“It is one of the conditions of my contract with the Graal,” said Schussler. “They understood that Altair of Altair operated beyond the scope of human law, and it was explicitly stated that should she be killed by any representative of any human government before my contract was up, I would become the possession of that representative. As a bounty hunter who will ultimately be paid by the Democracy for slaying her, you qualify as my new owner.”

“I don’t want to be your owner,” said Cain.

“Just a minute,” interjected the Swagman. “Let’s not be too hasty about this.”

“Schussler, when I was in the cavern, you indicated that you might be able to help me,” said Cain, staring at the panel behind which the essential Schussler existed. “What did you have in mind?”

“I can show you where Altair of Altair has been, and who she spoke to, and many other things.”

“If you’ll feed it all into my ship’s computer, I’ll make you a free agent right now,” said Cain. “I don’t have any use for another ship.”

“Terwilliger needs your ship, if you’re really sending him to Lambda Karos,” the Swagman pointed out.

“He can use yours,” said Cain. “We’re partners, remember?”

“It’s a moot point,” said Schussler. “I can’t feed my information to your computer. The language my systems use is different.”

“Come off it,” said Cain. “You use the same language as my computer every time you receive landing coordinates. What’s your real problem?”

“Please take me with you!” said Schussler suddenly, a note of desperation in his voice. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to talk with another human being!” Cain seemed hesitant, and Schussler continued: “I will serve you with complete loyalty until we find Santiago. I will guide and protect you, feed and ferry you, and I ask nothing in return except your company.”

“Nothing?” repeated the Swagman meaningfully.

“Until you have found Santiago,” said Schussler. “Then I have one single request to make of you.”

“What is it?” demanded Cain.

“Kill me,” said Schussler the Cyborg.

13.

The Songbird stalks, the Songbird kills,

The Songbird works to pay his bills.

So, friend, beware the Songbird’s glance:

If you’re his prey, you’ll have no chance.

“Those don’t belong to you,” said Schussler.

The Swagman, tired of sitting in a chair that was almost comfortable, had gotten to his feet and was examining a number of alien artifacts that were attached to a wall of the command cabin.

“By the same token, they don’t belong to you, either,” he replied easily. He pulled at an onyx carving, breaking the magnetic field that joined it to the wall. “Interesting piece,” he commented, examining it closely. “Where did your late lamented owner pick it up? Hesporite Three?”

“Neiburi Two,” answered Schussler.