by John Bowers
“Wait a minute…” He turned back to his partner. “If she’s a blonde, she’s a white girl. We can’t sell a white girl.”
“She ain’t a Texiana citizen,” the trooper said.
The basement door slid open while the city cop’s head was turned. When he turned back, Willard Kline was right in front of him, laser rifle pointed at his chest.
“That’s right, asshole!” Kline boomed. “She’s a Federation citizen—and she’s my daughter!”
Kline shot the New Dallas cop straight through the heart, then pivoted toward the state trooper. But the trooper was faster; both men fired at the same time, and Kline oofed as a laser beam pierced his stomach. His shot went high as he lost his balance and crashed down the steps to the basement, rolling heavily to the bottom, to the horrified screams of the women below.
The state trooper dashed forward, but before he’d gone five steps, Nathan Green slid down the apartment stairs banister and landed behind him. The trooper heard the impact of his boots on the floor and twisted to face him, but Nathan had him cold. Without a word he pumped four rounds into the man’s torso and watched him crash into a stack of serving trays, bringing the whole stack down with a horrible clatter.
Shaking like a leaf, Nathan raced down the basement stairs to find Willard Kline on his back, eyes open, panting weakly as blood pumped out of a hole in his side. Suzanne knelt over him, pale but calm; Kristina was sobbing loudly, and rushed into Nathan’s arms as soon as he arrived.
Before anyone could speak, they heard gunfire outside, and someone kicked open the kitchen door from the alley.
Chapter 30
“Most people panic when they’re cornered. You can’t afford to. Train yourself to think under pressure, because your life may depend on it.”
—Professor Milligan, U.F. Marshal Academy
Harry Reed pushed himself away from the limo, blinking against the dust that had accumulated on his glasses.
“Get these cuffs off me!” he squealed as his bodyguard dragged Nick Walker aside and knelt beside him. The bodyguard, whose name was Hayes, blinked against his throbbing head and wiped blood off his face, then reached behind Reed with a sonic E-cuff key. He tried several times to release the cuffs, but without success.
“My key don’t work,” he grumbled. “These must have a different micro coding.”
“What the hell do you mean! E-cuffs are E-cuffs, aren’t they?”
“No, sir, I guess not. These must be Federation issue.”
“Well, goddammit, check Walker’s pockets! He must have the key.”
Hayes straightened up and knelt again over Nick’s prostrate form. He checked the cuff holder on Nick’s belt but didn’t find a key. He tried to slide his hand into Nick’s pocket, but Nick was lying on it and there wasn’t room for his hand. He seized Nick’s belt and rolled him over, reached into the pocket, and found the key. He turned back to Reed.
“Hold it,” Reed said. He nodded at Nick. “Kill him first. I don’t want him waking up and surprising us.”
Hayes glanced at his boss in alarm.
“Yew mean, just shoot him? With him out cold?”
Reed’s pig eyes burned with rage. “Yes, just shoot him! What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“But…I thought we needed him to tell us where the women are.”
“We’ll never find those damn whores! He got rid of them already. Now do it!”
Hayes stood up and turned reluctantly to look at the fallen marshal. Shooting a man who was shooting back was one thing, but killing him in cold blood…
Hayes heaved a sigh and drew his pistol. He stood directly over Nick and took careful aim, targeting the temple just forward of the left ear. He started to squeeze the trigger.
Harry Reed jumped when he heard the shot—it was much louder than he’d expected. For a split second his mind went numb, because blood sprayed over him from a hole in Hayes’s neck…and Hayes collapsed like a rotten tree, falling heavily into the dust. Reed looked to his left and his pig eyes bugged as Dennis Green advanced out of the swirling dust, his slug rifle pointed at Reed’s forehead. Green glared at him a moment, then knelt over Nick and checked his pulse. He looked at Reed again.
“You better leave those E-cuffs on,” he said. “Otherwise, I may have to shoot you for terminal stupidity.”
