“Sir.”
The man didn’t look up.
“Sir.”
“What?” He still didn’t look up.
“We’re sorry to spoil your evening, but we have a few questions we’d like to ask.”
“Go to hell.” Defiant as it sounded, the man went into a fresh spasm of grief.
It was contagious enough, and Barnes for one looked away while Oscar bent and peered into the face, as if looking for the reinforcement of some inner need.
“Oscar.”
“Yes, sir?”
“That’s enough.” Newton was embarrassed not just by Oscar but for him as well.
They were just so damned young. They still thought of justice in cowboys-and-Indians terms but Newton had let go of all that years ago and now thought of it in terms of always-imperfect compromise. The lives of a killer’s family were just as destroyed as the family of the victim when the wheels of justice began to grind.
The likelihood was that the subject had missed the shuttle, gone absent without leave, panicked and ran away when he should have simply contacted the ship and taken his punishment. Years had gone by and now he had a new life, one that was now over and could never be restored.
“I’m sorry, sir. We’re just doing our duty and our orders are clear.”
Barnes and Oscar clung to the man, one on each elbow, as they guided him up the unfamiliar steps of the truck, with Newton standing watch and looking for trouble to come along any minute now.
Some of the people at the dance had followed them, and one or two had peeled off into Gregory’s Bar, no doubt to spread the fantastic news. Newton had never seen human morality in black and white terms, but there were times when illusions of morality, and the seedy side of human nature, positively sickened him. All morality was conventional, but this was their town and he knew their welcome had just run out.
Looking up at the troopers and the subject, he nodded.
“Lock the door. I’ll be back in five minutes with your relief.” He thought for a second, trying to anticipate what these knuckleheads were capable of. “I’ll question the prisoner myself. Do not abuse this prisoner or heads will roll, mine included. Understood?”
There were nods from the soldiers and more sniffles from the prisoner. He watched as the door swung closed and the latches clicked in.
“Sir?” It was Kane through the headset.
“Yes?” Newton needed to keep a patient, level tone with his people and he was having trouble doing it.
“What about me?”
“Hang tight until I say otherwise.”
“I want to go to the bathroom.”
“Use the one in the truck.” The units had a small lavatory in the rear of the cab.
Use of it was unpopular, as the ventilation system wasn’t meant for large numbers of people.
He didn’t understand what her problem was. There was a long silence.
“Look. For the time being you can smoke in the vehicle. Until further instructions.”
More silence.
It was the best he could do. He looked around at the gaggle of off-duty troopers, hanging about in a group and watching in unfeigned interest, possibly for the first time in the entire trip. Someone giggled and he looked away, face flushing.
“Look, I have to figure out who’s guarding our prisoner. In the meantime, just hold on.”
He engaged the troopers with his eyes again.
“I need two volunteers for the first shift.”
If that didn’t impose some kind of silence, nothing would.
He pointed at two bodies, the nearest and most easily identifiable, Marlowe and Hatcher.
“You, and you. Suit up. You can write a complaint ticket later.” He ignored the groans of dismay. “Bring your weapons. There will be no weapon-swapping with those on duty.”
Newton might as well wring everything he could out of it.
He waited, and their one minute was running out. His features stiffened and he was about to say something feral.
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
In the silence his words rang very loud.
“The rest of you folks are dismissed. You will be kept informed.” Whoever pissed him off the most was going to get the pre-dawn shift, and somehow that transmitted itself to the bulk of them.
They shuffled off, still staring at the truck, him and each other as if this was the greatest show on Earth. In Third World terms, it probably was.
Then Lieutenant Newton Shapiro of Her Majesty’s Armed Services stepped forward smartly and they parted to let him through. He paused at the bottom of the steps for one last look at the trucks, but he’d be back in a couple of minutes anyway. He shook his head in anger, and the troops did their best not to look his way, although he was undoubtedly the centre of attention.
“All right people. Inside.”
There was some muttering, but they followed along dutifully enough.
Against all odds, he had done it. They couldn’t take that away from him. It was likely to be more trouble than it was worth, and there was nothing he could do about that. What a hell of a business.
He stumped up the steps and headed into the hotel to find where Ensign Spaulding had gotten off to. Faber and the others were not in the crowd and he wondered why that was. They hadn’t been at the dance, either, and if they were outlandishly drunk they weren’t going to be of much use.
These things had a way of getting ugly very quickly and a small crowd of civilians was watching them from across the street.
“All right, people, we’re going to have a little briefing.”
Their prisoner was a local man and the Empire was a long ways away. It was also neglectful, and heavily engaged in political posturing halfway across the Galaxy.
This was just one small drop in the cosmic bucket, and he wondered how much it all really mattered sometimes. The answer was a simple one. Everything mattered. Everything, and they all had their little role to play.
***
They stood in a semi-circle in the bar area, watching him as he called the missing personnel.
