Sirian Summer (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 2)

by John Bowers

  “So it seems likely your girls were taken by someone shady. Someone without credentials.”

  “In that database,” Nick asked, “do you record the buyers too?”

  “No. We get the information from the dealers themselves, before they ever sell the women. We keep it strictly as a reference.”

  “What about point of origin?”

  “That’s in there.”

  “Can you check if there are any women from Kline’s Corners or the surrounding area?”

  “Already did. Nothing. Like I said, whoever took your girls is working outside the law.” He caught Nick’s expression. “Outside Sirian law.”

  “How many women are in that database?”

  Colwell shrugged. “I haven’t checked. Fifty thousand, at least. But I’d guess there are twice that many slaves in the Outback. Plenty of independent operators in that business, and not all of them give two shits about what’s legal.”

  “Where do the sales take place? Any of them come in here?”

  “We haven’t had a sale in Dusty Springs in several years. Most of the slavers don’t like to conduct business in front of a U.F. Marshal, even if we don’t do anything about it.”

  “But they give you the database records.”

  “Remote uploads. As a courtesy.”

  “So you have no way to tell how accurate the records are.”

  “No.”

  “Even from the legitimate dealers.”

  “That’s right. And since London doesn’t seem to care, I don’t lose any sleep over it. If they want to fudge the data, that’s between them and Sirian law enforcement.”

  “So where’s the point of sale?”

  “All over the region. Anywhere men live in concentration. The Outback stretches another two thousand miles west and south, so there are dozens of markets. The nearest one is a place south of here, called Paradise Gulch.”

  “If I were taking slaves from Kline Corners, and selling them down here, that would be the shortest trip?”

  Colwell nodded.

  Nick took a deep breath and stretched. He got slowly to his feet.

  “Marshal Colwell, thanks for your information. You’ve been a big help.”

  Colwell smiled cynically. “I hope so.”

  “Don’t you have a partner here? I thought I saw two names on the roster for this area.”

  “Yeah. Steve Baker is the other marshal. He’s out right now; seems there was a killing over a claim dispute. Happens now and then.”

  “Where might I find him?”

  Colwell dipped his head in irony.

  “Paradise Gulch.”

  Chapter 10

  The farther you get from civilization, the more likely you will encounter hostile residents. Take nothing for granted; assume that all locals are hostile until proven otherwise. However, it is important to remember that these people are Federation citizens, and appearances can be deceiving.

  Page 202, U.F. Marshal Handbook

  Paradise Gulch was a joke. It was the closest thing to hell Nick had seen on any planet or asteroid in his life. Smaller even than Dusty Springs, it had no buildings and only a scattering of shelters, mostly tent fabric and rusted-out vehicles. Though the tracks of wheeled vehicles crisscrossed the area, the place had no street or definable thoroughfare.

  Nick set his hovercar down and stepped out, drawing a few curious looks but little else. He saw shelters scattered over a wide area, but walked toward a concentration of the largest tents, hoping this might be a center of some kind of commerce.

  He was right. The largest tent contained several dirty tables and behind them a cooking arrangement. Two miners were eating from greasy bowls at one side; a fat man in a dirty apron watched Nick through narrowed eyes, switching a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. His gaze fixed on Nick’s badge.

  “Yew hungry, Marshal?” he growled when Nick looked at him. “Ain’t fancy, but it’s real food. None o’ that packaged, preprocessed shit.”

  Nick grinned. “What’s on the menu?”

  “We got tripod barbecue, tripod stew, and tripod drumsticks. Yew like tripod?”

  Nick managed to hide his distaste. He’d seen a few of the three-legged critters on the way down from Kline Corners, and the idea of eating one didn’t much appeal to him. Hadn’t these people heard of chicken or pork?

  Still, he was hungry, and the rations in the car could be saved for later.

  “Do you have anything vegetarian?” he asked.

  “Vegetarian! What the hell are yew, one o’ them there Vegans?”

  Nick shook his head. “No, I just like vegetables. I had a really big steak yesterday and I’m in the mood for something else.”

  The fat man smirked.

  “Pull up a bench,” he said, turning away. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

  Nick settled wearily onto a cracked solarglas bench. He hadn’t slept since the day before and knew he really ought to doze for a few hours. But his adrenaline was up—after talking to Marshal Colwell he had the feeling that he was on the verge of making some progress—and he didn’t want to stop.

