“I have my sources. I expect him to contact me any time now to see if I’ve changed my mind about not requiring a partner.” He paused. “I will tell him that I haven’t.”

“Is that what you’re telling me?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive about what happened to would-be partners. She looked around for support or comfort, only to discover that one by one the customers were quietly leaving the tavern, casting frightened glances at the Angel as they did so.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “You possess some information that might prove useful to me.”

“I told you so,” she said smugly.

“Not about Santiago,” he replied disdainfully. “You know less than nothing about him.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Sebastian Cain,” said the Angel. “I’m getting close to Santiago. Three or four more worlds, another week, another month, and I’ll be there.” He took a puff of his cigar. “Cain is getting close, too. He’s got that cyborg ship, and he’s already visited the drug addict on Roosevelt Three.” He paused. “And he killed Altair of Altair,” he added with a touch of admiration.

“I can tell you all about him,” said Virtue triumphantly.

“I know.”

She paused. “What’s in it for me?”

“Exclusive coverage of Santiago’s death.”

“And a series of features on you,” she added quickly.

He stared at her once more. “Don’t push your luck. I’d like information about Cain; I don’t need it.”

“One feature?”

He made no reply, but his cold clear eyes seemed to bore into hers.

“All right,” she said at last.

“You’ve made a wise decision,” said the Angel.

“Well, now that we’re going to be traveling together, where are we bound for next?” asked Virtue.

“I’ll know in a few minutes.”

“Based on something I’m going to tell you?” she asked skeptically.

He shook his head. “I’ve already told you: you don’t possess any useful information about Santiago—but there’s a man on New Ecuador who does. I expect him to stop by our table momentarily.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“Does everyone do what you ask them to?” she inquired with a trace of resentment.

“Most people do,” said the Angel.

“And those who don’t?”

“They soon wish they had.” He paused for a moment. “I think it’s time you started telling me about Cain.”

“Right now?”

“As soon as you sober up,” he replied, signaling to the bartender, who hurried over, bowing obsequiously.

“The lady would like a cup of black coffee,” said the Angel.

“And yourself, sir?”

“A white wine, I think,” said the Angel. “Not too sweet. Perhaps something from Alphard.”

“Right away, sir,” said the bartender, scurrying off. He returned a moment later, placed a large cup of coffee in front of Virtue, and offered a glass to the Angel.