Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (10 page)

“I wouldn’t bet my life on that if
I were you,” said Cain.

“That’s precisely what I’m
betting. Whatever else you do, you won’t kill me.”

Just then there was a high-pitched
beeping noise.

“That’s her,” said Socrates,
turning his head and staring at a small holographic viewscreen. “You’d better
put your gun away and leave while you can.”

“Not a chance,” said Cain. “What
does she want?”

“Probably the same thing you do.”

There was another beeping sound.

“We’d better answer it,” said
Terwilliger, checking the viewscreen to make sure Socrates wasn’t lying. “She’s
got to know he’s here.”

Cain nodded, and the gambler
walked over to a small control panel on the wall just behind Socrates’ chair.
The first two buttons he pushed flooded the apartment with music and dimmed the
lights in the vestibule, but finally he hit the proper one and they heard the
front door slide open.

A moment later a blonde woman in
her midthirties entered the room. She was a few pounds overweight, though far
from fat, her tunic and slacks were functional rather than stylish, and she
wore no makeup at all. A leather satchel was slung over one shoulder.

She took in the situation in a
single glance and immediately turned to Cain.

“Don’t kill him until I talk to
him,” she said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Nobody’s killing anybody just
yet,” interjected Socrates, unperturbed. “We’re still in the threatening
stage.”

“Who are you and what’s your
business here?” asked Cain, getting to his feet and backing up a few steps to
incorporate both her and Socrates into his field of vision.

“I might ask you the same thing,”
she replied.

“You might,” he agreed. “But I
asked you first, and I’ve got the gun.”

She stared at him for a moment,
then shrugged. “My name is Virtue MacKenzie. I’m a journalist; I make
holographic documentaries.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came here to do a feature on
Socrates.”

“Where’s your technical crew?”
asked Cain.

“I do my own tech work,” she said.
“And I’m all through answering questions. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’ve got one more,” said Cain.
“Have you talked to Whittaker Drum yet?”

“Who the hell is Whittaker Drum?”

Cain smiled with satisfaction.
“Okay, You’ve told me everything I need to know.” He paused for a moment.
“Terwilliger, get her out of here.”

The gambler began approaching her.

“That’s close enough,” said Virtue
menacingly.

Terwilliger grinned and took
another step forward. As he did so, she lashed out with a foot, catching him
just below the knee. He dropped to the floor, cursing and groaning and holding
his leg tenderly. “You don’t listen too well, do you?” she said contemptuously.

“Oh, my!” said Socrates, vastly amused.
“This
is
getting interesting.”

“You shut up!” snapped Cain.

“Are you ready to answer
my
questions yet?” demanded Virtue, ignoring Terwilliger
and turning back to Cain.

“All right,” he said.

“Who are you?”

“Sebastian Cain.”

“The one they call the Songbird?”
she asked.

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“Why do you want to kill him?”

“I don’t,” replied Cain. “I want
the same thing you do.”

“And what do
I
want?”

“Information about Santiago.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because you didn’t know that
Socrates used to be Whittaker Drum—and the only important thing he’s done since
changing his name is to meet Santiago.”

“I resent that,” said Socrates.

“What’s
your
interest in Santiago?” asked Virtue.

“Professional,” said Cain. “And
yours?”

“The same,” she replied. “I really
do
produce documentaries. I convinced a couple of
backers that I could get an exclusive feature on Santiago, and managed to wring
a pretty substantial advance out of them.”

“And now you have to deliver,”
suggested Cain, amused.

She nodded. “It’s taken me almost
a year to get this far; I don’t want you killing him before I talk to him.” She
glanced at Terwilliger, who was getting painfully to his feet. “Who’s this
one?”

“Nobody very important,” said
Cain.

“Thanks a heap,” muttered the
gambler, flexing his leg and wincing in pain. “I think something’s broken.”

“If it was, you wouldn’t be able
to move it like that,” said Virtue. “Now stop whining and shut up.”

Terwilliger glared at her, then
went back to massaging his knee.

