The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  He coughed, coughed again, and hung his head. After a few moments he raised it again. His gaze was piercing even if his voice was weak. "It isn't enough. At least once a year I get a plague somewhere. I have people starving and people dying, and I've no way to get them decent medical care. " Klein's thin voice grew animated with passion. His eyes glittered. "I won't have it. That's why I had people chase you down. Cost half my treasury, but by God, it was worth it."

  Aaron shook his head. "Sorry. I can't go home anymore. " Taking off his shirt, he turned so Klein could see his back. His scars were old and faded, but they were there. "Eleven years ago I had a local doctor go in and tear everything out. I haven't transferred to Jefferson since."

  Klein's face fell. "Well, hell, it's still good to see you. It's good. " His smile grew sad. "Everything might not be lost. I might gain something at this conference. I might convince them to help me if I threaten war."

  "A damn poor way to gain their goodwill."

  "What else can I do?" Klein demanded. "Do you want me to beg? You know as well as I do how well begging worked in our own world. They'll come into Chin and push their culture on us. They'll steal the land and try to govern my people. Aaron, I'm doing good here even if I use a large stick to do it. Given time, my people will become a nation in fact as well as in name. When that happens, Chin will be a full member of the international community. It'll be one of the countries dictating international law instead of being dictated to, and that will help my people progress further toward civilization. " He sighed. Deep lines formed on his face. "Or not."

  His eyelids drifted half closed. "Aaron, I tire easily. This body is failing. Leave me to my rest. We can talk later. I still have plans for you."

  "Later then. " Rising from his seat, Aaron moved to stand near the emperor. He touched the paper dry face with one hand. "Helmet, I loved you. I suppose I still do, but I make my own plans. Nobody else. Just me."

  Helmet's lips quivered upward, but the wrinkled eyelids closed. Aaron took one last look and left.

  A full dozen people crowded around the outside entrance. Half rushed into the tent as soon as Aaron left. The other half threw questions at him until Aybarra shoved them away.

  "Thanks," Aaron told Aybarra and struck out for the main house.

  Aybarra jumped in front of him. "Not so fast, Turner. The least you can do is tell me how everything went. What does he want you for?"

  Aaron looked into the larger man's face and realized for the first time that Samuel Aybarra was honestly concerned about his emperor. The ex-fed was a true convert to the Helmet Klein cause.

  "He wanted me to transfer material over from our world. I told him I no longer have the ability. He has to work with the resources this world gives him."

  "We've known that for years," Aybarra protested. "There must be more. Helmet's mind is too convoluted to have only one plan."

  Aaron studied the man, taking in the changes. Aybarra was older, but if anything, he was tougher, stronger than he had been on the day he saved Aaron's life. At another time, Aybarra tried to kill him. To Aaron's way of thinking the scales evened out.

  "Klein told me nothing."

  He pushed past Aybarra and weaved through the tents. Squeezing between two, he almost ran into several women squatting over the red coals of a cook-fire. They shifted quickly toward him, hands touching weapons and then relaxed. One stood to confront him.

  "This Chin territory," she said in broken Jut. "Why here?"

  Aaron looked at her. She was the first Chin he had actually taken the time to study. Only five feet tall, she had shoulders impressively broad, and her legs were thick muscular trunks. Her pocked and scarred face was a map of injury and disease. Aaron was both fascinated and horrified, but when he turned his attention to the other four women, he realized her features were typical.

  "What you want," she demanded.

  "The emperor wanted to see me."

  Her expression relaxed. She sat back on the ground. "He good man. Many live."

  One of the women flipped the food in the pan. It released a sharp sizzle. Smoke rose. Not knowing what to do or say, Aaron shrugged and picked his way past them.

  "Hey."

  He turned back. The spokeswoman gestured with a wooden plate holding small chunks of meat.

  "Try?"

  Aaron's first impulse was to refuse, but he doubted refusal was a good idea when he might have to spend considerable time among these people. He shouldn't start their relationship with an insult.

