Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  She said, "You've been in Temptation for a while, right?"

  "I'd say. Longer than a slip of a girl like yourself has been alive, I suspect. Came here in fifty-nine, nearly forty years ago. There was hardly anything here then. The ghost rock rush had only been going on a few years."

  Debbi made a note to herself to sit down with Cass at some point and get some history and background, but she had more immediate concerns now, so she had to cut him off before he launched into an epic tale of frontier Temptation.

  "So, do you know a man named Womble? Lives over on Border Street?"

  "Lee Womble. Sure. He's been here a while too. Lee must be near about old as I am."

  "And his wife?"

  "Glenda," Cass said immediately. "Good looking woman. Temper, though. Irish."

  Debbi grinned. "Really? She has a temper?"

  "Boy howdy. Redhead, like yourself."

  Debbi relaxed. "Well, Cass, listen, Lee Womble's over in the office. He says his wife is threatening to kill him. You put any stock in that?"

  Cass laughed. "Dear Lord, I hope not. Glenda's been dead five years now."

  "Dead?" she repeated in bewilderment. Immediately, she realized what had just happened. Debbi closed her eyes in anticipation of what she had coming from Miller. Here comes the do-gooder muscling in on someone else's interview. She's a hotshot off a space station; no one can do the job like she can. A lonely, confused man is complaining his long dead wife is threatening him. No problem, Debbi will fix it. Old fashion law enforcement where you get your facts first be damned! She believes everybody deserves to be heard and believed. Even anouks.

  "Oh God." Debbi rubbed her eyes and moaned.

  Cass was taken aback by her reaction. "I'm sorry. Did you know her?"

  She waved a dismissive hand. "No, no. I've done something stupid." Debbi chuckled. "Miller was talking to Mr. Womble and I thought he was being too brusque to an old.uh.to a man that seemed to be in trouble. So I stuck my big nose into it and I told Mr. Womble I'd go have a chat with his wife and try to straighten everything out."

  Cass smiled down at her in sympathy. "Don't worry, Debbi, if doing foolish things caused any harm, I would've been dead years ago. Tell you what, I'll go over to the office and talk to Lee. And I'll tell Miller you were just humoring an old man, and you came looking for me because you thought Lee needed to see an old friend."

  Debbi stared wide-eyed at the old Ranger. "Cass! Thank you! That would save me a lot of headaches."

  "No problem. I don't have much use for Miller." He patted her cheek. "You know, good thing Glenda isn't trying to kill Lee; that'd mean we have bigger trouble in Temptation than I care to think about." He winked and started an oblivious, nerve-wracking shuffle across the busy street.

  Debbi couldn't bear to watch after the second truck almost hit him. And since it might affect public confidence for one Colonial Ranger to help another one across the street, she crossed her fingers and went off to make rounds. She was on night duty and she had a feeling it was going to be a wild one.

  While she walked rounds, she nodded to townsfolk. These little greetings gave her an increasing sense of familiarity with Temptation. It felt good. She stopped and chatted, answered questions, fielded complaints. While she was going about her nightly business, the incident with the creature at the miners' camp still haunted her mind. However, she sought to occupy her attention with less disturbing matters.

  The mystery of the black gun wouldn't leave her; what were those black needles? She'd seen needle guns before, but they all fired spread pattern barrages. They were designed for close work like crowd control.

  This new weapon was single shot and it had a remarkable range for so simple a mechanism with such a small projectile. It was deadly accurate at 250 yards. But she still didn't know if it was deadly in general. The Doctor had confirmed the needles weren't poisonous, although he never could determine exactly what they were made of.

  She was passing a rubble pile that used to be a building when she heard a voice call for help. She stopped and listened. This was a relatively deserted part of town, close to a section of the town wall.

  "Help me!" the voice called again. It came from inside the rubble field.

  "Where are you?" Debbi called as she began to climb the jagged tangle of concrete and metal.

  "Help me!"

  The sharp edges of crumbled cement tore her gloves. The mounds of rubbish threatened to give way under her and collapse. She reached the pinnacle and stared down into a field of rock and concrete detritus about 150 feet across.

