"Contact her publisher and see if you can get her address, or her ID, if she's got one."
"Contacting . . . It is against their policy to give out such information."
"The local newsdisc must have a morgue with all prior issues. See if you can find any information on how to contact her directly."
"That could take as much as ten minutes, Mr. Alighieri."
"Why so long?"
"They use a primitive filing system, and I will have to re-access it by year."
"Don't go back more than a four or five years. I need current information."
"Understood."
"One more thing. Let me know if a man named either Santiago or the One-Armed Bandit lands at the spaceport."
"Yes, Mr. Alighieri. Is there anything else?"
"No."
"My screen will go blank, and I will not speak until I have finished my assignments, but although I will appear to have shut down all systems, this is not the case, so please do not mistakenly report me as broken or inactive to the management."
"No problem," said Dante. The computer went dead so quickly he wasn't sure it heard him.
He ordered the wet bar to pour him a beer, and had just taken his first swallow when there was a knock at the door.
"Open," he ordered, and the door dilated again to reveal Dimitrios of the Three Burners.
"I got Matilda's message," he said, entering the room. "What the hell's going on?"
"To borrow an ancient saying, we put our money on the wrong horse."
"So he's turned pure outlaw instead of helping the Frontier?" asked Dimitrios.
"It's not that simple," replied Dante. "He's become a fanatic. If it has anything to do with the Democracy, it can't be permitted to survive."
"Isn't that the purpose of the exercise?"
"He just slaughtered 300 children who might have someday grown up to be Democracy soldiers or bureaucrats."
"Ah," said the bounty hunter. I see."
"The original plan was for me to lure him out here and never even show up myself—but everything's gone to hell. If we can't find some way to stop him, he's going to kill a woman who doesn't even know he's alive, let alone after her."
"Back up a minute," said Dimitrios, frowning. "Why did you want to lure him here in the first place? What's so special about Hadrian II?"
"It's about as far as you can get from Valhalla and still be on the Inner Frontier."
"Valhalla. That's the planet where he's set up his headquarters, right?"
"Right."
"So what is supposed to happen while he's gone?" asked Dimitrios.
"His successor will move in and take over, and present him with a fait accompli."
"And who is this successor?"
"Joshua Silvermane." Dante couldn't help but notice that Dimitrios grimaced at the mention of the name. "Do you disapprove?"
"He's as good a symbol as you could ever find," began Dimitrios. "He looks like a statue, and he's certainly as good with his weapons as the Bandit."
"But?" said Dante. "You look like there's a 'But'."
"But he's a cold, passionless son of a bitch," continued the bounty hunter, "and he's so self-sufficient that he doesn't inspire much loyalty, if only because it's apparent he doesn't need it or want it."
"But he's a moral man without being a fanatic."
"He's a man of his word," agreed Dimitrios. "He's so beautiful and so deadly that people will watch him in awe, but I don't know if he's the kind of man other men will follow." He paused. "I guess you'll find out—if the Bandit doesn't go back and kill him once he's done here. Exactly what's drawing him here in the first place?"
Dante explained his plan, and even quotes a few of the poems to Dimitrios.
"Sounds fine to me," said the bounty hunter. "What went wrong?"
"Just a stroke of bad luck," replied Dante. "Of all the goddamned planets on the Frontier, this is the one that's home to a woman who just wrote an award-winning poem about, of all things, Santiago."
"Suddenly things make a lot more sense."
"Her name is September Morn," Dante concluded. "And we've got to find her before he does."
"Well, on your behalf, you couldn't know she'd gone and won a prize for a poem about Santiago," said Dimitrios. "It was a hell of a good idea except for that."
"Thanks," said Dante with grim irony.
"Problem is, you've endangered this woman, and we don't know how to reach her to protect her or warn her off."
"Neither does he," Dante pointed out.
"That's one thing in our favor. If we're starting out even, I'll put my money on you to out-think him."
The computer suddenly hummed to life.
"I am sorry, Mr. Alighieri," it said, "but the newsdisc morgue gives no indication of how to contact September Morn. All I could learn is that as of two years ago she resided in Trajan."
"Well, that's a start," said Dante. "What's Trajan's population?"
"110,463 at the last census."
"So much for going door-to-door." The poet paused. "Thank you, computer. You may deactivate until I need you again."
"This contradicts your order that I alert you if a man named Santiago or the One-Armed Bandit lands on Hadrian II," the computer reminded him.
"I forgot that," admitted Dante. "All right, do that and nothing more."
"Understood."
The machine seemed too go dormant again, but Dante knew it was monitoring the spaceport.
"So what do you suggest we do?" asked Dimitrios. "I'm at your disposal."
"I asked the authorities to contact September Morn and let her know I had urgent business with her," replied Dante. "And I gave the Windsor Arms as my address. I don't think we should leave the place until I hear from her."
"I haven't eaten today," said Dimitrios. "I saw a restaurant in the hotel, just off the lobby. Let's grab a bite there. If she tries to contact you by vidphone or computer, the hotel can transfer it to our table, and if she shows up in person they can point us out to her."
"I don't see any harm in that," agreed Dante, getting to his feet. "Let's go."
They took the airlift down to the main floor, and were soon sitting in the restaurant. Dimitrios ordered a steak from a mutated beef animal. Dante just had coffee.
"You're not hungry?" asked Dimitrios.
"No."
"Don't be so nervous. We'll find her."
"We'd better."
"Get some calories into you," said Dimitrios. "Maybe they'll get that brain of yours working again."
"All right, all right," muttered Dante irritably. He called up the menu and placed a finger on a holograph of a pastry.
"They have wonderful meat," said Dimitrios.
"You said calories. This has calories."
"What the hell—do what you want," said the bounty hunter with a shrug.
They ate in silence, got up, and were walking to the airlift when Dante glanced out the window and suddenly froze.
"Do you see her?" asked Dimitrios.
"I don't even know what she looks like," replied the poet. "I saw him."