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

by John Bowers

  The wounded man licked his lips, panting, and closed his eyes.

  “Pyotr Malovinski.”

  Nick leaned back, distaste in his eyes.

  “Pee odor Malovinski. A fucking Ruke!”

  The prisoner nodded weakly, eyes still closed. “Da. Fucking Ruke. Please, get doctor now.”

  “Not just yet, Pee odor. What’s your friend’s name?”

  The man on the ground snarled something in a harsh language Nick didn’t understand. The wounded man chewed his lip.

  “I not…at liberty…”

  “You’re not at liberty? No, you’re definitely not at liberty. You’re my prisoner, Pee odor. I own your worthless fucking ass, and if I decide I don’t like you, you not only won’t be at liberty, you’ll be fucking dead!”

  Tears leaked from the prisoner’s eyes. “Please!”

  Nick grabbed him by the throat with his left hand and squeezed, his fingers digging into arteries and airways.

  “Listen up, you piece of shit! After what you just did the word ‘please’ isn’t even in my vocabulary! You hear me! What I ought to do is take you back to Trimmer Springs, strip you naked, and let the survivors have you for fucking dinner!” He shook the man’s head from side to side; the prisoner gurgled as he tried to breathe. “So don’t tell me please! Got that?”

  He released the man’s throat and stood up.

  “Fuck it. I think I’ll just blow your head off and see what I can find out from your buddy.” He drew the hammer back on the .44. “Luther, look the other way. You don’t want to see this.”

  Nelson’s eyes sprang wide, but before he could say anything the prisoner cut him off.

  “Wait! Wait!”

  “I’m waiting, Pee odor. Did you have something to say?”

  “I talk. I tell.”

  “Then start talking. Why are you here? Why did you shoot the shit out of Trimmer Springs? What did those people ever do to you?”

  “We deliver weapons. Titus Groening, he don’t pay—”

  Nick’s eyes filled with rage.

  “Titus Groening stiffed you and you murder the citizens in the town?”

  Pyotr shrugged. “The man no pay. Is bad business. He no pay, word get out, nobody pay. We teach lesson.”

  Nick knelt again, breathing heavily. Rage coursed through him. His trigger finger itched, but he needed to know more.

  “So you shot up the town because Groening didn’t pay?”

  “Da. His fault, not ours. Just business.”

  Nick glanced at Nelson, who was watching him with stricken eyes.

  “How does shooting up the town help you? Why not just kill Groening and get your revenge that way?”

  Pyotr shrugged again. “Better this way. People in town blame Groening, take revenge on him, maybe prison. He suffer more this way—we kill, he no suffer. We make him watch.”

  Nick watched the man’s eyes, flat and lifeless—it made perfect sense to Pyotr. Nick felt a new depth of hatred wash over him.

  “You motherfucker! Where’s Groening now?”

  Pyotr tipped his head backward, his face creased in pain.

  “In bunker.”

  Nick stood up slowly, his rage simmering near the boiling point. He took a step back, struggling against his emotions.

  “Luther, if either of these fucks move, shoot them. Start with their dicks, then work your way up.”

  “With pleasure.” Nelson shifted his rifle to cover the two men.

  Nick stepped around them and marched toward the door to the bunker. He took his time, giving his blood pressure a chance to settle, but it didn’t help. He reached the hidden door, found the handle, and lifted. The door swung up and over and he dropped it onto the ground.

  The underground warehouse was brightly lit. Somewhere he heard the hum of a generator. Holding the .44 in his right hand, he grabbed the railing beside the steps and guided himself down. He reached the bottom and stopped, sweeping the interior with his eyes. The stuff was still there, all of it…except for a few dozen artillery shells that had been carried from the stockpile along the far wall. An ammunition cart was parked near the steps. He saw no sign of Titus Groening.

  He began to walk. Carefully, in no hurry. Titus could be anywhere, hiding behind crates or cartons or equipment racks. Armed and waiting.

  Nick was in no hurry.

  He walked calmly, his eyes sweeping the area, ready to dive for cover at any moment. He was almost to the far wall when he heard a voice.

  “Over here, Marshal.”

  Nick turned, gun level, and saw Titus standing two aisles over, fully exposed, hands in the air. He was wearing his gunbelt, but the holster was empty.

  “Do you have a weapon?”

  Titus shook his head, a little smile across his face. “No. I came down here to pray.”

  “Pray?”

  “For my son. I prayed for his soul.”

  Nick studied him a moment, then nodded. “Come on over here.”

  Titus obeyed, walking slowly toward him with his hands up. As he approached to within ten feet, Nick got a closer look and saw something odd—the eyes didn’t look quite right. Titus was smiling, but the old sharpness was gone. The hinge had broken—Titus had moved into another dimension.

  “What’s going on up there?” Nick asked.

  “Oh, that. The Rukes are shelling Trimmer Springs.”

  “Why? Did you put them up to it?”

  “No. I tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn’t listen. I’m glad you’re here, Marshal. Now you can take them in. They’re cruel, godless men. They deserve whatever you can do to them.” Titus giggled, as if it were all some great, cosmic joke.

