Assassin on Centauri B (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 7)

by John Bowers

  “What kind of password?”

  “One word. You choose.”

  Nick thought briefly.

  “Nathan.”

  “Nathan?” She looked puzzled. “Nathan is not word, is name.”

  “Nathan was a friend of mine who was killed. No one here is likely to know about that.”

  “Da, okay. Nathan.”

  The Rodina, she said, opened for business at five o’clock each evening, but the Petreykin family rarely showed up before nine. He had several hours to kill before he could even attempt to meet any of them.

  After she left, Nick debated what to do with himself. He was too impatient to sit around the apartment for six hours, but Polina had said the police would be looking for him, so walking the street in daylight was probably a bad idea. He should probably eat something, but his stomach was jumpy and he wasn’t hungry. He could take a nap, but in spite of being tired, he was too wired to sleep. He checked his watch several times, but the minutes seemed to crawl by.

  This isn’t my first rodeo—why am I so jumpy?

  Of course, he knew why. He had faced danger many times, in many forms, but never quite like this. He had never worked undercover, and certainly never played secret agent—or hired assassin. He was in unknown territory, literally and figuratively. The butterfly sensation was very much like he’d experienced before his first combat in the Star Marines.

  To deal with it, he had to divert himself.

  It was still daylight out, but he had to get out of the apartment. He opened his space bag and unpacked the outfit he would wear to the Rodina—casual slacks, a pullover shirt, running shoes, and a knitted cap to hide his tattooed head. Everything in black or dark blue, which he hoped would impress the Petreykins if he actually got to meet one of them. After changing into the new outfit, he slipped the apartment keycard into his shoe and left the building.

  Walking down the street, he felt very much as if he were in New York or San Francisco, strolling among concrete canyons created by the skytowers. The city bustled around him, noisy and vibrant. Hovercars swished overhead, surface cars pounded up and down the main east-west traffic lanes. Nick had no idea where he was going, but slipped on his sun blinders to hide his face. It seemed unlikely—or at least a very long shot—that a police patrol would spot and recognize him, so he walked to the end of the block and turned right. Merging into a steady stream of pedestrians that seemed like a column of ants, he walked toward the harbor.

  A fresh, ocean breeze whistled up the street, washing over him. For a few minutes he managed to let the stress drain out of him as he took in the sights and sounds and smells. Off to his left, several blocks away, new skytowers were under construction, giant cranes towering above the streets. The city was growing, exploding upward. It was already a sizeable city, but in a few years it would rival anything on Terra.

  As he walked block after block and gazed up at the towers, he remembered the concerns voiced by President White Wolf and the Vice President, a fear that Beta Centauri might ally with Sirius. If such an alliance ever took place, and a war with Sirius did materialize, it was entirely possible that Periscope Harbor might someday become a battleground. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of having to fight in these streets. Every building, every skytower, was big enough to conceal a full regiment of troops, and clearing them out would be a Herculean, impossible task. He fervently hoped that would never happen, and pitied any future Star Marine who might get caught up in it.

  Thankfully, if it ever happened, he would probably already be dead.

  He reached the waterfront and stopped, gazing across a wide, natural harbor toward a series of offshore islands. The breeze was stronger here, almost a gale. The sun was setting and he felt a bite in the wind as the evening chill became stronger. He gazed across a marina of private boats toward the docks where ocean-going cargo ships were tied up. Bright Klieg lights were already burning along the docks as cargo was moved from ship to shore and back; apparently the work never ended.

  He strolled down a long wooden pier to the very edge of the water, letting the negative ions calm his nerves. He stood there for twenty minutes, arms crossed, letting himself relax. The nearest island appeared to be a couple of miles away, just outside the harbor proper. Gazing at it, he spotted what looked like a giant dome, maybe a stadium. It appeared the islands—this one anyway—were inhabited.

