feet apart as they spoke, silently but in unison, with similar thought not identical telepathic voices.

"I am the last of my kind," said the Tweedles. "All the others died in warfare or of disease or old age. I alone have survived, for I alone have learned how to release my doppelganger, and by freeing him I have freed all the powers that lay dormant within myself and every other member of my race. Together there is nothing we cannot do. Does the terrain hurt your tender feet? Then behold."

The Tweedles moved their left arms in a theatrical gesture, and suddenly the ground between the fortress and the ship was totally flat.

"Do you peer in the darkness with dilated pupils?" continued the Tweedles.

Suddenly the area was bathed in light, so bright that the humans had to squint to adjust to it.

"Perhaps you shiver with the cold."

Another gesture, and suddenly the temperature was a pleasant 22 degrees Celsius.

"We would change the gravity and the atmosphere, but it would deleteriously affect you after the various medications that we see you have taken into your body." They smiled at him. "Do you still wish to match your strength and skills against ours?"

"All I've seen are some parlor tricks," said Silvermane, trying his best to sound unimpressed. "You could have rigged them all before we arrived. But if you will produce the woman and turn her over to me, and promise never to bother her or her planet again, I will leave in peace."

"Is he crazy?" whispered Virgil to Dante.

"He's bluffing," answered the poet just as softly.

"You can't bluff these two," said Moby Dick, who had just joined them seconds ago. The albino was panting heavily from his exertions.

"You are a very courageous being. But we have killed courageous beings before."

"You've never faced Joshua Silvermane before," said the tall man.

"Moby Dick was right," muttered Dante. "He'll never be Santiago."

"Makes no difference," whispered Virgil. "They're going to kill him no matter what name he gives them."

Silvermane aimed the imploder at the being on his left. The weapon hummed with power, but had no effect.

He instantly dropped the imploder, drew his pistols and began emptying them, one into each of the Tweedles.

The bullets didn't pass through them, for the Tweedles weren't transparent images with no substance. The bullets entered them, left discernable entry holes, but had no more effect that the imploder. Their bodies simply absorbed whatever he threw at them.

Then each of the being slowly raised an arm. Nothing more than that. But Silvermane dropped to his knees, obviously in agony. The pistols dropped from his hands and clattered noisily on the rocky ground.

The one on the left made a sudden gesture, and blood began pouring out of Silvermane's ears. He staggered to his feet to face his attackers. The one on the right slowly closed his hand into a fist, and Silvermane clawed at his chest, as if the alien were squeezing his heart.

Finally, with one last effort that took all his remaining strength, Silvermane pulled a knife out of his boot and hurled himself at the creature on his right—and froze in mid-air, his body suspended four feet above the ground, his knife hand extended, his perfect face filled with hatred. The two creatures made one final gesture in unison, and Joshua Silvermane fell to the ground, headless. His head wasn't severed; it simply vanished. His body twitched once or twice, then lay still as bright red blood gushed out of it.

"Jesus!" muttered Dante. "Did you ever see anything like that?"

"Only during bad trips," answered Virgil, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

Moby Dick stepped forward. "I tried to warn him," said the albino.

"That is because you are a rational being, and hence a coward. It stands to reason that you could not dissuade this Silvermane, who was a brave and hence irrational being, from confronting us."

"That's not quite the way I would have worded it," said Moby Dick.

"How you would have worded it is of no interest to us." The creatures turned toward Dante and Virgil. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"I am a friend of September Morn," said Dante. "I want to be sure that she is in good health, and is being well-treated."

"I'm with him," added Virgil.

"She is healthy."

"May I see her?"

"No. We will permit you to gather your companion's body and leave Kabal III with it. You may not return."

"Before we do, I have a question," said Virgil.

All eyes turned to him.

"Which of you is Tweedledee and which is Tweedledum, and how can I tell you apart?"

"We did not choose those names."

"I'd like to know anyway, just out of curiosity."

"Your curiosity is of no concern to us."

And, as quickly and easily as they had split in two, they now joined in a fraction of a second and became simply the Tweedle once more.

"What do you propose to do with September Morn?" persisted Dante.

"We will give Hadrian II 20 Galactic Standard days to ransom her for five billion credits."

"That's a lot of money," said Dante. "What if they can't come up with it?" "Then we shall kill her."

40.

He felt the call to serve his God,

His indiscretions quickly ceased.

Now sinners all are threatened by

Deuteronomy Priest.