  “Did you order all this equipment?”

  Titus nodded again, shaking with silent mirth. He winked as if they shared a private joke.

  “Why? Were you going to start the rebellion again?”

  “No, of course not. That would be madness. I just wanted to get rid of my old man.”

  “Get rid of him?”

  “He’s too old to be Prophet anymore. It’s my turn now. I’ve trained my whole life, and I’m ready for it, but he won’t give it up.”

  Nick frowned, trying to follow the logic. “So…”

  “I knew someone would find the stuff. They’d blame it on the old man, and the Federation would lock him up. Simple as that.”

  “Did you place the landmines?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure someone found the weapons. This bunker is so well hidden that no one would ever find it, but if someone steps on a mine it will bring attention here in a hurry.” He smiled happily. “And it worked.”

  “How were you going to pay for the weapons?”

  Titus shrugged. “I wouldn’t have to. The Federation would seize it all, the Star Marines would probably build a base nearby, and the Rukes wouldn’t dare retaliate.”

  Nick shivered inwardly, totally creeped out by this incarnation of the man.

  “Sounds like you had it all figured out.”

  “I did. And it almost worked. It would have worked, except…” Just that quickly, the silly smile faded and Titus began to sob. “Darius is dead! I have no son to pass the congregation to when I die. So now it all means nothing.”

  Nick stood silent for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around it.

  “You framed your father so you could become Prophet—is that what you’re telling me? Only now that Darius is dead—”

  “It was all for nothing.” Titus sobbed again. “All for nothing!”

  “Why did you kidnap Suzanne? What did she have to do with all of this?”

  Titus wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and the smile returned.

  “Nothing. That was for you.”

  “For me.”

  “Right. I was going to make a deal with you—leave Trimmer Springs and you could have her back. I never meant for her to get hurt.”

  “You thought I would leave if you promis
ed to give her back?”

  Titus nodded. “I knew she was your woman. I knew you probably loved her. So it was obvious you would do anything to get her back.”

  Nick shook his head slowly. “You missed that one by a parsec. I would never leave under those conditions. I would just come after you that much harder.”

  Titus chewed his lip. “That’s what Darius said. Just before he died.”

  “Darius was right. Turn around and get down on your knees. Hands behind your head.”

  Nick kept him covered, but Titus obeyed without question. Nick E-cuffed him, then put the .44 back in its holster.

  “Titus Groening, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, conspiracy to commit kidnapping, inciting a rebellion, and…I’ll make a list when we get back to town. On your feet.”

  Nelson was waiting when Nick returned with Titus. He ordered the Rukranians to their feet and pushed them down the trail ahead of him. Nick followed with Titus just in front of him. They pushed through the thin screen of undergrowth surrounding the clearing and made their way down the trail through the minefield.

  “Watch your step,” Nelson warned as the wounded prisoner stumbled.

  Nick and Titus were ten feet behind Nelson and his prisoners. Just as Nelson reached the safety of the main trail, Titus bolted off to his right. Nick was watching the ground and was taken by surprise. His eyes flew wide as he realized what Titus was doing, but it was too late to stop him.

  “Hit dirt!” he yelled, and flung himself to the ground. Nelson pushed his prisoners down and flattened out beside them.

  Running in an awkward, stumbling gait, Titus Groening floundered through the minefield, the tall, dry grass swishing past his legs. With a sudden flash and roar, a mine exploded beneath him, blowing his left leg off at the knee. With a shriek of pain he fell to his right, hit the ground heavily, and lay there moaning. Nick waited for the fragments to stop falling and pushed himself to his feet, his heart thundering in his ears.

  “Goddammit!” he yelled. Now he had to go fish the stupid bastard out.

  Then, without warning, Titus grunted with exertion and rolled over. Once, twice, three—

  Whump!

  A second mine exploded, this one under his body—his chest absorbed the entire blast, fragments and all, and he lay still.

  Silent.

  Titus Groening was dead.

  Epilog

  Tuesday, February 7, 0444 (CC) – Trimmer Springs, Alpha Centauri 2

  (3 weeks later)

  The mob in the park was overflowing. Almost four thousand people had packed themselves in, Trimmer Springs residents of all ages. The park had been damaged; several trees were splintered, the grass was scarred where shell craters had been filled in. Houses across the street had gaping holes in their roofs, the bell tower at the church had collapsed. Nick’s own house had been sprayed with shrapnel and the marshal’s office had taken a hit…but the hospital hadn’t been touched.

  Neither had the statue in Center Park.

  Nick sat numbly on the temporary stage that had been erected for the ceremony. Suzanne sat beside him in a hoverchair, looking pale but lovely. Her smile lightened his mood a little—as much as he hated the pomp and ceremony, Suzanne loved it, and he had come for her benefit more than anything else.

  Mayor Robinette delivered a fine speech, extolling the virtues of the new U.F. Marshal who, once again, had saved Trimmer Springs from devastation. Nick was obliged to say a few words, to his own embarrassment and the crowd’s delight. After he sat down they applauded for two full minutes, forcing him to get up again and wave until they finally got tired and shut the hell up. Several school children then presented him with awards from their respective classes, thanking him for his dedication and service, and at long last the high school band burst into martial music and hundreds of balloons were released.