  As the sun sank lower over the water and twilight began to gather, he was startled to see a flash of light in the sky, a flash of color. He frowned in confusion, but before he could react he saw another flash, then another, and…remarkably, patterns began to form in the atmosphere above him. He looked up, astonished, as the colors danced and shifted, fading in and out. Red, green, blue, and blends of all three. He glanced around, saw other people not far away, but they seemed oblivious. Apparently they were not surprised, so it must not be an abnormal phenomenon.

  The Aurora Borealis…on Beta Centauri?

  At sunset?

  No one had ever told him to expect such a spectacle. He stood there another thirty minutes, as the day became darker and the colors grew brighter, then they began to fade. By the time full darkness arrived, the colors were gone.

  Amazing.

  The universe was filled with wonders, and he had seen a few, but this was totally unexpected. He waited a few more minutes with the breeze gusting over him, then turned back toward the city. It was almost six o’clock. He would hit the Rodina around seven, and see what happened after that. He felt more relaxed now, more confident.

  Less jittery.

  It was time to get to work.

  Chapter 8

  The Rodina sat in the middle of the block on one of the east-west streets. Two blocks before he reached it, Nick saw the lighted marquee, rippling with color, and the crowd milling about on the sidewalk waiting to get in. The wind whistled up the street at his back, making him wish he had worn a jacket—but at least he had his knit cap, which protected his shaven head. He hunched his shoulders slightly and kept walking. A block from the club he picked up a faint throbbing, like an internal combustion engine, that seemed to pass through his feet from the sidewalk; as he reached the milling crowd, he could hear the music.

  Nick stopped at the edge of the crowd and surveyed the situation. Over a hundred people were waiting to be admitted, both men and women—but mostly young women. Over the years he had encountered his share of Rukranians, and based on that experience had considered the Rukes to be a coarse, ugly people. What he saw now belied that impression. Some of the men looked big and tough, but the women, most in their early twenties, were a surprise. They were hot, some so beautiful they almost looked Vegan. The air swirled with a mixture of scents, and he got at least one whiff of what had to be Vegan perfume.

  So much for preconceptions.

  He walked around the edge of the crowd to the other side of the entrance, but two big bouncers wearing denim jackets, jeans, and combat boots guarded the door; no one was getting past them without permission. Nick grimaced and shouldered his way toward the nearest bouncer. The man stood a foot taller and weighed close to three hundred Terra pounds. His wrinkled, shaven scalp was covered by colorful tattoos. He peered at Nick through narrow, hooded eyes.

  “How long is the wait?” Nick asked.

  The monster shrugged. “Club is full. When people come out, other people get in.”

  “I need to get inside.”

  “You wait.”

  “You don’t understand. I need to get inside.”

  The monster shrugged again.

  “People in hell need cold water. You wait.”

  Nick glanced down the street, then back to the bouncer.

  “Look, the cops are after me, okay? I need to talk to your boss.”

  The big man’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes widened just perceptibly.

  “You running from cops? Why you come here?”

  “I need a job. I understand your boss—”

  The big bou
ncer grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, slamming his back against the side of the building.

  “What you know about my boss? Are you police?”

  “What? No! I told you, the police are after me. I’m looking for—”

  “Stop talk. Don’t say other word.”

  The big man began patting him down, his rough hands covering every inch of Nick’s body. Nick spread his arms in non-resistance until he was done. The monster straightened up and glared at him.

  “Are you wearing wire?”

  “Did you find a wire?”

  “I ask question! You answer.”

  “No, I’m not wearing a wire. I don’t have implants. I just need to get off the street before the cops spot me.”

  “Do not worry about cops. What you want with boss?”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “Okay, listen—nobody talk to boss. Boss talk to you. Understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand. Can I please get inside so your boss can talk to me?”

  Nick was dimly aware that a small knot of people had exited the club and the second bouncer had allowed access to a few of those waiting to get in. He hooked a rope across the entrance and approached to help his partner.

  “V čëm zdes’ problema?”

