by John Bowers
He stared into her eyes, their faces inches apart.
“Why is that so important to you?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, Nick! How can you ask me that? After what happened to Suzanne, you, of all people, should know the answer.”
He shook his head. “Don’t talk about Suzanne.”
“No, you need to talk about it. It’s been two years, but you’re still dying inside. Every time I see the pain in you it breaks my heart.”
“I’m dealing with it.”
“You’re dealing with nothing. Like I told you this afternoon, I see it in your eyes, in your face, in every muscle of your body. Every day, every minute. You’re a walking dead man. You’re still consumed by grief; it’s eating you alive from the inside out. And it breaks my heart every time I look at you. I almost hope you don’t find Saracen, because after you’re done with him, I’m terrified of what you might do next.”
He forced a laugh. “You think I’m going to kill myself?”
“I don’t know what you’ll do, but it won’t be anything good. You’re on a railsled to self-destruction, and it’s a one-way trip. You’re back in that bell tower on Alpha Centauri, with the whole rebel force trying to kill you.”
“I survived that.”
“Only because you wanted to survive it. I’m not so sure this time.”
“Vic—”
“Semper fi, Nick. Always faithful. I’m not leaving you, not as long as you’re in danger.”
“Don’t you think you’re pushing this Star Marine thing a little too far?”
“No I don’t, and fuck you for suggesting it. I didn’t fight in the war, but if I had been there, you would never have left me on the field to die if you could help it, and I’m not leaving you now. You saved my career before it ever started, and now I’m going to do everything in my power to save your fucking life!”
She wiped the moisture from her face.
“It’s freezing out here. We should get back to the ho—”
She never finished. Nick seized her head in both hands and kissed her, cutting off her words. She stood stock still, almost frozen, until he released her.
“Is that what you wanted? Isn’t that what you really want?”
She shifted the rifle to her left hand and, without a word, slapped him hard enough to turn his head. She turned and stalked away toward the hotel.
Nick followed.
“What the hell, Vic! You’ve never been shy about admitting that you still love me.”
She stopped and turned again, her face rigid.
“You goddamn fool! Didn’t you hear anything I said?”
“But I thought—”
“No you didn’t. You haven’t had a clear thought since Suzanne died. I’m trying to save your life, not get laid.”
“But—”
“Yes! I still love you. I always will. If I could get you back, my life would be complete, but you’ve been very clear that that’s never going to happen. Love is not about sex or marriage, it’s about caring. Just as you cared for Suzanne, I care for you. You would have died to save her—and I’m willing to die to save you. If you can’t understand that, then you’re not the man I thought you were. And you don’t deserve my help.”
She turned for the hotel once again, and this time she didn’t turn back.
Undisclosed Location – Tau Ceti 4
Snow swirled in the darkness outside the wide window. The wavy-haired, forty-something man in the armchair waited for word of the union meeting with a drink in his hand. It was late, but the call would come—his people knew better than to disappoint him. When the comm rang, he set the drink down and spoke a single phrase.
“Call connect.”
Then he remembered—he was on Tau Ceti 4. Technology here was a few centuries behind the rest of the galaxy. He reached for the comm and punched a button.
“Hello.”
The voice on the other end was both familiar and expected.
“It’s me, Boss.”
“How did it go?”
“About like we expected. Some interest, some resistance. They’ll come around.”
“No problems?”
“Nothing serious. Two or three locals asked some hard questions, but we know what to do.”
“Good. Keep on top of it. Anything else?”
He didn’t miss the hesitation before the caller replied.
“Yeah, maybe. I think we may have another problem.”
“Talk to me.”
“I think Walker was there.”
“Walker? You mean—”
“Yes, sir. I’ve never met him, but I think it was him.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall, kind of rangy. Bearded. Cowboy hat, nasty scar on his left cheek.”
“Walker doesn’t have a scar.”
“It looked fresh. He must have picked it up in that gunfight on the Express. The news said he was wounded.”
“Was he wearing a gunbelt?”
“No, but the woman with him was carrying a rifle.”
“What woman?”
“Blond, about thirty. Good looking.”
The man with the wavy hair was silent a moment, staring out the window at the swirling white darkness.
“Jesus Christ,” he said softly. “That sounds like Victoria Cross, his attorney.”
“So it is Walker?”
“Could be. Did you see where he went after the meeting?”
“No, but he shouldn’t be hard to track down.”
“Find him. Keep him under observation. I want to know everything he does, where he goes, who he talks to. And get me a digital, a good one, of both of them. I need a positive ID.”
“Okay, Boss. I’m on it.”
The man with the wavy hair disconnected and took another sip of whiskey. He set the glass down. It suddenly tasted bitter.
Chapter 13
The view from the church tower was clear, unrestricted. All of Trimmer Springs was visible in every direction. The fifty-foot bell tower was the tallest structure in town.