* * *
Roy Blake peered down from the roof of the sheriff’s office and surveyed the street below. The dust was so thick he could barely see to the end of the block, and the wind whipped his hat away. The heat was hovering in the triple digits, and would get worse when the wind died. From this vantage point he looked for KK men, but didn’t see anyone immediately. Nick had said there might be a couple of dozen, but so far they were keeping out of sight.
Blake heard the gunfire from the Vega, distant and muffled, and wondered what it meant. He tried calling Nick on the headset but received no answer. He debated trying to get to the Vega and check it out, but Nick had told him to cover the street—and if Nick was right about the KK moving in from the north, he would be an easy target if he tried to cross the main street.
Barely a minute after the laser fire stopped, Blake heard hard heels clicking rapidly on the sidewalk. The sound came from his right, and a moment later he saw Dr. Taylor round the corner at a dead run and turn toward the Vega. She was carrying a medical bag.
Dr. Taylor had barely made half a block, and was angling across the street, when half a dozen laser bolts chipped the street in her path. As Taylor skidded to a stop, Blake heard a shout and saw two men emerge from between buildings. One held a rifle on the woman while the other trotted toward her with a pistol in his hand. Blake saw Taylor’s lips moving but couldn’t make out her words over the wind. Clearly she was distressed, and stood with her hands half raised.
For ten seconds Blake was undecided, but when the man with the pistol took aim at her head, there was no decision to make. Blake cut the man down with a single shot. The man with the rifle swiveled toward Blake and opened fire. Alice Taylor sprinted to safety and disappeared into the dust storm. The KK man was shooting blindly, with no clear idea where Blake was; Blake returned fire and the second man collapsed onto the sidewalk.
But Blake was sweating. Not from the heat, but from cold stress. If anyone was watching, he’d given away his position. It was time to move to another rooftop.
* * *
Nick walked carefully, his head spinning. The kick hadn’t broken his jaw, but it felt like it. He squinted against the dust and his own vertigo, staggering a little to regain his balance. His right hand was broken—the laser shot had actually hit the .44, but the “equal and opposite reaction” as the gun was knocked loose had caused the injury. It was also hurting like hell, but he didn’t think it would be a permanent injury. Nevertheless, he would have to do any further shooting with his left hand.
Dennis Green shoved a stumbling Harry Reed ahead of him as the three of them entered the alley behind the garage. Nick had planned on picking up Peloni as well, whom he’d left cuffed to the fuel pumps, but when they returned from Reed’s limo Peloni was gone. Someone had freed him, which only confirmed Nick’s belief that the KK had penetrated the entire town. He felt a sense of urgency as they made their way to the rear of the Vega, hoping everyone inside was still safe. Whatever was coming down, the Vega would probably be the final fallback position.
Nick checked the rooftops on either side of the alley as they reached the Vega’s kitchen door, but didn’t see anyone. Green tried the pressure plate, but it didn’t recognize his handprint. He tried to override it manually, but that didn’t work either.
A flurry of gunfire from the main street brought their heads up. Nick and Green glanced at each other, then Nick stepped back and fired his laser pistol into the door lock. It spewed fire and fizzled and smoked, then a tiny flicker of flame licked around the edges of the plate for a moment, and Green was able to kick it open.
“You’ll never get away with this!” Harry Reed squeal
ed as Nick shoved him through the door. “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”
“Maybe,” Nick told him. “But I figure everybody gets to make one. You already made yours.”
* * *
Joel Graves crouched by the corner of the U.F. Marshal’s office and peered down the street, squinting against the stinging dust. He was just in time to see the shootout between Roy Blake and the two KK men on the street. He watched with pounding heart and fingered the slug pistol in his hand, a Sirian model gunpowder weapon that one of the KK men had given him. He was dismayed to see Blake on the roof of the sheriff’s office, because that was his own destination, but after the shooting stopped he saw Blake leap across to the next roof and keep moving until he was two buildings down and barely visible in the dust storm. Blake crouched again and was looking toward the east.