"Do you get the feeling we're back where we started?" asked Virgil, as he sat in the Fat Chance with Dante and Moby Dick, sipping a drink and watching a trio of Canphorites squabbling over the result of a nearby jabob game. "We don't have a Santiago, we don't have September Morn, Dimitrios is dead, and who the hell knows where Matilda is? Maybe we should have anointed Tyrannosaur Bailey and let it go at that. Look at the time we could have saved."

"Shut up," said Dante.

"Every time I've opened my mouth since we got here you've told me to shut up," complained Virgil.

"I'm thinking."

"Leave him alone," said Moby Dick. "Your friend's at his best when he's thinking."

"I don't notice that thinking's done us any good," said Virgil.

"That's because you're a fool," said the albino.

"Could be," agreed Virgil. "But what gives you the right to say so?"

"You've still got an organization. You've got millions of credits. You've got a couple of hundred operatives. And from what I can tell, you've eliminated two unsuccessful candidates for the top job. That's not bad for six or eight months, or however long the poet's been out here."

"We're not in the business of eliminating Santiagos," said Virgil. "We're trying like all hell to find one."

"One will manifest himself," said Moby Dick. "And if not, you can still plunder the Democracy six ways to Sunday."

"That's more or less my own line of thought," said Virgil. "We're been spending too much time searching and not enough plundering."

"Shut up," said Dante.

"Just what the hell is your problem, Rhymer?" demanded Virgil angrily.

"We need a diversion," said Dante to no one in particular.

"What are you talking about?"

"September Morn."

"Forget her. You saw Tweedledee and Tweedledum. There ain't no way you're going to get her back without five billion credits. Either the planet antes up or she's dead meat."

"Shut up."

"Fuck you!" snapped Virgil. "Now that I know what you've been thinking about, I don't feel any need to kowtow to you. Even if you steal her back, all you've done is sign a death warrant for the whole goddamned planet."

"You're a fool," said Dante.

The Indian looked annoyed. "Maybe you should talk to the whale here, since that's all either of you can say to me."

"Do you really think you can rescue her without catastrophic repercussions?" asked Moby Dick.

"Of course," said Dante distractedly. "Avoiding repercussions is the easy part."

"No more drinks for him," said Virgil. "He's had enough."

"Shut up," said Moby Dick.

"Are you guys brothers?" said Virgil disgustedly.

"Go out back and molest one of the servo-mechs," said Moby Dick. "I'll let you know if you're needed."

Virgil stared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Am I smiling?" replied the albino.

"I never had a servo-mech before," said Virgil. "How does one . . . ah . . . ?"

"You're a creative sort of pervert. You'll figure it out."

Virgil got to his feet. "Talk some sense into him while I'm gone." He headed off toward the back door, and a moment later was out of the building.

Moby Dick ordered his chair to glide closer to Dante's. Once there he laid a hand on the poet's shoulder. "Take a break, Rhymer. All you're going to do is give yourself a headache. There's no way to beat the Tweedle."

"Oh, I know how to do that," said Dante distractedly. "It's the other details I'm having trouble with."

The albino stared at him. "You really think you know how to defeat them?"

"Yeah—but I have to go to Kabal III first."

"Go back? Why?"

"I've got to get September Morn off the world before I do anything else." Dante paused, still staring at his untouched drink. "That's the tricky part. Everything else follows from that."

"If you know how to kill Tweedledee and Tweedledum, kill 'em first and then get the girl."

Dante shook his head. "I can't."

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me why?"

"Wait until I work it all out," said Dante. "Damn! I wish Matilda was here. She can spot the flaws in a scheme quicker than anyone."

"So send for her."

"It'll take her seven or eight days to get out here, and if I'm wrong, we don't have time to come up with a different scheme. They gave Hadrian 20 days to come up with the money—and that was two days ago."

"You can talk to her on the subspace radio," suggested Moby Dick.

"I will, once I work out all the details."

"Just how the hell many details are there? Either you can rescue her or you can't."

Dante finally looked up, as if paying attention to him for the first time. "You don't understand," he said at last.

"Enlighten me."

"Rescuing September Morn is just the first step."

"And killing the aliens is the last, I know."

Dante shook his head. "No, that's just another step along the way."

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Moby Dick.

"I came out here to accomplish something," said Dante. "I've been so busy trying to do it piecemeal that I lost sight of the whole."

"All right," said Moby Dick. "I know better than to argue with a genius when he's working."

"I'm no genius," said Dante. "I'm just a guy who doesn't want to go back to being Danny Briggs."