  "I'm a Colonial Ranger!" Debbi scanned the darkening area. "Where are you?"

  "Here! I've broken my leg!"

  Debbi saw a figure moving down among the ruin. She started climbing down. It was getting darker and more dangerous. It wasn't going to be easy to carry someone out. When she reached the bottom, she hurried to the prone figure that lay near a large concrete block.

  "Are you hurt?" She stopped almost as soon as the question was out of her mouth. Something wasn't right.

  She reached for her sidearm. The figure on the ground lifted slightly and she saw a flash of metal in his hand. At the same moment, she heard the crack of a rifle and the concrete block in front of her sparked from a ricochet. The man on the ground had an automatic pistol in his hand and it was pointing at Debbi.

  "Don't!" he yelled at her.

  Debbi froze with her gun half cleared from the holster. She watched the man carefully and sensed he wanted something from her. It wasn't a murder; it was an ambush for some other reason.

  The man said, "Your weapon on the ground, please, Madame Ranger. Careful too. You are watched from above."

  Debbi lifted the gun clear and stooped to place it on the ground in front of her. She held her hands out, palms up. She turned her head slowly and looked up. She saw two figures in fluttering desert robes perched like vultures on the bare metal girders sticking out of the rubble, black blots against the twilight sky. They aimed rifles at her.

  The man on the ground scrambled to his feet and approached Debbi. He carefully picked up her gun and glanced at it. He looked disappointed and stuffed it in his belt. He was a Reaper scav fresh off the desert.

  "What do you want?" Debbi asked.

  He leaned in and touched her hair. His eyes were blacklined, with dark veins twisting through what was left of the whites of his eyes, and he stank of tannis sludge. He jerked the comlink off her head and studied it. Then he hooked it in his belt too. Debbi pulled her head away and glared at him.

  "What do you want?" Debbi repeated.

  "The black gun."

  Debbi tried not to react.

  He grinned at her. "You have a black gun. I want it. You see, I'm Borneo. Maybe you've heard of me. I collect things. Now, where do you have this black gun?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  He frowned. "That's not true. Where is the black gun? I'll take it and go and prepare to bask in the praise of Nicolai."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Tell." The Reaper scav dropped the aim of his pistol to Debbi's left knee.

  "Wait!" She shook her head, looking frightened. "All right. I'll tell you."

  Borneo laughed and glanced up at his men aloft. It was the wrong thing to do. His arm flew to the side and a hard force pounded his shoulder. There was no pain, but a pressure clamped around his neck and his knees gave out. He felt himself dropping to the ground just as a rifle bullet zipped past his head.

  He was lying on the ground staring up at the night sky. Actually, he was lying on the Ranger. She was on her back on the ground with one arm clamped around his throat, holding him on top of her like a shield. He felt a muzzle pressing into his temple.

  "Call off your boys," she hissed in his ear, "or we'll see if your blackline keeps you from feeling pain when this bullet cuts your brain in half."

  "This is bad," Borneo said. "I should've taken Hickok's ship. That was easy. This is hard."


  Debbi angrily noted Hickok's name.

  Borneo started to turn his head until Debbi dug in the pistol.

  "Steady there, Mr. Borneo," she warned.

  "You are mistaken," Borneo whined. "My men will kill me. They don't love me."

  Another rifle shot snapped off the concrete block that just barely hid them from Borneo's companions.

  Borneo continued, "They don't care about the black gun either. They have no vision. They will welcome me dead, and go back and raid on their own."

  "Yeah, boo hoo, we've all got problems." Debbi looked around for a way out. She couldn't give up any leverage on this scav; blackliners were unnaturally strong and if she lost her head shot on him, he might be able to take a wound and still come after her. She took stock of her surroundings and saw her only chance for survival.

  "Okay, here's the deal," she said. "I'm going to release my grip on your neck and take my gun out of your belt. Then you are going to get on your stomach. And through it all, I'm going to keep this pistol pressed to your ear so that, if you flinch funny, I can blast your stinking head off. Do you understand me very clearly?"

