Bounty Hunter at Binary Flats (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 4)

by John Bowers

  “I use it quite a bit. Others do, too.”

  Nick glanced to his left. Looking down from his present position, he could see the road a quarter mile away, a deserted ribbon of pavement that seemed to lead nowhere.

  “Where does that road go? I noticed it yesterday when I first arrived.”

  “It runs about fifty miles and just dies. The end of the road is the end of civilization.”

  “Why the road? There’s nothing down there, is there?”

  Cybele shrugged. “A few cattle ranches, but not much else. I guess they figured it would come in handy as the population expands. Or maybe they just had extra tax money to spend.”

  “Maybe. But there’s no road leading north out of Centauri Springs. If I hadn’t been in a hovercar I would still be trying to find the place.”

  “What do you want me to say, Marshal? The government builds the roads, and they do what they want.”

  The high ground became steeper, the sides falling away until it became a ridge. The horses continued another mile down the path. To his right, Nick saw clumps of trees that gradually gave way to wooded areas. Somewhere down there he heard running water, as if a stream was tumbling over rocks. He took a deep breath, enjoying the moment; the day had warmed but was still pleasant, cooled by a northwesterly breeze. He felt comfortable in the saddle, and for a moment all his cares drained away.

  He still wished Suzanne was with him.

  The trail dipped down the side of the ridge toward a tree line, then passed through a thinly wooded area for a quarter mile. It was cool in the shade, almost euphoric…then they passed back into the sunlight and Nick felt an extra layer of heat on his neck. He craned to look over his shoulder and saw that Centauri B was hanging low above the northern horizon. So much for the cool air, he thought—it was going to get hot now as the second binary climbed into the sky.

  The trail angled to the right; the horses waded through a shallow stream, then began to climb another ridge. Nick leaned forward and gripped the saddle horn as the bay, muscles bunched, lurched up the steepening trail. A moment later it reached the crest of the ridge and the breeze hit them again…but so did the binaries.

  “Where’s this famous canyon?” Nick asked, gazing down at the treetops.

  “It’s coming up. We’re almost there.”

  “How often do you come down here?”

  “Two or three times a month. I enjoy the solitude.”

  “Not really a big-city girl, huh?”

  “Not really. That’s probably why I haven’t made my mark yet—I’m reluctant to leave this place.”

  “I can understand that. It’s real pleasant here.”

  “What about you, Nick? Are you a big-city boy?”

  “No. I grew up in farm country. It’s ironic though—when California was divided into several states, my hometown became the local capital. But it’s still a small town, by Terran standards.”

  “What town is that?”

  “Chowchilla.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Ever heard of California?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  Cybele laughed. “So, what did you find on the surveillance video? Anything interesting?”

  “Yeah. Quite interesting.”

  “Like what? Tell me.”

  “The investigation is still ongoing. I can’t comment.”

  “Of course you can. You just don’t want to.”

  “It’s standard procedure.”

  “Okay, but is my dad in any danger?”

  “Could be.”

  She exhaled an exaggerated sigh.

  “You can be really frustrating, do you know that?”

  “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Nick reined his horse to a sudden halt. “What’s that?”

  Cybele pulled the grey to a halt beside him. “What’s what?”

  Nick nodded downward to his left. She followed his gaze.

  “That’s the canyon. You’ve never seen a canyon before?”

  Frowning, he slipped his boot out of the stirrup and dismounted; holding the reins, he took a few steps forward and peered down the ridge into what looked like the beginning of the gorge.

  “I’m not talking about the canyon.” He pointed. “That looks like a camp.”

  Cybele also dismounted and joined him. Her brow furrowed as she saw four or five plastic blue shelters bunched under a growth of trees. A tendril of wood smoke curled up from a campfire a few feet from the shelters.

  “You’re right.”

  “Does anybody live down here?”

  “No.”

  “Would you know if they did?”

  “Of course. This is private land. My dad owns everything for the next seventeen miles.”

  “You’ve never seen any camps here before?”

  “Never. I’ve made camp a couple of times myself, but not since I was a kid.” She glanced up to meet his gaze. “What do you think it means?”

  “Maybe nothing, but if this is private land, it looks like you have trespassers.”

  ***

  It took ten minutes to wend their way down into the canyon. Nick’s knees gripped the bay and he clung to the saddle horn as the animal worked its way down a cut in the hillside; Cybele followed on the grey. The bottom of the canyon was a mixture of soils—soft dirt where water had flowed and a combo of gravel and pebbles interspersed with grass on the higher ground. Nick held the bay to the sand to mask the sound of their approach, and trees screened them until they were within yards of the camp. Then the bay kicked a small rock, the iron shoe making a ringing sound.

  A man emerged from the nearest blue shelter, followed by a small boy. A second man and a woman stepped out of another, and all four stood staring in surprise at the approaching horses. Nick reined in the bay and stopped; for a moment no one spoke, then Nick nodded.

  “Morning.”

