by Mike Resnick
“This is pretty awful stuff,” offered Blue Eyes, indicating his drink.
“The galley wasn't programmed for your needs.”
“An understatement,” said Blue Eyes, tossing his cup in the atomizer and ordering a different concoction.
“Actually, the food's pretty good compared to some ships I've owned,” said Kinoshita.
“I agree,” said Nighthawk.
“I wonder how you managed to conquer the galaxy on such poor rations,” said Blue Eyes.
“We only conquered a very small part of it,” answered Kinoshita with a smile. “The rest we bought.”
“You should have bought some good food synthesizers while you were at it.”
“We did. It's hardly our fault that a human ship isn't equipped to feed a blue dragon with fangs that would give any child nightmares.”
“If you two are going to argue about the food, wait until I've finished eating,” said Nighthawk.
“I thought you liked it,” said Blue Eyes.
“I do. But when you start talking about it, I think about what it really is instead of what it tastes like, and then I lose my appetite.”
“Talk about self delusion!” said the dragon with a hoot of amusement.
“It has its uses,” said Nighthawk, finishing his sandwich and downing his beer.
“I thought you were the ultimate realist.”
“I am,” replied Nighthawk. “Who but a realist would admit the benefits of self delusion?”
“That is either the stupidest or most intelligent remark I've heard in years,” said Blue Eyes. “Now I'll have to spend the next day or two figuring out which.”
Nighthawk got to his feet. “I think I'd better check on Melisande.”
“Is she ill?” asked Kinoshita.
“Just a bit under the weather. She should be fine by the time we land.”
He left the galley and returned to Melisande's cabin.
“I didn't expect to see you again for the duration of the trip,” said Melisande, still sitting in the same chair.
“I need to know something.”
“What?”
“Can you tell if someone's lying?”
“Someone on the ship? Probably not, if it's one of the aliens.”
“No, a human, not Kinoshita or me.”
“It all depends.”
“On what?”
“On what kind of pressure he's under. Point a gun at him and he might be so scared that his fear of the gun will mask all other emotions. I might even read it as fear of telling the truth, and interpret that as a lie.”
“Too bad.”
“Why?”
“That's the very situation I had in mind,” said Nighthawk.
“Who is it?”
“Who is what?”
“I'm not a fool, Nighthawk,” said Melisande. “You were asking about a scenario you've already devised in your mind. You think that Ibn ben Khalid is masquerading as someone else. You think you know who. You want to confront him with your suspicions, probably at gunpoint. And you want me to tell you if he's lying or not. Isn't that what this is all about?”
“In essence.”
“I'm sorry, but I can't give you a definite answer.”
“I'll just have to proceed without one, then,” said Nighthawk. He walked to the door. “I won't bother you again.”
“I'm happy to have your company,” she replied. “You're the most fascinating man I've met in a long time.”
“I thought I didn't project any emotions.”
“I misspoke. You don't react emotionally, but you do have emotions. Most of them are buried so deep that one of Friday's bombs probably couldn't get them out. I find that curious in so successful a man.”
“Possibly because you mistake me for a successful man.”
“You're a legend all over the Frontier,” said Melisande. “You have more self confidence than any man I know. You have never been defeated. That is my definition of a successful man.”
“I would think a woman with your gifts wouldn't dabble on the surface of things,” said Nighthawk.
“I don't understand.”
“I was created with all of Jefferson Nighthawk's memories. Not just those that he possessed at age 38.”
“Ah!” she said. “I see now!”
“Each time I see my face in a mirror, I expect to see the white of my cheekbones piercing through my diseased flesh,” said Nighthawk. “I look at my hands, and I'm surprised not to see the skin peeled back from my knuckles and my fingernails missing.” He paused uncomfortably. “You wondered that I didn't lust after you in the whorehouse. I learned not to. After all, what kind of woman could possibly be attracted to a man in an advanced state of eplasia? I watched myself dying of a disfiguring disease for the better part of two years, before they finally accepted my application to go into the deep freeze and await a cure. You learn to sublimate a lot of emotions when you go through something like that.”
