The Centaurus Legacy (The Adventures of Heck Thomas)

by Tom Bielawski

  “He’s got the blood of Bill Doolin in them veins,” growled Garret, his eyes still on Dooly. “Your family has a promise to keep, don’t they boy?” Heck turned to look at Dooly. The proof, and the shame, was in his eyes. It was true, he was the descendant of Bill Doolin. Still, what could that mean? How did this criminal know and why was he telling Heck?

  Heck knew a lot about Garret McKormick and the Tombstone Gang he ran with. They all haled from Tombstone Drift, another large floating city in space. It was the most lawless place in the system and one that was not part of the Commonwealth.

  “How do you know so much about him?” asked Heck, noticing his partner’s uncharacteristic lack of an emotional response.

  “Why, we’re neighbors,” grinned Garret. “The Doolin family grudge is legendary on Tombstone Drift. Ain’t that so, Deputy Marshal Doolin?” Garret let out a laugh and his crew smirked but did not engage. They were still ready for a standoff, though it seemed to Heck they were focused on Dooly. Dooly smiled a dark smile, the promise of violence in his eyes. A look that Heck knew well. So there was more to Dooly than he realized. Was this one of those moments where his survival sense was telling him something? This confluence of events was starting to disturb to him. And what kind of family holds a three century grudge, anyway?

  “Fine, consider me warned,” said Heck shaking his head. “I need Virgil.”

  Garret nodded to one of his men, who departed into the shadows. Then he turned to Heck, “Marshal, you and me’re from different worlds. But we are alike in one way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We both know that when something ain’t right, it needs right fixin’. Your friend there, needs right fixin.’ You did it for me, I’ll do it for you.”

  “Thank you for the generous offer, Garret.” Marshal Thomas extended his hand to the man whom he had helped to escape the gallows. Garret took his hand and shook it warmly and nodded at the silent communication that passed between the two. Thomas would take the warning seriously. “But I need Deputy Marshal Doolin for a while longer. Whatever side of the law his ancestors were on three centuries ago, doesn’t matter to me now.”

  “It should, Marshal. It should.”

  Garret’s man returned. “Seems that Virgil wants to see you after all Marshal.”

  Heck Thomas and Stephen Doolin followed Garret’s man deeper into the alleyway, winding through piles of refuse and sleeping vagrants. Finally they arrived at a nondescript door. With a whispered word, the door slid open and the pair left the dark alley behind. Inside was a world of light and warmth and opulence. It was crowded and lively with music and dancing. There were also drugs and prostitutes, but the room was remarkably peaceful. Virgil ran a tight ship.

  A few glances came his way but no one took particular notice of the pair of lawmen as they walked through the crowded room. Dooly looked longingly at pretty Asian girl in a mini-skirt at the bar. She looked back at him smiling, her open blouse suggesting a good time would be had. Heck laughed at his partner and the pair continued on.

  “How come no one’s comin’ to mess with us, boss? It can’t be everyday a pair of lawmen walks into the lair of Virgil Vargas, Viceroy of the Portside City Domain.”

  “Everyone here already knows why we’re here. They know we’re here for information, not to arrest anyone,” Heck held his breath for a moment as the pair walked through a cloud of blue smoke, the kind that causes hallucinations. The last thing he needed now was a cloudy mind.

  Safely on the other side of the crowd he said, “They know my reputation. I don’t take on crap cases. If I come after you, you deserve it. If I come after you, I’ll be honest and fair and I’ll help you figure out how to get your trouble righted without too much pain. They respect me because of that.”

  “And because you ain’t afraid to use your missiles!”

  “That too.”

  ***

  “Well, well. If it ain’t my pal Marshal Thomas.” the baritone voice carried across the room.

  Virgil, as the head of his own very successful gang, liked to hold court. So much so that he had a throne room designed just for his meetings with his underlings and those wishing to do ‘business’ with him. Virgil played the part, too. He was an imposing figure, large framed and black skinned with short hair. He wore a fine suit of dark gray with a white shirt and a royal blue tie. A circlet of gold with a few modest sapphires and rubies adorned his brow. Contrary to the appearance of his back-alley underlings, Virgil paid his men very well.

