Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 3)

by John Bowers

  “Hypocrisy.”

  “Worse—calculated hypocrisy.” Nick switched subjects. “Anything else from Dwyer?”

  “Not yet. He still has people in the tower, but I think they’ve found all they’re going to get. His men are still interviewing witnesses.”

  Nick nodded restlessly. It seemed he should be doing more himself, instead of relying on the police department, but the killing had occurred inside the city limits, which placed it in Dwyer’s jurisdiction as well as Nick’s. And Dwyer had more local resources to work with.

  “Who’s the top cock over at the church?”

  Nelson looked surprised. “You mean the church with the bell tower?”

  “That’s the only church in town, isn’t it?”

  “Well, no, there are a couple of smaller ones. But the vicar is Bishop Freda Speers.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I just didn’t know the vicar was a lady.”

  “Well, if you talk to her, be nice. She’s only been here a few months and she’s taken a lot of heat from the cultists.”

  “What do they care if she’s a woman? She isn’t part of their group.”

  Nelson sighed. “Apparently they have some prejudice about women in the clergy. Claim it’s strictly a male profession.”

  Nick shook his head. “Figures. Where would she be right about now?”

  “Probably in her office. I think Dwyer’s men already interviewed her, though. She wouldn’t have seen anything, likely.”

  Nick picked up his hat and got to his feet.

  “I just want to meet her. Maybe she can give me some insight on these cult people.”

  “I doubt it. She hasn’t been here very long.”

  “I’ll give it a shot. You never know.”

  He headed out the door.

  Nick actually found Bishop Freda Speers standing outside her church, gazing up at the bell tower. Two police investigators were still moving around up there. She spotted Nick as he approached and held out her hand with a smile.

  “Marshal Walker. I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  “Thank you.” Nick accepted the handshake and took off his hat.

  “I’m so sorry about poor Hugh,” she added. “I hadn’t known him long, but he was a fine young man.”

  Nick nodded, biting his lip against a stab of guilt.

  “Thank you. I felt the same way.”

  “Did you come here to see me or one of the police officers?”

  “You, actually. Can we talk somewhere?”

  “Of course. Come on inside.”

  Her office was located in the northeast corner of the building, just yards from the bell tower. It was a quiet, pleasant room decorated tastefully by a woman’s hand. Nick saw framed diplomas on the wall and fresh flowers adorned her credenza. He detected a trace of incense in the air. She offered him a chair and took another facing him across a small table, giving the meeting an informal air, without her desk separating them.

  “I’ve already told the detectives everything I know,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  Nick studied her a moment. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, but was slender and attractive in a plain sort of way. Her eyes were sparkling blue and her blond hair was cut to chin length, which she wore in a flip.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you about something else, but since you mentioned it, where were you this morning?”

  “Sitting right here.” Her brow knitted as she remembered. “I heard the shot, but I didn’t realize right away where it came from. When I heard people shouting, I looked out and saw this fellow running away. He was almost around the corner before I saw him.”

  “So…you didn’t recognize him?”

  “No. He was dressed like one of the cult people, that’s really all I can tell you.”

  “Young, old, skinny, fat?”

  “I would say he was young, considering that he was running like a deer. Slender. Rather tall, with legs like a sprinter.”

  Nick nodded. That jibed with everything else he’d heard.

  “You didn’t see him get into a vehicle?”

  “No. I did hear a car take off, though. Screeching tires, and then some blue smoke drifted into view. But I didn’t see the car.”

  Nick shifted gears.

  “What I really wanted to talk to you about are the cult people. What do you know about them?”

  Freda Speers shook her head.

  “I’ve been here less than a year, Marshal, so I don’t know them intimately. I met Father Groening once, but it wasn’t exactly a friendly chat. He called me a harlot and a false prophet to my face.”

  “A false prophet?”

  “And a servant of Satan.” She smiled. “It was quite informative.”

  “What about Jeb Wiest?”

  “I haven’t met him. I don’t think he comes into town very often, but from what I’ve heard, he’s the lesser of two…well, I hesitate to say ‘evils’, but…”

  “I understand.”

  “I even hesitate to classify them as cults, since that’s an easy charge to level and it’s fairly subjective.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and frowned, as if striving for the right words to convey her thoughts.

  “Historically—and especially in the Christian religion—people have been quick to call each other cults when they disagree on doctrine. On Terra you’ve had the Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses who were classified as cults by the orthodox groups, but in my opinion it was for the wrong reasons.”

  Nick nodded, but let her continue.

  “The primary criterion for the orthodox churches calling someone a cult was a failure to believe in the Trinity, which is a standard belief in orthodox Christianity, but I think that’s a false charge. The Bible never once mentions the ‘Trinity’ by name, and the definition of the Holy Spirit is just vague enough that no one is really sure what it, or he, is. So if someone hesitates to believe in a third person in the Godhead, I believe they have reasonable doubt on their side.”

  Nick hadn’t heard that before, and found it intriguing.

