The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future by Mike Resnick Page A

you'll find you have a greater purpose and you'll have to go abroad to fulfill it."
           "I doubt it," said the huge man. "I'm happy with the purpose I've got."
           "The choice may not be yours. It may be thrust upon you by powers that are beyond your control."
           "I still don't know what you're talking about, Rhymer," said Bailey. "You almost make it sound like I'll be recruiting an army."
           "Not the kind anyone else would recruit."
           "We've already got the Democracy protecting us from the rest of the galaxy."
           Dante leaned forward. "Who's protecting you from the Democracy?"
           Bailey stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. "You're crazy!"
           "Why?" demanded Dante. "Exceptional times call for exceptional men. You're an exceptional man."
           "I'm a live man. I plan to stay that way." The huge man paused. "And you'd better get off the planet soon if you want to stay a live man. The Democracy's got to have traced your ship by now."
           "Send them packing when they show up."
           "Me? Take on the whole Democracy?"
           "Just one squad. How the hell many men are they going to send to find a thief and his ship?"
           "You don't understand much about geometrical progressions, do you, Rhymer?" said Bailey. "Say they send ten men, and I kill them all. Next week they'll send fifty to exact revenge. Maybe I'll hire some help and kill them , too. Then they'll send five hundred, and then thirty thousand, and then six million. If there are two things they can spare, they're men and ships—and if there's one thing they can't tolerate, it's having someone stand up to them."
           "There are ways," said Dante.
           "The hell there are!" growled Bailey.
           "It's been done before."
           "Never!"
           "It has!" insisted Dante.
           "By who?"
           "Santiago."
           "Come off it—he was just an outlaw!"
           "He was a revolutionary," Dante corrected him. "And what kept him alive was that the Democracy never understood that he wasn't just an outlaw."
           "What do you know about it?"
           "Everything! If the Democracy had ever guessed what his real purpose was, they'd have send five billion men to the Frontier and destroyed every habitable world until they were sure they'd killed him. But because they thought he was just an outlaw—the most successful of his era, but nothing more than that—they were content to post rewards and hope the bounty hunters could deliver him."
           "Let me get this straight," said Bailey. "You're saying that you want me to pretend I'm Santiago?" He snorted derisively. "They may be dumb, Rhymer, but they can count. He'd be close to 175 years old."
           "I don't want you to pretend anything," said Dante. "I want you to be Santiago!"
           Tyrannosaur Bailey downed his drink in a single swallow and stared across the table. "I never used to believe all artists were crazy. You've just convinced me I was wrong."
           Dante was about to argue his case further when Virgil Soaring Hawk burst into Rex's and walked directly over to him.
           "Time to go," he said, a note of urgency in his voice. "Say your good-byes, pay your bar tab, and let's get the hell out of here!"
           "What's your problem?" asked Dante irritably.
           "You haven't paid any attention to the news, have you?" said Virgil.
           "What news?"
           "Remember New Tangier IV, that pleasant little planet where you and I met?"
           "Yeah. What about it?"
           "It's become a piece of uninhabited rock, courtesy of the Democracy."
           "What are you talking about?" demanded Dante.
           "They sent a Navy squadron to find you and your ship," explained Virgil, figiting with impatience. "No one there knew where you'd