"Who's Danny Briggs?"

"An unimportant thief who never did a memorable thing in his life."

There was a brief silence.

"You mentioned a diversion before," said the albino. "What kind of diversion? Is there some way I can help?"

"I need something or someone that can entice the Tweedles a few hundred miles from their fortress," replied Dante. He grimaced. "That's going under the assumption that they can't teleport. If they can change locations instantaneously, then I can't save her."

"Or kill them."

Dante looked annoyed. "Killing them is the easy part."

"There are a couple of million corpses strewn around the Frontier that would disagree about killing them being the easy part," said Moby Dick.

"They went about it wrong," said Dante. "If I can get them 300 miles away, maybe they won't see me land. Even if they can teleport, they have to have a reason to do so. If they're far enough away, they won't have one."

"We can fly low and drop some explosives 300 miles away," said the albino. "Or 500, or 800, if that's what you want."

Dante shook his head. "Then they'll come after the ship. I have to get them to leave the fortress and give me time to get September Morn out."

Suddenly Moby Dick smiled. "I think I've got the solution to your problems."

Dante looked at him expectantly.

"Did you ever hear of Deuteronomy Priest?" continued the huge man.

"No."

"He preaches all over the Inner Frontier. Last I heard, maybe three weeks ago, he wasn't too far from here. I think I can have him on Hadrian in two Standard days, maybe less if his preaching has taken him in this direction."

"Then what?"

The albino grinned. "Then we turn him loose on Kabal III."

"There's got to be more to it than that," said Dante. "Tell me about this Deuteronomy Priest."

"He's a hellfire-and-damnation preacher the likes of which I'll wager you've never seen. Used to be a male prostitute, of all things. Then he got the call, and now no sinner is safe from his ministrations, which mostly take the form of rather unpleasant predictions about the particularly nasty afterlife awaiting you if you don't repent." Moby Dick paused. "And since almost no alien has ever been baptized, they've become his special project."

"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."

"I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses," said Moby Dick. "I'm staying right here."

"All right. Who's your friend?"

"Did you ever hear of Accidental Barnes?"

"It sounds like a joke."

"There's nothing funny about him."

"It's the name that's amusing."

"He killed his first man by accident," said Moby Dick. "He killed his next 30 on purpose. If things get nasty, you'll be glad you've got him with you. He's certainly more use than that goddamned Indian." He grimaced. "You know, none of my servo-mechs have worked since yesterday."

Dante chuckled. "I seem to remember you suggesting that he pay them a visit."

"Only because I never thought he'd do it!" snapped Moby Dick. Suddenly all the alien gamblers stopped what they were doing and stared at him. "Go back to your games," he said in a more reasonable tone of voice. "Nothing's wrong." He turned back to Dante. "I don't know why you let him hang around. He's useless."

"That useless man may possess some tastes that you and I disagree with," answered Dante, "but he's as deadly a killer as Dimitrios was. And he's totally loyal to me. If there's a better reason to let him hang around, I can't think of it."

"Point taken," acknowledged Moby Dick.

"Now, where is this Accidental Barnes?"

"He's staying at your hotel. He arrived while we were off visiting the Tweedle."

"What's he doing here?"

"Gambling," said the albino. "He doesn't need the money, but he enjoys the challenge."

Dante looked around. "So why isn't he here?"

"This casino is for aliens."

"Nobody's ever stopped me from entering."

"He can enter it any time he wants, but we don't have any human games, and he prefers them." Moby Dick signaled to a Mollutei, which ambulated over and stood in front of him. The albino spoke in an alien tongue for a moment, and then the alien left the casino. "I've just sent for him. He should be here in a few minutes."

They waited in silence, and five minutes later a short, stocky man with spiky blond hair and a bushy beard, blond but streaked with white, entered the casino. He looked around, spotted Moby Dick, and walked over.

"Dante, this is Accidental Barnes, the man I was telling you about."

Dante extended a hand, which Barnes accepted.

"Got a job for you," continued Moby Dick. "How would you like to ride shotgun on a rescue mission against Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

"Tweedledee and Tweedledum?" repeated Barnes. "Nice to know you're not thinking small. What's it pay?"

"Nothing if we fail, bragging rights if we win," said Dante.

"You're asking me to go up against the most dangerous pair of aliens on the Frontier," said Barnes. "And I didn't hear any mention of money."

