“That’s pretty obvious,” said Terwilliger. “You’ve jumped ship. You’re working with the Angel now.”

“And you’re going to run back and tell that to Cain?”

“I don’t have any choice.”

“Of course you do,” said Virtue. “You can choose not to tell him.”

“And risk losing my ten percent of the reward?” said Terwilliger. “Not a chance.”

The waiter entered the room then and placed a glass and a container of beer in front of each of them.

“Thank you,” said Virtue, immediately filling her glass.

“May I take your orders now?”

“This is all we’re having,” said the gambler.

“Allow me to point out that this is a restaurant, not a tavern,” said the waiter officiously.

Terwilliger pulled another hundred-credit note out of his pocket and handed it to the waiter. “Point it out again in another hour,” he said.

The waiter pocketed the money, picked up his tray, and pivoted toward the door in one graceful and well-practiced motion. A moment later they were alone again.

Virtue drained her glass and turned back to the gambler. “How far has Cain gotten?”

Terwilliger shrugged. “Who knows? I haven’t been in touch with him since 1 left Altair Three.”

“The Angel mentioned his having obtained some information from a drug addict on Roosevelt Three.”

“It’s news to me,” said Terwilliger.

“If you don’t know where he is, how the hell are you supposed to contact him?”

“Through Schussler.”

“Schussler?” repeated Virtue. “Who’s he?”

“Schussler’s more of an it than a he,” answered Terwilliger.

“That cyborg ship I heard about?”

He nodded.

“Schussler belonged to Altair of Altair, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“So he’d probably have had access to any information in her computer banks?”

“I don’t know,” said Terwilliger. “I suppose so.”

“Then that means that Cain’s got still another source of information,” she mused aloud. “He might be closer than we thought.” Suddenly she turned to Terwilliger. “Why did the Swagman leave him?”

“I didn’t know that he did.”

“You’re not exactly a fount of information,” she said caustically.

“I’m supposed to be gathering it, not dispensing it,” replied the gambler.

There was a momentary silence.

“Maybe he threw him out,” she suggested thoughtfully.

“Maybe who threw who out?”

“Cain,” she said. “Maybe he decided he didn’t need the Swagman any longer. Maybe he’s come to the conclusion that this cyborg holds the key.”

The waiter entered the room again.

“I thought I told you to leave us alone,” said Terwilliger irritably.

“I know, sir, but if you are Mr. Terwilliger, I have a message for you.”

The gambler’s face turned pale. “Was it given to you personally?”

“No, sir. It came from the spaceport.”

“Get out.”

“But the message, sir.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” snapped Terwilliger.

The waiter stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and left.

“Damn!” muttered the gambler.