"Maybe the two aren't mutually exclusive," suggested Dante. "Maybe it's the pen that must direct the sword."
Silvermane patted his pistol. "Maybe I'm writing history with my own pen."
"Are you ready to write an epic?" asked Dante. "Or are you going to keep writing little unrelated pieces that will all be forgotten?"
"I'm happy curing the ills of the Frontier one by one," said Silvermane. "I don't know how I'd feel about trying to cure them wholesale."
"I can't make you," said Dante. "I just want you to think about it."
"You say that, but what you mean is that you want me to think about killing the One-Armed Bandit—who, I should point out, wouldn't need killing if you hadn't chosen him to be your secret hero."
"I really don't want him killed if it can be avoided, if we can find some other way."
"How many deposed tyrants are walking around these days?" asked Silvermane. "If he's got the bit between his teeth, if he believes in what he's doing, there's only one way to replace him, and we both know what that is."
"You're a cold son of a bitch, you know that?" said Dante irritably.
"I'm in a cold business."
"You're not in a business at all. You don't demand pay for what you do." Dante paused and studied him carefully. "How do we know you won't be as much of a fanatic as the Bandit is?"
"You don't."
"What do you think?" said Dante.
"I have no idea," admitted Silvermane. "I don't think I'm a fanatic, and I don't think I can be corrupted—but until you give me a cause I'm willing to die for and combine it with absolute power, how can I answer your question with any certainty?"
"You just did," said Dante. "I trust you."
"I thank you for your trust, but I haven't said I'm interested in the job yet."
"I know. Take some time and think about it. We'll explain how we're setting up an organization, what connections we've established so far." Dante paused. "But don't take too long. If he goes and slaughters another 300 kids, I'll have to take him on myself, and I don't have the chance of a snowball in hell."
"Then why do it?"
"Because he's my responsibility," answered Dante. "Because those kids would be alive if it wasn't for me."
"If I agree to become Santiago, I think we're going to get along just fine," said Silvermane.
"When do you want me to learn about the operation?"
"The first thing you'd better tell me about is the One-Armed Bandit," said Silvermane. "On the not-unreasonable assumption that he has no intention of resigning, he's the first obstacle, and if he can't be overcome, none of the rest matters. I've heard about that prosthetic arm of his, but I don't really know anything about it. Just how lethal is it?"
"Depending how he's using it, he pinpoint a target no bigger than a coin at 600 yards, or he can take out a city block."
"Is he inclined to shoot first or talk first?"
"Once upon a time he talked first," said Dante. "These days I don't know."
"Left arm or right?"
"Left."
"Any vision problems?" asked Silvermane.
"Not to my knowledge."
"Okay, I'll think about it."
"Where will we find you?"
"I'll be leaving for New Pategonia in an hour. That's about sixteen lightyears from here. You can find me at the Jong Palace."
"That's a casino?"
Silvermane smiled. "A hotel."
"With Henry—that's the Black Death—dead, we have no reason to stay here. We might as well go to New Pategonia with you."
"There's no room in my ship."
"I meant that we'll leave Tosca when you do."
"All right. I'll see you there." He walked to the door, then turned back to them. "If I decide to do it, you won't regret asking me. I'll be the best Santiago I can be." Then he was out in the street.
"Jesus, I hope so!" muttered Dante.
29.
Simon Ten Broek loves to draw attention;
Simon Ten Broek spent years in bleak detention;
Simon Ten Broek, with crimes too vile to mention;
Simon Ten Broek won't live to see his pension.
New Pategonia was everything that Tosca was not: green, temperate, pleasant, criss-crossed by rivers, framed with snow- capped mountains. It had been developed into a resort world by the cartel that had laid claim to it. They erected a ski lodge atop the snowiest mountain, then leased out the rest of the range, until the place was dotted with ski facilities. Next they expanded downward, building half a dozen fishing camps along the meandering rivers. Soon a quartet of towns sprang up, and before long the secluded little world was actually bustling with permanent and transient populations.
The largest of the towns, quickly approaching city status, was Belvidere, and it was there that Dante and his companions found the Jong Palace. After registering for a room, Virgil immediately went off by himself in search of a little professional love, hopefully from a different species, and Dante and Matilda sat down in a corner of the lobby while a small furry alien loaded their luggage onto an oversized airsled and carefully guided it up to their rooms.
"Have you done any further thinking about it?" asked the poet when he was sure no one could overhear them.
"That's all I've been thinking about," answered Matilda.
"Me too."
"And what have you concluded?"
"If the Bandit goes out and kills more innocent bystanders, kids or adults, it makes no difference. We'll have to stop him, and like it or not Joshua Silvermane is the only weapon we've got."
"I keep thinking that if we found the Bandit and Silvermane in less than four months, maybe we could find the perfect Santiago in a year or two," said Matilda.
"Maybe we could," admitted Dante. "Or maybe we found him already."
"Silvermane?"
"Maybe."
Matilda frowned. "Surely you're not referring to the Bandit?" she said.
"I don't know. Maybe I was a little too full of myself when I thought this thing up. What special insight do I have into what it takes to be Santiago? Hell, maybe killing them off before they grow up to be soldiers and cops and bounty hunters is the right way to go about it."
"You don't believe that for a moment," she said firmly.
"I don't know what I believe any more," he admitted. "Except that maybe it was a bit presumptuous, trying to force my will on the history of the Inner Frontier. No one told the first Santiago that it was time to become Santiago. He wasn't manipulated. He just did it, because it was his destiny." He sighed deeply. "Hell, I don't even know what my destiny is. Why am I screwing around trying to tell them theirs?"
She stared long and hard at him. "I don't like it when you're like this."
"Like what?"
"Full of self-doubt," said Matilda. "From the outset, you've always known what you wanted to do, and how you planned to do it. This isn't like you."
"I stood back and took a good look at what I've done," he replied. "A lot of people are dead who wouldn't be if it weren't for me."