She nodded her head. “Yes, it makes much more sense now. You must forgive me, but like everyone else, I assumed you were what you appeared to be. I'll have to adjust.”
“So will I,” replied Nighthawk. “I'm on a mission now, and every move I've made since I was created was been directed. But when I've finally killed Ibn ben Khalid and returned Cassandra Hill to her father, I'm going to have to come to grips with the fact that every human I know except for you and Kinoshita has been dead for over a century, that most of the buildings are distant memories, that my knowledge of everything except weaponry and spaceships is a hundred years out of date.”
“Frankly, I'm surprised that you're not even more repressed than you are,” said Melisande.
“I haven't got time to be an emotional basket case,” said Nighthawk. “I've got work to do.”
“You don't take much pleasure in it.”
“I did once. I will again.”
He walked out of the room and let the door slide shut behind him, leaving Melisande to wonder how much longer he could remain simmering before the explosion came.
16.
“We're ready to land,” announced Nighthawk as he instructed the auto-pilot to turn the controls over to the spaceport's computer.
“They didn't ask us to identify ourselves,” noted Kinoshita. “That's very strange.”
“They know who we are,” said Nighthawk.
“You radioed ahead?”
“I didn't have to.”
“I didn't know you've been to Causeway,” said Blue Eyes.
“I haven't.”
“I meant your ship.”
“I know what you meant,” said Nighthawk.
They fell silent then as the ship burst into the atmosphere and activated its heat shields. Another five minutes and it gently touched down on the reinforced concrete of the spaceport.
“That's it,” said Nighthawk. “Let's go to work.”
“Do you want to divide the place up, the way we did on Cellestra?” asked Kinoshita.
“No need to.”
“I disagree,” said Blue Eyes. “We can cover four times the ground if we go off on our own.”
“But we don't have to,” said Nighthawk, walking to the hatch and opening it. “I know where we're going.”
Blue Eyes followed him to the hatch, then froze.
“What the hell's going on here?” he demanded.
“We're going after Ibn ben Khalid,” answered Nighthawk.
“But this isn't Causeway!” snapped the dragon. “It's Sylene IV!”
“That's right,” said Nighthawk. “This is where he is.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” said Blue Eyes.
“No, it's not,” said Nighthawk, drawing a pistol and aiming it at the dragon. “You slipped up.”
“I don't know what you're talking about!”
“You told me that Ibn ben Khalid had been seen on Cellestra. His own followers, who had accepted me as one of them, told me that he'd never been there.” Nighthawk paused. “Cellestra is
two days closer to the Core than Sylene. Causeway is a couple of days closer than Cellestra. How far away from Sylene did you think you could lead me before I got tired of chasing ghosts?”
Blue Eyes glared at him. “If you're going to shoot, shoot. I don't have to listen to you too.”
“I haven't decided if I'm going to shoot you,” replied Nighthawk. “I admire loyalty, even if it's misdirected.”
“Then what happens next?”
“You leave the ship and we go find Ibn ben Khalid. Melisande, you and Kinoshita come along. Friday, wait here; I don't need you blowing up anything else.”
“If the adventure is to end here, I insist on coming along,” said Friday.
Nighthawk stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Kinoshita. “Frisk him. Make sure he's not carrying anything that can go bang!”
Kinoshita slid his hands over the red alien with obvious distaste, then turned back to Nighthawk. “He's clean.”
“Okay, you can come with us,” said Nighthawk. “And don't forget what I told you on the ship about blowing things up without my approval.”
“I will not forget,” said Friday, joining them on the ground.
Nighthawk turned and began walking toward Customs, followed by his motley little crew. A few moments later they were cleared to leave the spaceport. He flagged down a vehicle and directed its computer to take them to the Blue Dragon.
