by John Bowers
“That would be just after Saracen got here.”
“You said he was a terrorist. How does the union play into that?”
“Maybe it doesn’t. I could be dead wrong about this, but right now I’m wondering if Saracen may have concluded that blowing up children doesn’t further his cause very well and has decided on a new strategy.”
“What kind of strategy?”
Nick shrugged.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, propagandize ‘em.”
“I don’t follow.”
Victoria’s eyes gleamed.
“I think I know what you’re getting at,” she told Nick. “The underlying philosophy of communism and labor unions is pretty similar. Start with a union, let the class divide take root, and then go from there.”
“Exactly. Once people get the idea that wealthy people are taking advantage of them, it’s very easy to foment a revolution.” He turned to Sheriff Thomas. “You may be facing a much bigger problem than you realize. Not right away, but five or ten years down the road, you could be looking at a bloodbath.”
Thomas looked startled. “Are you serious?”
Nick nodded. “You said you came from Terra. Where, exactly?”
“Montana, North America.”
“So you’ve studied Terran history. Ever hear of the Russian revolution? Red China? Vietnam, Cuba, Cambodia? North Korea?”
Thomas shrugged. “Vaguely. I wasn’t much of a history student.”
“Read up on it. In the pre-Federation era, every one of those countries and several others adopted communism. In every case, people were killed in the process, over a hundred million altogether. If something like that gets started here, it could cost half your population, maybe even destroy your civilization. If this planet became communist, nobody in his right mind would ever settle here, so immigration would dry up, and whoever survived the revolution would exist in the most primitive fashion you can imagine.”
“Jesus!”
“Who’s in charge of the union?”
“Guy name of Bert Carter. Young guy, about twenty-five. His old man started it but he died last year and the kid took over.”
“Where is the meeting going to take place?”
“Railroad warehouse, about five blocks from here. Eight o’clock.”
“What would you like from me?”
“Maybe you could keep an eye on the crowd, try to spot trouble and defuse it before it starts.”
“And what will your men be doing?”
“The same thing, hopefully.”
Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Will I be armed?”
“Look, Walker, I don’t want any gunplay if it can be avoided, you understand? Just do whatever you can to keep things cool. These guys are going to be yelling at each other and I expect there will be some name-calling, but if we can limit it to that, then I’m happy.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Should I be armed?”
Thomas glanced at the bulge under Nick’s left arm.
“No more than you already are.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a badge, which he tossed to Nick. “You’re now officially a deputy sheriff, at least for tonight. I hope you won’t need that badge, but it should cover you if you have to take any kind of action.”
Nick looked at the badge, then slipped it into his pocket.
“What about me?” Victoria asked.
“What about you?” Thomas looked surprised.
“Where do you want me?”
“In your hotel room. If things get out of hand, nobody will have time to rescue you.”
Victoria laughed in consternation.
Nick intercepted her objection.
“She’s a trained Star Marine, Sheriff. She can take care of herself.”
Victoria glanced at Nick in surprise, then at Thomas.
Thomas shrugged.
“There won’t be very many women there. She’ll stand out like a sore toe.”
“Maybe, but a feminine distraction might be useful.”
“Fine. She’s your responsibility. Meet me here at seven and we’ll take it from there.”
Chapter 11
“Jesus Christ, it’s freezing out here! What happened to the nice weather?”
Victoria Cross hugged herself as they left the sheriff’s office and walked back toward the hotel. The day had turned grey, with heavy clouds drifting just a thousand feet overhead. A wind had sprung up that scattered leaves and bits of paper along the sidewalk. The cold air stung their cheeks.
“Must be winter here, or close to it,” Nick said.
“Thanks for sticking up for me in there. I didn’t expect that.”
“Why not? I just spoke the truth.”
“I know, but…”
He glanced at her. “What?”
“Nothing. Not important.”
They walked another block in silence.
“Okay,” he said. “Spill it.”
She turned blue eyes on him.
“Spill what?”
“Ever since Mars, you’ve been holding something back. Whatever is on your mind, let’s get it in the open.”
They continued walking. Victoria’s lips compressed and she stared at the sidewalk. After a moment, she shrugged minutely.
“What’s the point? You’re in a better place now than you were then, or so it seems to me. That’s enough.”
“But it’s not everything.”
“We don’t get to have everything.”
“Vic…stop playing games. Just say it.”
She stopped walking and turned to look back the way they had come, the wind pulling at her hair. Nick also stopped and stared at her while she debated what to say. Finally she met his gaze.
“Okay. I was worried about you. It took me a year to track you down, and what I found wasn’t exactly encouraging.”
“Did you think—”
“Shut up. You wanted to hear from me, so let me speak.”
He fell silent.
“Yes, I knew it would take time to recover from your loss, but I didn’t think you would just give up. You were never a quitter, and you wouldn’t let me quit, either. What I found in that Martian bar broke my heart, but at least now you seem to be pulling out of it. What bothers me is what happens next.”
“What do you mean?”