  The first man glanced at the sky.

  “More like noon,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”

  Nick dismounted, keeping the horse between him and the stranger. He stepped clear of the bay and walked slowly forward until the man could see the badge on his shirt. The stranger’s expression darkened, but before he could speak, the little boy trotted forward. He was wearing a cute western outfit, complete with cowboy hat, bandana, and toy guns. His eyes were wide as saucers.

  “Are you Yancy West?”

  Nick grinned. “I might be. Do I look like Yancy West?”

  “Mm-hm. You got a badge and pistols. I’ve seen all the vids. Is that a ten-gallon hat?”

  Nick took the hat off and peered into it, then shook his head thoughtfully.

  “No, looks more like a liter and a half. How big is your hat?”

  “Mine is a hundred-gallon hat!” The kid, who looked about seven, suddenly squared off and held his hands away from the toy pistols. “Draw, Mister!”

  Nick’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. He also squared off.

  “Okay. On the count of th—”

  The kid whipped a toy ray-gun out of his plastic holster and pointed it at Nick. “Shoom! Shoom! Shoom!”

  “Ungh!” Nick grabbed his chest. “You’re too quick fer me, podner!” He stumbled as if about to fall.

  “Shoom! Shoom! Shoom!”

  The kid kept shooting. Nick grinned at him and gave up the game. He turned to the man, who watched the boy with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

  “That’s enough, Andy. I think you got him.”

  The kid holstered the toy and tilted his head against the rays from Centauri B.

  “What’s a Federation Marshal doing down here?” the man asked Nick. “This might look like the Ancient West, but it ain’t.” His eyes shifted to Cybele, who still sat astride the grey. Nick recognized the hunger in his eyes as he gazed at her.

  He looked about forty, medium height; his open shirt exposed his chest and stomach, not an ounce o
f fat in evidence; rawboned. His brown hair was long and stringy, tied back to keep it out of his eyes. A scattering of tattoos adorned his arms and shoulders, but they didn’t look like professional ink. The second man, who stood watching from twenty feet away, might have been his brother; he had the same just-released look, and the woman at his side, who might have been nineteen or thirty, seemed to match.

  “Just out for a ride,” Nick said by way of reply. “Didn’t expect to find anyone camping in the canyon, though.”

  The stranger’s brown eyes hardened.

  “Ain’t no law against it, is there? It’s a free planet.”

  “That may be, but you’re on private land.”

  “Yeah? I didn’t see no Keep-Off-the-Canyon signs.”

  Nick grinned, maintaining eye contact.

  “I guess you’ve got a point there. Someone must have forgot to put them up.”

  The stranger shrugged. “So what happens now?”

  “Maybe nothing. Depends on whether you’re squatting or just passing through.”

  The rawboned man glanced over his shoulder at the others, then turned to Nick again.

  “Actually, we’re on a hunting trip. Decided to spend a couple of days here and then move on.”

  “What are you hunting?”

  “Food.”

  “Food?”

  “Yep. I’m fresh out of work. My family’s got to eat.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that. When did you get out?”

  “What?” The man looked startled.

  “You said you’re fresh out of work, but I’m guessing you’re fresh out of lockup. When did you get out?”

  The man stared at him, anger burning in his eyes.

  “Six days ago.”

  “Which facility?”

  “Camarrell. What difference does it make? I did my time.”

  “Did your time for what?”

  “None of your business. I’m not on parole, I’m out, so you don’t need to know.”

  Nick shrugged again and took a step to the right to get a better angle on the camp. There were five shelters, three of them buttoned down, but only four people.

  “How many in your party?”

  The stranger shifted impatiently. “Look, Marshal—I know my rights. I don’t have to stand here and be interrogated.”

  “Just curious. I see five shelters but only four people, and I’m guessing the four of you are only using two of them. What, or who, is in the others?”

  “Everything we own. Like I said, I’m out of work.”

  “What about him?” Nick nodded toward the second man.

  “He’s my brother.”

  “Is he out of work, too?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Nick smiled benignly. “What’s your name?”

  “Why do you need to know that?”

  “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

  “Because I don’t need the goddamn third degree. Look, why are you hassling us?”

  “It’s not my intention to hassle you, but usually when I talk to people they don’t act like they’re trying to hide something. What are you hiding?”

  They locked gazes for several seconds, and Nick wasn’t sure what might happen next. Finally the stranger exhaled in frustration.

  “My name is Tom Childers. This is my brother Dennis, and his girlfriend. I did three years for fraud, and I got nothing pending against me. Satisfied?”

  Nick nodded. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Where you headed from here?”

  “We plan to keep on moving south, maybe find a place to settle down. Lots of open country down that way.”

  “I don’t see any kind of vehicle.”

  “It’s parked beyond those trees yonder.”

  “And what about Andy here? I assume you’re his father?”

  “I am.”

  “And his mother?”

  “She…didn’t want to come.”

  Nick stared at him another long moment, then glanced down at the boy.

