"Why wouldn't he simply send one of his killers?" asked the Rocker.
"Because I know too much. He's got to be sure he shuts me up, and that means he'll do the job himself."
"And once we know he's left," concluded Silvermane, "you and I will pay a visit to Valhalla and take over the Santiago business."
The Rocker turned to Dante. "And then you come back from the planet before the Bandit can reach it?"
"I'm not going to it at all. I don't have to be there to put the ads in. We'll have to send somebody there, because he'll check to see if they were inserted locally, but I'm the only one he'll recognize, and I'm no more suicidal that Santiago here."
"Okay," said the Rocker. "Now that you've explained it, I don't see any reason why it shouldn't work." He paused. "I'm not stupid, no matter what you think. I'm just not used to dealing with a devious bastard like yourself."
"I'll take that as a high compliment," said Dante, forcing a smile.
He spent the next three days writing the verses that would convince the Bandit to leave his headquarters and travel halfway across the Frontier. In the meantime, Silvermane contacted a friend who owed him a favor and had him to go Hadrian II, a distant, isolated Frontier world that had a large enough population to support a hugely popular newsdisc.
Matilda showed up the day after Dante finished the poems, and Virgil arrived two days after that. Blossom radioed them that she had decided to return to Valhalla and beg the Bandit to take her back.
"Stupid," said Dante.
"Maybe he will take her," said Matilda.
"She's signed her own death warrant," said Dante. "If he doesn't kill her, we probably will. After all, there's no question now where her loyalties lie."
"You recruited her," said Matilda. "Can't you un-recruit her, just send her back to Heliopolis?"
"She practically worships the Bandit. Do you think she'll just pack up and leave peacefully if we kill him—or if we take over while he's gone and haven't killed him yet?"
"No," she admitted, "I suppose you're right. I'm just sorry about it."
"If I were you, I'd worry about how many more innocent bystanders the Bandit will kill before we depose him," said Dante. "At least Blossom knows the score and made an informed choice. Stupid, but informed."
Even at light speeds it took Silvermane's friend eight days to reach Hadrian. Dante could have sent the poems via subspace radio while the man was en route, but he couldn't be sure the man wouldn't just transmit them on, and the whole purpose was to make certain that if the Bandit or any of his people traced the poems to their source, there could be no doubt that they came from Hadrian II itself.
Finally the man landed on that distant world, the poems were transmitted, and within two days the first four had appeared on the newsdisc, which had a new edition every eight Standard hours.
Then came the question of how best to get the poems into the Bandit's hands.
"It's too obvious to send them directly to the Bandit," said Dante. "I mean, hell, if they come from an 'interested friend', he might try to find out who the friend is before he races off to Hadrian."
"What do you suggest?" asked Silvermane.
"I've been thinking about that," said Dante. "We'll use Wilbur Connaught."
"Santiago's accountant?" said Silvermane, surprised. "The one they call the Grand Finale?"
"That's the one."
"Why him?"
"Because I can give him a reason for reading the classified section of the Hadrian newsdisc," answered Dante. "He told me once that he used to work for Barioke, one of the major warlords out on the Rim. That was a long time ago. Barioke's probably dead by now; he's certainly not a warlord any longer."
"So?"
"So we run a classified saying that Barioke needs to speak to Wilbur about a very private matter, and that since he's lost track of him he's trying classifieds all over the galaxy." Dante paused. "Then we put the same ad in 20 other newsdiscs, but we wait two days to insert it. Since Wilbur has to get into the Democracy now and then to keep an eye on Santiago's investments, he's still got a Democracy ID, which means all of Barioke's messages will be routed to his code no matter what computer he's using. But the one we want him to read will get there first—the others are just to convince him he's not being used—and we'll make sure that it appears right next to the poem. He'll see it, and bring it to the Bandit's attention. The Bandit may make sure the poem originated on Hadrian, but I don't think he'll check Barioke's message, or even read it."
"Sounds good to me," said Silvermane. He looked around. "Does anyone have any objections to it?"
No one did—until Matilda burst into Dante's room three days later, a worried expression on her face.
"What's up?" he asked, looking up from the stanza he was working on.
"You'd better get your ass out to Hadrian II quick!" she said. "The Bandit's probably got a half day's start on you. You have to beat him there!"
"What are you talking about?" said Dante. "I'm not going anywhere—and we want the Bandit to go to Hadrian."
"You don't understand!" snapped Matilda, tossing a computer cube across the room to him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"The Hadrian newsdisc," she replied.
"The ads are there?"
"Yes."
"Well, then?"
"That's all anyone else read," said Matilda. "But I read the whole damned thing. Do you know the name September Morn?"
"Sounds like a painting, if memory serves."
"Screw memory! She's the poet laureate of the Questada Cluster, and she lives on Hadrian."
"I didn't know they had a poet laureate."
"There are a lot of things you don't know," said Matilda. "For example, I'll bet you don't know that she's won an award for a poem about Santiago."
His eyes widened. "You're kidding!"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"Oh, shit! He's going to think she wrote it!"
"Almost certainly."
"We'll contact her via subspace and tell her to get the hell off the planet!"
"Do you think the Bandit will stop looking for her if she's gone when he gets there?" asked Matilda.
"No," said Dante. "No, of course he won't. But what the hell do you expect me to do if I get there ahead of him?"
"I don't know, but this was your idea. I think you owe it to her."
"To do what?" he yelled in frustration.
"You're the big thinker," said Matilda angrily. "Think of something."
"All right, all right," he said, getting to his feet. "Give me ten minutes to pack some things, and tell Virgil I need to borrow his ship. It's faster than mine."
She nodded her assent. "Anything else?"
"Hell, I don't know." He paused. "Yeah. See if you can contact Dimitrios of the Three Burners and have him meet me there. Tell him I really need some help."
Nine minutes later Dante took off from Brandywine, convinced that he probably wouldn't live to see it again.