"You're not going to. They've kidnapped a woman. I plan to rescue her. We'll be in and out in five minutes, or we're dead. Moby Dick volunteered you. I don't need your help, but I'd like it."

"And you're not paying anything at all?" said Barnes.

"The woman is September Morn," said Moby Dick.

Barnes's entire demeanor changed. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? I'm in."

"You know her?"

"She's as close to royalty as this sector has produced," answered Barnes. "If the Inner Frontier ever gets civilized, it's going to be because of people like her, not you and me."

"The question is whether we want it to be civilized," interjected Moby Dick. "Most of us came out here to get away from civilization."

"We came here to get away from the Democracy, which isn't the same thing," replied Dante.

"I agree," said Barnes. "And whether the whale here likes it or not, sooner or later we are going to get civilized." He turned to Dante. "Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledum keeping here, and when do we strike?"

"I'll tell you the planet as soon as I know where it is," said Dante. "We'll leave in four or five days."

"Count me in." Barnes got to his feet. "Nice meeting you. You can find me at the Windsor Arms."

Barnes left the casino.

"Why didn't you tell him she's on Kabal III?" asked Moby Dick.

"You heard him. He thinks she's royalty. He wanted money until he found out we're after September Morn, and now he's willing to risk his life for free. If I tell him where she was, I don't think he'll wait until I'm ready."

"So what if he goes early?"

"He'll get us all killed," answered Dante firmly.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" asked Moby Dick.

"No," said the poet. "If everyone does what I tell them to do, I'm sure it ought to work, but that's not the same thing."

Dante went back to his room, contacted a few more people he knew and trusted in the Democracy, and gave them the same instructions he'd given to Wilbur.

He then spent four days trying not to think about what was coming. He arose each day, ate breakfast, and took long drives through the countryside, avoiding Virgil, Moby Dick, and Accidental Barnes whenever he could, and just trying to relax and ease the tension that was gnawing at his stomach.

Finally, on the morning of the fifth day, he contacted Wilbur again.

"How's are we doing?" he asked.

"So far so good," answered the accountant. "I had to spread a little money around, just to be on the safe side. As things stand now, they'll blow the whole fucking planet exactly 1435 Standard time. You got any more instructions?"

"One very important one," said Dante. "I'm flying a 4-man Silver Meteor, registration GF5314GL. I want you to alert the Navy that I'm the guy who located the Tweedle, and that I'll be taking off like a bat out of hell just a minute or two before they're due to strike. I don't want them jumping the gun while I'm on the planet, and I don't want them mistaking me for the Tweedle and blowing me out of the sky while I'm racing away from Kabal. Can you do that?"

"Easy."

"I want you to be very sure, Wilbur. If you screw this up, you'll kill me."

"Trust me," said the accountant. "I haven't let you down yet, have I?"

"So far all you've done is make money. This is a little more important to me."

"I'll take care of it, Rhymer."

"If you don't, I'll haunt you from the grave."

"If I don't, there won't be enough left of you and your ship to put in a grave."

"All the more reason to do it right," said Dante. "Oh, one more thing. There's another ship that will be leaving when mine does. It belongs to a preacher named Deuteronomy Priest, and they're not to fire on it, either. I'll get back to you with the registration number later today. Over and out."

He walked over to the Fat Chance and roused Moby Dick from his form-fitting support chair.

"Get the preacher over to the spaceport," he said. "His ship is programmed to land on Kabal, one thousand miles due south of the fortress at exactly 1408 Standard time. It won't activate the communicators until then." He paused. "I know your engineer gave me a remote control for his ship. Is there anything I need to know about it?"

"Just press the yellow button," said the albino. "Easy as that."

"Okay, get him onto his ship."

Moby Dick went to the hotel to pick up Deuteronomy Priest, and Dante allowed himself the luxury of one last breakfast at a real restaurant before he was reduced to eating the food from his ship's galley.

Then he contacted Virgil and Barnes and told them to meet him at his ship. When they arrived Dante stared at Barnes' weapon.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded.

"A crossbow."

"I thought they were obsolete four or five millennia ago," said Dante.

"That was before we were able to create bolts with nuclear devices in their tips," said Barnes, lovingly patting his quiver.

"Okay, bring it aboard."

They took off a few minutes later, and came to a stop when they were half a light-year from Kabal.

"Let me check one last time and make sure everything's on schedule," Dante announced. He contacted the Grand Finale and his other agents, received positive reports from them, and finally shut down the radio. He ordered the ship to resume flight, and instructed the navigational computer to land as close as possible to the fortress at precisely 1416 Standard time—ten minutes after the preacher landed, and ten minutes before the Navy arrived. He considered arming himself, but decided any weapon he could carry would be useless against the Tweedle.