“All right, Mr. Cain,” she said,
turning to the bounty hunter. “What now?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Our interests are parallel, but
not identical,” she replied. “I don’t care if you kill Santiago, as long as I
get my feature—and I assume you don’t begrudge me my feature as long as you get
your reward. I don’t see much sense fighting to the death over who gets to
extract the information we need.”

He nodded. “Which brings us back
to you, Whittaker.”

Socrates smiled. “Nothing has
changed, Sebastian. You can’t afford to kill me, and I can’t afford to let
Santiago know I’ve betrayed him. So, while you can certainly cause me a great
deal of pain, you’re not going to get what you want.”

“It’s a possibility,” admitted
Cain. “On the other hand, finding out if you’ve got a breaking point is going
to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.”

“Don’t be an ass, Cain,” said
Virtue. “There’s an easier way to do this.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” replied
Cain.

“We’ll shoot a couple of cc’s of
niathol into him and he’ll tell us anything we want to know.”

“Niathol isn’t something that
bounty hunters tend to carry around,” Cain said wryly.

“Then isn’t it lucky for you that
I came prepared?” she said, unfastening her satchel.

“You expected to have to use it?”

“I anticipated the possibility,”
she replied, withdrawing a small package and starting to unwrap it.

“You couldn’t have known I’d be
here. How did you plan to get him to hold still for it?”

“The same way I convinced your
friend to leave me alone,” she replied, pulling out a small vial that had been
wrapped in refrigerated tape. A moment later she had filled a small, sterile
syringe with it.

“Well, Whittaker,” said Cain, “are
you going to make this easy on yourself, or am I going to have to hold you
down?”

“All right, Sebastian,” said Socrates
with a sigh. “Skip the drug. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,
but I think as long as we have the niathol we won’t bother relying on the
eccentricities of your memory. Roll up your sleeve.”

Socrates did as he was told, and
Virtue walked across the room to him with the syringe in her hand.

“That looks like a hell of a lot
more than two cc’s,” remarked Cain.

“It can’t be refrozen,” she
replied. “We’ll just toss the syringe into an atomizer when we’re done.”

“Terwilliger,” ordered Cain, “get
over there and hold him still, just in case he has a change of heart.”

Terwilliger stared reluctantly at
Socrates.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
suggested the gambler.

“My job is holding the gun,” said
Cain. “Yours is doing what I tell you to do. Go on; he won’t kick you.”

Terwilliger hobbled over to
Socrates very cautiously.

“I know about niathol, but I’ve
never used it,” said Cain. “In my business, we’re not usually after
confessions. How long before it takes effect?”

“About ninety seconds,” replied
Virtue. “Maybe a little longer.” She had Terwilliger hold Socrates’ arm
motionless, jabbed him a couple of times until she found a vein, and then began
injecting the niathol.

And then things happened so
rapidly that even Cain wasn’t sure of the exact progression.

Socrates casually removed his
cigar from his mouth with his free hand, then suddenly pressed it against
Virtue’s right wrist. She yelped and jumped back, letting go of the syringe,
which remained stuck in his arm. Terwilliger reacted instantly, taking a
roundhouse swing at Socrates. It landed on his neck, but the momentum carried
the gambler’s body between Cain and Socrates.

“Hit the ground!” yelled Cain, but
even as the words left his mouth and Terwilliger dropped to the floor, Socrates
had forced the syringe’s plunger all the way down before Virtue could stop him.

“You lose, Sebastian,” he said
with an ironic smile as Cain realized what he had done and lowered his weapon.

“You dumb bastard!” snapped
Virtue. “You’ll be dead inside of a minute.”

“At least it’s painless this way,”
said Socrates, his words starting to slur.

“Well, as long as you’re finally
going to meet your God face to face, I hope for your sake that He’s the
forgiving type,” said Cain.

“Not to worry, Sebastian,” said
Socrates with a hollow laugh. “He’s in the bag.”

He slumped forward.

