Hickok strode away from the table and out the door. She held her head higher than Ross had ever seen. Her almost elegant posture struck him as odd for the mercenary pilot. Somewhere, somehow, she had gained a self-respect he'd never seen in her. Debbi most likely was the cause. She was always messing with folks' morals, molding them into better people, showing them that they could be more then what they were, sometimes against their will at first.
Ross rubbed his face roughly, feeling a stranger's features beneath his hands. He hardly recognized himself anymore. He didn't need a reflection to see that. He had changed. But damn it, wasn't he entitled? He had gone through hell because of Quantrill. Honor dictated he take revenge. For himself.
For Debbi.
He never once thought the cost was too high. He hadn't realized anyone else cared about what he did or didn't do with his life, particularly Debbi. He had always figured they were on the same page on that one.
Ross let out a harsh chuckle. Hell, he and Debbi had never been on the same page about anything - from anouk relations to Banshee's future. He scrubbed at his hair, holding his head in his weary arms. It hurt just to think. Maybe a few hours sleep would help him gather his wits. He was so incredibly tired.
Ross had every intention of sleeping, only he couldn't. As much as he prayed for exhaustion to take him into the folds of dreamless slumber, it didn't happen. Instead he tossed and turned and fumed and cursed until finally he left his room to wander again. He needed to talk to someone, rant a bit without interruption or preaching. He knew where he had to go. It was dark and he doubted he'd meet anyone. Folks didn't wander around outside town after dark.
Damn Hickok and her morality play. His head ached from the arguing and now he was too pent up to sleep. He ambled through the cemetery gates again, his scuffling feet stirring up small clouds of dust as he entered. The wind dragged them swiftly away, merging them with the sand-filled air as it rushed to a new location.
Ross's heavy duster tried to tug him back, its long folds captured by the wind, but the man was resolute, head bent into the force of the storm, ignoring its incessant demands. He almost sighed with relief as her grave marker came into sight. It gave Ross a slight chill to be out here among the dead, but at least they were silent. No one would criticize him. He placed a cold hand upon the tombstone, rubbing the smooth stone surface with a rough hand.
It took him a minute to find his voice. "I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore, Debbi, or even why I'm doing it." He leaned his hip against her monument and removed his hat, perhaps out of reverence or perhaps out of habit. His black hair, longer now from neglect, danced wildly in the wind.
"There was a time that I knew every step I took. Now it seems that every move I make is the wrong one. If you were here, I'm sure you'd tell me what I should do." He allowed a small knowing smile to almost crease his lips. It faded quickly. "Nothing's the same, Debbi. Not Temptation, not Banshee. Hickok wants me to take up the mantel of responsibility for the town again. Says you told her to. Gee thanks. The last thing I needed was that viper on my tail yammering about loyalty. What the hell were you thinking?"
Silence answered him.
He sighed. "I know you're going to hate me for this but I'm leaving Temptation. For good. There's something inside me, something dark. It's going to bust wide open and hurt those I still care about. I can't let that happen. I know Hickok wants me to stay and I know you do to, but I can't. I can't let Quantrill get away with this. If I stay here, I'll go crazy, knowing he's still out there and I didn't do a damn thing to stop him. All I think about is Quantrill. He has to pay for what he did to you. Stew's handling things here. He's done it since we got back. He's a good man; you'd be proud of him. And when things are settled, I'll come back." He stopped. He knew himself too well. "Hell, who am I kidding? Jeez, lying to a dead person. How low can I stoop?"
Again, no answer.
He put his hat back on and unconsciously smoothed the brim like he always did. "Well, that's all I have to say. I know it wasn't what you wanted to hear, but that's the way of it." He straightened and then paused. His head dropped slightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
He walked away, letting the night close once more around him. The flickering lights of Temptation beckoned him, but he hesitated. A shuttle lifted off from the space port and veered to the north. Probably a Hellstromme ship. Where once he would have felt warmed by the sight of orderly activity, now he only felt edgy and constricted. Nothing seemed as it once was, and he longed now for the open desert and the sense of solitude it offered.