Joel dashed across the street and ran inside the sheriff’s office.
The place was empty, as he had hoped it would be, and he quickly entered the hallway leading to the jail cells. Gerald Graves leaped to his feet at the sight of him.
“Joel! What the hell is going on out there?”
“I came to get you out, Dad. It’s just like you said—Mr. Reed sent some men to kill the marshal and recover the women he stole. We’ll all be safe in Texiana by tonight.”
“They’ll never find the women,” the elder Graves growled. “Walker sent them out of town. By now they’re scattered all over the serf villages.”
“We can always get more. Right now I’ve got to get you out of there.”
“This thing is locked with a sonic key. Do you have one?”
“No, but there must be one around somewhere. Do you know where Blake keeps it?”
“In his pocket, I think. There may be another one in his desk.”
“I’ll check it out. Wait here.”
“Where the hell do you think I’ll wait? Hurry up!”
* * *
At the sound of the alley door crashing open, Nathan shoved Kristina away and leaped up the basement stairs, diving to a firing position at the top with his pistol aimed at the door. He saw a disheveled little man wearing glasses stumble through.
“Freeze!” Nathan barked.
“Don’t shoot, Nathan!” Nick Walker called. “We’re coming in!”
Nathan sagged with relief and stood upright, watching as his father and Nick came in behind the strange little man. He joined them in the kitchen as Nick surveyed the dead men on the floor.
“Looks like you had some excitement here,” Nick said.
“They wanted Kristina,” Nathan explained. “Mr. Kline killed one of them, I got the other.”
“You’ll pay for this!” Harry Reed squawked. “These are Texiana police officers!”
“They’re hired killers,” Nick told him, shoving him toward the basement. “Is everyone okay here?” he asked Nathan.
“No. Mr. Kline’s been shot. He’s in a bad way. Dr. Taylor should be here any second.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when they heard running boots on the hard-wood sidewalk and the front door of the Vega swung open. Nathan leaped into the doorway to the dining room, his pistol leveled. He relaxed visibly as Dr. Taylor hurried toward him, medical bag in hand.
“It’s me, Nathan,” she said, then spotted Nick behind him. “Thank god you’re here, Marshal! Two men tried to stop me in the street, and I think one was about to shoot me.”
“Where are they now?” Nick demanded.
“Someone killed them from a rooftop. I think it was Roy Blake. Where’s Mr. Kline?”
“In the basement.” Nick pointed.
Alice Taylor stopped. “What happened to your hand?”
“It’s minor. Look at it later.”
She nodded and hurried down the basement steps. Nick glanced at Dennis Green, who still held Harry Reed by the arm.
“Keep an eye on him, will you? If he tries anything, shoot him.”
“Gladly. I was tempted to the first time.”
Nick turned to Nathan, who stared at him with the naked eyes of a man experiencing combat for the first time. It was a look Nick had seen before.
“You okay?” he asked the boy.
Nathan nodded. “Yeah, but I’m awfully glad you’re here.” He fought down a sob. “Those two men—they wanted to sell Kristina as a slave! We had no choice but to kill them.”
Nick squeezed his shoulder.
“Don’t shed any tears over them. Are the women okay in the basement?”
“Yeah, they’re fine.” Nathan wiped his eyes. “What’s going to happen now?”
“I have no idea. The next move is theirs, I think. I need you to secure that back door so it won’t open at all, then go up to Suzanne’s apartment and make sure no one can get in from the roof. After that, come back down and we’ll take stock. Okay?”
“On my way.”
* * *
Nathan left and Nick chinned his radio headset.
“Roy, are you okay? Where are you?”
“Nick!” Blake’s voice came back immediately. “What the hell is going on? Shooting all over the goddamn place!”
“I’m back inside the Vega. What’s your situation?”
“I’m across the street at the corner of C Street, on the roof. I had to shoot a couple of men but it’s quiet right now.”