  “There were other criteria, as well,” she continued. “The Mormons believed in a latter-day prophet of their own, as did the Seventh-Day Adventists and Jehovah’s Witnesses—”

  “The Adventists aren’t considered a cult, are they? I’ve never heard that.”

  “No.” She smiled. “Because they believe in the Trinity. And so do the Mormons, but they have that latter-day prophet, and their own holy book which they equate with the Bible. Basically, the orthodox community makes the rules and forces them on everyone else. That’s why I say they were called cults for the wrong reasons.”

  “Is there a right reason?”

  “Yes, absolutely. The true definition of a cult has nothing to do with the Trinity. It boils down to four things: one—” She enumerated with her fingers as she recited. “—a powerful and charismatic leader; two, a belief that your group is the only one in the universe called by God; three, isolation from society and the shunning of everyone who doesn’t share your beliefs; and four, a demand that the believer relinquishes everything he owns to the cult’s control, including property, fortune, and most important of all, every waking moment of his time.

  “When you find a group with those four elements, you’re looking at a cult.”

  Nick stared at her in thought, his tongue tracing across his lips.

  “You just described the Christian religion as defined in the Bible,” he said.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. As Nick continued, she began to smile.

  “One,” he said, “Jesus was a charismatic leader. Two, his group was the only one called of God. Three, he said to shun the world and its politics, and four, he said sell all that you have and follow me.”

  “Very good, Marshal!” Freda Speers laughed delightedly.

  Nick looked confused. “Why is that good?”


  “Because you made my point precisely! The Christian religion did start out as a cult, and under the Roman church it remained a cult, a very exclusive cult. In medieval times, if you weren’t Catholic you were totally expendable.”

  Nick was still confused. “That doesn’t sound very good to me.”

  “It isn’t, but in time Christianity broadened and became more liberal, more forgiving. Even the Roman church is much more relaxed than it used to be. Not all cults are evil, Marshal. Not all cults are dangerous, but labeling someone as a cult can be a very negative thing.”

  “What makes a cult dangerous?”

  “The leadership. The problem with a single leader, with absolute authority, is that he can compel otherwise decent people to do terrible things. History is replete with examples, everything from mass suicide to mass murder. But if you take that same group and disperse the authority, you bring things into a more stable balance. That doesn’t mean the group won’t spin out of control, but at least you have a better chance of rational thought. You don’t give lunatic power to a single individual.”

  “Religion by committee.”

  “Or a council. Exactly.”

  Nick nodded. It made a lot of sense.

  “Both the groups in this area have a single leader,” he said.

  “Yes, they do. That is potentially dangerous. As I said earlier, I don’t see Rev. Wiest as a problem, but if he should be succeeded by a crazy, that could change.”

  “And Father Groening?”

  “A definite threat. The very fact that he calls himself ‘Father’ should be a red flag to anyone.”

  Nick grimaced. Speaking of red flags…Groening had one flying above his house.

  “I have another question, if you have time.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  Nick tilted his head. “I think I’m picking up a pattern. I met Father Groening last night at the town meeting, and today I met his son and grandson. Something funny about their names.”

  She leaned forward. “Funny, how?”

  “The old man’s first name is Antiochus…”

  “Yes.”

  “His son called himself Titus…and the kid, the grandson, said his name was Darius.”

  Freda Speers looked confused. “Okay…what’s the pattern?”

  “Well, I’m not surprised that these people use biblical names—I met a couple of Homerites named Hezekiah and Zerubbabbel, for god’s sake—but I’m pretty sure that Darius wasn’t one of the good guys. I think he was a Persian king of some kind.”

  “Yes, he was. According to the book of Ezra, Darius was the king who restored the temple in Jerusalem after the Jews had been captives in Babylon for many years.”

  “So Darius wasn’t one of the chosen people?”

  “No. But biblical history looks on him favorably.”

  “Okay. I’ve also heard the name Antiochus, but I can’t quite place it. Who was he?”

  “Antiochus Epiphanes, a real bad-ass—” She smiled. “—to put it in religious terms. In 167 BC, or thereabouts, he sacked Jerusalem and profaned the temple, slaughtered forty thousand people, and outlawed Jewish religious rites. Many theologians consider him a forerunner of the antichrist that is prophesied to rise just before the second coming of Christ.”

  “The Great Tribulation.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.” Nick laughed. “Jeb Wiest said his grandfather was worried about the Great Tribulation when he brought his people to Alpha Centauri. And now Jeb is living next door to the antichrist himself.”

  Freda Speers laughed. “I never thought of that. Good point!”

  “Okay. So we have Darius, who was a Persian king, and Antiochus, another king from that period—”

  “He ruled the Seleucid Empire. Basically he was Greek.”

  “Okay. That’s two kings, neither of them a Hebrew, and the good guys in the Bible were mostly Hebrew.”

  “You’re thinking the Groenings have kingly delusions of grandeur?”

  Nick grinned. “Yeah, exactly. Only the third name, Titus, doesn’t quite fit the pattern. Seems like there was a Titus in the New Testament, one of the epistles of St. Paul, if my Sunday school lessons mean anything.”