The three of them spent the next hour with their eyes glued to the chronometer. Finally the ship began descending to the planet's surface. Dante had the sensors try to pick up any form of life other than Deuteronomy Priest, who had landed six minutes earlier, but nothing showed up.

"You'd better be right about where they are and how fast they can travel," said Virgil, also staring at the sensor panel.

"If I'm not, we'll know it soon enough," answered Dante, passing out communicators. "Make sure to keep in constant touch with each other. We haven't got much time."

The ship touched down 50 yards from the fortress, precisely on schedule.

"Well, at least he's not perfect," commented Dante.

"What do you mean."

"We're right next to the fortress," he said. "Last time we were here he leveled the ground just to impress us, and he's forgotten to let it revert to its natural jagged surface."

He stepped through the hatch, waited impatiently for his companions to join him, and let the stair lower them to the ground.

"I'll take the west side. Virgil, you take the east. Barnes, you're riding shotgun, just in case there's something waiting for us. If there's nothing there, walk straight through and check the north end."

They entered the fortress, half-expecting to bump head-first into the Tweedle. It seemed deserted.

"September Morn!" he yelled as he turned to his left and entered a darkened corridor. "If you can hear me, speak up!"

No answer.

"It's Dante Alighieri!"

Silence.

"I'm in a corridor on the east side," said Virgil. "There aren't any doors."

"No opposition," said Barnes, checking in. "I'm heading to the south wall."

Dante continued walking, afraid to spend too much time examining his surroundings and simultaneously afraid that if he went too fast he could go right past September Morn.

"Virgil here. Still nothing."

"Ditto," said Barnes.

"Damn it!" said Dante. "We've only got seven or eight minutes left."

"I'm going as fast as I can," said Virgil. "It's not exactly a maze, but I still can't find any doors."

"Me neither," said Barnes. Then, suddenly: "Wait a minute! I think I've got something!"

"Where are you?" demanded Dante.

"About eighty feet from the west wall, and ten feet from the north wall. In the open—there doesn't seem to be a roof here."

It took Dante almost a minute to find it. Virgil arrived a few seconds later. Barnes was trying to move a circular slab of rock from where it sat on the ground.

"It's too perfect a circle," grunted Barnes. "Nature never made anything like that on a world like this."

Dante knelt down next to him. The two men strained to no avail, and then Virgil lent his strength, and finally the rock moved a bit, revealing a darkened chamber beneath it.

"Thank God!" said September Morn's voice.

"Hang on!" said Dante. "We'll have you out in a couple of minutes."

"Better make that less than a minute," said Virgil, his face flushed with the effort he was putting forth on the slab. "I've been counting."

The three men finally moved the slab about two feet. Then Virgil, the tallest of the three, lay on his belly and extended his arm down.

"Can you reach my hand?" he asked.

"I can't see," she said. "My eyes haven't adjusted to the light. Let me feel around."

There was a moment of tense total silence.

"Got her!" said the Indian suddenly. He began pulling her up, and suddenly stopped. "Give me a hand. I can't pull her any higher."

"Just don't let her go!" said Dante sharply, as he and Barnes stood over Virgil and slowly pulled his torso up until September Morn's hand was visible. Than Dante grabbed it and pulled her the rest of the way out, and a moment later she was standing next to them, a little weak and wobbly on her feet.

"I didn't think I'd ever see a human again," she said. Suddenly she smiled. "I'm too relieved even to cry."

"Are you strong enough to run?" asked Dante. "We haven't got much time."

"I don't know."

"Then I'll have to carry you." He picked her up. "Barnes, lead the way! Virgil, protect my back in case anything comes after us!"

"Where's the Tweedle?" she asked as Dante began running toward the ship.

"Let's hope he's hundreds of miles away," said Dante, as they raced out of the fortress.

When all four were inside the ship, he ordered the hatch to close, and then took off. He counted to 30 and pressed the yellow button that would lift Deuteronomy Priest's ship off the surface if it still existed.

"How did you manage it?" asked September Morn, still trying to focus her eyes.

"Mostly luck," answered the poet.

"Won't they be coming after us?" she asked.

"Not if things go according to plan," said Dante. "Computer, show us Kabal III on the viewscreen." He turned to her. "Can you see it?"