Luckily for him they all answered fairly quickly. No one gave him an argument when he told them they had a prisoner and to get down to the billiards room.
After getting off the air with Faber, the last one, he motioned to the troopers.
“Clear the billiards room. Politely.”
Not much to his surprise, Faber and Jackson were already there, Jackson chalking the end of the pool cue with a knowing look at Faber as they arrived.
The few civilian customers heard the news with some indignation, but one look at Newton’s face was enough to convince them. Armed or unarmed, someone meant business. It was all part of the entertainment. The civilians were politely ushered to the door.
“All the way out, boys. Sorry.” Ensign Spaulding’s voice rose and fell and then her party was back in the room. “Okay, go ahead, Skipper.”
No one had ever called him that before.
“I need four hour shifts. Two people guard the prisoner at all times. Barnes and Oscar are to be relieved immediately, also Kane and what’s his name.” This brought a few chuckles. “Four hours later, the new people will be relieved.”
Those on duty all night would be able to sleep in the trucks, hopefully, in the daytime. There were enough bodies on hand for round-the-clock coverage. He looked at them for a long moment.
“We leave at dawn. Those of you who are not needed, will retire to your rooms in half an hour. Lights out within a reasonable time—say fifteen minutes.” They looked at each other, and back at him. “This situation is uncomfortable. This man probably has friends. He’s been on the planet for many years. You will sleep with battle gear beside you and your communicators on standby. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” They were pretty unanimous on that.
One or two looked appraisingly at the windows along the front of the building, where they would no doubt be visible to those outside.
“Lieutenant, are we expecting trouble?” Beth Spaulding seemed shocked by the prospect.
“I don’t know.” He stared at his small contingent. “I need two people. Otherwise I pick a couple of names and that’s final.”
Hernandez stepped forward and snapped a quick salute. Cornell stepped forwards then too, but Newton shook his head as they were just a little too chummy for his comfort right then.
He looked at Spaulding.
“Why don’t you take this first one?”
She nodded with a wry look on her face.
“Sorry, it’s just that I have to sleep sometime and this is one reason we’re top-heavy with senior staff.”
She inclined her head politely. With a gesture to Hernandez, they departed upstairs to get geared up.
“The next pair will Boyle and Dobbson. Try and get some sleep. You come on at three a.m. Use your alarm clocks. And, I will be the one coming for you.” He made sure he knew what rooms they were in, otherwise he would be stumbling into the wrong rooms and looking like an idiot. “You are dismissed.”
The babble of talk rose to a more normal level as they streamed out and up the stairs.
Following along, Newton gave a terse nod to Gregory, standing behind the bar.
“Drink, Lieutenant?” He held up a bottle of genuine Scotch.
He must have had that stashed somewhere. For all Newton Shapiro knew, it might be the last one on the planet.
“How much for the whole bottle?”
“A hundred dollars.”
Newton grimaced.
“Aw, what the hell.” It might even come in useful, although there was no way he could write it off as a legitimate expense.
“Charge to the Crown?”
“Ah, no.” Newton dug into the roll of petty cash he kept on him at all times and peeled off a couple of layers of plastic money.
Gregory snapped the lid and poured him a drink, a good couple of ounces in the bottom of a short draft beer glass.
Newton lifted it and toasted himself in the mirror. Then he drained it in a couple of quick gulps.
“Oh, boy.” The bar rang with the impact of an empty glass.
Scooping up the bottle, Newton nodded politely at the barman, looking inscrutable even though they had just sent most of his customers home.
His own bed was calling, although he doubted if he would be able to sleep.
***
Ensign Spaulding and Trooper Hernandez mounted the vehicle, to the evident relief of those inside.
Spaulding noted without making major eye contact that the crowd of people had grown even in the short time they’d been inside.
“Off you go. We’re leaving at dawn, whatever the hell that means.” Something suddenly occurred to her.
They had someone in the other truck.
“Yeah, when is dawn, anyways?”
Beth Spaulding leveled a look at Hernandez.
“Around five-thirty this time of year.” Ensign Spaulding called Shapiro, relieved that he answered on the first buzz.
“Who will be in truck number one?”
“I’ve asked Benson and Sims.” As he spoke, they appeared in the gloom ahead of them and went up to the door of the vehicle in front of them.
She nodded.
“Have we made contact with the ship yet?”
“No, I was just going to do that.” Shapiro didn’t say that he was sitting in the latrine at that exact moment in time.
“Roger that. Spaulding out.” Her screen went dark.
“I think we’re all just tired.” Hernandez looked hopefully at her, and then at the prisoner, sitting with his head slumped.
Spaulding looked at the prisoner thoughtfully.
“Hernandez.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s see if we can find a blanket and a pillow or something. Go on inside and ask Mister Gregory.”
“Roger that.” She let herself out, seemingly unafraid of the spectators, who were an oddly quiet bunch, although the truck windows were all closed and the air-conditioning plant hummed softly somewhere up front.
