by John Bowers
Childers closed his eyes and swallowed, still panting from the pain.
“If you don’t help me, it won’t matter,” he said. “I’m bleeding to death.”
Nick rolled him onto his left side and inspected the wound. He hadn’t seen one like it since the war.
“What did Dennis load this thing with, hollow-points?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Childers’ eyes had closed; his voice sounded weak.
Nick turned to Cybele. “Can you bring me that picnic blanket? I need to stop this bleeding if he’s going to live.”
Cybele shook off her shock long enough to bring him the blanket, then stood back as he folded it several times and packed it against the wound. The blood flow was reduced but Childers had already bled half a liter. With no first-aid materials at hand, Nick wasn’t overly optimistic; a normal bullet would not have done this kind of damage, but a hollow-point, designed for hunting, would expand on impact, ripping through flesh and maximizing the trauma. It would take quick medical action to save Childers’ life.
“What now?” Cybele was getting her nerves under control, but still looked shaken.
“You have a porta-phone?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to get up on the canyon rim where there’s a clear signal and call for an ambulance.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
She started for her horse.
“That won’t be necessary!”
Nick and Cybele both turned in surprise. A third man, one they hadn’t seen before, stepped into view from the cover of the trees. He had a dark, sinister look about him, and Nick felt his blood chill as he saw the machine gun he was holding. He heard Cybele gasp again, but didn’t turn to look.
“Step away from him.”
Nick took two steps back, his hands empty. He’d left Dennis’s automatic lying beside Childers as he tried to stop the bleeding. But the newcomer looked a lot more dangerous than either of the brothers; he wore a solarball cap that largely hid his eyes, but both sides of his neck were covered by tattoos. His movements suggested military training, and the .29 cal machine gun in his hands was definitely not designed for hunting. Nick’s anxiety levered up a notch.
“This man needs medical attention,” he said.
The stranger walked up to Childers and stood looking down at him. He glanced at Nick, his expression devoid of emotion, then back to Childers, who now appeared to be unconscious.
“No. He doesn’t.”
To Nick’s horror, the stranger swung the .29 cal toward Childers and fired a three-round burst through his head.
Trimmer Springs– Alpha Centauri 2
Suzanne Norgaard sat at her computer in the back office of the boutique, tabulating the previous day’s sales. The office was cramped and quiet, perfumed by incense and the smell of new fabrics that drifted in from the sales floor. Several feminine voices reached her through the open doorway as local women went about their shopping.
When she’d first come to town nearly a year ago, Suzanne had decided to open an outlet for Vegan fashions. Vega 3 was the most exotic world in the settled galaxy, with its unique culture, religion, and philosophy. It was also renowned for its beautiful women, a fact made possible by genetic engineering. Suzanne herself was stunning—a tall, well-built blonde of thirty-five—and eyes followed her everywhere she went. Her clothing, purchased from Vegan sources, was not only exotic but practical, and in spite of the import prices, the women of Trimmer Springs had jumped at the chance to purchase it.
Trimmer Springs was a small town, only a few thousand families, and finding a location to open a shop had been a challenge. Suzanne had solved it by convincing Mildred Trimmer, the founder’s granddaughter, to partner with her. Mildred already owned a boutique on Main Street, but Suzanne’s proposal to convert the shop to Vegan fashions had piqued her capitalist instincts and they had closed the deal, renaming the shop Suzanne’s. In just under a year, local revenue had almost doubled and their mail order line eclipsed that. Orders from AlphaNet arrived daily from all over the planet and they were now starting to sell to Terran outlets as well.
Suzanne sat back with a satisfied sigh. Today alone she had half a dozen orders from New York and five from Paris, each of them for several thousand terros worth of merchandise. If this continued, the universe was the limit.
The voices in the main shop faded as the entrance bell beeped, the customers leaving with their purchases. Mildred Trimmer, a slender brunette still shy of thirty, stepped into the office.
“How are we doing here?”
Suzanne smiled. “Fifteen thousand clear profit for yesterday alone,” she said. “And for today—just the mail order—nearly eighty thousand gross sales.”
“Jesus Christ!” Mildred dropped into a chair by the door. “This is unbelievable. I had no idea mail order would be this lucrative.”
“We got eleven orders from Terra,” Suzanne told her. “The money is already banked, so we need to turn these around as quickly as possible.”
“I’m going to have to hire some help,” Mildred said. “If this keeps up—”
“It will. The Terran orders came from New York and Paris, but if we expand our advertising to the rest of the planet…”
“We have to do that slowly. One or two cities at a time, or we won’t be able to keep up.”
“If it continues, we’ll have to set up a drop-ship strategy, have the orders sent directly to the customers from Vega 3. Then all we have to worry about is the datawork.”
“I like that idea.”
Suzanne rubbed her eyes. It was only noon, but she was tired.
“I’d better get started on the shipping orders.”
“Have you heard from Nick?”
“I talked to him last night. He seemed okay.”
“What’s he working on?”
“He never tells me anything. He had some kind of special call down south of Camarrell. Somebody requested he handle a case for them.”