"Yes. My pupils are finally adjusting. I'd been down there a long time."

"Then keep an eye on the planet," said Dante.

And no sooner had he spoken than the Navy bombarded it with all the terrifying power at its disposal, and suddenly Kabal III was nothing but a spectacular light show. When the Navy left a few minutes later, nothing remained but a cloud of swirling dust.

"Is the Tweedle dead?" she asked.

"He's got to be."

"I wish I could believe that, but I don't know . . ." she said, shuddering at the thought of the creature. "It could be invulnerable to all that. For all we know, it's floating in space, already planning its revenge."

"He's dead," said Dante.

"How can you be so sure?"

"He had nostrils," said Dante. "I don't think any living being could stand up to that pounding, but even if he could, his nostrils means he has to breathe. There's no planet, which means there's no atmosphere. He's dead, all right."

"I never thought of that!" said Virgil.

"Of course not," said September Morn, staring at the poet with open admiration. "You're not Dante Alighieri."

42.

His mother was a cosmic wind,

His sire an ion storm.

His army charges straight from hell,

A filthy obscene swarm.

His shout can level mountains,

His glance can kill a tree,

His step can cause an earthquake,

His breath can boil the sea.

September Morn wrote this verse, because Dante Alighieri was much too busy to work on the poem. She imitated his style and rhymes, which were much more austere than her own lush, rich, metaphor-filled poetry, but she wrote an 8-line stanza to differentiate it from his work.

They had been back on Hadrian II for less than a day when word reached them that Wilson Tchanga, the Rough Rider, had been robbed and killed on his farm on Gingergreen II. Dante immediately sent for Virgil, who showed up in the poet's room a few minutes later.

"What's up?" asked the Indian.

"The Rough Rider's dead—murdered."

"Big deal," said Virgil. "From what I hear, he was over the hill anyway."

"As sensitive as ever," said Dante sardonically.

"I never met him," was Virgil's explanation.

"I don't care," said Dante. "I want you to get your ass out to Gingergreen II."

"What's on Gingergreen II?"

"That's where he lived."

"It's a waste of time," said Virgil. "Whoever killed him is long gone."

"Shut up and listen," said Dante. "I want you to go to Gingergreen and spread the word that Santiago robbed and killed the Rough Rider. I'm going to have Wilbur send you a hundred thousand credits, and I want you to bribe or buy three or four men who will swear they saw Santiago making his getaway from Tchanga's farm."

"What did Santiago look like?" asked Virgil. "Artificial arm or silver hair?"

"One of your men will swear he was tall, thin, and bearded. The second will say he was short, fat, and clean-shaven. And the third will claim he was an alien, eleven feet tall, with orange hair." Dante paused while Virgil assimilated his instructions. "If the locals won't put up a reward, put up one yourself. Make as much noise as you can, and when you're done on Gingergreen, hit every neighboring world with the story and the offer of the reward."

"How much should I offer?"

"It doesn't matter. Nobody's going to claim it."

"I don't understand any of this," complained Virgil.

"You don't have to understand it," sand Dante. "You just have to do it."

"How soon do I leave?"

"As soon as you can get to the spaceport."

"Well," said the Indian, "you usually know what you're doing. I suppose this will make sense to someone."

He turned and left.

Dante had a cup of coffee, then went down to the lobby and had the desk clerk summon a robotic rickshaw, which he took out to September Morn's house.

"Hi," he said, when she ordered the door to dilate and let him pass through. "How are you feeling today?"

"Much better, thank you," she replied. "I had to buy a new door, but otherwise the house seems intact." She paused. "My sister seems to have packed up and left. Would you know anything about that?"

"I seem to remember her expressing some interest in seeing the galaxy."

September Morn smiled. "You're a lousy liar."

"Let's hope you're a good one," said Dante.

"What are you talking about?"

"I notice that Trajan has a police department. Do they have a Neverlie Machine?"

"I suppose so. Most police departments do," said September Morn. "Why?"

"I want you to submit to it, turn it up to lethal, and make a holodisc of yourself swearing that Dimitrios was killed by Santiago."

"You're crazy!" she said. "It'll fry me in an instant!"

"No it won't," he corrected her. "You'll be telling the truth. The Bandit was Santiago when he killed Dimitrios."

A look of comprehension crossed her face. "He was, wasn't he?"

"Right. Can you do it?"

"I'll do it twice. Once at minimum voltage, so it just gives me a little jolt if it thinks I'm lying. Once I'm convinced that it's safe, I'll do what you want."