  "Yes."

  "All right. I'm not kidding. If you move, I'll kill you."

  "Yes."

  Debbi hoped the scav couldn't feel her heart pounding. She released the pressure of her left arm around his throat. He stayed still. Another bullet pinged nearby. She dug the pistol barrel into his scalp. She reached down and drew her Dragoon out of the Reaper's belt and put it against his rib cage.

  "Move very slowly. Get on your face to the right."

  "Yes." Borneo slowly moved to his right. He rolled off Debbi's body and settled onto his stomach.

  Debbi repositioned the pistol against Borneo's head so she could get on her knees in a crouched position. She set her sidearm down and switched the Reaper pistol to her left hand.

  "Now, very carefully," she warned, "put your hands behind your back, crossed at the wrists. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  He complied. From inside her belt, Debbi pulled out a metal strip about a foot long and two inches wide. She wrapped it around his wrists and fit one end of the strip through a slot in the other end. She pulled it tight until it clicked several times and gripped tight. With another strip, she repeated the process on his ankles.

  She took a relieved breath and picked up her sidearm. Then she slipped the Reaper's pistol in her belt.

  "Okay," she said quietly, "just lie here quietly and we'll both survive. If you do something stupid, you'll die."

  "Yes."

  She put an eye around the edge of the concrete block and spied out the scene. The two snipers were still on their girders about forty feet up. She picked up a large chip of concrete and threw it into the distance. When it rattled against a pile of rubble, the two Reapers swung around in tandem.

  Debbi raised her weapon and fired at one of the snipers. The shot hit the girder. The Reaper began to turn back. The next shot hit home. The Reaper weaved and toppled to the rubble below. The other sniper shifted his aim and his shot hit close, spraying concrete dust into her eyes. She forced her eyes open despite the pain and fired. The sniper was taking an extra second to draw a bead on her. She squeezed off a shot just as he fired. She heard an insect zip past her ear. He clutched the girder and refused to fall. But he was dead.

  Debbi closed her eyes and rubbed them. She felt something snatching at her jacket. She sprang away, trying to open her watering eyes. She pointed her gun at a blur moving in the darkness behind the concrete block. The blur suddenly grew. She fired and scrambled back to her feet. The blur rose up in front of her and she felt an explosive pain in her right wrist as it was jerked aside.

  Her red, misty vision showed Borneo smiling in front of her. She parried his grasping right hand and kneed him in the groin. Little effect. He shook her arm like a dog with a toy, but she held onto her weapon. She kneed him in the groin again. He flinched. Now his right hand plunged past her block and grabbed her by the throat with such force she was afraid he might've crushed her windpipe. She noted that his wrists were bloody; he had broken the metal bands with sheer strength. She desperately kneed him in the groin a third time. This time, his blackened eyes rolled up. He twisted at the abdomen and relaxed the grip on her wrist.

  She yanked her gun arm away, pressed the pistol against his shoulder, and shot him. The force of the blast spun him around. He turned back and glared at her. She couldn't believe he was still on his feet.

  She shot him in the stomach. He grunted and released her throat. He took two steps back and doubled over like a man with a bellyache. Then he raised his head and looked at her again, eyes black and filled with a twisted, perverted gleam.

  She kicked him in the face. He dropped onto his back. And started to get up.

  "For Chrissakes." Debbi stomped on his stomach, grinding her boot heel into his bloody gut wound.

  He moaned uncomfortably and tried to get up again.

  She aimed her weapon at his head. "Just stop it."

  Borneo looked at her. He considered his options. Then he showed real pain on his face for the first time and fell heavily back to the ground.

  Debbi rubbed her sore throat and snatched her comlink from where it still dangled at Borneo's belt. She dropped to one knee out of Borneo's reach and called for assistance.

  Then she asked Borneo, "So Hickok told you about the black gun?"

  "Yes."

  "Pilot? Pretty woman?"

  "Yes."

  "All right." Debbi shook her head grimly and muttered to herself, "Better find out if Hickok has any next of kin; so I can notify them when I'm finished with her."