  "Sure, I'll try it. " He went back, sat down at her side, and took the plate. The tough meat proved palatable only because of the thin and strongly spiced sauce covering it. When the woman handed him a skin flask, he drank from it warily. The drink was strange flavored and yet surprisingly good. When he lowered the flask, they gestured for him to keep it. He drank it half empty before realizing he had broken his vow again. The liquid was alcoholic. After eating the rest of the meat, he decided what the hell, in for a penny. The rest of the flask's contents went down easily.

  Standing, he bowed low while the scared women giggled. He took their hands in turn, kissed their fingertips, and made his leave.

  Thwack.

  Aaron jumped.

  Damn if one of them hadn't swatted his behind. They broke into laughter, and he felt an alcoholic grin spreading across his face. A thought struck him and he turned back.

  "What was it? What did I eat?"

  The woman who knew a little Jut pointed at his empty plate. "Horse. " She gestured toward the flask. "Blood and milk."

  Aaron's stomach lurched as they laughed at him again. Stumbling a few paces away, he leaned against a small tree while his insides settled. In all, he reflected, it had been a pretty good use for a horse. For the first time he had bitten one of them instead of the other way around. Still, he thought it strange they would cook a horse when the Chins were reputed to have so few of them. Maybe it was really old. That would explain the meat's toughness.

  "…find her?"

  The voice came from the other side of a not too distant tent.

  "No, but I will. Your face looks like crap. She broke your nose good."

  "I'll get the bitch, and then I'll give her what I had planned and more. She'll squirm."

  "She liked it until we got rough. I thought she would fuse herself to your face when she kissed you."

  Aaron frowned as the slow anger boiling beneath the surface pushed forward. He strode around the tent to see two men, flasks in one hand and cigars in the other. The blond man facing Aaron had black rings radiating around his eyes. His nose, packed with cloth, was purple, black, and misshaped. The other man had long brown hair. A dark mustache decorated his lip, and a short goatee covered his chin.

  He looked at Aaron with disbelief. "I know you. I swear I do."

  He moved closer, weaving slightly from the drink. His head craned forward. His eyes squinted as he brought Aaron's face into focus.

  "You're the crip--the golden boy. Hey, Bill, this here guy is the crip old General Field set such store by. Do you remember me, crip?"

  Taking a closer look, Aaron snorted. "Johnston?"

  "Always said I'd be the one to kill you. Aims wanted you, but I knew you were mine."

  "I don't remember much about you. " Aaron lied. He did remember Johnston. The man was a killer with a sadistic streak.

  Johnston snorted contempt. "No? Why should you? I was just a grunt. I slaved while you were given everything. Well, I'm the one who has everything now. I'm second under Bill, and he heads the largest anit-Klein faction. This time I'm the man, and you're the nobody."

  "Still look like scum to me," Aaron confessed. "Then again, I'm a little drunk, and my eyes aren't working so very well."

  Aaron was suddenly lying on the ground. Looking up, he saw the braggart leering down at him, fists clenched at his side. The man was fast. Aaron had not seen him move.

  Rising, Aaron smiled while blood trickled from his split lips and off his chin. He sto
od among a crowd of watching Chins, too drunk to feel pain. Off to the side, Aybarra worked his way through the crowd.

  "Hold it, Turner," Aybarra's voice faintly called.

  "I believe your action gives me adequate reason to issue a challenge. " Aaron felt proud of his voice. It didn't quaver. Surprising, since he was scared as hell. "I call the challenge. You call the weapon."

  Johnston smiled evilly. "You carry a gun. That'll do for me. Leave the gun in the holster. Ten paces, turn, and draw. Got it? One hour."

  The other man laughed quietly. "I always wanted to kill you, Turner. Guess I get to watch you die instead."

  "You're next," Aaron told him, wondering who the hell he was.

  Aybarra pulled Aaron from the crowd. "You're drunk. Have you any idea what you've done? Johnston is the fastest and best shot we have."

  "He's a bastard," Aaron said flatly. "I won't be so drunk in an hour."

  "You'll be drunk enough to get yourself killed. I saw what happened. You set the entire thing up. Why?"

  Aaron's face turned hard as he stared dead on at Aybarra. "You were there when he molested my wife."