“That’s kind of odd, isn’t it?”
“I think so. He’s never been called away like that before.”
“I hope he’ll be all right.”
“He will. I do worry about him, but he’s very good at what he does. He’s always come home.”
Mildred scanned Suzanne’s body and smiled.
“I’d say he has a good incentive for that.”
Suzanne laughed. She was about to reply when the entrance bell beeped again. Mildred leaped to her feet.
“Got a customer. Talk to you later.”
Suzanne bent to the computer again and began printing out the mail orders. It would take most of the afternoon to pack the merchandise and get it shipped. She forgot about Mildred and the customer as she gathered the orders and checked the requested quantities against merchandise on hand. The murmur of voices drifted past her ears without notice, until Mildred appeared in the doorway again, a little smile on her face.
“Suzanne…I think you should come out here. Someone is asking for you.”
Suzanne looked up in surprise, then nodded. She got to her feet and followed Mildred into the sales area.
She stopped, eyes wide, and her mouth fell open slightly. A young blond woman stood there smiling at her, almost a mirror image of Suzanne herself except for the age difference. Suzanne’s heart thundered in her chest.
“Kristina?”
“Hi, Mom.”
Prater Canyon – Alpha Centauri 2
Nick felt his skin crawl as he stared at the stranger with the machine gun. Whatever the hell he wanted, this guy was serious. Nick had handled the Childers brothers easily enough, but they were small-time and no challenge at all; this was different. Behind him, Cybele was shaking with fear, staring at the dead man with both hands over her mouth. Nick braced himself just in case—he was six or eight feet from the gunman and unarmed, but if the machine gun swung in her direction, he would have to make a move.
“Who are you?” he demanded, playing for time. “What’
s this about?”
The tattooed stranger showed his teeth, but it wasn’t really a smile. There was no humor in his eyes.
“Always the tough guy, eh, Marshal? Always gotta be in control.”
“I’d say you have the control right now, so what the fuck do you want?”
“That’s right, I do.” The show of teeth widened. The stranger was calm, collected, utterly unafraid. “I came to see you, Walker.”
“Well, gee, let me check my appointment book. Maybe I can squeeze you in later this afternoon, but I do have a busy day ahead, so we’ll have to keep it brief.”
This time the eyes sparkled and the grin became more of a smile. The man actually chuckled.
“Very funny, Marshal. While you do that, I have one more item of business to take care of.” He swung his gun in Cybele Gannon’s direction. Nick tensed, ready to leap.
“Miss Gannon, you are free to go. I suggest you get on your horse and ride out of here…right now.”
“Wh-what?” Cybele was still dealing with her shock.
“Do what he says,” Nick told her without taking his eyes off the stranger. “Get out of here.”
She stood trembling, trying to process an adrenaline overload.
“But—”
“The offer has an expiration date, Miss Gannon. You have one minute to ride away. I am not a patient man.”
“Cybele, do what he says!” Nick wasn’t sure why the man was letting her go, or how he knew her name, or how he knew Nick’s name…he wasn’t sure of anything, but getting her out of the canyon suddenly seemed the most important thing in the ‘verse.
“Nick, I can’t just leave y—”
“Cybele!” Nick twisted around to glare at her. “DON’T…ARGUE!”
She stared at him in indecision, then saw the look in his eyes and nodded. Without a word she turned and trotted toward the grey. Nick turned back to watch the stranger, still ready to leap if he made any move to shoot her in the back. The gunman watched with detached interest as she mounted, spun the grey around, and galloped away. Nick could hear the receding hoofbeats and didn’t relax until they were far enough away that a shooting seemed unlikely.
“I hate to repeat myself, but…who the hell are you?”
The gunman’s grin disappeared. Instead of answering the question, he raised the gun and pointed it at Nick’s face.
“Take a few steps back. I need a look at your other prisoner.
Nick looked behind him; he’d completely forgotten Dennis Childers, who still lay face-down with his hands cuffed behind his back. Childers lay perfectly still, his cheek resting in the sand, eyes wide with fear. Whatever he and his brother had been planning had turned completely to shit.
“What’re you going to do?” Nick demanded. “This man is no threat to you.”
“He is a witness, a loose end. I don’t much like loose ends.”
The gunman stepped forward, prodding Nick backward with the muzzle of his gun. Nick’s mind raced—Dennis Childers had put himself in this situation—or maybe his brother had—but he didn’t deserve to be killed in cold blood. Even if he did, there was Andy at the other end of the canyon, and Dennis’s girlfriend…would this maniac kill them too?
“Miss Gannon was a loose end, but you let her go. You can let this one go, too.”
The gunman peered at him, his dark eyes piercing. He didn’t speak for ten seconds.
“Remove the E-cuffs,” he said.
“Okay. And then what?”
“Take them off, then you will find out.”
