The Darkness of God: Book Three of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy

by Chris Bunch

  “Why not? It’s just a tool that was built by some weird-looking folks.”

  “There’s too much blood — too much strangeness about it,” Kristin said. “But go ahead. What are you going to try to do?”

  “I won’t tell you — I don’t want to suggest anything. But whatever you feel like doing — try not to do it.”

  Joshua knelt, set the Lumina in front of him, and breathed deeply, slowly, for several minutes. Then his breathing came quickly, and his hands came out, palms up.

  The gray, nondescript stone flamed to life.

  Wolfe’s fingers curled, and the heels of his hands touched. Kristin started to get up, then sank back. She moved once more, returning to her cross-legged position as Wolfe’s breath exploded out.

  “No,” he said. “It didn’t work.”

  “You wanted me to get up, and go out to the lifter, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t the Lumina make me do it? You’ve used it to kill people. Why did it fail on something simple?”

  “I don’t know.” Wolfe thought about it. “Maybe because you’re close to me — maybe because you’re strong-willed. Or maybe I didn’t have a gut-drive to make you do something.”

  “So you’re not an Al’ar,” Kristin said.

  “No.”

  The thought flashed:

  Not yet. Wolfe thought — hoped — he felt relief. “All right,” he said. “Once more. Think of something. Anything.”

  Kristin closed her eyes and was silent. Wolfe began breathing rhythmically once more.

  His breath pattern stopped.

  “A black tube,” he said. “With something white, reflecting at the top. Some sort of industrial tool?”

  “I’d give that one a close, but lousy on the interpretation. I was thinking about that formal you bought for me, back on Rogan’s World, that I never had a chance to wear. With pearls.”

  Wolfe looked at her for a long time. “When — if — we get a chance, I’ll get you some more pearls. And take you somewhere you can wear them.”

  The dusk shattered in a scream, and Wolfe and Kristin rolled out of the shelter, guns ready.

  A creature slashed madly at the ground, three yards on the other side of the moke. It was about twelve feet long, moved on four legs, and was almost Wolfe’s height at the shoulder. It had long, dark brown hair, with two arms ending in scoop-shaped claws. It had no neck, and its skull was set close into its shoulders, with red, glaring eyes and dark incisors lining a circular mouth.

  Kristin was kneeling, aiming, pistol butt cradled in her left palm, elbow on her knee as the monster screamed again, stumbled toward them, reared, claws stretching.

  “Wait,” Wolfe said, his voice calm.

  Reach … nothing is here … calm … peace … not-prey … not enemy … soft wind … not harm …

  The beast roared again, but this time not as loudly.

  Calm … not-prey … not enemy … wind … full belly … not-thirst … not-hunger …

  The creature stood still for an instant, then turned, and, unhurriedly, shambled away.

  Kristin let out her breath, lowered her gun. “Now why did that work?”

  “Let’s add another guess,” Wolfe said. “Fear is an excellent motivator.”

  “Let’s see if you’re still at peak drive,” Kristin said. “Read my mind now.”

  Wolfe began to breathe, then a smile came. “I got the signal perfectly.” He came toward her, lifted her in his arms, and carried her back into the tent. “It didn’t hurt that you were playing with the slider on your shipsuit,” he said.

  “I’m still transmitting,” Kristin said throatily. “Do you know how I want to love you?”

  Her hands reached for his suit fastener and pulled it down; her head came forward and she took him in her mouth.

  • • •

  Early the next morning, they reached Graveyard.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EMERGENCY BULLETIN

  LANCET, EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND, EARTH

  A new, highly infectious, almost invariably fatal disease has been reported on several worlds at the fringes of the Federation and appears to be spreading rapidly with no discovered means of transmission.