  "Damn!" Aybarra spat at the ground. "That gal was yours? What happened to the two you had before?" He waved a hand. "Never mind. There isn't any way out of this so we need to sober you up. Start walking."

  Fifteen minutes later Kim found them.

  "Is he drunk?" she demanded angrily of Aybarra.

  "Only a little," Aaron answered for him. "Kim, I heard them talking about Melna. She didn't fight them. She kissed him willingly. I should have expected it of her. I suspected it. I never suspected Cathy, but then I never married her either. No damn good. Women."

  "Oh, shut up. You are drunk. " She dug into the pouch at her side and pulled free several wax sealed packets. She put all but one away. "I am going to mix this with some water and then I will give it to you. It will not make you sober, but it will make you forget you are drunk. Do not go away."

  Five minutes later she came back with a cup. The green tinged water it held tasted like bitter lemon peel. Aaron choked it down. Within minutes, his head felt like it was filled with bursting bubbles. His skin tingled. His hands twitched.

  "I can't shoot like this," he protested.

  "Give it ten more minutes. You will feel more normal then."

  She was right.

  "How much longer do I have?" he asked once his nerves settled. He felt clear-headed, but his limbs still felt sluggish. The holovision commercials had always said drinking killed. He never thought it would kill in quite this way. Aaron made a promise he would be angry at himself if his drinking got him dead.

  Unholstering his gun, he checked to make sure a round was chambered.

  "Not long at all," Aybarra said. "An area is being cleared now. More than two hundred people have gathered. " His voice was filled with disgust.

  "They'll be disappointed," Aaron said. "I don't plan on killing Johnston--I hope. He should only get one shot at me so I might live through this, too. " Aaron gave them both a meaningful look. "I have a knack. I hit whatever I point at with a bow or gun. " Drawing in a deep breath, he released it shakily. "Of course my Stone is gone, and I'm not usually so scared. It isn't often that people shoot back. Look, my knees are trembling."

  Kim grabbed his shoulder. "My promise dies with you. When you are gone, I will handle things in my own way."

  Aaron shook her hand off. "I won't die. " He thought about his statement for a few moments and gave her a half-sick grin. "At least I don't think I will. Let's go."

  People cleared a path for him. Johnston and two other men waited in a long, hundred foot wide corridor. Off to the side, the familiar-faced broken-nosed blonde watched with an expectant grin. Aaron walked slowly. He felt alone.

  Showing no signs that he had been drinking, Johnston bore a snake smile. Like Aaron, he wore a shoulder holster.

  "I wondered if you'd have the nerve."

  Aaron's face felt like carved stone. He felt hollow inside. His heart hammered.

  "How do you want to do this?" he asked.

  One of the two strangers spoke up. "I'm Mister Henry DeClare. It has been my sad duty to officiate over nineteen duels. The gentleman beside me is Doctor Horvance. Do you agree to our involvement in this matter or is there someone else you would prefer to officiate? Mister Johnston has already given his approval."

  "You'll do fine," Aaron told him.

  "You do understand this type of duel is unusual. The weapons are not ones I'm familiar with. Mister Johnston has said the proper method is for the two of you to stand back to back and take ten counted paces in opposite directions. When I yell 'draw' you are to turn quickly and use the weapons. He states this duel is to the death. Is this acceptable to you?"

  Aaron swallowed. "I guess so. " His stomach felt queasy. Action always went better for him when he didn't have time to think about things.

  "Mister Johnston, will you stop this duel if an apology is offered?"

  "I'll stop it if he crawls on his belly to me," Johnston said evenly,"or if he has a heart attack. Either of those will suit me well enough."

  "Mister Turner, will you forgo this duel. Remember, unless you answer yes, the duel will take place."

  "No," Aaron answered. His nerves were beginning to steady. That was good since they might soon be still forever.

  "Then stand with your backs to one another. I will count out the ten paces."

  Turning his back, Aaron looked down the long empty corridor stretching before him. Women and men stood on either side, forming a human wall. Some faces appeared excited. Others seemed concerned. The Nefran ambassador looked anticipatory. Swallowing, Aaron felt Johnston's shoulders press against his.