Ross veered away from the town and walked along the perimeter of the cemetery, not yet ready to go back inside the walls. The whole planet seemed in the throes of change. He knew the colonists would fight back from the Worldstorm devastation. He had expected it, but never in the way it played out. Debbi had been right about the world evolving into something beyond what he, as a Colonial Ranger had held important. What had he once told his old friend, Reuben Olivares, right before this world went to hell? That he would join the anouks and become a shepherd. It didn't sound so implausible suddenly. A part of him wanted to settle down and get away from all of this.
He finished his circuit of the cemetery and ended up back at the main gate. He could just spy Debbi's plot.
Ross drew up short. There was something there, hunched over her grave. Icy, cold fingers of dread gripped his chest. His breath came in panting gasps suddenly. He could see movement. The mound of dirt had shifted. Numb hands fumbled for the gun at his side.
Oh God, the time had come.
His rational mind cried out that is was just another mourner come to pay their respects. Stew maybe. With slow steps, he approached the grave, pleading with any deities that would listen to let it not be what he feared the most. Let her rest in peace, goddamn it!
As he neared the disturbed plot, his eyes narrowed. Whatever it was, it was too big to be human. Ross could hear its deep resonating breathing, occasionally interrupted by grunting.
He drew his Peacemaker slowly, his gaze never wavering from the dark hulk before him. He labored to keep his steps steady and straight while his heart pounded in his head, teeth gritted against the pain that flared.
A large, bulbous head lifted from the ground and twisted in his direction. Ross drew up short. Long teeth gleamed in the wide jawbone and glowing eyes reflected the gathering moonlight.
It was a chanouk!
Ross looked around to find its rider. The Ranger scanned the surrounding tombstones, but only an empty graveyard stared back at him.
"Come out," he shouted in Azeel. "It's pretty damn obvious you're here."
No one stepped forward.
Ross kept his distance from the mighty beast in front of him. Chanouks were more formidable than their owners. But the animal seemed disinterested in Ross; instead it lowered its snout to the ground and sighed heavily.
Confused, Ross strained to peer through the gloom. The rigging on the animal was familiar.
Holy Christ, it's Asai gear! He glanced around wildly now. "Martool!" He also shouted for her bodyguard, the silent warrior Fareel. But there was no one.
Ross came closer, his suspicion rising. Only twenty feet separated the Ranger and the chanouk when it growled and eyed him, but still it remained firmly planted on top of Debbi's grave, huge forepaws and claws extended, refusing to give ground.
It was Little Joe, Debbi's chanouk. Ross could see the dents in the breastplate where the animal had taken some of the blows meant for Debbi when she had been killed. Scars crisscrossed its body. He was surprised the beast had survived Quantrill's attack. Debbi would be overjoyed to know her chanouk was well.
"What are you doing here? Go on home," Ross rebuked it, hoping to frighten it away. Just what he didn't need was for someone in town to see it and spread the hysteria that anouks were attacking. "Get out of here before someone sees you."
The chanouk only growled, dismissing Ross, and shoving its nose into the sand.
"Stop that," Ross commanded angrily. "Stupid beast. Go on, git!" He took his hat off and waved it.
The chanouk started at the sudden movement, half rising, its snarling face swiveling again toward Ross.
Ross backed away. He didn't really want to provoke the thing, but he wanted it off Debbi's grave. "You can't stay here, stupid. Someone will shoot you."
Probably me, thought Ross.
No, that wasn't so. Debbi had thought the world of this animal, so much so she once wanted to wedge it in the back of a Stallion and bring it home to Temptation. Ross smiled at the memory.
Well, if he didn't want to fire his weapon into the air and scare it away since that would certainly draw attention, he holstered his Peacemaker. And to be truthful, he hadn't really the heart. He recognized grief when he saw it. It was amazing. The beast had made its way hundreds of miles from Castle Rock to a place it had never seen, and pinpointed the resting place of his beloved rider.
