“It does seem peculiar that so many bounty hunters have recently visited an innocuous little agricultural world,” admitted Schussler.

“And I met a girl named Moonripple.”

“The name is unfamiliar to me.”

“She’s just a barmaid,” replied Cain. “Not very pretty, not very smart. Maybe twenty years old, tops.”

“Then why does she interest you?”

“Because Orpheus wrote her up.”

“Orpheus has written up thousands of people.”

“And four of us are within two miles of each other on a little colony world in the middle of nowhere,” said Cain.

“I hadn’t looked at it that way,” said Schussler. “That’s very interesting.”

“I’d say so.”

“Very interesting,” repeated the cyborg.

“Anyway, according to Orpheus, Moonripple has been to one hundred planets.”

“I myself have been to more than three hundred,” said Schussler. “What’s so unusual about that?”

“Nothing. But it means she had to hit better than a world a month since she was ten or eleven years old—and now, for some reason, she’s stayed on Safe Harbor for two years. What made her stop traveling?”

“A good question,” agreed the cyborg. “What’s the answer?”

“I don’t have one—yet.”

“Did you learn anything else about her?”

“Yes,” said Cain. “She thinks Santiago is a hero.”

“Why?” asked Schussler.

“I don’t know,” said Cain. “But I sure as hell intend to find out.” He paused. “Can you get some information for me?”

“What kind?”

“I know they don’t have any spaceports on this planet, but there has to be some regulatory agency that cleared you for landing and gave you the proper coordinates.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Contact them and see if you can find out how long Father William has been here.”

Schussler had the information thirty seconds later. “He’s been on Safe Harbor for almost a month.”

“He told me he landed here with engine trouble a week ago. Moonripple said the same thing.”

“I can double-check if you like.”

“It’s not necessary.” Cain stared at the wall and frowned. “I wonder what he’s waiting for?”

“We’re getting close, aren’t we?” asked Schussler, a note of anticipation momentarily driving the mournful tone from his musical voice.

“Very,” said Cain softly.

20.

One-Time Charlie makes mistakes,

But never makes them twice.

His heart is black as anthracite,

His blood is cold as ice.

It was the name that did it.

Certainly Black Orpheus had no other reason to put him into the ballad. He wasn’t a hero or a villain, a gambler or a thief, a cyborg or a bounty hunter; in fact, he wasn’t anything colorful at all. He was just a drifter named Charles Marlowe Felcher, who wandered from one agricultural world to another, drinking a little too much to make up for not working quite enough.