"What did they do?"
"A little of everything. They were actually law officers together back in the Democracy, two of the best. They worked the entire Quintaro Sector, and they put one hell of a lot of bad guys away." He paused thoughtfully. "I think they did a little bounty hunting when they first moved out here. Then they spent a couple of years bodyguarding Federico Bogardus when he was King of New Lebanon. Just the two of them . . . but that was enough to scare off any potention assassins."
"How did she die?" asked Dante.
"What makes you think she died?"
"You said he had a woman. Past tense. You don't leave a woman like that—or bury yourself on an obscure little world like this one. Not without a reason."
"You're good, poet. We're going to get along just fine." Silvermane paused for a moment, staring sightlessly into the past. "She was quite a woman, that Priscilla. Been dead about a dozen years now."
"What happened?"
"She died," said Silvermane noncommittally. "The Rocker left Prateep a few weeks later, and he's spent the last few years on this little backwater planet."
"Is he a farmer?"
"No. He just rents a house from an absentee landlord."
"What does he do, then?" asked Dante.
"He hides."
"From what?" asked Matilda.
"From the past. From his memories." The tall man smiled grimly. "They always find him."
"And this is the man you want by your side?"
"Nobody fights by my side," said Silvermane with what Dante thought was just a touch of arrogance. "But this is a man I want for our organization."
"Why should he be willing rejoin the world?" asked Matilda curiously.
"Because I know him better than he knows himself," said Silvermane.
"I still don't see why you couldn't have just sent him a message to join us," said Dante.
"It's been years since he's seen any action," said Silvermane. "I want to make sure he's in good enough physical and emotional shape. A decade of seclusion and mourning can change a man beyond all recognition."
"Well, let's hope it didn't."
Silvermane got to his feet threw some Maria Theresa dollars on the table. "Let's go find out."
Dante and the others joined him, and a few moments later they were rapidly skimming a few inches above a dirt road in a sleek limo.
"Beautiful country," remarked Dante, looking out across the green fields.
"Dull country," said Silvermane. "Beautiful country has hills and mountains and valleys and makes lousy farmland. You need an expanse of flat characterless land like this to grow anything in quantity."
"I grew up surrounded by mountains and valleys," said Dante. "We paid a premium for the food we imported." He smiled wryly. "Maybe that's why I appreciate farmland."
"Take a look at that!" said Matilda, pointing to a huge cow that stood a good ten feet at the shoulder. Suddenly another enormous cow came into view, then a whole herd of them. "Aren't they remarkable?"
"Mutated," said Silvermane. "Cost a bundle to create them, but once they began breeding true they've more than paid back their cost."
"You sound like you've been here before," noted Matilda.
"Once, about eight years ago."
"You didn't get him to come with you back then. Why should this time be any different?"
"I didn't ask him to come with me then," answered Silvermane.
"What were you doing here?"
"I'd been wounded, and I needed a place to stay while I healed. The Rocker gave it to me."
"He sounds like a good friend."
"He was, once."
"Maybe he still is."
"We'll know soon enough," said Silvermane.
They rode the next half hour in silence, and then the limo came to a halt, hovered for a moment, and lowered itself gently to the ground.
"We have arrived at our destination," announced the navigational computer.
Silvermane climbed out of the limo, then helped Matilda out. When Dante and Virgil had also emerged, he turned and faced the farmhouse a short distance away.
The door irised and a burly man stepped through. He took one look at Silvermane and a broad smile crossed his sallow face.
"Joshua!" he called out. "How the hell are you?"
"Just fine this time," answered Silvermane, approaching him. The man trotted forward and threw his muscular arms around Silvermane.
"Damn, but it's good to see you!" He backed away a step. "Who are your friends?"
Silvermane introduced each by name. "And this is the notorious Plymouth Rocker," he concluded, indicating the man.
"It's been a long time since I was notorious," said the Rocker. Then: "Come on into the house. You must be thirsty after your trip out from the spaceport."
"One of us sure as hell is," volunteered Virgil, stepping forward.
The Rocker took them back to the farmhouse, and a moment later they were inside it. The walls of the foyer were covered with holos of a lovely woman, who Dante knew must be Priscilla. They passed to the living room, which had still more holos, plus a dozen little remembrances of her: a favorite book of poetry, a gold-handled hair brush, a crystal wine glass that had stood empty for more than a decade.
"It's like a goddamned shrine to her," Dante whispered to Matilda.
"It must be wonderful to be loved the way he loved her," she whispered back.
"Wonderful or stifling," whispered Danny. "Either way, it had to make losing her almost unbearable."
The Rocker brought out beer for everyone, then invited them to sit down on the various chairs and couches.
"So, what brings you to Bodini?" he asked Silvermane when they were all settled.
"You."
"I'm always glad to see you, Joshua," said the Rocker. "But I'm out of the business."
"What business?" asked Silvermane with mock innocence.
"Any business."
"You can't bury yourself here forever."
The Rocker pointed to an elegant urn with gold inlays that floated in an anti-grav field near his fireplace. "That's what remains of my Priscilla," he said. "When I die, I've left orders to cremate me and then mix our ashes together. I won't have it any other way." He paused. "I don't want to die on some other world and be separated from her forever."
"Whatever you say," said Silvermane.
"That's what I say."
"Still, it seems a shame."
"That I can't go killing bad guys with you?" said the Rocker with a smile. "You don't need me. You never did."
"It's a shame," continued Silvermane, as if the Rocker hadn't said a word, "that you can't avenge her death."
"What are you talking about?" demanded the Rocker, suddenly alert. "No one knows who killed her—you know that. How can I avenge her?"
"You've been looking at it all wrong. You don't know which individual killed her. But you know he worked for the Democracy, that he represented it."