  “Are you having a good time, Andy? It’s fun to travel, isn’t it?”

  The boy grinned and nodded. “Are you really Yancy West?”

  “No, not really, but I’ve seen all his vids, too. He’s my hero. How about you?”

  “He’s mine, too.”

  Nick turned back to Tom Childers.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Childers. We’re gonna continue our ride, so I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t start any wildfires, don’t pollute, and good luck finding a place to settle down.”

  He took a step back.

  “We were planning to spend another night and move on in the morning,” Childers said.

  “I have no objection if the lady doesn’t. You’re camping on her land.”

  Cybele offered the ghost of a smile. “That’s fine with me.”

  Nick touched his hat and climbed back into the saddle.

  ***

  “God, that was creepy!” Cybele Gannon shivered as they reached the canyon edge again, leaving the impromptu encampment behind. “Did you believe his story?”

  “Part of it.” Nick was thumbing his pocket ‘puter. “If he gave me his real name, I’ll know in a few minutes.”

  “Which part did you believe?”

  “He was definitely in prison. The rest I’m not sure about.”

  “Why didn’t you ask for ID?”

  “He wouldn’t have given it to me. He was already complaining about his rights.”

  He halted the bay for a moment, peering at the ‘puter display. Cybele also reined in and waited. She noted his expression.

  “What is it?”

  Nick frowned and put the ‘puter away. “His story checks out.”

  “But?”

  “Something fishy.”

  “Fishy? Like what?”

  “They’re up to something.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but they don’t look like settlers to me.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “Career criminals.” He nudged the bay forward again. “Some people go to prison because they make a mistake; they do their time and get on with their lives. Other people go to prison because crime is a way of life. You can generally spot them by the way they dress, the way they talk, and their general attitude. They have a contempt for the law and society in general, and they can’t hide it even if they want to.”

  “That sort of fits this bunch, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, exactly. I don’t think they’re looking for a place to settle down. They’re either looking for a gig or they’re running from something.”

  “Which do you think it is?”

  “Well, down this far south, I don’t see many opportunities for a gig, so…”

  “They’re on the run.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I can’t be sure without some more investigation, but I’m guessing child abduction.”

  Chapter 8

  Centauri Springs – Alpha Centauri 2

  The man with the tattooed neck slept late. He had arrived late and needed to be rested to complete his mission. After a leisurely shower, he left his hovercar in the parking lot and walked two blocks to a diner for breakfast, even though it was almost noon. He wore a solarball cap to cover his shaven head and a high-collar shirt to hide the tattoos—as a stranger in a small town he would be noticed no matter what he did, but saw no point in aiding anyone who wanted to identify him.

  He sat at a table away from the window and ordered coffee, toast, and poached eggs. He ate slowly, using his pocket ‘puter to check his v-mail and catch up on the overnight news. He found no updates that pertained to him and put the ‘puter away.

  He was almost finished eating when the waitress came by to refill his coffee cup. She was young, slightly overweight, and openly curious…a typical small-town girl, he thought.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she as
ked as she topped off his cup.

  “No. Thanks.”

  She stood there a moment, a little smile playing across her lips.

  “New in town?”

  He sipped his coffee and nodded.

  “Staying long, or just passing through?”

  “Passing through.”

  “Which way you headed?”

  “South.”

  “Not much down that way. You looking for work?”

  He set the cup down slowly and exhaled, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a place where people mind their own fucking business.”

  Her smile disappeared and she made a huffing sound. She dropped his check on the table and stalked away.

  He mentally shook his head—he shouldn’t have done that. He’d given the stupid girl a reason to remember him.

  Oh, well.

  He left cash on the table to cover the bill, including a nice tip that might soothe the waitress enough to forget him, and walked outside. The second binary was rising in the north, adding its heat to the rapidly warming day. The breeze was still fresh but that wouldn’t last, either. He glanced up and down the street, then turned and headed for the au’tel where he’d left his ride. He needed to be on his way.

  He reached the intersection and turned the corner.

  “HEY, motherFUCKER!!!”

  Jolted, he stopped and spun around, his hand reflexively reaching for his weapon…but all he saw was a skinny derelict walking toward him from twenty yards away. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the man, trying to identify him, but the face wasn’t familiar. He took a step to the side as the other man, who looked like a homeless person, ambled toward him, one hand clenched in his pocket and a vacant look in his eyes. The weirdo walked right past him and continued on his way without another word.

  The tattooed man let his breath out in a rush as his pulse began returning to normal. He wasn’t afraid of the freak—wasn’t afraid of anyone—but he had a job to do and didn’t need any complications. He felt a sense of relief as he continued toward his car, shaking his head.

  “Fucking asshole.”

  Prater Canyon – Alpha Centauri 2

  They followed the canyon rim another mile, then Cybele led them down another steep trail to the canyon floor.

  “This is the spot I was looking for,” she told Nick. “Nice place for a picnic.”