Snow swirled in a blinding blizzard, but remarkably, Nick could still see everything clearly. He saw Coalition troops—the Freaks—flooding into town from the mountain pass at the edge of town. Waves of them, marching in cadence, shoulder to shoulder, keeping step as if they were on a parade ground. Thousands of them, all exactly the same, wearing their white shirts and flat black hats.
Funny, but none of them were shooting, yet bullets whizzed past his head, smashing the wooden apron around the belfry, pinging off the heavy brass bell above his head. He could hear their massed rifles, yet they just kept coming in ordered rows, like the British at Breed’s Hill seven centuries earlier. They fell in rows as Star Marines gunned them down, yet they kept on coming, marching over the Marine positions, forcing the defenders to fall back. As he watched, Nick felt a cold dread deep in his bones. They were too many to stop.
He began firing. The magazine in his sniper rifle held twenty-one rounds, and he had hundreds of magazines. He began pumping shots as fast as he could, each shot taking the head off a Freak, yet they kept on coming. Street after street, block after block, marching inexorably closer. He switched magazines and kept firing, but it made no difference. Empty magazines piled up around him, hot brass cartridges smoked in the freezing cold. Fear gripped his heart, terror surged through his blood, but he kept on firing—and the Freaks kept coming.
He began to pant. He writhed in place as he reached for another magazine, his chest heaving. Sweat beaded his forehead, and in spite of the cold, his clothing turned soggy.
He watched in horror as the black-hatted wave swept over a Star Marine position, then another. The men in those positions were trampled underfoot, the snow turning red from their blood. His heart hammered in his chest, his breathing constricted in his throat.
“I can’t stop them!” he panted. “I can’t hold them much longer! You guys get out of there! Fall back!”
Many
of the Freaks had fallen, the rest were now soaked in blood, but that didn’t stop them. They had reached the park in front of the church, now only fifty yards from the bell tower; their ranks stretched all the way to the edge of town, and more were pouring out of the mountain pass. A wave of humanity, uncountable, unstoppable.
Nick was down to his last magazine.
“FALL BACK!” he screamed. “Get the hell out of there!”
He heard no reply. No one answered because no one was left. Nick was the only man still standing, and the Freaks were staring up at him, a hundred thousand pairs of eyes staring straight at him. Silent eyes, accusing eyes, and suddenly it struck him—dead eyes. These weren’t human beings anymore. These weren’t living men, but dead men. Thousands of them, tens of thousands. Men he had killed since the war began, now returned to take him down, to make him pay. He stared at them in horror, his mouth dry, his throat constricted. It was over. His war ended right here.
“Nick!”
He stared down at the first row of Freaks, looking for the source. Who had called his name?
“Nick!”
He saw her, standing in the first row. Their leader. She was looking up, dressed all in white, staring straight at him. He zeroed in with his scope to get a good look at her face, to identify her. As he recognized her, his body turned to ice.
“You can make it stop, Nick. Kill me and they will go away. Without me they have no power.” She smiled, that sweet, gorgeous smile he knew so well. Her green eyes crinkled as she made a kissing motion with her lips. “Kill me, Nick. Save yourself. Shoot me.”
No! What was she doing there? Why was Suzanne leading the Freaks? It made no sense. He hadn’t even met Suzanne yet. How could this be happening? Why was she—
“NICK!”
Her face suddenly dissolved into a skull and her sweet voice became a hideous scream.
“KILL ME!”
“No! No, I can’t—”
“Goddamn you, KILL ME NOW!!”
Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him. He pushed back, trying to keep the scope on Suzanne’s face. The mob of Freaks was all turning to skeletons, their faces morphing to hideous grins. His lungs seized with panic; he struggled to keep from screaming.
Someone shook him again, pulling at his arm, queering his aim.
“Nick! NICK!”
He jerked free and lunged forward, over the edge of the bell tower.
“NOOOOO!!!”
Victoria Cross grabbed him and pulled him upright, her arms around his shoulders.
“It’s a nightmare, Nick! Wake up! Wake up!”
His eyes popped open and he swayed, numb with disbelief. As his lungs heaved for air, he remained poised for action until reality sank in. The snow was gone, the Freaks were gone…Suzanne was gone. He was back in the hotel room, on the edge of the couch, the blanket twisted around his ankles. Sweat poured down his face, his entire body smelled sour.
His eyes focused on Victoria; he stared at her as if she were a stranger. Her blue eyes were narrow with stress and fatigue. She ran a soft hand across his cheek as she gazed into his eyes.
“Just a nightmare,” she repeated. “You’re okay. You’re safe. The war is over.”
Trembling, he lowered his face, closed his eyes, and sat breathing hard. He put both hands over his face. Victoria got to her feet and went into the bathroom, returning with a wet towel; she wiped his head with it, then his face, his neck, his arms. The cold dampness helped wake him up, slowed his pulse, and washed away some of the horror.
“Are you okay? Do you know where you are?”
He nodded, unable to speak. Victoria pulled off his shirt and bathed his back and chest with the towel, cooling him. After a few minutes his breathing returned to normal, but the horror, the memory of the dream, remained. He opened his eyes and stared across the room. Victoria sat down beside him.
