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

alien music filtered into the casino, and nubile young men and women dressed in shimmering metallic outfits ran the tables.
           Sitting alone in the farthest corner was a huge man, easily seven feet tall, muscled like an athlete. His hair was the color of desert sand, and tumbled down to his shoulders. His nose had been broken at least twice, maybe more, and looked irregular from every angle. One ear was cauliflower; the lobe of the other was stretched enough that it was able to hold an unwrapped cigar that had been placed in an exceptionally large hole there. When he smiled, he displayed a mouthful of ruby and sapphire teeth, all carefully filed to dangerous-looking points.
           His shirt was loose-fitting, which added to the impression of enormous size. Dante couldn't see his legs or feet, but he managed to glimpse the tops of three or four weapons stuck in the man's belt.
           The man looked up, saw Virgil, and smiled a red-and-blue smile.
           "Virgil, you corpse-fucking old bastard, how the hell are you?"
           "Hi, Tyrannosaur. I've got a friend who'd like to meet you."
           Tyrannosaur Bailey studied Dante for a long moment. "You're the one that Wait-a-bit Bennett is after?"
           "How did you know that?" asked Dante.
           "This is my world," answered Bailey. "Not much goes on here that I don't know."
           "Then you know who I am and why I want to see you," suggested Dante.
           "I know who both of you are," laughed Bailey. "You're Danny Briggs, a thief from the Democracy, and you're Dante Alighieri, the self-proclaimed successor to Black Orpheus." He gestured to a pair of chairs. "Have a seat. You too, Virgil."
           " He's the one who wants to speak with you," replied Virgil. "I could go spend a little money at your gaming tables, if you wish."
           "You don't want to gamble," said Bailey.
           "I don't?"
           Bailey shook his head. "No, you don't. What you want is to get my Stelargan bar girl into the sack while I'm paying attention to your friend."
           "What a thing to suggest!" said Virgil with mock outrage.
           "Virgil, the last time you were here, two of my human girls and one of my Tilarbians had to seek psychiatric help to get over the experience. Next time it happens, you pay the bill."
           "It was worth it."
           "That's it!" snapped Tyrannosaur. "You sit here or you wait outside. There's no third way."
           "I thought we were friends."
           "We are—but we're not close friends. Now make your choice."
           "I think I'll get a breath of air," said Virgil with all the dignity he could muster. He turned and slowly walked out into the street.
           "Have a seat, poet," said Tyrannosaur after Virgil had left the casino.
           "Thank you," said Dante, sitting down opposite the huge man.
           "I approve of what you're doing," continued Bailey. "That poem is all the history we've got—and there's tens of millions of us out here. It's time someone added to it. I'm just as loyal to the Frontier as all those people we left behind are to the Democracy."
           Dante didn't quite know what to say except to thank him again, so he remained silent.
           "Interesting friend you've picked up," continued Bailey. "They're going to have to write two or three books just to cover the new perversions he's invented." He paused. "How many verses did you give him?"
           "One."
           Bailey nodded thoughtfully. "Who else have you written up?"
           "Not too many," said Dante noncommittally. "I'm still getting my feet wet, so to speak."
           "Well, assuming you live past tomorrow, you should find it a pretty easy job."
           "Being the only historian for a third of the galaxy isn't all that easy. I suspect it can be quite a burden from time to time."