by John Bowers
He made a face. “It was always Victoria. I never called her Miss Cross.”
“Do you still love her?”
Nick’s eyes sprang wide. “Love her? What are you talking about?”
Suzanne smiled and placed her hand over his.
“Relax, Nick. I know all about Victoria and boot camp.”
“You do? How did you find out?”
“I put three and three together. Does it bother you that I know?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on your reaction. I didn’t want—”
“Relax. She and I had a long talk the other day.”
“Really? How did that go?”
“It’s all good. I actually like her.”
“You do?” Nick felt his face flush. He was sounding like a dumb kid.
“Yes. And she is one hell of a lawyer. I’m just glad she took me off the witness list so I can attend court tomorrow. Just in time to see you take the stand.”
“I’ll try not to embarrass you.”
“You could never embarrass me.”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“All right then, do your best. Don’t embarrass me.”
A waiter came and cleared the table, then took their dessert orders. As soon as he was gone, Nick took her hand again.
“Suzanne, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long to get past the cold feet.”
“You mean about getting engaged? That’s okay. After meeting Victoria, I understand.”
He gazed into her clear green eyes for a moment, then reached into his pocket.
“I got you something.”
He placed a small box on the table. Suzanne’s eyes glittered as she recognized the shape of it.
“Is that—is that what I think it is?”
“Yeah. Not very romantic, I know. I should have given it to you weeks ago.”
She picked up the box and opened it. A gorgeous diamond ring flashed light in several directions. Suzanne gasped.
“Nick!”
“Do you like it?” He felt his skin tingle.
“Nick, it’s—it’s beautiful!”
He kissed her hand. “A beautiful ring for a beautiful woman. Try it on, make sure it fits. I wasn’t sure about your size.”
He plucked the ring from its velvet pad and slipped it onto her finger. To his relief, it was a perfect fit. She turned her hand in several directions, admiring the stone, the setting, the refracted light. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Goddess, Nick! Thank you! It’s more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
The dessert came, but Suzanne had to dab her eyes before she could even look at it. She leaned across the table and kissed him, then picked up her dessert fork.
Nick watched her eat, happier than he had been in years. Suzanne’s reaction had been everything he hoped for, and more. Now, having arrived at this point, he couldn’t imagine why he’d ever had reservations about making the commitment.
But deep down he did know, and was glad he was past it.
Victoria Cross was finally out of his system.
Chapter 22
Friday, May 26, 0445 (CC)
71st Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
“The defense calls Nick Walker to the stand.”
Victoria Cross stood at the defense table like an ivory statue, straight and slender and blond, her short, feathered hair gleaming in the lights. She was wearing a tasteful green skirt with matching pumps and jacket, and the same frilly white blouse she had worn the first day of the hearing. She didn’t look around as Nick rounded the other end of the table. She was professional to a fault as the audience, all two hundred of them, stirred in anticipation. Brian Godney unconsciously tongued his lips and his eyes gleamed like a predator watching the approach of a meal.
Nick wasn’t wearing his guns, which were forbidden in the courtroom for anyone not on duty, and had left his hat on the table, but otherwise looked every inch the western hero. Whether that was a good or bad thing remained to be determined. He stopped at the foot of the witness chair and faced the bailiff.
“Raise your right hand.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth on penalty of perjury?”
“I do.”
“State your name and occupation for the record.”
“Nick Walker, United Federation Marshal.”
“Be seated.”
Nick settled into the chair, adjusted himself, and waited.
Victoria strolled toward him as casually as if they were going for coffee. Her hands were empty, no papers or folders or other aids. She was acutely aware of the drama this moment represented and how intensely it had been anticipated. She took her time, kept her cool, and began her examination.
“Marshal Walker, how long have you been a U.F. Marshal?”
“Since July of Four Forty. Just three weeks shy of five years.”
“How many assignments have you had in that time?”
“You mean postings?”
“Yes.”
“Three.”
“And where were you posted?”
“Ceres, in the Solar System; Sirius 1 in the Sirian System; and here.”
“‘Here’ meaning Alpha Centauri 2?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Marshal Walker, how many men have you killed in your lifetime?”
Nick lowered his head slightly. “I don’t know.”
“Can you speak up, please? Your answer was a little muffled.”
He raised his chin. “I have no idea.”
“You have no idea? Surely you have a ballpark number rattling around in your head, don’t you?”
“Not really. If you count the men I killed in the war, it’s impossible to know.”
“And why is that?”
“There is no referee in combat, no scorekeeper. You fire a lot of rounds, both in daylight and at night. Most of the time you never know where your shots ended up.”