  Chapter 6

  Debbi strode through Temptation's streets, shoulders forward into the wind, heading straight for the Depot. Her pace was murderous. She was on a mission.

  She was coming straight from the scuffle with Borneo and his Reaper scavs. Debbi had relinquished her prisoner to Stew, suggesting he wake the doctor and have him take a look at the Reaper's wound. She had other matters to attend to. Stew had nodded without argument.

  She was covered in dust and her hair was pulled from its tie, splaying red wisps wildly about her head. Debbi never made much fuss about appearance. She didn't have to, being naturally attractive, but it simply didn't matter to her; she didn't care about people's opinions of her personal life.

  Debbi marched into the LAX.

  She didn't pause. She stalked unerringly to Hickok's table. All pilots had their favorite tables.

  Then she was brought up short.

  Ross was sitting at Hickok's table.

  Hickok looked up. There was a glimmer of expectation in her face. She sat stiffly in her chair, a drink untouched beside her.

  Seeing Ross there confused Debbi and fueled her anger. She slammed her hand down on the table with enough force to slosh the drink. Hickok flinched, but Debbi didn't catch it. Ross sat back in his chair with a mild look of interest.

  Debbi ignored him and leaned in close to Hickok's face.

  "You sold me out." Her voice was low and tight.

  Hickok calmly regarded the Ranger. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't play stupid. I heard you were better than that."

  Hickok's face hardened. She stole a glance at Ross, and then turned her dark eyes to Debbi once more, taking in the Ranger's disheveled appearance. She cocked her head.

  "You never said the gun was top secret," she remarked slyly.

  Debbi immediately felt alarms go off in her head. "Put your hands on the table where I can see them."

  Hickok hesitated just a second too long.

  Debbi drew her sidearm in a blur of movement. "Now."

  Hickok slowly raised her empty hands and placed them flat on the table, her left one resting in a puddle of her spilt drink, a slight tremor gripping it. Her mouth was twisted into a scowl, but her eyes never left Debbi.

  Ross asked Debbi, "What's this all about, Dallas?" His tone was
detached and casual.

  "She sold me out to a bunch of Reaper scum," the Ranger ground out. She never took her eyes off Hickok.

  The pilot replied, "I figured you could take care of yourself. Was I wrong?"

  "You had some information and you hightailed it straight to the people you thought could pay the highest price." The barrel of the Dragoon rested almost on Hickok's chest. "You invited thieves and junkies into our town and you didn't care who got hurt, did you?"

  "That's not exactly what happened. They weren't after anyone but you. And you seem to be just fine."

  "So, how much did you get?"

  Hickok stared up defiantly at the Ranger and then laughed humorlessly. She didn't care for being interrogated like a common criminal by Rangers, especially in her own haunt. She rose to leave.

  Debbi was on Hickok in a second. She grabbed the pilot's left arm to prevent her from reaching her sidearm and shoved her up against the nearby wall. The chair overturned with a clatter. As Debbi's nails dug into flesh, Hickok chocked back a cry and gritted her teeth.

  "I should kill you now," Debbi whispered. "I should blow you all over this saloon. And then have a drink." She heard the scraping of Ross's chair behind her and the creak of leather as he stood. She said, "You ever spread private information again and I will kill you."

  Hickok cast a look of appeal toward Ross. He just watched them, arms folded, a small smile playing about his lips. He shrugged when he felt Hickok's eyes on him. This was Debbi's fight. Hickok should have known better.

  Debbi shoved Hickok violently and walked away. Ross stared at Hickok for a moment more, hard and stoic. Then he too left the bar.

  Hickok straightened off the wall, her hand going instinctively to her aching arm. For just a split second, she allowed herself to show pain and then the mask slipped back into place. She glared at all the other patrons who studied her as if they were pack animals. If they smelled blood then her life and ship was forfeit.

  She sat down at the table again, stiff spined and head held high. She ordered a refill and began to thank her lucky stars that she was still in one piece. Damn, that Ranger had a grip. She rubbed her arm, fully expecting bruises in the morning.