Blue Eyes looked up from his pocket computer as Nighthawk entered the Blue Dragon.
"Welcome back, my friend," he said. He deactivated the computer. "Numbers," he said. "I hate numbers."
"You don't look like you're losing money."
"I wasn't cut out to be a business owner."
"Then why don't you stop pretending to be one?"
Blue Eyes stared at Nighthawk for a long moment, then threw back his head, rolled his eyes, and hooted.
"You're good, Widowmaker! How long did it take you to find out?"
"Less than a day."
"That's all? And I've managed to keep it secret for almost ten years."
"Maybe nobody else cared," suggested Nighthawk.
"While you were checking me out, I was doing the same to you."
"And?"
"You don't exist."
"I seem to remember explaining that to you."
"Let me finish," said Blue Eyes. "You don't exist—but you did once."
"I told you . . ."
"I know what you told me. But the Master Computer on Deluros VIII says you have the same fingerprints, voiceprint, and retinagram as the original Widowmaker. I'll wager that if you let me draw some blood or take a skin scraping, you've got the same DNA, too."
"Coincidence," said Nighthawk with a shrug.
"If you thought I'd believe that, you'd also think I was too stupid and gullible to work with."
"The Widowmaker was born more than a century and a half ago," said Nighthawk. "Do I look that old to you?"
"You look maybe two months old," said the dragon with as much of a grin as his facial structure allowed. "I pulled some strings and found out that the original Widowmaker has been frozen for more than a hundred years. He's still there." He stared at Nighthawk. "I've never seen a clone before. They did a fine job, Widowmaker."
"Better than the last one," agreed Nighthawk.
"They've cloned you more than once?" asked Blue Eyes, surprised.
"One other time."
"And that clone is . . . ?"
"Dead."
"Good. I don't think I'd feel comfortable in a galaxy with hundreds of Widowmakers on the loose."
"It's not going to happen. Cloning a human being is a felony on every world in the Oligarchy." Nighthawk walked over to the bar, reached down behind it, and brought up a bottle of Cygnian cognac. He opened it and took a swallow.
"Careful with that stuff!" cautioned Blue Eyes. "It costs me two hundred New Gandhi rupees a bottle."
"It doesn't cost you a thing," replied Nighthawk. "Now that you know who I am, I think it's time you told me who pays the two hundred rupees, and why you're fronting for him."
"Haven't you guessed?"
"I never guess. I pulled some strings too, and my creators have a lot of strings to pull. It's Ibn ben Khalid."
"Right the first time," said Blue Eyes. "All the profits go into maintaining his organization."
"How many bars does he own across the Frontier?"
"Bars, restaurants, assay offices, hotels, boarding houses— maybe three hundred, maybe a little more."
"Does he travel under his own name?"
"Depends on his mood."
"Does he ever show up here?"
"Once every few years."
Suddenly the dragon was staring into the cold muzzle of a sonic pistol.
"Have you told him I'm after him?"
Blue Eyes reached out and gently pushed the pistol aside. "If I had, you couldn't have made it from your ship to the Blue Dragon without being attacked."
"I was followed."
"Not by anyone connected to Ibn ben Khalid," said Blue Eyes. "And that's a fact."
"All right," said Nighthawk. "You work for him. Why haven't you warned him?"
"Look at me and tell me what you see."
"A dragon who's closer to getting blown away than he knows."
"The operative word, my friend, is 'dragon.' Not Man. What do I care if Ibn ben Khalid overthrows some human government and starts giving orders himself? What do I care if he doesn't? None of it affects me."
"I begin to appreciate your position," said Nighthawk. "The only thing that affects you is his death. Then the Blue Dragon gets a new owner, right?"
"Where does it say that greed must be confined to the race of Man?"
Nighthawk took another swallow of the cognac. "As long as it's not yours yet . . ." He closed the bottle and put it back behind the bar. "Are there likely to be any other claimants to the Blue Dragon and the hotel?"
"It depends on the circumstances of Ibn ben Khalid's death," replied Blue Eyes. "And how much of his organization remains."
"I couldn't care less about his organization. I just plan to do my job and get the hell out."
"Then yes, there will be claimants. Why?"
"I just want you to know that as long you're willing to help me, I'll back up your claim." He paused. "I can be a pretty useful ally to have on your side."
"That's very thoughtful of you," said Blue Eyes. "And what if I decide at some point not to help you after all?"
"Then I'll mourn at your funeral."
"So much for a relationship based on mutual trust," said the dragon.
"Would you rather I lied to you?"
"I'd rather you didn't begin our partnership with a threat."
"First, I didn't begin with a threat; I ended with one. And second, I don't have any partners. You're working for me, not with me."
"I don't know if I'm all that pleased with this arrangement."
"You don't have to be. You'll be pleased when it's over and you can get obscenely rich from the Blue Dragon."
"First let's see if I live long enough, and if no one tries to take over the business while I'm gone," muttered the dragon. "You know, a million to two isn't a lot better odds than a million to one."
"Actually, it's a million to five."
"Well, that's a start. How many more are you going to recruit before you go after him?"
"None."
Blue Eyes possessed four separate and distinct stomachs. At that instant, he was sure all four were coming down with ulcers.