  Freda nodded. “That’s true, but there was also Titus Flavius, a Roman general who sacked Jerusalem in 70 AD and destroyed the temple. Another bad-ass, from a biblical perspective.”

  “Ah-ha!” Nick clenched a fist in triumph. “So I was right! Every one of those names is some kind of foreign king who held power over the faithful.”

  She nodded agreement. “And the Groenings definitely have a kingly complex. Very revealing, I’d say.”

  They chatted for several more minutes, then Nick heaved a deep sigh.

  “Thank you, Bishop. I’ve learned a lot.”

  She smiled again, her face lighting up. Nick realized she was prettier than he’d first thought.

  “You’re welcome,” she told him. “And you can call me Freda.”

  “Freda.” Nick nodded. “Is it ‘Mrs.’ Bishop?”

  “No, I’m single.”

  “Does your position require celibacy?”

  She laughed. “No, it doesn’t. Are you making a pass, Marshal?”

  Suddenly flustered, Nick reddened. “No, I guess I’m just being nosy.”

  She laughed again. “No problem. My life is an open databook. I’m twenty-six, I’m single, and yes, I’m looking.”

  “How are the prospects in this town?”

  “Well…if you weed out the cult members, not too bad. I think the ‘Bishop’ title puts a few people off, but I do get asked out now and then.”

  “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble. Just for the record, if I wasn’t already involved, I would consider asking you out.”

  “And I would consider accepting.”

  Nick got to his feet and offered his hand. Freda Speers took it willingly.

  “Thanks for your input. This could be a big help.”

  “If I hear anything that might help you, I’ll let you know right away.”

  * * *

  Police Chief Jerry Dwyer was a big man in his mid-forties, six feet six and over two hundred Terra pounds. Nick had met him a couple of times but hadn’t had time to really get acquainted. Dwyer worked for Mayor Robinette, but didn’t strike Nick as a yes-man. Quite the opposite, in fact—Dwyer seemed very confident and comfortable with his own authority. He was a striking figure with his shaven head and thick mustache.

  He ushered Nick into a chair in front of his desk.

  “Nothing solid yet, Marshal,” Dwyer said in his deep voice. “We’ve been all over that bell tower and talked to every possible witness. We’re pretty sure it was a cult member but no one got a look at his face.”

  Nick nodded. “That’s what I have, too. No luck on the prints?”

  “Negat. We ran them through the planetary database in Lucaston but came up with zip. Unlikely the shooter ever had his prints taken.”

  “Not even at birth?”

  Dwyer shook his head. “The wackos use midwives and deliver at home.”

  “They have to register the births, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, but the law doesn’t require prints for that, and if anyone suggests it the wackos go wacko. Claim it’s a violation of their beliefs.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  Dwyer grinned cynically. “The devil’s work.”

  “Jesus Christ! I’ve been hearing that all day.”

  “Luther told me you went out there.”

  “Yeah, I met Wiest and tried to talk to Groening, but struck out.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “Nothing of substance.”

  “Well, we also got breath trace from three people—”

  “In the bell tower? I would have thought the wind dispersed it.”

  “Not the belfry itself, but the stairwell. The air was relatively undisturbed there. One of the people was Nelson and I suspect another one was you, so that leaves one unaccounte
d for.”

  “I can give you a sample,” Nick offered.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Then we just need to match the third one and we’ll probably have our shooter.”

  “What about the rifle? Any way to trace it?”

  “No. It’s military but it isn’t registered on this planet. Probably left over from the war. There was never a surrender so most of the Groaners probably kept their weapons. It scares me to think of what they might be sitting on.”

  “You and me both. You know, I didn’t even recognize the make of that rifle. If you ever do find out where it came from, it may solve the big riddle.”

  “Which riddle is that?”

  “About who backed the Coalition. They had some pretty sophisticated stuff, considering their lifestyle, and they had to get it from somewhere.”

  Dwyer pursed his lips. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I’ll follow up on it. Even if we don’t catch the killer, we might catch something bigger.”

  Nick pushed his chair back and stood up.

  “Thanks, Chief. Keep me posted and I’ll do the same.”

  “Will do. You going to the big shindig tonight?”

  Nick looked blank. “What shindig is that?”

  “Concert in the park. Starts around eight. It’s mostly for the young people, but if you don’t mind loud music and laser lights, I could use an extra lawman to help keep the peace.”

  Nick grinned. “Hey, Chief, I’m still young. Sounds like fun.”

  Dwyer laughed and shook hands.

  “Good deal, Marshal. I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter 11

  Nick got home around six-thirty. Alpha Prime was low on the horizon and Centauri B was still behind the hills; the light was waning but it would be a bright twilight for most of the evening.

  Suzanne had pretty well finished unpacking and putting things away. When Nick came in she turned to him with a smile, her pinned-up hair straying here and there. She met him with a powerful hug and a passionate kiss, then rested her head on his shoulder while she held him.

  “I was worried about you.”