  “Net problem. Èto kloun hočet vstretit’sja Rabotodatel’.”

  The second bouncer, slightly smaller than the first, and with more intelligent eyes, turned to Nick.

  “Kakov vaš biznes s rabotodatelja?”

  Nick stared at him.

  “I don’t have a fucking clue what you just said.”

  The second bouncer studied him for a moment.

  “Are you Federation?”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I just got in today.”

  “You arrested at airport?”

  Nick managed to look pained. “You heard about that?”

  The big man suddenly grinned.

  “Da, everybody hear about it. What you want here?”

  “Like I was telling your…friend…here—I need a job. I heard your boss might be hiring.”

  “What kind of job? What work you do?”

  Nick glanced around, then lowered his voice.

  “I’m a specialist, but I can do about anything. I just need an interview.”

  Both men stared at him for nearly thirty seconds, then the smaller one nodded.

  “You wait. Don’t move.”

  The bouncer stepped away and activated a collar implant, speaking quietly. The first bouncer, the brute, stood glaring at Nick as if daring him to move. Nick shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to look impatient. He put on an annoyed look.

  “How long is this going to take?”

  “What matter? You got somewhere to be?”

  Nick grimaced and heaved a sigh for the bouncer’s benefit. He studied the crowd waiting to get in. Few had paid any attention to the confrontation. Most were in conversation with each other, some of the women clinging to their dates for warmth, others huddling together against the wind. None appeared the least bit daunted by the cold, in spite of the fact that few were dressed for it.

  Nick waited five minutes. The second bouncer let a few more people through the entrance, then a young woman came outside and touched him on the arm. They conferred in low tones, glanced in Nick’s direction, then approached him.

  “Nicola take you inside,” the bouncer said. “You stay with her, or big trouble. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “You no leave without permission.”

  “Got it.”

  The bouncer stuck out his hand, palm upward.

  “Twenty russos.”

  “What?”

  “Is price of admission. Twenty russos.”

  Nick scowled. “I don’t have any russos.”

  “You don’t got money?”

  “Yeah, sure I do, but I just—all I have are terros.”

  “How many terros?”

  “I don’t know. A hundred, maybe.”

  “Gimme twenty terros.”

  “Look, I’m here for a job. I didn’t come to dance.”

  “No matter. Twenty terros. And two-drink minimum.”

  “Two drinks! I didn’t come to dr—”

  “You want inside? Twenty terros, two drinks. Or get lost.”

  Nick made a show of his disgust, but dug out his wallet and produced twenty terros. He handed them over.

  “How much are the drinks?”

  “You pay inside. Nicola show you.”

  Nick glanced at the girl, who stood eyeing him with a neutral expression. Both bouncers walked away, leaving Nick with the girl. She offered him a smile and took his arm.

  “Shall we?”

  She hooked an arm around his and snuggled up next to him, like a lover. Without another word, she led him through the entrance and into the club. They passed through a foyer where several people stood smoking, then into the club proper, where the thundering music became deafening. Nick had been in nightclubs before and wasn’t surprised by the scene, which was fairly universal. The main dance floor took up most of the room, with a long, curved bar along the wall at the right. A mezzanine surrounded the room on three sides, with several stairways leading up to it; the mezzanine featured private tables where people could sit and enjoy their drinks, or order a meal. At the far end of the dance floor was an elevated stage for musicians, but tonight the music was apparently prerecorded—no band was visible.

  The dance floor itself was a writhing mass of humanity. Perhaps five hundred people were bumping and grinding, elbow to elbow, hip to hip. Ninety percent of them looked to be under twenty-five, and as Nick had noticed outside, the girls were stunning. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, and every shade in between. Long hair, short hair, shaved and spiked hair, styles he’d never seen before. As Nicola nudged him toward the bar, Nick did a quick reassessment of everything he had ever felt or believed about the Rukes—that they were a primitive, undeveloped society. Keeping in mind that the crowd in the club did not represent the entire planet, he was nevertheless impressed—these young people were as modern as any of their contemporaries he had seen on Terra or Alpha Centauri.