Nick hesitated, considering. Could this guy be working together with Dennis? But that didn’t make sense—why would he have killed Tom Childers? Well, at the very least, if Dennis needed to run, he could run faster with his arms free. Nick bent over him with the sonic key, half expecting a bullet in the back of his head. He pulled the cuffs free and stood up again. Dennis Childers rolled onto his back and rubbed his wrists. His eyes were filled with terror as he gazed at the stranger.
“You have a camp at the other end of the canyon, no?”
Dennis licked his lips but didn’t answer—no doubt he was also concerned for Andy’s and the girl’s safety.
“Get up and go. Run away! Don’t come back here!”
Dennis Childers took only a second to respond. He glanced at Nick, who nodded, then sprang to his feet and began to run clumsily back the way he had come. Once again Nick held his breath in case the stranger decided to start shooting.
But a minute later he and the tattooed gunman were alone; all was quiet except for the babble of the stream and the breeze in the willows. They gazed at each other, and the gunman smiled.
“Put the cuffs on, Marshal.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“No, I mean why did you let him go? Why did you let Cybele Gannon go?”
“I’m not here for them.”
“But they’re witnesses. They both saw you kill Tom Childers.”
“Tom Childers? Was that his name?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you let them go, but I don’t quite understand why you would do that.”
The gunman smiled again and shrugged.
“What are they gonna do? Report me? The Centauri Springs police don’t have jurisdiction down here, and the nearest U.F. Marshal’s office is four hours away in Camarrell. The only threat to me is you, Marshal, and right now you don’t have me the least bit worried.”
Nick nodded. “So what’s this about? How did you even know I was here?”
“I’m a resourceful man. I have contacts…I knew where to find you.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Roman Vanov.”
Nick felt a fresh chill spread through his blood. His heart pumped faster, but he managed to control his breathing.
“Vanov…doesn’t ring a bell. Have we met?”
“No. But you might say we have some history between us.”
“I’m guessing this has something to do with the war, right?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re a goddamn Rukranian.”
Vanov laughed. “That’s good, Marshal! That’s really good. You can’t say the word ‘Rukranian’ without the appropriate adjective in front of it.”
“You’re right. Actually I prefer ‘fucking Ruke’, but ‘goddamn Ruke’ works just as well.”
“Put the cuffs on.”
“No.”
“Don’t try to be brave, Marshal. I can kill you whenever I like, so you might want to think about that.”
“If that was your intention, I think you would have done it already. I’m not putting the cuffs on until you tell me what this is about.”
“And then you’ll put them on?”
“Probably not.”
Roman Vanov smiled again and ejected the clip from his machine gun. He pointed it at the sky and pulled the trigger, firing the single round that remained in the chamber, then gripped it with both hands and took a step forward. Before Nick could react, he swung it like a club and slammed the butt plate into the side of Nick’s head, knocking him to the ground.
“You’re right, Marshal. I’m not in any hurry to kill you. We have a number of things to talk about first.”
Stunned and reeling, Nick shook his head to get his brain working again. His ears rang and for a moment the pain was overwhelming. He took a deep breath and managed to sit up.
“Okay…talk.”
“I sent the witnesses away because what I have to say to you, they don’t need to hear. And, like I said, if they want to call for help, I will be long gone before it gets here.”
Nick blinked at him, shook his head again, and waited.
“I want to commend you for getting to Centauri Springs so quickly.”
“What d’you mean?”
“When Senator Prater called, you rushed right down here the same day. That’s better service than I expected.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. �
�You delivered the wanted poster to the senator’s house?”
Vanov smiled and nodded.
“Not in person, but I arranged it. Except the reward isn’t on his head…it’s on yours.”
Chapter
10
Vanov crouched in front of Nick, keeping several feet between them. The machine gun rested across his knees.
“We had a good thing going, Walker, but you fucked it up.”
Nick peered at him through eyes still blurred from the blow to his head.
“What the hell are you talking about? What good thing?”
“The revolution.”
“That was nine years ago!”
“We never forget who our enemies are. If it takes a lifetime, we get our revenge.”
“I’m happy to take the credit if I hurt your feelings, but I’m still not sure what I did. Maybe you would care to explain?”
“Well, you know, the whole bell tower thing. You sort of ended the war.”
Nick laughed. “Really? I think it was pretty much on its last legs before that. That last rebel offensive was a last-gasp effort.”
Vanov shook his head. “No, actually they had a lot of gasp left, but they lost heart after Trimmer Springs. You were primarily responsible for that.”
“I think you’re giving me too much credit. I was just trying to stay alive.”
“Yes, but you succeeded a little too well. The cult revolution collapsed shortly after that, and my people lost a lot of money.”
“Your people? So you’re one of the mercenaries that backed the uprising?”
“One of them. There are quite a few of us, and none of us like you very much.”
“That’s what you get for donating the weapons. You should have demanded payment up front.”
“Oh, we got paid for the weapons, but not the training. A number of our people were killed in the fighting, and when it was over we had nothing to show for it. You probably already know that we had an agreement with the rebels—if they could take the planet, we would get our own territory and complete autonomy.”
“I did hear something about that. Seems like you assholes aren’t too popular on your own planet…although I can’t imagine why.”