  SYMPTOMS AND SIGNS

  The incubation period is unknown. The onset is very rapid, beginning with intense pain and a high fever, spiking as high as 106–109 degrees Fahrenheit. The pulse is rapid and thready and hypotension occurs. Almost immediate inflammation of the entire skin occurs, accompanied by delirium, confusion, and incoordination. The secondary stage of the disease produces what appear similar to deep burns, with destruction of the epidermis and dermis over the entire body. Unusually, the common loss of feeling accompanying deep burns never occurs, and pain continues to grow to an intolerable pitch. Patient will enter advanced shock almost immediately, while disease continues to destroy tissue. Death generally follows within one to two hours after the first symptoms are noted.

  DIAGNOSIS

  No recoveries known from full onset of disease. The few survivors evinced only beginning signs of the disease which then disappeared without any treatment. Current fatality estimates: Over 99%.

  ETIOLOGY

  Unknown.

  EPIDEMIOLOGY

  Unknown.

  TRANSMISSION

  Unknown. Disease seems to strike at random. Two reports, which cannot be taken as believable, suggest those who had contact with the Al’ar or who have “psychic abilities” (phrase not admitted as meaningful) are most at risk.

  TREATMENT

  None reported as effective. Patient should be treated for extreme shock and given standard third-degree burn treatments. Beyond that, treatment is symptomatic.

  WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING

  This disease is highly contagious, with no known cure, and few reported recoveries. Patients should be isolated, as should medical teams involved with their treatment. Any information suggesting effective diagnosis or treatment should be immediately communicated with this station. To prevent possible panic, this information should be regarded as highly secret and should not be given to the general public or media.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The canyon was a deep vee-notch, with bluffs towering overhead. There were half a dozen mine entrances cut into the walls, high rectangles. Around each were scattered outbuildings.

  There was a mine not far distant from the track, and as the moke slid past, a long line of ore cars slid out, controlled by a miner in a tiny overhead gravsled.

  Kristin waved, but the man had no response until he realized what he was looking at. Then he waved back frantically, almost tipping over the ‘sled.

  “It appears,” Joshua said, “that Graveyard’s male-female ratio’s about normal for the outback. What a place to settle down, Kristin. Total adulation until somebody gets drunk or jealous and grabs for a gun.”

  They rounded a corner, and Graveyard spread below them. There was one central street, with a dozen dirt ruts radiating off it. Buildings, mostly prefab, dotted the canyon’s floor and walls; rocky outcroppings covered with dirty snow lay between them. Above the town were large, two-story buildings.

  “Superintendents’ quarters,” Joshua said. “Looks like things have gotten prosperous enough to have absentee owners.”

  “How do you know?”

  “If they were palaces, the owners’d be here. Hired help never gets mansions.”

  “You’ve been on worlds like this.”

  “I’ve been on worlds like this,” Wolfe agreed.

  There was a hand-lettered sign:

  GRAVEYARD

  POP. 400

  Someone had crossed out the population, and scrawled in:

  A man sat against the sign. One hand was propped up with a stake, and there was an ace of spades pinned to his open palm.

  There was a fist-sized hole in his chest.

  Joshua lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He drove the moke down the central street at quarter speed, e
yeing the buildings. Some appeared to be residences, others had signs: HARDWARE, EXPLOSIVES, COMPUTERS, GROCERIES, DRY GOODS, ASSAYERS, GALACTIC COMMUNICATIONS. There were other, larger signs: THE BIG STRIKE, HAMMAH’S HANGOUT, THE DEW DROP INN. Others were operated by those with less imagination or a more direct approach: GIRLS. ALK. GAMBLING.

  They passed a small building with a very neat sign on it:

  First Church of Christ, Lutheran

  Pastor Tony Stoutenburg

  “First Find Peace in Your Heart, Then Give It to Others.”

  “Now there,” Joshua said, “is the loneliest man in Graveyard.” Kristin smiled briefly.

  There was one ornate building on the street. It had started life as several modular shelters stacked and butted end-to-end, then workers had laboriously planed the twisted wood of Ak-Mechat into siding and fastened it into place. Others had cast and painted dragon heads from plas, and fastened them to the upper cornices.

