It waddled off to the right, and Cain and Terwilliger fell into step behind it.

“Is that him, or is something wrong with the translator?” whispered the gambler.

“Who knows?” replied Cain. “Maybe they told him that’s the way a concierge speaks.”

They soon reached the elevators. Wixtol held the door open for them, pressed the button for the twenty-ninth floor, thanked them profusely for coming, and wished them a safe and happy ascent. Then the door slid shut, and a moment later they were walking down a mirrored corridor leading to apartment 2914.

When they arrived at the front door, Cain stopped and waited silently.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” said a hoarse, masculine voice. “Who are you?”

“My name is Cain.”

There was a pause. “Sebastian Cain?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed the voice. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Hello. Whittaker. It’s been a long time.”

“What are you doing here?”

“The Sargasso Rose gave me your new name and told me to hunt you up. I’d like to talk to you, if you can spare me the time.”

“I’d be delighted. Just move a step to your left so my security system can scan you.”

Cain did so, and became aware of a soft humming noise.

“Do you think you’re going to need two guns and a knife to talk to me?” asked the voice.

“No.”

The door slid open a few inches.

“Toss them inside, Sebastian. I’ll return them when we’re done.”

Cain withdrew the weapons in question and tossed them through the small gap.

“Now your friend.”

“My name’s Terwilliger,” said the gambler, moving to the spot Cain vacated. “And I don’t carry any guns.”

“Okay,” grunted the voice. “You’re clean.” There was a brief pause and then the door slid open the rest of the way. “Come on in.”

They stepped into a small vestibule from which the weapons had already been removed, and walked through it to a large, opulently furnished living room. The carpeting was thick and expensive, the chairs and tables were crafted of rare hardwoods from distant Doradus IV, the lighting was discreet and indirect, a large window overlooked the city, alien art objects were displayed in abundance, and the walls were covered by literally scores of icons and gold and silver crucifixes. A pudgy man with thinning gray hair, clad in a silk lounge suit, stood in the middle of the room, a huge smile on his face.

“How the hell are you?” said Socrates, walking over and giving Cain a friendly bear hug. “What have you been doing with yourself since the old days, Sebastian?”

“Bounty hunting.”

“Well, why not?” said Socrates. “Killing people was always one of the things you did best.” He smiled. “Damn, but it’s been a long time! Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”