  They reached the bar and Nicola nudged him toward a stool. Frowning, he sat down, but leaned over to speak to her. His words were lost in the tornado of sound that swirled around him. She smiled and reached into a pocket; she withdrew an earpiece and handed it to him. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear what she said. He plugged in the earpiece and suddenly heard her voice. For the first time, he realized she was wearing one as well.

  “What will you have to drink?” Nicola asked him.

  “I don’t want to drink. I came here for a job.”

  “You have to order two drinks, whether you drink them or not. It’s the rule.”

  “Why two drinks?”

  “One for you, one for me. I will have vodka.”

  Nick glanced at the shelves behind the bar where hundreds of bottles were on display, each reflected in the mirror that covered the wall.

  “I’ll have a scotch.”

  “What?”

  “Scotch.”

  She shook her head. “No scotch here. I never even heard of it.”

  “Shit.” He studied the bottles again. At least half seemed to contain vodka, but he also saw Ouzo, Metaxa, Schnapps, and several other varieties that he considered Eastern European. “Get me an Ouzo.”

  Nicola held up two fingers to the bartender and used a finger code to indicate their choice. A moment later the bartender set the drinks in front of them.

  “Forty russos.”

  Nick dug out his wallet again and produced forty terros. The bartender stared at them a moment, then shrugged and walked away.

  “You didn’t tip him,” Nicola said.

  “I’m a little short. That’s why I need a job. Next time I’ll tip him double.”

  Nicola sipped her vodka and Nick took a short slug of the O
uzo. It had been years since he’d tried it, but he wasn’t disappointed. It still had the kick of a mule and a pleasing licorice flavor. But he set the glass down—he needed to keep his wits.

  “When do I get to meet your boss?”

  “He isn’t here yet. It’s too early.”

  “What time does he show up?”

  “Whenever he wants to. But rarely before nine o’clock.” She smiled and set her vodka glass down. “Shall we dance?”

  “No. I really need to just—”

  She took his arm and dragged him off the stool toward the dance floor.

  “Relax. I told you, there is plenty of time. What’s your name?”

  “Nick.”

  “Really? I am Nicola.”

  “Yeah. I got that. Look, I really don’t want to dance.”

  “You rather go upstairs?”

  “Upstairs?”

  “To bedroom.”

  “No, I didn’t come here for that, either.”

  “Then we dance. Come on.”

  With a vague feeling that he was losing control of the situation, Nick let her pull him into the mass of sardines that swirled across the wide wooden floor. He had never been much of a dancer, but the music, in spite of the volume, was energizing. It was fast, throbbing, blood-pounding. The drums crashed like artillery and the air seemed electric. Lasers flashed along the ceiling. The crowd bobbed and bumped, no one touching anyone else, just individuals dancing together like matchsticks bouncing up and down.

  Nick moved his feet more or less by rote, with no idea what he was doing or how it should be done. Nicola, however, was a natural. She swung into the rhythm of the music and rode it like a surfer on a wave, her body swinging and swaying, her long brown hair flying. Nick watched her with a sense of pleasure, momentarily forgetting his own awkwardness. She was a beautiful girl, every bit as hot as those around her, with a slender, willowy body that years ago would have set his blood racing.

  But he was thirty-two years old now—she didn’t look a day over nineteen.

  The song seemed to go on forever, and then it blended into another so seamlessly that no one on the floor stopped moving. The sound was different, but the pace was just as frenetic. By the time the second one merged into a third, Nick was starting to get a feel for it, and felt less awkward as his feet seemed to find their own path. Nicola smiled as she noticed, and nodded her approval. From time to time Nick bumped into others, or they bumped into him, but no one seemed to care. The crowd continued to writhe, almost hypnotically…and the music did have a hypnotic element to it.