Ross let out a weary sigh. "Fine, stay there. But I'm not accountable if someone finds you and takes a shot at you. Just be gone by daybreak, will you."
The chanouk grunted and laid back down with its own heavy sigh.
"Yeah," Ross muttered, "I know how you feel." He walked slowly back toward town, idly wondering if the chanouk would actually fit in the back of the Stallion.
Chapter 4
"So then Miller called one of them a dung eater."
Stew threw back his head and roared with laughter. He laughed a little harder and longer than the comment warranted, but he needed it.
Ringo laughed too and cringed in pain, clutching an ice pack to his chin, and then he laughed some more.
Fitz smiled at the reaction his already embellished tale of the Great Ranger - Teamster Saloon Brawl was getting. Even normally dour Tsukino chuckled.
"So anyway," Fitz continued as Stew wiped tears from his face. "So Miller says dung eater, like that. And this teamster babe, the tall blonde, she kinda snarls at him like she's already counting the knots she's gonna jerk in him."
"You dung eater!" Ringo imitated Miller's voice and the room broke up again.
Fitz waved his hand to quiet the crowd. "So I started to sidle up near the mean looking one with the scar instead of a face because I figured he'd kill anybody but me. And maybe Chennault."
"Yeah," Ringo added. "His arms were bigger around than my thighs."
"Who threw the first punch? Miller?" Stew looked at the kid studiously laying his forearm on his thigh to compare widths. It was like a gentle glimpse of the old Ringo.
"Nah." Fitz shook his head with a sarcastic grimace. "Miller's never thrown a first punch in his life. He specializes in taking first punches."
Stew laughed again. Then he heard someone clearing their throat from the doorway. He swiveled in his chair with a big smile still on his face.
The smile vanished when he saw Lithia. Normally, a beautiful woman's entrance would've drawn the attention of the Rangers. But Lithia transcended and negated whatever physical attractiveness her confident, disciplinarian-like appearance provided. She had only been in Temptation for a few months, but most of the Rangers loathed her already.
Stew ran a quick, frustrated hand across his short hair. Just what he didn't need now, a visit from the Hellstromme Industries liaison.
"How you doing, Lithia?" Stew was angry at the interruption of the first bit of enjoyment the Rangers had in months.
"Well, thank you." She switched off her palmcorder to demonstrate that she was graciously putting aside her personal business and expected others to do the same. She unfastened a long, elaborate topcoat and slid it off. Underneath she wore a business suit with a short skirt that was woefully out of place in Temptation. With two fingers, she held her coat by the collar in the direction of the clutch of Rangers.
Fitz and Tsukino regarded the pale, black-haired woman with disinterest. They grunted greetings. Ringo couldn't help himself though. The young man's politeness got the better of him and he took Lithia's coat and hung it up on a wall peg.
Lithia nodded at Ringo's swollen eye and bruised jaw with an unprac-ticed smile of awkward complicity. "So that's from the fight with the teamsters? I heard about that little incident. They were Hellstromme employees, you know."
Ringo shrugged. "So?"
Lithia turned quickly to Stew. "Is Captain Ross in?"
"Nope."
"Is he coming in?"
"Couldn't say."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Nope."
"So then you're in charge, Stew?"
Stew smiled coldly.
The liaison exhaled. "We need to talk. Shall we go into Ross's office?"
Stew looked at the open door in the rear corner of the squad room. He felt an odd flutter in his heart at the thought of invading Ross's sanctum. "Let's talk here. This is my desk."
Lithia said quietly, "This is confidential."
Fitz lumbered to his feet and slapped Ringo on the back. "C'mon, kid! Let's go down to the infirmary and check on Miller."
Tsukino joined them without prompting. As they went out, Ringo's Miller-voice peeped out, "Dung eater." Fitz and Tsukino doubled over as the door slammed shut. Through the window, Stew watched the three Rangers guffawing their way down the darkening, dusty street. He laughed too. Stew wanted to be with his friends, not here with the pompous Hellstromme rep. Dealing with her wasn't his job.
