“They were basically humanoid,” replied the cyborg, “if you consider a race humanoid because it walks erect on two legs. Beyond that, they didn’t have a lot in common with Men.”

“That’s not too difficult to believe, given the contours of the seats in here,” said the Swagman with a grimace. “What kind of art did they produce?”

The ship uttered an amused, melodic chuckle. “Nothing that would interest you. They don’t have any eyes; they use a form of sonar. And while I never saw their artwork, I’m sure it would reflect their limitations.”

“What a pity,” sighed the Swagman. “At least my aliens gave me a little something to remember them by, however unwillingly.”

“So did mine,” said Schussler, the melody of his voice conflicting with the irony of his words.

“Where is this world where they put you together, anyway?” asked the Swagman. “I’ve never heard of the Kalkos system.”

“In the Corbellus Cluster,” replied Schussler.

“I was out there once,” remarked the Swagman. “Ever hear of Fond Hope?”

“I’ve heard of it,” answered the cyborg, “but I’ve never been there.”

“I’ve heard of it, too,” said Cain. “Didn’t Orpheus write it up? Something about the Deneb Arabian, or the Delphini Arabian, or something like that?”

“The Darley Arabian,” said the Swagman. “Orpheus gave him his name. In fact, he gave all three patriarchs their names.” He paused. “My own modest dealings were solely with the Barb.”

“I don’t recall any mention of him,” said Cain.

“I fear I may have left him with a certain distrust of outsiders,” grinned the Swagman. “He refused to speak to Black Orpheus.”

“Smart man,” muttered Cain.

“I didn’t understand the song,” volunteered Schussler. “It sounded, well, racy.”

“The Darley Arabian, tall and wild,/Has gotten another wife with child,” quoted the Swagman. “I suppose that’s as close to racy as Orpheus ever gets.” He turned to the panel that hid Schussler from view. “Fond Hope was settled by three very large families, who immediately had a falling-out and began fighting with each other. Since this was a blood feud, none of the families wanted to import outside mercenaries. Then one day the Arabian conceived the notion of buying a couple of hundred mail-order brides and siring his own army—all in the line of duty, to be sure.” He chuckled. “It took each of the other two patriarchs about a week to follow suit, and they’ve spent the past twenty years fighting all day and making little soldiers all night.”

“What about the names?” asked Schussler.

“Orpheus found out that all the racehorses back on old Earth descended from three foundation sires, so he named the three patriarchs the Darley Arabian, the Byerly Turk, and the Godolphin Barb, after the three horses.”

“What was your business with the Barb?” asked Cain.