  “Lord Virgil,” said Heck respectfully. He and Virgil went back a long way and Virgil was one of Heck’s best informants. “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you. You as well, my friend,” Virgil replied warmly. With a nod at Dooly he said, “Who is this?”

  “Deputy Marshal Stephen Doolin, my partner.” With that the warmth vanished from Virgil’s face as Dooly bowed. “Well met, Deputy.”

  Heck didn’t like the fact that so many of these criminals knew Dooly so well. Heck knew Dooly had a spotty past, but there was nothing criminal there. Nothing at all that would have precluded him from going to the Academy and becoming a full-fledged Marshal like himself. A fact that Heck had wondered about, but not given much thought to. Now he was beginning to wonder.

  “Guards, clear the room please. The Marshal and I have some business to attend.” The gathered throng of underlings and ‘clients’ looked at Marshal Thomas in awe as they were ushered out by the armed guards; it was very rare that Virgil met with anyone alone.

  “I need some help, Virgil,” he offered after the room cleared.

  “I should say you do!” Virgil exclaimed, stepping down from his throne and urging the lawmen to be seated at an ornate table covered with hot food.

  “The destruction of the CS Marauder was an incredible feat.”

  “That wasn’t me!”

  Virgil was definitely impressed by the destruction, which irritated Heck. But Virgil was a criminal after all, compunction was not a trait well respected in his field.

  “I never said it was, Marshal. In fact, I know it wasn’t.”

  Virgil sliced off a piece of a giant stuffed turkey that looked like it was made especially for a Thanksgiving feast. Dooly loaded a plate with hunks of meat and gravy and took an ice-cold beer from a bowl on the table. Heck wasn’t in the mood to eat.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. What’s happening?”

  “You’re being set-up. From the inside.” Virgil’s sideways glance wasn’t lost on Heck.

  “How much time do I have?”

  “Way I see it, you got about a day before they put you on the most wanted list,” Virgil was trying hard not glare at Dooly. “My sources tell me they want to keep this quiet if they can. But not much is going to stop the whole Commonwealth Fleet from hunting you down once they figure out CS Marauder’s destruction was tied to Sixkiller’s missiles.”

  “Why do you want to help us, anyways?” asked Dooly, eying Virgil dangerously. Heck could already tell Virgil didn’t like Dooly, and that wasn’t going to be good for Dooly’s health if he kept on questioning.

  “The Marshal and I have an understanding. And I am not helping you, I am helping the Marshal. If you want to leave my kingdom alive you’d do well to remember that, Stephen William Doolin!” Dooly flashed a dangerous look at Virgil but Heck put a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

  “Easy, Virgil is a friend.” Dooly settled down and contented himself to downing another beer. Heck noted Virgil’s emphasis on Dooly’s middle name, another subtle warning about his partner. “And, if I’m wanted, you are too.”

  “Virgil, I hate to admit this. But, I’ve never been in this kind of trouble before,” Heck said, genuinely disturbed. It was a bad feeling going from one of the Service’s best Marshals to the most wanted list. “I’m not sure how to proceed.”

  “You know there’s always a place for you in my kingdom,” he jested.

  “Thanks, but I need to clear our names.”
>
  “Well, I can’t do that for you. But I can help you escape Commonwealth notice,” Virgil stopped eating for a moment as one of his men entered and whispered into his ear, then departed. “Heck, how long has it been since you left the Regency?”

  “A few hours, why?” The dark man’s skin seemed almost pale at that moment. “Why, Virgil?”

  “Call Laylara,” was all he said. Heck whipped out his holophone and called the one he had given to Laylara. The holophone beeped in that strange way that all phones did on Churchill Drift, before it was answered. Relief flooded through him when the holophone clicked on. Then dread filled him when an accented voice answered.

  “Tak?”

  “Wh-where is Laylara?” Heck demanded in his intimidating Marshal’s voice. He didn’t notice at the time, but later he would recall Dooly hadn’t seemed surprised.

  “Ah, Marshal Thomas,” the condescending voice seemed happy to Heck, making him angrier.

  “What have you-”

  “Spare me,” the voice interrupted, a female voice. “Your girlfriend’s life is important to you. Tak?” Heck’s heart was racing. What had he gotten her into? How was he going to get through this? Kidnappings almost never went well in situations like these. Business Mode.