“Let me know if anything moves. And keep your head down.”
Nick disconnected and headed down to the basement, which was starting to get crowded. Dr. Taylor was working on Willard Kline, who was conscious but quiet, gasping with pain. Kristina was kneeling beside him, helping the doctor when asked, and Maria was keeping to one side out of the way. Suzanne took Nick’s arm and pulled him against her, hugging him for long seconds. She followed that with a kiss.
“Sophia’s tears, Nick,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a Vegan blessing. I’ll explain it to you some other time.”
He nodded. “Are you okay here? Everyone holding up?”
“Yes, we’re okay. We had good men helping us. How long is this going to continue?”
Nick was about to reply when his porta-phone rang. He snatched it off his belt and thumbed the button, leaving it on speaker so everyone could hear.
“Nick Walker,” he said.
The silence that followed lasted only two or three seconds, but seemed much longer.
“Hello!” Nick said.
“I’m here, Marshal, you don’t need to shout,” Daniel Tatum’s voice said. “It looks like you’ve run out your string, doesn’t it? You killed some of our people, but now you’re all bottled up in that restaurant. So what’s your plan of action now? How long do you think you can hold out in there?”
“I guess that depends on what your intentions are,” Nick replied, his voice much calmer than he felt. “Maybe you should tell me exactly what you’re trying to achieve here.”
“I think we already made that clear,” Tatum said. “We want our slaves back.”
“And you want me dead.”
Tatum chuckled. “That would be a nice dividend, though it isn’t really necessary.”
Nick walked up the basement steps, sparing those in the basement from any threats Tatum might make. He put the phone to his ear.
“You probably know by now,” he told Tatum, “that the women are no longer in town. They’re scattered to the winds and you’ll be lucky to find even one of them. It should also be clear that your presence here violates just about every diplomatic standard known to government, not the least of which is called an act of war. So what the hell do you really want?”
Tatum chuckled again.
“I really want you to walk out the front door of the restaurant and surrender.”
“And then what?”
“And then you will face charges for the murder of three police officers from yesterday, plus however many more you’ve murdered today.”
Nick stood in the door between the kitchen an
d dining room, staring through the front window at the dust boiling down the street.
“I think I’m starting to understand,” he said.
“Good!”
“From the Sirian point of view,” he continued, “when a man shoots at me and I kill him in self defense, I’m guilty of murder. Is that how it works?”
“In your case, apparently so.”
“And what is it called when one of your men shoots Marshal Gates in the back while he’s sitting at his desk? Is this how your new confederacy is going to work?”
“I’m starting to lose patience with you, Walker!” Tatum said. “You’re on our planet, and we make the rules. You don’t have to like them, but we do. Now I would advise you to step outside and drop your weapons before your friends get hurt. If you care about them, you will cooperate and this can end.”
Nick thought about that for a moment. If he continued to defy these people, what were the odds he could win? And if he lost, what would happen to the residents of Kline Corners? He had no hope of relief—Colwell was too far away, and was only one man. Few other Federation assets were available on the planet and he was cut off from calling for help even if there had been.
“You might like to know,” he said slowly, “that Member of Parliament Harry Reed is my prisoner. If you care about your leader, you may want to rethink your position.”
Tatum’s laughter over the radio sounded genuine.
“What gave you the idea that Reed is my leader!” he said. “Reed is a local boss in Texiana, nothing more. He’s totally expendable. Go ahead and shoot him.”
Nick thought Tatum was bluffing, but couldn’t be sure.
“You said if I cared about my friends I would surrender,” he said. “What happens to them if I do decide to surrender?”
“Absolutely nothing. Our beef is with you, not with them.”
“Can I count on that? A couple of your men came in earlier looking for the girl who lives here. They wanted to sell her as a slave.”
“I personally guarantee that the girl will not be sold as a slave.”
Nick ran those words through his bullshit processor and filtered out what Tatum did not personally guarantee—that Kristina would not be raped or otherwise molested.