“Any time,” laughed his companion. “And you will make an effort to keep out of the Praeteep system from now on, won’t you?” He flexed his steel fist. “I’d hate to have to give you an object lesson about trespassing.”

“Would you?”

“Not really,” was the frank answer.

Cain made no reply, and a moment later Giles San Pitié placed the empty bottle on the bar, left enough money to cover another one he ordered for Cain, promised Gentry he’d be back to sample some nonalcoholic wares later in the evening, and walked out into the hot, humid night air of Moritat in search of some dinner.

Gentry finished serving the girl with the melancholy eyes, then brought the bottle over to Cain’s table.

“What is it?” asked Cain, staring at the clear liquid.

“Something they brew out Altair way,” replied the old man. “Tastes kind of like gin.”

“I don’t like gin.”

“I know,” replied Gentry with a chuckle. “That’s why I’m just dead certain you’re gonna invite me to sit down with you and help you drink it.”

Cain sighed. “Have a seat, old man.”

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.” He lowered himself carefully to a chair, uncorked the bottle, and took a swallow. “Good stuff, if I say so myself.”

“You could save a hell of a lot of money by not supplying glasses,” remarked Cain. “Nobody around here seems to use them.”

“Savin’ money ain’t one of my problems,” replied Gentry. “And from what I hear, makin’ it ain’t one of yours.”

Cain said nothing, and the old man took another swallow and continued speaking.

“Did old Giles Without Pity warn you off the Praeteep system?” he asked.

Cain nodded.

“Gonna pay him any heed?”

“Until the next time I have business there,” replied Cain.

The old man laughed. “Good for you, Songbird! Old Steelfist is gettin’ a little big for his britches these days.”

“I’m getting tired of telling you what my name is,” said Cain irritably.

“If you didn’t want to be a legend, you shouldn’t have come out here. Two hundred years from now that’s the only name people’ll know you by.”

“Two hundred years from now I won’t have to listen to them.”

“Besides,” continued Gentry, “Songbird ain’t on any Wanted posters. I seen Sebastian Cain on a flock of ‘em.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Don’t go gettin’ defensive about it,” chuckled the old man. “I seen posters on just about all you bounty hunters at one time or another. Ain’t no skin off my ass. Hell, if Santiago himself walked in the door and asked for one of my sportin’ gals, I’d trot him out the prettiest one I’ve got.”

“For all you know, he already has,” remarked Cain.

“Not a chance,” said Gentry. “He ain’t that hard to spot.”