“Same star cluster,” remarked the Swagman with an air of satisfaction. “I wouldn’t have given her credit for such exquisite taste. Do you know what this little piece is worth on the open market?”

“No,” said Schussler.

“Neither do you,” interjected Cain, looking up from the table where he had disassembled one of his pistols and was meticulously cleaning it. “But I’ll bet you can give us its black market value to the nearest tenth of a credit.”

“Touché,” grinned the Swagman.

“Put it back now,” said Schussler.

“I’m admiring it.”

“Evaluating it, anyway,” said Cain dryly.

“Force of habit,” admitted the Swagman, holding the carving near the wall until the magnetic field took it from him. He began studying another piece.

“I’m still watching you,” said Schussler.

“How comforting.”

“You’d better not try to steal anything,” continued the cyborg.

“I never steal from my friends,” said the Swagman.

“I know all about you, Swagman,” said Schussler. “You don’t have any friends.”

“It does simplify matters,” replied the Swagman with a smile. “If it will allay your fears, I also don’t steal from my partners when one of them happens to be a bounty hunter.” Suddenly a small carving caught his eye, and he pulled it out of the field. “Well, well,” he mused. “Life is a torrent of never-ending surprises.”

“What have you got there?” asked Cain.

The Swagman held the piece up.

“It doesn’t look all that special.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s a rather mediocre work of art,” agreed the Swagman. “It’s where it originated that makes it interesting.”

“And where was that?”

“Pellinath Four.”

“Never heard of it,” said Cain.

“It’s the planet where I was raised. This was carved by one of the Bellum.”

“Your benefactors?” asked Schussler, interested.

The Swagman nodded, studying the carving. “I think I must have sold this thing, oh, ten or twelve years ago, out by New Rhodesia. I wonder how Altair of Altair got her hands on it?”

“What were the Bellum like?” asked Schussler.

“Not bad at all, considering that we had some serious disagreements about laissez-faire capitalism,” replied the Swagman. “Still, they fed me and gave me shelter, and I’m grateful to them for that.”

“Not so grateful that you didn’t rob them,” noted Cain wryly.

“True,” agreed the Swagman. “On the other hand, if God had any serious objections to what I do, He wouldn’t have made insurance companies.” He paused. “Besides, I didn’t take very much. They were exceptionally poor artisans. I suppose it comes from being color-blind and not having thumbs.” He glanced at the piece again and replaced it on the wall, then turned to the panel that hid Schussler’s essence. “Tell me about the Graal.”