Their audience didn’t seem to be doing much, just watching the action.
It had to be at least ten degrees cooler inside, and the relief from the ever-present humidity was welcome enough.
“Sir?”
No response.
“Sir.”
Getting up out of her seat, she went over and nudged him.
He looked up, dark circles of grief and something else, fear or hate, she couldn’t quite decide, in his eyes.
“We’re going to try and make you a little more comfortable.”
His eyes fell.
Whether he would sleep or not, she couldn’t say, but he would at least be able to stretch out across several seats.
Chapter Seventeen
The Pony Nickered Softly
The pony nickered softly when Newton entered the barn, but kept its head down and its eyes closed.
“Honey, I’m home.” Newton blew air out through his loose lips, partially closed, and giving a fair imitation.
The head swung up, and it looked at him with dull wonder.
Newton grinned in spite of himself, and then went to the stool and end-table where he had his few odd personal belongings, a comb, his toothbrush, and shaving gear.
Pulling up a stool that might once have been used to milk cows, although he hadn’t seen more than two or three in the whole town, he opened up the tactical communicator. There was no acknowledgement of signal lock and his heart sank. It might be a malfunction with his unit, but he doubted it more and more with each passing day.
“Ground party calling Hermes. Lieutenant Newton Shapiro of Her Majesty’s Ship Hermes reporting. Come in please.”
His guts quivered, perhaps from lack of food, lack of sleep, or just plain good old worry.
But there was no answer and no signal.
The thoughts were not pleasant ones. They just weren’t up there. In which case, where did they go?
It was hard to believe that they had simply been abandoned.
There was light knock at the door.
Newton groaned inwardly, taking a quick look at his watch. Then he straightened up, remembering the small mob out front.
“Come in.”
It was Dave Semanko.
“Still no answer?”
“Nope.” It sounded better when stated casually.
Semanko stood there. He looked Newton in the face for a long moment, searching for something and not finding any reassurance.
“Interesting.” Then, with a quick look at the pony, and another back at Newton, he turned and headed for the door.
“Dave.”
He stopped, looking over his shoulder wordlessly.
“Let’s just keep this to ourselves, okay?”
“Oh, hell. Absolutely. I mean, yes, sir!” Then he was gone.
Newton looked at his bed, a couple of thick sheets spread over a flattened mound of hay or straw with a couple of pillows from the Gregory’s own bed.
He sighed deeply, and took another look at the bottle.
With a shake of the head, he ruled out another pull, or even a half-dozen.
He was going to need as much rest as he could get, and he would need a clear head in the morning. Newton thought of going out front and sneaking a quick peek at the trucks, but thought better of it. Showing a bit of trust in the people under your command was a good thing once in a while. That’s what all the better training manuals said.
***
Predictably, the next morning saw a heavy, sodden rain. It only seemed to come down harder as they waited. The drumming on the roof over the porch was considerable. There were gripes and murmurs from the assembled troops, but being as eager as he was to get out of there, they were all awake, dressed, and not too hung-over by the look of them.
A couple of short, abrasive remarks from Newton shut them up. After making sure the guard was changed at three a.m., and a fitful night of
odd, unpleasant but relatively mundane dreams, he was in no mood for their bullshit.
“Ladies and gentlemen. This is what you signed up for.” He pointed at the door. “We’ll be home in three or four days, maybe less if we can make reasonable time. Mount up.”
As they gathered up the small mound of equipment bags, he picked three of them.
“You, you, and you.”
They stared blankly at Newton.
“Put your stuff in the vehicles. Same one you rode in on. Then do a sweep of the premises. You’ll be looking for lost articles, clothing, toothbrushes, and equipment. We will leave nothing behind.”
They departed smartly, without a look back and then Newton went looking for Gregory, standing in a rather subdued fashion behind the till, an old-fashioned relic that was a hundred percent mechanical. A collector’s item, it would be worth some real money, almost anywhere else but here.
“Do you have our bill ready?”
“Yes, sir.” Jim Gregory cleared his throat. “We hope you enjoyed your stay. Please come and see us again.”
Looking at the bill, several pages of it paper-clipped together, Newton was a bit shocked, but all those people eat a lot of meals, drink a lot of beer, wine and liquor by the looks of it…several other small charges. Laundry seemed reasonable, and hot water and wood…
There was a stack of restaurant bills, all initialed more or less legibly by the parties concerned. He’d instructed them to put their badge numbers on there as well, printed in block numerals. All that training had to count for something.
Newton signed it with a scribble. When he looked up, Gregory was having some trouble meeting his eyes.
Newton pulled out his roll of cash and began peeling off notes.
There was nothing rational to say so he said nothing at all.
Finally he had it.
“Thank you.” While it would probably do no good, it wouldn’t do any harm, so he peeled off a couple of big bills and handed it over.
They had busted their asses for him, and earned the gratuity.
He was just turning to go.
“Lieutenant?”
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