With a temper that’s hot and a heart that is cold.

He issues his orders, makes known his demands,

Then sits back to watch while his empire expands.

It wasn’t a mountain of gold, of course—but it was as beautiful a farm as Cain had ever seen.

There were some 1,800 acres, divided equally between wheat, mutated corn, soybeans, and livestock, crisscrossed with streams, dotted here and there by ponds.

“Actually, the ground rolls a little too much to be truly efficient farmland.” remarked Santiago as the two men sat on the veranda, looking out over the sloping fields. “It’s a fact that realtors all over the galaxy have learned to appreciate: the prettier the landscape is, the harder it is to farm it effectively. Proper farmland is flat.” He sighed. “But I took one look at this place and fell in love with it.”

“It’s restful.” agreed Cain.

“It broke my heart to bulldoze the trees that were in the field. I kept the prettiest grove intact, and erected the house right next to it.” Santiago pointed to a pair of nearby trees. “I have a hammock that I tie between those two.” he said. “I love to lie on it, sipping an iced drink and feeling just like a proper country gentleman.”

“You’re an odd kind of revolutionary.” remarked Cain.

“I’m fighting an odd kind of revolution,” replied Santiago.

“Why?”

“Why is it odd?” asked Santiago.

“Why are you fighting it?”

“Because somebody has to.”

“That’s not much of a reason.”

“It’s the best reason there is,” said Santiago. “The first duty of power is to perpetuate itself. The first duty of free men is to resist it.”

“I’ve heard this song before,” said Cain dryly.

“Ah, but it was sung by people who wanted power themselves, people who wanted to remake their worlds or even the Democracy.”

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“Remake the Democracy?” said Santiago. He shook his head. “The second you attain power, you become what you’ve been fighting against.” He paused. “Besides, I’m enough of a realist to know that it can’t be done. The Democracy has more ships than I’ve got men. It will still be abusing its power a millennium after you and I are dead.”

“Then why persist?” asked Cain.

Santiago stared at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“You know, Sebastian, I have a feeling that you’d be happier if I were a gentle, white-haired old man who called everyone ‘my son,’ and told you that Utopia was just around the corner. Well, it isn’t. I persist in fighting because I see something that’s wrong, and the alternative to fighting is to submit.”

Cain made no comment.

“If you want a philosophic justification, you’ll find it in my library,” continued Santiago. “I’ve got a much simpler explanation.”

“What is it?”