“Shit!” snapped Virtue. “Who the
hell would have thought he’d do something like that?” She opened one of his
eyelids, stared at the pupil for few seconds, then let it fall shut again. “He’s
done.”

“He’s really dead?” asked
Terwilliger, staring at him.

Virtue stared contemptuously at
him and made no reply.

“Thanks a lot,” said Cain
sardonically.

“Don’t you go acting so goddamned
superior!” she shot back. “If you thought he was going to do that, you should
have said so.”

“I should have done it my way.”

“Your way wouldn’t have worked,
either. Don’t you understand that he was willing to suffer anything you could
offer up rather than let Santiago know he’d betrayed him?” She paused and stared
thoughtfully at Socrates. “Just what kind of man can put such fear into
people?”

“Maybe you’d be better off
returning your advance and not finding out,” suggested Cain.

“Most of it is spent,” she
replied. “I can’t go back without my feature. Besides, I’ve already spent a
year of my life on this project.”

“There are men who have spent
thirty years hunting for Santiago,” noted Cain.

“Most of them never got this far,”
said Virtue. “And the journalist who actually brings back tapes or holos of
Santiago will be as famous as
he
is; she’ll need a
warehouse just to hold her awards, and she can choose her own assignments and
name her own price for the rest of her career.” She paused. “It’s worth the
effort.”

“Have fun.”

“I’m not beaten yet,” she said
with determination. “I have other leads.”

“Oh?” he replied, suddenly alert.

She nodded. “Well, Mr. Cain?”

“Well what?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me
yours,” she said with a grin.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“There’s a condition.”

“What?”

“We keep in touch, and give each
other progress reports.”

“How?”

She jerked a thumb in
Terwilliger’s direction. “Use
him.
He’s not much
good for anything else, is he?”

“Now just a goddamned minute!”
said the gambler hotly.

“Out of the question,” said Cain.
“I’d have to give him his own ship.”

“Let him use yours,” said Virtue.
“We won’t be that far apart.”

“What makes you think he won’t
just take off with it?”

“Will you stop talking about me as
if I wasn’t here?” demanded Terwilliger petulantly.

“Shut up,” said Virtue. She turned
back to Cain. “Offer him ten percent of the reward. That ought to buy the
little bastard’s loyalty.”

“I’m not giving him any percentage
right now. Why should I change that?”

“Because you don’t have any
information right now.”

Cain lowered his head in thought
for a long moment, then looked up.

“If your leads are the same as
mine, the deal’s off.”

“Fair enough,” she replied.

“Don’t
I
get a say in this?” snapped Terwilliger.

“Do you want ten percent of twenty
million credits enough to do what you’re told, or not?” said Virtue.

The gambler glared at her, then
realized what was being offered and smiled sheepishly. “I’m in,” he said.

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” she
replied. “Well,
that’s
settled. Now I suppose we’d
better do something about the body.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Cain.

“After you visit the local post
office and see if there’s any paper on him?” she suggested.

“That’s right.”

“I think I should get half,” she
continued. “It was my niathol that killed him.”

“Are you a journalist or a bounty
hunter?” Cain asked wryly.

“Why don’t we say that I’m an
underpaid journalist, and let it go at that.”

He stared at her and finally
nodded in agreement. “Okay. If there’s any reward for him, you get half.”

“You know,” commented Terwilliger,
who had been scrutinizing her, “you could be damned attractive if you’d just go
to a little effort.”

“Too bad the same can’t be said
for you,” she said, turning her attention back to Cain. “All right,
Songbird—are you ready to compare notes?”

“I’m ready,” he answered.

“I have a feeling that this is
going to be a long and amiable relationship,” predicted Virtue.

“I’ll settle for its just being
profitable,” replied Cain.

“That goes without saying.”

He smiled and shook his head.
“That’s the one thing that
never
goes without
saying.”

She extended her hand. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

They shook hands
over the unmourned corpse of Whittaker Drum.

The Virgin Queen’s Book