"Good. I'll send Accidental Barnes with you, to make sure none of the police play any games with the machine while you're in it."

"I assume there's a reason for this?"

"Just bring me the holodisc when you're done."

"All right."

He left and went back into town. Before the day was out, a huge man, taller than Silvermane and almost as broad as Moby Dick, wandered into the Fat Chance, looked around, spotted Dante sitting at a table with the albino, and approached them.

"You've come a long way and accomplished a hell of a lot, Rhymer," he said in his booming voice. "I've been hearing about you all the way back on Delvania."

Dante jumped to his feet. "Tyrannosaur Bailey!" he said. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I never thought I'd leave Delvania—but when I heard that you killed Tweedledee and Tweedledum, I decided that you actually did what you set out to do and found Santiago, and the time had come to take a stand. You point him out to me, and I'll sign up to follow him."

"I can't," said Dante. "We've had a couple of unsuccessful candidates. But the organization is intact, and we could sure use you on our side."

"There's no Santiago?"

"At the moment."

Bailey shrugged. "What the hell—I'm here."

"Then you'll join us?"

"Yeah, I'll join you. Truth to tell, I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic back on Delvania." He paused. "So what do I do now?"

Dante stared at him for a long moment, then spoke.

"Do you really want to help?"

"I said I did."

"Then I want you to do back to Delvania—"

"I just left!" interrupted Bailey.

"Just for a short time," continued Dante.

"And what do I do once I get there?"

"Burn your tavern down."

Bailey stared at him as if he was crazy. "Do what?"

"You heard me. Burn it down."

"Just go home, burn it down, and leave?"

"And tell everyone who will listen that Santiago did it, and you want his head." Dante paused. "I especially want you to tell that to any member of the Democracy, or anyone who might soon be traveling to the Democracy. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it!"

"Good. Can you leave tonight?"

"I just got here. I plan to eat, shower with real water, and sleep in a real bed. I'll go back in the morning."

"Fair enough."

"What about you?" asked Moby Dick after Tyrannosaur Bailey had gone off in search of a meal. "You're sending everyone else off on missions. What do you do now?"

"Go back to Valhalla, I suppose, and see what needs taking care of," said Dante. "Matilda and the Plymouth Rocker are still there, and they probably need some help." He paused. "You might as well come along."

"Me? I've got a business to run right here."

"It'll get by without you, and we may need you to use your alien contacts on our behalf."

"For how long?"

"I don't knew. A few days. Maybe a week."

"All right," agreed the albino. "I don't suppose there's any sense backing out now that we've already beaten the Tweedle."

"We'll leave in the morning."

"How about tonight?" said Moby Dick. "I've got nothing better to do. We might as well get started."

Dante shook his head. "I want to stick around to make sure Bailey leaves for Delvania. Then we'll go."

Moby Dick shrugged. "You're the boss."

"In the meantime, get hold of Deuteronomy Priest and convince him that Santiago is the anti-Christ."

"And then what?"

Dante smiled. "Then turn him loose."

They took off in mid-morning. During the flight, Dante contacted Wilbur Connaught and had him transfer half the money he'd raised to a numbered account on Far London. Then he climbed into a Deepsleep pod—Moby Dick was already ensconced in one—and didn't wake up until they'd broken out of orbit around Valhalla and were about to touch down.

Matilda was waiting for him, as were the Plymouth Rocker, Accidental Barnes, Blue Peter, Virgil Soaring Hawk, and dozens of other members of the organization. Even Tyrannosaur Bailey, possessed of a faster ship, was there.

"I hear you've been a busy man," said Matilda. "You look like you've lost a little weight."

"I'm lucky that's all I lost," he replied.

"The Rhymer's done pretty well to hang onto his life when so many men and aliens were trying to relieve him of it," agreed Moby Dick.

Dante introduced the albino to the assembled group, then went off to the office with Matilda, who'd gotten a description of Silvermane's death and the destruction of Kabal III but wanted all the details.

"I just love the fact that you had Navy kill the Tweedle!" she said when he was done.

"I think it was an elegant solution," replied Dante. "They were the only ones with sufficient firepower to destroy the planet—and not only did they do our dirty work for us, but the one crime we didn't want laid at Santiago's door has been officially blamed on the Tweedle."

"And now you're getting Santiago blamed for crimes he didn't commit."

"We lost sight of that along the way," said Dante. "He's got to be a criminal, important enough for the Democracy to be aware of his activities, and yet not enough of a threat for them to go after him with the full force of their military might."