“After you find Saracen—after you kill him, or whatever you do to him—what happens then? Are you going back into the bottle I found you in?”
He frowned, but said nothing. She read him perfectly.
“You are, aren’t you? After you get revenge, you’ll be done with life. I see it in every move you make, every word you say. You have a purpose right now, but only one purpose, and then it will be over.”
“Saracen needs to be stopped, or at least punished. I think I have a better chance of doing that than anyone else.”
“And I agree. That’s why I came looking for you. But, Nick, your life doesn’t end when this job is done.”
He sucked a deep breath and stared past her, his eyes losing focus.
“My life ended the day Suzanne died.”
“No it didn’t! Suzanne wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t!”
His eyes narrowed and his facial muscles bunched.
“I told you—you don’t get to—”
“I’M TALKING!!”
His eyes widened in surprise. He fell silent again.
“It isn’t just Suzanne,” she told him. “It’s also Nathan, and Kristina. I barely met them, but I know they loved you. Kristina still does, and she needs you. You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself anymore—”
He opened his mouth to interrupt.
“Shut up! I’m still talking. Yes, you’re feeling sorry for yourself. You lost a lot, and I understand that, but people still depend on you. People still love you, and you can’t run out on them.”
His expression darkened. “People like you?”
Her blue eyes turned hard, even as tears formed and spilled down
her cheeks.
“Fuck you, Walker! You called me a pussy back in boot camp, but who’s the pussy now? Anybody can excel in combat if he has the right training, but it takes a real man to face up to what you’ve lost. You need to dig deep. Man up and prove yourself once and for all.”
She jammed a stiff finger into his chest.
“If you’ve got the balls!”
Without another word, Victoria Cross turned and trotted down the sidewalk toward the hotel, leaving Nick standing by himself.
***
Darkness had fallen by the time Nick and Victoria hooked up with Sheriff Thomas again. The air was even colder than before, literally freezing, and crystalized snowflakes swirled in the gusting wind, stinging like hell when they made contact with exposed skin. They met on the street in front of the sheriff’s office; Thomas was standing with four men who all wore badges. When Nick and Victoria arrived, he turned to them.
“Nick Jones, these are my deputies.” He introduced them from left to right. “Harley Hanson, Hugo Barnes, Mike Scott, and Billy Stanfield.”
Nick sized them up. They were a gruff looking bunch, like characters from a Yancy West vid; only their badges offered any indication which side of the law they trod. Two appeared to be in their mid-thirties; Barnes might have been fifty, but Billy Stanfield didn’t look a day over twenty-one. For just an instant Nick had a flash of memory—Stanfield reminded him of Nathan Green.
They all stared at Nick as if he had two heads, and none offered to shake hands. Thomas covered the awkwardness with an explanation.
“Jones is a former lawman from the Federation, and since we don’t know what we’re up against tonight, I invited him to help us out.”
He glanced at Victoria, who stood beside Nick with a rifle in her hands, her blond hair gleaming in the glow of a streetlight.
“This is Mrs. Jones, and I’m told she’s nobody to trifle with, either, so…”
“You think it’s a good idea to expose a lady to a union meeting?” Barnes growled through his handle-bar mustache.
“Nobody exposes me to anything,” Victoria told him in a cold voice. “Anybody who tries will regret it.”
Two of the men exchanged glances, but nobody said anything. Thomas broke the silence again.
“Our mission tonight is simple. Keep the peace—period. No gunplay if it can be avoided, but don’t take any shit, either. There may not be any trouble, but we won’t know that until the evening is over. Keep alert, keep your eyes open, and back each other up. Any questions?”
Nick shook his head. Three of the deputies stood mute. But Stanfield, his curiosity aroused, spoke to Nick.
“You’re really from the Federation? Which planet?”
“Another time,” Thomas told him. “Get through tonight and Jones can tell you his life story.” He glanced at his watch. “Meeting starts in thirty minutes. Let’s get down to the warehouse.”
***
Like many small towns on almost every planet, Hardwood appeared to shut down after dark. The streets were quiet as the group made its way toward the railroad warehouse, located just down the street from the train station. Nick saw no vehicles until they reached the railroad and turned the corner, but dead ahead, both sides of the street were lined with parked surface cars. A cluster of streetlights provided enough light to see groups of men standing around outside the warehouse, waiting for the meeting to begin. From inside the building came an electronic squeal as someone tested the sound system.
As they approached the scene, everything seemed peaceful.
The deputies split up as they entered the building. The idea was to penetrate the crowd and try to spot trouble before it began. Sheriff Thomas remained just inside the door; Nick and Victoria moved along the left side of the room and slowly made their way through the crowd toward the front.
The warehouse wasn’t heated, but the combined body heat of so many people warmed the air a little; even so, Nick’s breath fogged in front of his face. Designed for storing goods, the building had been cleared and cleaned. The floor was covered with canvas and a stage had been erected at the far end, turning it into an auditorium. The lighting, from weak overhead fixtures, was dim, filling the room with shadows. The nearly all-male crowd was still milling about, four or five hundred strong. Except for half a dozen women, they mostly looked like working men, and dressed the part. Nick saw lots of jeans, boots, and flannel shirts under heavy jackets. About half wore hats, and a few wore sidearms.