  “Fine,” he said, emotion dropping away. “What do you want, Yulia?”

  “Ahh, you begin to see. Good. I am in control, not you. If you want to see your pretty khokana again, you will dispense with your lawman talk, tak?”

  “Fine. How do I know she isn’t dead?” There was a muffled sound on the other end and the holophone was passed to someone else.

  “Tell her to stick it, Heck!” came Laylara’s feisty voice.

  “Lay-”

  “She is alive. For now, tak?”

  Heck wanted to nothing more than to kill this woman. Forget bringing her to justice, he was going to kill her.

  “You will do three things for me, Marshal Thomas. Three. Or you will find what’s left of her carcass strapped to your cruiser.”

  “Enough threats, Kharkov! Get on with it!”

  “Tak. First I need some enriched uranium, five kilos to be exact.”

  “Hell, is that all? I’ve got that in my cruiser!” he answered in his best smart-ass voice.

  “Good,” answered Kharkov. “Because you have one Earth-day to deliver it to Ceres Drift.”

  “Damn. What do I do after that?”

  “We will call you. Do not delay, Marshal. You are wanted for destruction of CS Marauder and the murder of its crew. Such a terrible act of cowardice!” the holophone clicked off, the remnants of Kharkov’s cackling laughter echoing in his mind. Heck swore softly, Kharkov knew about CS Marauder. Had she done that? Where did she get his missile signature?

  “What do we do now, boss?” asked Dooly. Heck eyed him, analyzing, wondering. None of his missiles had disappeared. How had she gotten the signature? It didn’t matter now. He had to get Laylara back.

  “We get some enriched uranium.”

  “Damn, Thomas!” exclaimed Virgil. “You just going rogue, then?”

  Marshal Thomas looked away from his partner and gave Virgil a serious look. “Yes, and I need your help.”

  “Me? How the hell am I supposed to get you enriched uranium?” he demanded as Heck smiled. “You know that isn’t used anywhere but on certain Commonwealth spacecraft!”

  Heck kept smiling.

  “Yeah, boss. How is he going to get that?”

  “Because Virgil, is the king.”

  “Well, I suppose it might be I know someone who knows someone,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. “The problem is, my person won’t transport something like that. You’re going to have to go and get it yourself.”

  “Fine. Sixkiller can store it safely in its vault.”

  “Good.” Virgil nodded and tapped a button on his table. Then a hologram of a person appeared. “Xenon! How are you?”

  “Cut the crap, Virgil,” came the staticky response. “I’m busy, what do you want?”

  “Let’s say I have a friend who needs something you can supply. Something in warehouse five, perhaps?”

  The hologram was silent. Heck couldn’t see any identifying features of the person, but he doubted the image was anything but an avatar anyway. These guys were too smart to put their real faces over the comm waves.

  “Then I’d say you’re out of your mind. No way.”

  “It’s very important, Xenon. Name your price.”

  Heck was taken by Virgil’s words. Virgil hadn’t stayed alive and been successful by being generous. Yet he was risking a lot for Heck Thomas right now. He looked at Virgil questioningly, but Virgil waved him off.

  “Name it, Xenon. I don’t have all day.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “We need enough to fill one of my armrests with.”

  Dooly looked at Heck questioningly. Heck just nodded. They were talking in codes that only the two of them understood.

  “Ten.”

  Virgil exhaled deeply. “Seven.”

  “No bargain, Virgil. Ten.”

  “Fine,” nodded Virgil, this was going to be very dangerous. Heck wondered how he was going to pay Virgil back. He put the thought from his head. He’d come and work for Virgil as a bodyguard for the rest of his life if it meant getting Laylara back safely. “Ten it is, Xenon.”

  “Where and when?”

  “You know where. As for when...” Xenon paused. “Seven,” drifted Xenon’s voice as the hologram clicked off.

  “Do you know where Alamo Drift is, Heck?”

  “Alamo Drift?” demanded Dooly. “That’s a deserted reactor from two centuries ago. Unstable as hell!”

  “And,” said Heck. “Exactly where we might find five kilos of enriched uranium.”