"The Bandit was right," said Matilda.

"About what?"

"You've got a wonderfully devious mind."

"Thank you," said Dante. "I think."

Nine days later, word filtered back to Valhalla that Delvania had posted a 500,000-credit reward for Santiago. Gingergreen II upped it to 750,000 credits the next day, and a week after that September Morn showed up, having eluded her bodyguards, with word that the Hadrian system was offering a million credits for Santiago, the killer who had murdered Dimitrios of the Three Burners in the streets of Trajan.

Before the month was out, the Democracy itself announced a reward of two million credits for the notorious Santiago, dead or alive.

"Well, everything seems to be working out," announced Dante to the rest of them at dinner that evening. Now all that remains is to actually find our Santiago."

Moby Dick laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked Dante.

"He's right here," said the albino.

"What are you talking about?"

"Santiago," added Matilda. "He's been here all along. We've just been too blind to see it."

Dante looked around the table curiously. "Tyrannosaur?"

"How can you be so foolish when you're so smart?" said September Morn.

"You think better, risk more, and work harder than anyone," added Matilda.

"Me?" said Dante with an expression of disbelief.

"They're right, you know," said Virgil. "It's always been you."

"Always," echoed Matilda.

43.

His name is only whispered,

His face is never seen,

He's king of all the outlaws,

He's hungry and he's lean.

Nothing ever hinders him,

And nothing ever will—

For he is Santiago,

And he lusts for money still.

Dinner had been over for almost ten minutes, yet no one had left the table. They were all waiting for Dante, who had not moved or uttered a word, to speak.

Finally he looked up.

"You're all wrong," he said, looking at all of them. "I wish you weren't, but you are. I'm a poet, and not even a very good one at that."

"I'm a poet," said September Morn, "and you're right—I'm a damned sight better that you'll ever be. Starting today, I'm going to be writing the poem."

Dante was about to object, but he found that he agreed with her. She was a much better poet. Which meant he was out of a job.

"We've discussed this among ourselves before you arrived," said Matilda, "and the conclusion is obvious. We just didn't see it until now."

"I appreciate your confidence," he said, "but I'm just a thief. I've never done anything worthwhile in my life."

"You saved me," said September Morn.

"And me," said Virgil.

"And you found a way to kill the Tweedle," added Matilda.

"Anyone could have done that," he said with a self- deprecating shrug. "You're not paying attention. Santiago is a leader of men. No one will follow me."

"I will," said Moby Dick.

"Me, too," chimed in Barnes.

"And me," added Bailey.

And suddenly he was overwhelmed by a dozen more pledges of allegiance.

"I've only been on the Frontier for a year," he protested. "I don't know anyone. I wouldn't begin to know who to contact."

"You've done pretty well so far," said the Plymouth Rocker.

"I'll be your liaison," offered Matilda.

"And I'll act as your go-between with the aliens," said Moby Dick.

He stared at them for a long minute. "You're sure?"

"We're sure," said Matilda. "You've changed every one of our lives, and always for the better. Who but Santiago could have done that?"

"All right," he said, feeling an almost tangible warmth flowing from them to him. "I'll give it my best shot."

"That's all anyone's asking," said September Morn.

Late that night he was sitting in the office, going over the figures Wilbur had transmitted to him, trying to decide the best way to put the money to use, when Matilda appeared.

"It's late," she said. "You don't have to do it all your first night on the job."

He sighed deeply. "There's so much work to do. I've got to get started."

"If I can help, let me know."

"You can tell me this isn't all some cosmic joke," he said.

"I don't understand."

"An unimportant little thief is leading an army made up of a foul-mouthed preacher, an Indian whose goal is to copulate with every race in the galaxy, an albino who's so huge he needs help just to get on his feet, a prize-winning poet, a killer who uses a crossbow of all things . . ." He shook his head as if to clear it. "What the hell kind of army is that?"

"Exactly the kind Santiago would have," she said.

"You think so?"

"Of course I do," said Matilda. "You're Santiago, aren't you?"

"Everyone seems to think so." He paused. "If I am, then when did I become him?"

"Like I told you: you always were."

Just before he went to bed, he looked into the bathroom mirror and studied the face that confronted him. For the first time, he noticed the tiny lines of character, the firm set of his jaw, the openness with which the image stared back at him.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said to the face that no longer bore any trace of Danny Briggs, and was fast losing the look of Dante Alighieri. "Maybe she was right."