He reached the far end of the warehouse and stopped about thirty feet from the stage. Pressing his back against the wall, he had a pretty good view of the stage and the first dozen rows of portable chairs. Victoria stood ten feet to his right, also against the wall, and scanned the crowd with her gaze. She held the rifle at her side, pointed at the floor, nearly invisible in the gloom.
The crowd was noisy, but still seemed calm as they waited for the meeting to start. Even so, Nick detected a certain tension in the air, as if tempers were being held in check, waiting for an excuse to erupt. He had never attended a union meeting before, but understood that passions could run high. Livelihoods were literally on the line.
Six minutes after Nick took his position, a man walked onto the stage toward the microphone; behind him, four others moved into position, standing at a sort of parade rest with their hands clasped in front of them, their eyes sweeping the crowd. They were all in their mid-thirties, burly and tough looking—almost certainly bodyguards. Nick suspected they carried weapons under their heavy jackets.
“Can I have your attention, please!”
The man at the mike, who looked about twenty-five, smiled tentatively as he repeated the request three times; the crowd gradually fell silent.
“If you will all take seats, we can get this meeting underway,” he said in a pleasant voice. “I know you all have to work tomorrow and I don’t want to keep you out any later than necessary.” His grin broadened and he held both arms straight out to his side. “You see? You aren’t even union members, but the union already cares about your welfare! Just imagine what we can do for you if you join us.”
That brought a few chuckles from the crowd, but most just settled into chairs and stared at the speaker. The general shuffle settled down as people found their seats. The man on the stage nodded his approval and gripped the microphone with his hand.
“Thank you. In case you don’t know, my name is Bert Carter, and I’m president of the TC 4 Worker’s Union. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the union. We’ve been in business about fifteen years now, and thanks to our efforts, ninety percent of all workers in Orosi are enjoying the benefits of collective bargaining. Tonight I would like to explain what the union is, how it works, how it can benefit you, and invite you to join us. Afterward, if we have time, I’ll be happy to answer your questions.”
Bert Carter was good. He was young, good looking, and engaging. His smile was disarming and he spoke the working man’s language. As Nick listened to his pitch, he felt a grudging admiration for the man. The general atmosphere in the warehouse leaned toward hostile, but Carter stepped up with all the poise of a salesman and delivered his message. It might all be bullshit—Nick didn’t really know yet—but it was compelling bullshit.
As he spoke in an open, apparently honest manner, Carter swept the crowd and made eye contact with as many people as he could, sincerity dripping from every word. He was every worker’s best friend.
“My grandfather brought his family to Tau Ceti thirty years ago,” he began. “He was forty years old and had already invested half a lifetime in hard work. He came here because he could no longer tolerate the oppression of his employers back on Terra. He was tired of watching the rich and powerful get richer and more powerful while the working class just seemed to get weaker and poorer. He had seen his own father and grandfather ground into the dirt by greedy fat cats, and when Tau Ceti opened up, he decided to make a break for it. A new world, he thought—new opportunities, a fresh start. A chance to rea
lize a dream.
“My grandfather’s dream was simple. He didn’t aspire to get rich, or become famous. He just wanted to live free and raise his family, to see his kids and grandkids grow up strong and healthy, to give them a future. He wanted to work hard and pay his own way, but he also wanted a little relaxation from time to time; he wanted a salary that would cover the bills and leave a little over for emergencies, or an occasional holiday.
“So he migrated to Tau Ceti, dreaming the dream…but when he got here, he discovered that corruption had got here ahead of him. The corporations had already sunk their claws into this new planet—and new corporations, as greedy as the ones he left behind, already controlled everything.”
Carter paused and gazed around the room. His audience sat silent, listening. He gave them a moment to reflect and identify.
“Granddad’s dream was crushed once again. A working man could only earn what the employer was willing to pay, and it just wasn’t enough. He was on a new world, living in a new city, working at a new job…but nothing had changed. He was still as poor and impoverished as he had always been. He died less than ten years later, a broken man.”
Carter lifted his chin as he moved on to the next chapter of his tale.
“My father watched it all happen. He already knew about his grandfather and great-grandfather back on Terra, about what happened to them—and he saw the same thing happen to his own dad. He decided it wasn’t going to happen to him as well, or by extension, to me and my children.
“My dad decided to stand up and fight. He began talking to other workers; he held meetings late at night, discussing what was wrong with industry, and how to fix it. As more and more workers came on board, the word spread, and gradually enough men signed on that change became possible. They organized and elected my dad as their spokesman. Collective bargaining became a reality on TC 4, and that’s how the union was born.
“Now—”
“How did they fix it?” someone shouted from the crowd.
Carter stopped, identified the speaker, and pointed to him.
“Sir, will you stand up please? Repeat your question so everyone can hear it.”