  "One."

  Aaron took a step forward. "You gentlemen might want to step off further to the side," he warned. "A stray bullet could easily kill either of you."

  "Two."

  Aaron smiled as he took another step. The voice was much further away.

  His lips were dry, and he suddenly felt sober. On his fifth step, he stiffened his shoulders and shook his arm to loosen it. By his seventh step, he was ready. Arm, shoulder, legs, his whole body felt ready for action. Johnston would be fast, but how fast? Aaron had watched his draw back at the militia compound. The man had been lightning then, but he was years older now. Had he slowed? Probably not. Aaron wouldn't get the first shot off.

  "Eight."

  Was Johnston a sure thing killer or was he a showboat? The chest or the head? The chest was sure. The head was chancy but impressive. Johnston liked to impress.

  "Nine."

  Nobody stood in front of him. He was alone. Even when a crowd stood to either side, he was alone, just as he had been alone for the last several years. He had lived alone, afraid to let anyone grow close.

  "Ten"

  When Aaron stopped, a faint murmur of voices reached him. Wind brushed against his face, kissing him with the scent of fresh cut grass.

  "Gentlemen."

  The head.

  "Draw."

  Aaron spun. Knees bending, his head twisted until it lay flat across his left shoulder. His gun was almost pulled free when Johnston's barrel leveled and spat flame.

  Too fast. Johnston's bullet hummed an inch from Aaron's ear.

  Aaron's knees continued folding as his gun finished pulling free, pointed at Johnston.

  Two shots sounded almost as one. Dirt sprayed from the ground beneath Aaron's knee just before it landed. Johnston grunted and fell, caught himself with his free hand on the ground, and swung his gun back into line. With one leg sprawled out behind him, free hand supporting his weight, Johnston's face was intense concentration.

  Too late. This game was already over.

  Aaron's gun jerked against his palm, and Johnston fell face down into the earth, dropping his weapon.

  Slowly standing, the automatic held ready in his hand, Aaron watched while Johnston looked up. The man's eyes streamed frustrated tears. Frowning, Aaron al
lowed his arm to fall until his gun hung by his side.

  "Your move," he said in a voice so quiet the sound barely traveled to the wounded man.

  Johnston watched Aaron warily. He flicked a glance down to his fallen weapon, less than half-a-foot from his hand. He inched his hand forward.

  "Bastard!" He grabbed.

  Aaron fired from his waist.

  Johnston's gun flew through the air.

  Aaron fired three more times. With every shot he sent the gun higher. People ran as pieces rained down.

  Taking two tries to holster his automatic, Aaron watched the doctor run out on the field and begin to staunch Johnston's bleeding. His body trembled, but his mind felt clear. His limbs felt steady. He waved Aybarra off but allowed Kim to take his arm and lead him away. Her hand clutched his shoulder as they wound through the grounds to the manor and then up to their suite. Once there, she pushed him into a chair in the sitting room. A long time passed before Aaron trusted his voice.

  "Nobody died."

  "Idiot. " Kim glared. She sat beside him, grabbed his head, and twisted it to one side to get a better view. "Half an inch further in and you would be dead."

  Aaron pulled his head away from her grip. "He hit me? I don't feel it."

  "You will feel it, I promise you. Why did you play with him? Four times. He almost hit you four times. " Her hands rested on his shoulders.

  "I only remember him shooting once."

  "Shut up and let me stop this bleeding."

  A few minutes later she was satisfied his face would live.

  "Say good-by to your good looks. The scar will be ugly."

  "Doesn't matter. I've no one to impress. Besides, I always carry make-up with me."

  "Idiot," she muttered again, but her frown was not entirely sincere.

  Chapter 18

  Melna tried to get friendly that night, but Aaron pushed her away. He felt like hell for doing it, but his face hurt. He had just crippled a man, and she wasn't innocent in the affair. Perhaps he was being unfair. He had not told her of the duel. Thinking he had been injured by a fall from a horse, she tried to be solicitous, but he wouldn't allow it.