  There was a neat sign:

  THE SARATOGA

  Proprietor: Richard Canfield

  On its porch, seemingly oblivious to the cold, was a tall, slender man with immaculate shoulder-length blond hair. He wore brown, formal-looking clothes, tucked into knee-high boots. Gems glittered at his cuffs, fingers, and one earlobe.

  Wolfe raised a hand.

  The man eyed Wolfe, nodded in return, and went back into the Saratoga.

  “You know him?”

  “I know who he is. And what he is. I was rendering professional courtesy.”

  “Canfield? And a gambler?”

  “Sharp, lady. Very sharp.”

  Wolfe hesitated, then swung the controls of the moke around and grounded the machine in front of the Saratoga. “This’ll likely be the center of things,” he said. “Maybe a little bit safer than renting a hovel on some backstreet. You go register, and I’ll find out where to get rid of this beast.”

  “Which brings up a question,” Kristin said. “What name do I register under?”

  “Our own, of course,” Wolfe said. “Honest folk like us have nothing to hide.”

  • • •

  The room was fairly large, with a big bed, furniture that’d been antiqued with a blowtorch, and fake wood paneling. There were photographs on the walls, not holos, of ancient Earth scenes.

  “You won’t believe what this room costs,” Kristin said.

  “Sure I would,” Joshua said. “When you’re the only game in town you set your own prices. Plus it’s warm, dry, and better than a cribhouse. Just what a horny miner who’s got more credits than sense wants when he gets paid. Or, since there’s still some freelancers working the hills, when he thinks he’s found something out there in the rocks.”

  Kristin looked skeptical, bounced on the bed. “At least it doesn’t squeak,” she agreed.

  “Fine. I don’t believe in advertising,” Joshua said.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we start whining for help.”

  • • •

  “An open com line to where?” the small man with the large beak asked.

  “I’ll make the connection,” Wolfe said.

  “I can’t allow that.”

  Wolfe dropped another bill on the counter. Then a second.

  “All right,” the man said. “Go in that booth there. I’ll cut the controls through to you.”

  “No,” Wolfe said. “I want you to take a walk with my friend here. Show her some of the sights of Graveyard.”

  “That’s against corporate regulations!”

  “I know you wouldn’t dream of eavesdropping, but I’m a very private man,” Wolfe said. Three more bills fluttered down. The man put out a finger, touched them.

  “For how long?”

  “Not long,” Wolfe said. “I’ll go looking for you when I’m finished.”

  • • •

  “You’ve been out of touch for a while,” the distorted voice said from half a galaxy distant.

  “Been busy.”

  “So I gather,” the voice said. “Don’t know if I should be talking to you.”

  “Oh?”

  There was nothing but star-hum for a bit.

  “All right,” the voice said reluctantly. “I didn’t get where I am by picking sides. FI would like to talk to you, real bad. And I don’t mean with you as a free agent.”

  “That’s a known.”

  “Did you know they’ve put the word out that anybody who grabs you and delivers you to Cisco or one of his bottom-feeders will get absolution? Alive only, which I suppose is a blessing.”

  “I didn’t. Am I hot publicly?”

  “Not yet. But sooner or later some bravo’ll open his mouth to the law.”

  “Of course. You thinking about collecting?”

  There was a blurt of static.

  “Come on, Wolfe. I’ve seen what happens when somebody decides to pin your hide to the wall. I’m not an operator anymore, either. I just sit here and put people in touch with people they’d like to do business with.”

  “Good,” Wolfe said. “I don’t like dealing with ambitious folks.”

  “What do you need?” the voice asked. “And what’s in it for me?”

  “I need a ship. Clean, fast, armed if possible.”

  “How much you willing to pay?”

  “Once I’ve got the ship — whatever the price tag is.”

  “Once you’ve got the ship — come on, Wolfe. Once I’ve won the Federation lottery I can afford to buy a ticket. Ships are expensive.”