“Why are we going there?” asked Blue Eyes.
“Nostalgia,” replied Nighthawk, so ominously that the dragon fell silent, afraid to ask any more questions. Kinoshita never took his eyes off Friday, and every time the alien moved the little man's hand snaked down toward his weapon.
Melisande looked acutely uncomfortable, as indeed she was, with powerful and unpleasant emotions emanating from both Kinoshita and Friday. From Nighthawk all she could read was eagerness, an urge to confront whatever he thought was waiting at the Blue Dragon.
“You know, we don't have to do this,” said Blue Eyes at last.
“Do what?” asked Nighthawk.
“Kill him.”
“Yes, we do. That's why I was created.”
“You don't even know him. He's a good man, Widowmaker.”
“I'm not political. This is just business.”
“It's more than business! You're killing an important man!”
“The fate of someone who's closer to me than a father or a brother depends on my killing him,” said Nighthawk.
“You could say he was dead,” urged Blue Eyes. “Your employers are half a galaxy away. They'd never know.”
“I can't take the chance. The Widowmaker has got to survive.”
“You are the Widowmaker.”
Nighthawk shook his head. “I'm his shadow. He's depending on me. I can't let him down.”
“Ibn ben Khalid might kill you instead.”
“He might,” admitted Nighthawk.
“What then?”
“Then Friday will blow up the whole damned city before he has a chance to get out of it,” said Nighthawk.
The vehicle came to a stop in front of the Blue Dragon and hovered a few inches above the ground. Nighthawk paid the driver while his companions were getting out, then joined them in front of the entrance.
“I beg you,” said Blue Eyes. “Let him live!”
Nighthawk stared at him emotionlessly, offered no reply, and finally entered the tavern, followed by the rest of his team.
As usual, the Blue Dragon was filled with a motley assortment of Men and aliens. There were two Canphorites, a Lodinite, four Gengi, a huge Bortai sitting alone in one corner, two other races that Nighthawk couldn't identify, and perhaps a dozen men scattered at tables around the room.
Nighthawk and his companions sat down at a table near the entrance.
“Is he here?” asked Kinoshita, scanning the room.
“If he isn't, he will be soon,” answered Nighthawk. “Order your drinks. I'm paying.”
And then, just as the drinks were delivered to the table, a slender young man, carelessly dressed, his hair poorly combed, walked in and approached the bar.
“Stay here,” said Nighthawk softly, as he got to his feet and walked across the tavern to confront the young man.
“You're back early,” observed Nicholas Jory. “Did you find your man?”
“Eventually,” said Nighthawk.
“Kill him?”
“Soon.”
Blue Eyes got to his feet and approached the bar. “I'm sorry, Ibn ben Khalid! I tried to lead him away from you!”
Nicholas looked at Blue Eyes, then back to Nighthawk.
“So you've figured it out, have you?”
“It wasn't that difficult.”
“And now you're going to kill me?”
“That's the general idea.”
“What did I ever do to you?”
“It's what you did to Cassandra Hill,” answered Nighthawk.
“You've never even met her,” said Nicholas. “Why do you want to kill me over a woman you don't know?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Why don't you use that brain of yours to come up with a reason to join my cause instead?”
“Not interested.”
“I may kill you, you know.”
“Anything's possible,” replied Nighthawk.
“You don't believe it for a second, do you?” said Nicholas with a slight smile. “Maybe you should consider the fact that every man who wears a weapon out here is undefeated, just like you.”
“That's why I never take anyone lightly,” said Nighthawk.
“Well, I can see your mind's made up,” said Nicholas, stepping away from the bar and positioning his hand over his sonic pistol. “Let's get on with it.”
“Let's.”
Nighthawk was a micro-second from going for his own weapon when suddenly the silence of the room was broken by the shout of a familiar voice.
"STOP!" yelled Melisande.
17.
Nighthawk froze, never taking his eyes off Nicholas Jory.