  Finally it was over.

  Almost. Nick and Suzanne were obliged to wait in a receiving line while several hundred citizens filed past, shaking hands and offering their gratitude. Nick didn’t begrudge them, but would have rather been somewhere else. He hardly deserved the medal the mayor had hung around his neck, especially when it was Suzanne who had taken a bullet.

  Two hours after it began, people started to drift away. Nick sat beside Suzanne, holding her hand, and watched them. Nine people had been killed in the shelling and another fifty or so injured; it was pretty bad, but could have been much worse. His main regret was that he hadn’t figured things out sooner…he might have avoided any deaths at all.

  But hindsight was always perfect, wasn’t it?

  “They love you, Nick,” Suzanne said quietly as another citizen walked past with a smile and a nod.

  “They love the image they think is me,” he said.

  “It’s the only you they know. How can you blame them?”

  “I don’t blame them. I just don’t get any kick out of it.”

  She leaned over and nuzzled his neck. “What do you get a kick out of?”

  He grinned and kissed her lush lips. “Soon as the doctor gives you a green light, I’ll show you.”

  She smiled. “Mm, I can hardly wait.”

  Nick saw someone approaching and got quickly to his feet. Enos Kristoferson looked a little self-conscious, perhaps because he was the only man in the park dressed in cult clothing. He was alone except for the little girl at his side. Parthena gazed up at Nick with a smile, then threw her arms around Suzanne’s neck.

  “I prayed for you every day,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m feeling much better,” Suzanne told her. “You saved my life, Parthena.”

  “That was my papa. He’s the one who killed Darius.”

  “Yes, he did. But it was you who stopped Darius from shooting me, before your papa could get to his gun.”

  Nick shook Enos’ hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  Enos blushed and shrugged. “Parthena talked me into it. She really loves you folks.”

  “And we really love her. You can be very proud of her—she’s a brave little girl.”

  Parthena took Nick’s hand and pulled him down to his knees, then planted a kiss on his cheek. The four of them chatted for a few minutes, then Enos took his daughter and left. Nick settled down beside Suzanne again.

  “Who’s going to run their cult with all the Groenings dead or in prison?” she asked.

  “Well, I think some of them might drift over to Jeb Wiest’s group. His brand of religion is a little more relaxed and they might be a lot happier there.”

  “You know, except for the fundamentalism, I really envy them their natural lifestyle,” she said. “I hope it works out for them.”

  “I’m sure it will for some, but not for everyone. Some people seem to need that rigid, top-down authoritarianism. I guess that’s why cults will never completely go away.”

  “I feel sorry for those who feel that way. Did I tell you? I saw Bishop Speers talking to the Downing women yesterday. I think they may start attending her church.”

  Nick’s eyebrows lifted. “Who would have guessed? Maybe Maggie’s close call woke them up.”

  Suzanne leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed deeply in the cool evening air.

  “You getting tired?” he asked.

  “No, I’m okay. It’s nice here.”

  Nick slid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her thick blond hair. He sat there a moment, contemplating what he was about to say. It took him a moment to work up the courage.

  “Suzanne…”

  “Hm?”

  “Do you remember the last conversation we had, the day before you were kidnapped?”

  “Mm, vaguely.”

  He was silent a moment, then grinned. “You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?”

  She turned penetrating green eyes on him, her expression bemused.

  “What the scorn are you talking about?”

  He gazed into her lovely eyes. “You said you loved me.”

>   Her expression relaxed and she smiled. “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah, that.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “When you went missing, and I didn’t know if you were dead or alive…”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What about it?”

  “…and then when I saw you all covered in blood…”

  She twisted her body to face him. “Nick, are you going to tell me or not?”

  He studied her face a moment, then pressed his forehead against hers.

  “I got really scared.”

  “You and me both! I think they were planning to kill me.”

  He grinned and gazed across the park. “You’re not making this any easier.”

  “I’m not making what any easier?”

  He met her eyes again. “I realized… When you were missing, I realized that…I love you too.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “You just now figured that out? I knew that all along.”

  “What!”

  “I said, I knew—”

  “I heard what you said! What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. You’ve loved me from the first time you met me.”

  “I have?”

  “Of course you have. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

  Nick stared at her in consternation. “How is it that you know what I feel and I don’t?”

  “I’m a lot older than you are, don’t forget.”

  “How can I forget? You keep reminding me.”

  She laughed. “So what’s the point of this conversation? Did you want to tell me something?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

  She shook her lovely head. “That isn’t what you wanted to say, because I already knew that.”

  “That is what I wanted to say! I didn’t know that you knew that.”

  “But I did. So what did you want to tell me?”

  His eyes narrowed, his head suddenly spinning. She had him off balance again.

  “Well…just that…”

  “I’m waiting.” She smiled encouragingly.

  “Just that…if you ever want to talk about something more permanent…”

  She cut him off with a kiss. “When I get to that point, you’ll propose.”

  “I will?”

  “Of course you will. All in good time.”