  “They didn’t used to be.”

  “You didn’t use to be Federation Intelligence’s poster boy, either.”

  “All right,” Wolfe said grudgingly. “I’ll hunt elsewhere.”

  “No,” the voice said. “I didn’t say I couldn’t get you one. But since it doesn’t sound like you’re sitting on barrels of credits right now, we’ll have to find another way of payment.”

  “That’s what I told somebody not too long ago,” Wolfe said. “So what’s the tag?”

  “Now we’re doing business,” the voice said. “Let me consider a couple offers I’ve got lying around.”

  The voice went away. After a while it came back.

  “There’s this official on a certain world who seems to think he’s a minor deity. Some people I know would like him to discover the joys of disembodiment and see what he’s like in a new incarnation.”

  • • •

  Wolfe took a deep breath. “I don’t have much choice.”

  “Good. This one won’t be … Wait a second. Cancel the above, my friend. I’ve got something a whole lot better. And it won’t mess with any morals you have left. The bodies shouldn’t start bouncing until you’re well out of town.”

  “What is it?”

  “Very simple. I’ve got a package — or rather some people I know have a package. They want it delivered to some people on another world.”

  “What’s the catch? Seems there’s always enough hotrods around for courier runs,” Wolfe said.

  “The package itself is hot — in both old-fashioned senses of the word. And the ship-driver I’m going to use I have — some small questions about. He may or may not have done me wrong a couple of years ago, so I want somebody I can trust with him.” The voice paused. “Oh yeah. The people it’s going to are also warmish.”

  “Break it down, man.”

  “Fine. I’ve got twenty-five pounds of fissionable material somebody on World A wants taken back to his, her, or their Old Sentimental Home, so a group of people who call themselves Fighters for Victory can build a little bitty bomb.”

  Star-hum.

  “You interested?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Good man. I assume you’ll have some specifications about being picked up, wherever you are, since you never were a trusting soul.”

  “I will.”

  “Nice to be partners again, Joshua.”

  Wolfe let the little man have his office back. He seemed grateful, scurrying about like a ch
ipmunk making sure his grain hadn’t been discovered. Joshua looked for Kristin, found her down the street, talking to a medium-size cheerful man with a neatly trimmed beard.

  “Joshua, this is Pastor — it is Pastor, right? — Stoutenburg. Joshua Wolfe.”

  “Honored,” Wolfe said. “Not sure I’ve met many ministers in my life.”

  “We seem to be a declining breed,” Stoutenburg admitted. “Christianity’s a little old-fashioned and slow these days. But at least I’m not as extinct as priests.”

  Wolfe inclined his head and didn’t open the argument.

  “Pastor Stoutenburg — Tony — has been giving me the history of Graveyard.”

  “Such as it is,” Stoutenburg said. “It can be summed up pretty briefly: Find minerals, dig minerals, use credits to look for new sins.”

  “Has anybody had any success?” Joshua asked. “With the sins, I mean.”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” the preacher said. “But they seem fairly content recycling the old ones.”

  “Are you making any headway?”

  Stoutenburg shrugged. “I’m not looking for rice Christians, but I think I’m getting a few more folks at my services every week.” He grinned. “Since we’re on an Earth seven-day week, twenty-two-hour day here, I refuse to believe the reason is I’m the only place where you can come down on a Sunday morning without having to pay for quiet.”

  “What’s the town like?” Kristin asked.

  “Really? Seven hundred to a thousand people, everyone dependent on the mines. There are, so far, half a dozen major veins of stellite. Most everyone except for me spends good weather wandering the hills looking for more, and the possibilities of success are good. It appears most people think riches are either here or right around the corner, so why not spend it like they already have it. I won’t grant Graveyard the honor of calling it Satan’s favorite resort — we’re not big enough or decadent enough for that yet — but there’s a sufficiency of people building its reputation.” Stoutenburg nodded with his chin. “Here’s one of our finest boosters.”