Lithia tried briefly to look like she was in on the gang's gag. But her over officious camaraderie came out as a sarcastic accusation. "My teamsters may lose a few days work thanks to your men."
"I've got a man in the infirmary. Want to compare downtime? And I expect Hellstromme to cough up half the damages." Stew felt his face redden with surprise at the outburst.
Lithia shook her head with overplayed dismay. "It was just a joke, Stew. Relax. I'll contribute to the charges, even though I believe your people started the fight. Over a table. But that's neither here nor there. It's over. Let's move on."
Stew tried to read the woman's eyes, but she was a blank page. He swallowed any further argument. "So what brings you here, Lithia? I haven't had time to process any of your permits yet."
"I'm not here about that, although I'd appreciate it if you could expedite them ASAP. We're eager to start on the additional reactors." Lithia leaned against the desk opposite Stew's. "But more to the point, I have several high level issues of Hellstromme-Ranger cooperation to discuss. But Captain Ross's constant absence isn't helping my timetable."
"Better take that up with him."
The woman stared at the handsome, blue-eyed Ranger, trying to figure him out. Why were these people so loyal to Dave Ross? The man was a dinosaur, and he obviously didn't care about them or he'd be on the job.
"Here's the thing, Stew," Lithia said succinctly as she crossed the floor to stand perfume-wafting close to the Ranger. "I think you'd agree that the Colonial Rangers need to modernize their operational capabilities. Hellstromme is eager to partner up on that effort. You've already seen how useful our black guns were to you. I'd say the difference between life and death describes it. However, I know you are virtually out of ammunition for the black guns. Those units are highly specialized and difficult to manufacture, even if you knew how. But I want to set up a facility here in Temptation to fabricate the needles. In addition, Hellstromme is eager to supply the Colonial Rangers with more black guns and with additional equipment that will enhance your peacekeeping capabilities." She ran her finger over the dusty brim of Stew's hat which rested on his desk. "Perhaps we can even manage some new hats for you fellas."
Stew removed his hat from her reach and hung it on the back of his chair. Then he raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Ignoring the fact that Hellstromme sent those guns into the territory without the knowledge or approval of the Colonial Rangers. And that you distributed them to miners and settlers to use as your beta testers against anouks or whatever, without Ranger knowledge or approval. Even ignoring all that Hellstromme mischief, I st
ill don't see what any of that has anything to do with me."
Lithia ignored the facts Stew laid out. She showed no sign of embarrassment or regret for her company's actions. They hadn't needed the Rangers' cooperation then. Now they did. "Obviously, I desire a working relationship with the captain of Rangers here in Temptation. You are the only law for a several hundred miles in all directions."
"Then talk to Ross," Stew reiterated for what seemed like the millionth time.
"That is very difficult since he's never here. I can't keep waiting for your elusive captain to put in an appearance. My directors want results and I can't keep putting them off. They're already pressing me to return to the Tunnel and suspend operations here. They want to leave Banshee to the anouks and Reapers. I'm arguing to them that the Rangers are prepared to act judiciously to insure the future of this planet for the sake of humanity. But I've got to have something concrete to take to them. I need someone who can make a decision on behalf of the Rangers, and make that decision stick." She eyed Stew as if picturing captain's bars on his lapel.
"Whoa, whoa," Stew stammered. "I'm telling you, you need to get with Ross. He's in charge here. I'm not going behind his back."
"I wouldn't want you to," Lithia shot back. "But ask yourself, when is the last time you saw him? Stew, it's clear. He's abandoned his responsibilities. For the sake of every human on Banshee, you've got to step up."
Stew thought back to the frustration he felt when Ross callously refused to help break up the saloon fight. And he looked at the stack of papers on his desk that was rightfully Ross's work. Now Stew spent more time filling out forms than walking the streets talking to the people of the town.
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