“How long were you in the war?”
“My unit was on the planet approximately eighteen months, in the line for about fifteen.”
“Did you fire your weapon every day?”
“No. There were plenty of down days, or days without contact with the enemy.”
“How many days were you actually in combat?”
“I don’t know. They all run together after a while.”
Victoria crossed her arms and leaned against the defense table.
“Where was your last battle?”
“Trimmer Springs.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I was wounded and carried off the field. I shipped home a few days later.”
“And you never returned to combat?”
“No.”
“How many men did you kill in Trimmer Springs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Marshal Walker, have you been back to Trimmer Springs since that last battle?”
“Yes.”
“When did you return to Trimmer Springs?”
“About a year ago.”
“And where do you live now?”
“In Trimmer Springs.”
Brian Godney got to his feet.
“Your Honor, this is really fascinating stuff! I mean, it would make a great movie, and I would pay to see it, but—”
“Do you have an objection, counselor?”
“Yes, your Honor. Is Memory Lane taking us to a specific destination?”
“Miss Cross?”
“Your Honor, for the past week or so, Mr. Godney has spent a great deal of time exploring Marshal Walker’s body count. I thought maybe he, and all of us, might like to hear it from the man himself.”
“Very well. Objection overruled. Move it along, Miss Cross.”
“Yes, your Honor.”
Vic
toria wandered closer to the witness chair.
“Marshal Walker, you currently live in Trimmer Springs…”
“Yes.”
“Does Trimmer Springs have any monuments? In the park, perhaps?”
“Yes. There is a statue there.”
“And what does the statue depict?”
“A Star Marine with a sniper rifle, firing from the church tower.”
“Who is the Star Marine in the statue supposed to be?”
“It’s supposed to be me.”
A stir ran through the crowd, but quickly died.
“It doesn’t look much like me,” Nick added. “The hair is too long.”
This drew a titter from several spectators.
“Marshal Walker, I assume the statue has an inscription plate?”
“It does.”
“And what does it say?”
“I can’t quote it word for word, but it mentions my name and unit, the date, and the number of men I killed.”
“How many men does it say you killed?”
“Fifty-one.”
“Is that number accurate?”
“I don’t know.”
“In your opinion, is that number accurate?”
“Objection, speculation!”
“Marshal Walker was there, your Honor! I submit that his opinion is valid.”
“Overruled.”
Nick closed his eyes briefly and sighed. He looked at Victoria Cross.
“I don’t think so.”
“And why don’t you think so?”
“I think the number was…higher.”
“I see. And why do you think the number was higher?”
“I was up there an entire night and most of a day. I fired dozens of twenty-one-round magazines. I didn’t miss very often.”
“How many do you think you killed?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it.”
“Marshal Walker, I appreciate that this is a bad memory for you, but I am asking you to think about it. How many men do you think you killed?”
“I can only guess, but I would say at least a hundred.”
“Based on what?”
“Like I said, I didn’t miss very often, and I fired over a thousand rounds. Not everyone I hit was a kill, but I was told later that a lot of the wounded crawled away and died later. The Freaks—I mean, the Coalition troops—didn’t have very good medical care, so there had to be a high mortality rate.”
Victoria walked back to her table and picked up a document, studied it, then turned to face him again. Nick sat staring at the floor.
“You think you killed perhaps a hundred men that day?”
“Probably.”
“Could the number be higher than that?”
“Yes.”
“How many? Two hundred?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it possible that you killed two hundred that day?”
“Yes, it’s possible.”
“Did you kill men in other battles before that day?”
“Yes.”
Victoria walked toward him again.
“Marshal Walker, how do you feel about the fact that you killed, probably, as many as two hundred men, and possibly more, in the war?”
“I wish it hadn’t happened. I wish it hadn’t been necessary.”
“Do you think about it often?”
“Not when I have a choice. Seems like somebody is always bringing it up, though.”
“People are always bringing it up. Like here, today, in this courtroom?”
“Yes.”
“So, when nobody is bringing it up, you don’t think about it?”
“I try not to.”
“Is there ever a time when you think about it involuntarily?”
He frowned at her. They hadn’t covered this in witness prep. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re alone. At night, maybe. Do you ever think about it then?”
His frown deepened, then he glanced at Suzanne in the gallery. She gazed calmly back at him.
“You mean, when I dream?”
“Your Honor! Do we really need to explore the witness’s dreams?”
Victoria glanced up at the judge.
“A little latitude, your Honor? I’ll be brief.”
“Be very brief, Miss Cross. Overruled.”