  “What do you think they want with that, boss?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “There are far better and safer ways of creating nasty weapons without using enriched uranium. That practiced died out nearly a hundred years ago.”

  “I’ve been hearing rumors about the Ryevolutzia, Heck.” Thomas looked to Virgil, questions in his eyes. “Have you heard of the wormhole?”

  “Between the Asteroid Belt and Jupiter?” Virgil nodded in response. “It’s a legend, a myth. No one has ever proven it’s even there.”

  “Right,” said Virgil. “The word is that Ryevolutzia have scientists that have proven its existence and are preparing a device that will control it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” offered Dooly, wiping beer from his chin.

  “That may be,” said Heck. “But that may be why they need enriched uranium.”

  “It all but disappeared after that failed expedition through the wormhole three centuries ago. It was outlawed on Earth and you can only get it now by scavenging abandoned drifts, or from some rogue nation on Earth. Even then, it’s rare. Terrorists won’t even touch the stuff anymore.”

  “That certainly adds a piece to the puzzle, Virgil.”

  “We will talk about how you’re gonna pay me back later, Marshal. For now, take these cards.” Virgil handed Heck some small vid cards. “Those are your new identities and a data card that will mask Sixkiller’s vapor signature and change her comm signatures. Good thing she’s unmarked.”

  Heck nodded. His stomach twisted as he took possession of the cards, his life was gone. He was about to become an outlaw, one of those men hunted by people like himself. He’d never be Marshal Heck Thomas again. Ever. He looked at Dooly.

  “I’m in boss.”

  Of course he was. Then he angrily reminded himself that he shouldn’t be angry. Cold and calculating, that’s how you win. “Thank you, Virgil. I may just take you up on that job offer after this is done.”

  Virgil laughed, heartily. “Like hell you will, Heck.”

  “Like hell I will,” agreed Heck Thomas.

  ***

  David Hall climbed out of the cab on Baker Street and closed the door. He walked along the si
dewalk in the dreary overcast day, head down but peering this way and that from beneath the brim of his hat. He was angry. Angry at himself for being duped by Revelier’s shrewdness and angry at Revelier for being, well, himself. Just when Hall had finally decided to stand up to Revelier, the sneaky little man duped him into a terrible assignment.

  Hall read all the reports from informants working on the Drift. Something smelled funny to him. Why would someone like Heck Thomas all of a sudden go rogue? What sense was there? He guessed that some of the reports had been doctored, probably by Revelier. But why? To get back at him for stealing a case from the Bureau? That hardly seemed a logical response, even for the vindictive Revelier. No, there was a piece missing here.

  Hall nearly tripped over a bum lying on the sidewalk, “Sorry, pal.” He stepped over the man and then something caught his attention. The way the man was laying down, sprawled out. Most street peddlers would have had a basket or a cup, asking for coins. One arm was twisted under him, awkwardly. His neck was bent oddly, even though it was covered by an old news vid.

  He bent down and moved the vid. Sure enough the man’s neck wasn’t broken, but was definitely in a position no living person would assume. Turning him over, he saw a bullet hole in the man’s chest, blood staining his brown leather jacket. The clothes were finely made, not likely to be found on any established vagrants in Portside. Hall’s mind raced, but he had a duty to see what was happening here, and at least notify the authorities. Sirens blared in the distance and he suspected he wouldn’t need to call them. Even though it went against every fiber of his police officer’s being to disturb a crime scene that wasn’t his, Hall decided to check the man’s wallet.

  He quickly slipped the ID vid out and into his pocket, then stood up. He retrieved his holophone from his pocket and dialed 999 to get the police. As he suspected they were on the way already. Odd, considering no one around seemed to even notice the man was there.

  He stepped back away from the scene and decided to leave before the constables arrived. By the time the police had located the scene, Hall was two blocks away. The city’s surveillance cameras would have recorded his presence but he knew how to change his identity easily enough to avoid any confrontations. He ducked into a nearby fast food joint, mingled in the crowd and casually tossed his hat into a waste bin. He ordered some food from the counter and walked to the back where he set it down on an empty table and proceeded to the rest room. When he came out, he had a mustache which he wasn’t wearing before and he’d reversed his outer and undershirt and was wearing a jacket someone had left unattended on a hook in the restroom.