“Do you remember the dream?”
He nodded.
“Suzanne told me you had nightmares about the war, but she said they were getting better.”
He had to clear the gravel out of his throat before he could speak.
“They came back. After she died, they came back.”
“Are they as bad as before?”
He shook his head.
“This one was worse.”
Monday, September 17, 0447 (CC)
Hardwood – Tau Ceti 4
Nick’s eyes felt gritty as he showered and dressed. The nightmare had scoured his soul, leaving him queasy in the pit of his stomach, but it was nothing new. Over the years since the war, he’d suffered plenty of nightmares; several had been pretty horrific, but last night was the worst one ever.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Victoria asked as he strapped on his gunbelt. “Maybe you should take a day and just relax.”
He shook his head.
“It won’t help. I’ve been putting up with this for years.”
“Have you ever had counseling?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe.”
Victoria didn’t push it. An elephant squatted between them and, after their confrontations on the street the day before, she didn’t have the energy for more.
“What’re we going to do today?”
He didn’t answer immediately. The tension between them built.
“I think I’ll run over to Orosi,” he said finally. “I find it very curious that the union started making its move right after Saracen hit the planet.”
“You sure there’s a connection?”
“Maybe not, but it’s worth looking into.”
“Am I coming with you?”
“That’s up to you. You don’t have to.”
“What else would I do?”
He shrugged. “You could explore the town, maybe pick up some souvenirs.”
She laughed. “You want me to go shopping?”
“Only if you want to. You might also ask around and get a sense of how popular this union is. Find out if people get the feeling it’s being forced on them.” He put on his hat. “Or you could just stay here today and rest up from the trip.”
“Nick, all I did on the trip was ‘rest up’. There was absolutely nothing else to do on that starship.”
“Okay, do whatever you want. Ride the train to the other end and find out what’s there.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to brush me aside?”
“I’m not trying to brush you aside, or get you to do something you don’t want to do. I’m just making suggestions.”
“Like hell.”
He turned to face her, both hands in the air.
“Look, Cross, I’m tired, okay? After last night, I’m only fifty percent. I don’t want to fight with you. Just do whatever you want.”
In reply, she only stared at him. Nick turned and walked out the door.
“Be careful,” she said after he was gone.
***
A cold, brisk wind whipped down the streets of Hardwood. The snow had stopped and the sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. It was early, the sun still low in the morning sky. Surface vehicles moved carefully through the streets, their tires spewing dirty brown slush. For all the swirling eddies last night, less than an inch of snow had fallen, just enough to coat the sidewalks, and with the sun rising, Nick suspected it would be gone by midday.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and strolled toward the train station, in no hurry. People on the street eyed him with curiosity but hardly anyone spoke. He was a stranger in a small town, and by default, people were wary.
Nick had no idea what the train schedules were or when the next passenger run would arrive, but the station didn’t look busy. He saw four or five people around the front entrance, but only two of them carried what looked like luggage. He walked through the front door and stopped in the lobby, looking around. A ticket agent stood behind a grated window at one end of the room, working a calculator. An elderly man pushed a mop
across the tile floor near the gate leading to the train platform, and three other people stood chatting near the front door.
Nick walked over to the ticket agent, who glanced up.
“Be right with you. Just need a second.”
“No problem. I just wondered if there’s a train heading out to Orosi today.”
“Sure is. Leaves in about an hour. Do you need a ticket?”
“Yes, sir. Make it a round trip.”
“Okay, one second…” The man finished his task and gave Nick his full attention. “Ticket for one?”
“Yep, one will do.”
The agent punched some buttons and a ticket popped out of a slot.
“That will be eleven taus.”
“Okay…how much is that in terros?”
The clerk punched in a quick calculation.
“Twenty-five thirty.”
Nick handed the man thirty terros. The agent started to make change, then shook his head.
“I don’t do currency conversions very often. The computer says I owe you four terros and seventy cents, but I don’t have the change. Let’s just make it twenty even.”
“That works for me. Thanks.”
“Have a nice trip. There’s a freight coming through in a few minutes, but you want the train after that. Check with the conductor to make sure you’re on the right one.”
“I will. Appreciate the tip.”
The agent turned away; Nick glanced around and saw no one standing nearby.
“Were you at the big union meeting last night?”
The agent looked back, surprise in his eyes.
“Yes, I was. Were you—wait a minute, you’re the guy who asked why the railroad wasn’t invited, aren’t you? I was too far away to see your face, but I recognize the hat.”
Nick grinned and stuck his hand under the grate.
“Nick Jones.”
“Harry Jones.” The agent laughed. “Maybe we’re related.”
They shook hands.
“I was glad you asked that question,” Jones said. “I was thinking the same thing, but I didn’t have the nerve to speak up.”
“It seemed only fair that both sides should have a chance to state their position,” Nick told him. “Let me ask you this—if the railroad goes union, how much would this ticket cost me?”