“I’ve become one,” said Cain. “Thanks in no small part to yourself.”

“You see? There’s no need for this residual bitterness. We’ve each gone on to become better people. I have found God, as well as modest fortune, and you have become a successful bounty hunter and a realist. Obviously Sylaria did us both a lot of good.”

“Did you find God, or did you buy Him off?”

“It’s all a matter of viewpoint,” answered Socrates. “I contribute thousands of credits to His churches and sing His praises every morning, and He pretty much protects me and helps take care of business. It’s a mutually nourishing relationship.”

“I’m sure,” said Cain wryly. “But we’re getting away from the subject.”

“Sylaria?”

“Santiago.”

Socrates shook his head. “I already told you: that subject is closed.”

“What’ll it cost to open it?”

“More money than you’ll ever have,” said Socrates. “All the Democracy could do was depose me. I assure you Santiago can do a lot worse.”

“Santiago’s not the only one,” said Cain, reaching into one of his many pockets and withdrawing a small ceramic weapon, which he pointed at Socrates.

“How did you get that past my security system?” asked Socrates with no show of fear or alarm.

Cain smiled. “Do you think you’re the only person in the galaxy with a security system? Bounty hunters see them every day. The molecular structure of this gun has been altered so that it won’t show up on any detection device.”

“Very ingenious,” commented Socrates. “But it still won’t do you any good. After all, if you kill me, how can I tell you what I know?” He slowly reached into a pocket, withdrew a cigar, and lit it.

“And if you refuse to tell me,” responded Cain, “why should I let you live?”

“You’re a bounty hunter,” said Socrates confidently. “You kill for money. There’s no price on my head.”

“Don’t push your luck,” said Cain. “You’re one man I wouldn’t mind killing for free.”

Socrates chuckled in amusement. “We turned out a strange crop of humanitarians back on Sylaria, didn’t we?”

“I’d be a little more worried if I were you, friend,” said Terwilliger. “That’s the Songbird pointing that pistol in your direction.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” asked Socrates, puffing on his cigar and displaying a total lack of concern.

“It means he’ll do what he says he’ll do,” said Terwilliger. “This is just business to him. He does it all the time.”

“I’m counting on his being just a little bit brighter than you,” replied Socrates calmly. “Killing me won’t get him the information he wants, and you already know that I’m expecting company momentarily.”