"You're making a terrible mistake!" said Melisande, getting to her feet and approaching the two men at the bar.
“Move and you're a dead man,” said Nighthawk to Nicholas. Then, to Melisande: “What the hell's going on?”
“He's not Ibn ben Khalid!” she said.
“Just because he's seen to it that the Oligarchy has holographs of the wrong man?” demanded Nighthawk. “It's one of the oldest tricks in the book. You heard Blue Eyes. You heard Jory. They both admitted that he's Ibn ben Khalid!”
“You hired me for my ability,” said Melisande urgently. “Make use of it, don't ignore it!”
Nighthawk drew his weapon before Nicholas quite realized what was happening, and pointed it at the young man.
“Put your hands on the bar,” he ordered.
Nicholas complied.
Nighthawk frisked him briefly, disarmed him, and then stepped back.
“All right,” he said to Melisande. “Talk to me. I thought you couldn't read Blue Eyes’ emotions.”
“I can't.”
“And you're not a telepath.”
“I'm not.”
“Then how can you know for certain that this man's not Ibn ben Khalid?” persisted Nighthawk.
“I know from his emotions,” answered Melisande. “When Blue Eyes addressed him as if he was Ibn ben Khalid, his reaction was shock and surprise. As he realized what Blue Eyes was doing, that was replaced by feelings of exultation and loyalty. He was willing to sacrifice his life to preserve Ibn ben Khalid's true identity. Finally, when you refused to be dissuaded, his only emotional reactions were sorrow and fear.”
“Was there anything else?” asked Nighthawk. “Any other emotion at all?”
Melisande frowned for a moment, then looked up at Nighthawk. “Just one thing—a rush of conflicting emotions, too forceful and too contradictory for me to separate them, when you mentioned Cassandra Hill.”
“Do you think he knows w
here she is?”
“I read feelings, not thoughts,” replied Melisande. “I have no idea if he knows where she is.”
“Thanks,” said Nighthawk. “Go sit down. I'll take it from here.”
She walked back to the table. As she passed Blue Eyes, who was still standing near the bar, he fell into step beside her.
“Not you,” said Nighthawk.
Blue Eyes looked at him questioningly. “Are you talking to me?”
“Get your blue ass over here. You've got some explaining to do.”
The dragon approached Nighthawk. “I was protecting my leader,” he said with no show of fear. “I have no regrets. I did what I thought was best, and I'd do it again.”
“You may not live long enough to do it again,” said Nighthawk. “You've been lying to me ever since we met, and you almost got an innocent man killed by lying to me a couple of minutes ago.”
“Nicholas Jory was willing to die for the cause. I commend him for his courage.”
“I couldn't care less about your cause. I want to know where Ibn ben Khalid is.”
“I'm sure you do,” said Blue Eyes defiantly. “And after you kill me, you'll still want to know.”
“Maybe I'll kill him instead,” said Nighthawk, indicating Nicholas.
“He was willing to die two minutes ago to protect Ibn ben Khalid,” responded the dragon. “I'm sure he still is. Do your worst.”
“Or maybe I'll just find the girl and take her away until he's willing to talk.”
Neither Nicholas nor Blue Eyes made any response, but Nighthawk was concentrating on Melisande, who had seated herself at the table some fifty feet away. She jumped like she'd been hit by a flying brick.
“She's here on Sylene, isn't she?” continued Nighthawk, staring intently at Nicholas.
“That's none of your damned business!”
“For the time being, it's my only business,” Nighthawk replied. “Have you got Cassandra Hill stashed away at your place?”
“Go look. I'm not telling you anything.”
You just did. If you're willing to have your rooms searched, she's not there. But she's got to be close. You're too nervous for her not to be.
He turned to face Blue Eyes. “You know where she is, don't you?”
“Why don't you just return to Deluros and leave us in peace?” answered the dragon. “You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere. You should have died a century ago. Stop meddling in our business.”