She looked at Nick again. “Do you dream about the war?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“And how would you classify those dreams, Marshal Walker? Are they pleasant dreams? Do you wake up feeling refreshed and happy afterward?”
“No. They’re nightmares.”
Victoria returned to the table and made a note, then turned back to Nick.
“Since you became a U.F. Marshal, how many men have you killed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Marshal, Mr. Godney has advanced a number of twenty or so. You must have an idea if he’s warm or not.”
“I would say no more than twenty-five.”
“And how is it that you don’t know for certain? Your current job is not a battlefield, so someone is keeping score, are they not?”
“Yes, but there was one situation, on Sirius, where a whole lot of people were shooting at the same time, and I’m not a hundred percent certain how many kills were mine.”
“Don’t you carry a .44 Magnum revolver as part of your standard daily gear?”
“Yes.”
“After a gun battle, isn’t forensics able to determine if someone was killed with a .44 as opposed to, say, a .45?”
“Yes. But I also carry a Class 3 laser pistol, and so do a lot of other people. Forensics can’t distinguish between them. A number of the dead on Sirius died by laser fire.”
Victoria smiled.
“So it’s safe to say that your ‘body count’, as Mr. Godney likes to call it, might be as high as twenty, but no higher than twenty-five. Is that a true statement?”
Nick thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
“I would say that’s about as accurate as we’re ever going to get, yes.”
“Marshal Walker, how many of those kills were necessary?”
“All of them.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“How do you define ‘necessary’?”
“Lethal force is authorized when the life of the officer or some innocent person is threatened. In every case, my life or the life of someone else was threatened.”
“Do you enjoy killing, Marshal Walker?”
“No.”
“Did the war desensitize you?”
“Nnnnnnnn… Yes.”
Victoria’s eyebrows shot up. A stir in the gallery.
“Yes? In what way?”
“Violent death doesn’t shock me anymore.”
“Isn’t that true of most combat veterans?”
“To some degree, I guess. Some of them never get used to it.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“Did the war desensitize you in other ways?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is it possible that your combat experience makes it easier for you to kill?”
He thought about that one, too, then nodded.
“I guess that’s possible.”
“Can you explain how that works?”
He shifted in his seat. “A person who has never killed before is sometimes prone to hesitation when he faces a deadly threat. I don’t have that problem.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. Having witnessed a lot of violent death, and having caused some of it, it makes me want to stay alive, and to protect others from it.”
Victoria almost smiled, but managed to look smug instead. She turned away from Godney to hide her expression.
“Have you ever felt good after killing someone?”
“Good?”
“Yes. Good.”
He stared at the floor a moment, scratched the back
of his head, and sighed.
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What does that mean?”
“Every time it happens, I’m scared shitl—” He caught himself and glanced at the judge. “Sorry, I’m scared spitless every time. When you’re looking down the barrel of someone else’s weapon, it’s terrifying, no matter how many times you’ve done it. And when you come out the other side of that terror, and you’re still alive, there’s a certain euphoria connected to it. You’re absolutely thrilled to still be alive. So…I guess you could say that is a good feeling.”
“Thank you, Marshal Walker.”
She walked back to the defense table again, looked at some notes, then turned back.
“Marshal Walker, tell me about Steve Baker.”
The courtroom sucked in its breath, as if this was what they were waiting to hear. Over two hundred people were watching, but made not a sound. Nick stared at her a moment as she strolled back toward him.
“What do you want me to say about him?”
“Why did you kill him? Was he threatening your life?”
“I believed so at the time.”
“Did you know he was a U.F. Marshal?”
“He identified himself as such, yes.”
“Tell us what happened.”
“I had taken six girls from Ted Strong, who was holding them as slaves. I was going to transport them back to Kline Corners. Baker came out of nowhere and drew down on me, ordering me to release the girls.”
“So, your testimony is that you were trying to rescue six slave girls and Baker tried to stop you?”
“Exactly. He fired a couple of rounds and threatened to kill me unless I disarmed. I tried to talk him down but he wasn’t listening. At that point I could only conclude that he was somehow involved in the slave trade, that he was a rogue marshal. When I got the chance, I shot him.”
“Was he a rogue marshal?”
“I don’t think so. Other than that incident, I never saw any evidence to support the theory.”
“Was he involved in the slave trade?”
“Not as far as I could determine.”
“Then why did he draw down on you?”
“Objection!”
“Marshal Walker was there, your Honor. He might know the answer.”
Judge Moore peered down at Nick from the bench.
“Do you know the answer, Marshal?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Victoria’s mouth pursed. “Withdraw the question. Marshal Walker, do you have a theory as to why—”