  “Have you seen Marshal Baker around here?” he asked the fat man, who stood with his back to him, scraping charcoal residue from a wok.

  “He was down here yesterday,” the cook replied. “Couple o’ miners got into a pissin’ match over a claim, and there was some shootin’. I ‘spect he’s still around somewhere.”

  Nick was silent a moment, studying the interior of the tent.

  “My name is Walker,” he said.

  “Congratulations.” Scrape, scrape, scrape.

  “I didn’t get your name.”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you Sam.”

  “Like hell yew will! I hate that fucking name!”

  “George? Wilbur? Charley?”

  The fat man turned around, annoyance in his eyes.

  “Booger Jones. Yew want a DNA sample too?” He returned to the wok, wiped it out, and set it on the fire.

  “Just trying to be friendly.”

  Booger busied himself chopping vegetables. A minute later he tossed them into the wok and began stirring them. The smell drifted across Nick and his mouth began to water.

  “That smells really good,” he ventured.

  “Told you the food is good.”

  “Why do they call this place Paradise? Is there something special about it?”

  “It’s the nicest place in the area,” Booger said over his shoulder.

  Nick grunted. “I noticed that. Real garden spot.”

  Booger caught the sarcasm and turned to peer at him again.

  “It’s the only place within five hundred miles with fresh water. We have a natural spring here. Can’t survive in this country without water, and diggin’ wells takes time. Expensive, too. We sell a lot of it. Makes more money around here than minin’ does.”

  Nick nodded. That made sense, and would justify the name, ironic as it was. He was about to ask another question when a movement behind the cooking setup caught his attention. A tent flap had opened in the back and a woman came in. She walked around to join Booger at the stove, and took over the wok from him. Nick saw her sprinkle some spices into the food and resume stirring. Booger turned to the nitro-cooler.

  “Want somethin’ cold?” he asked Nick.

  “Sure. Anything that isn’t too sweet.”

  Booger gave him a disgusted look and pulled out a bottle of cold water. He set it on the table and Nick grinned.

  “Perfect.”

  “Yew ain’t from around here, are yew?”

  Nick glanced up in surprise. It was the second time today he’d been asked that question.

  “How can you tell?”

  “What I mean is, yew’re new to Sirius, ain’t yew?”

  Nick sucked cold water down his throat and nodded.

  “Yes. It must be obvious, huh?”

  Booger studied him. “Yew stick out like a possum
in a fruit salad.”

  “I imagine so.”

  Nick glanced back at the woman at the stove. She was in her forties, he guessed, not very tall; slender, but with a slight, middle-age spread around the waist. Her skin was the color of creamed coffee, her hair as black as space. The hair was long and shiny; a clip at the nape of her neck kept it from straying.

  “Is this your wife?” he asked Booger.

  Booger’s eyes bulged; he glared at Nick as if trying to decide if the insult was intentional. “My wife? Does she look like a white woman to yew?” He snorted. “She works here, that’s all.”

  Nick met his gaze evenly. “My mistake,” he said.

  Booger turned and stalked away, leaving the tent through the flap in the rear. A minute later the woman at the stove scooped the hot food onto a cracked plate and brought it over to Nick. She set it before him, then brought him a set of tarnished silverware and a salt shaker. She never looked at him nor spoke to him.

  She turned back to the kitchen area.

  “Señora.” Nick pointed to a bench. “Siéntete.”

  The woman spun around in surprise, her dark eyes wide. She was quite pretty, he realized; her high cheekbones were pure Aztec—he’d seen a million such faces growing up in California. Her full lips parted and her breasts rose and fell rapidly as adrenaline, perhaps from fear, coursed through her.

  “¿Como?”

  Nick smiled and gestured. “Siéntete,” he repeated.

  “No puedo,” she said softly. “I cannot. My boss will not permit it.”

  Nick nodded. Booger wouldn’t want her fraternizing with his customers.

  “Okay, just stand there. I want to talk to you.”

  She glanced fearfully toward the two miners at the next table, unconsciously wringing her hands. Nick scooped up a mouthful of vegetables and began to eat, still watching her. He lowered his voice.

  “Digame, señora, are you a slave?”

  Her face froze with fear. Again she glanced toward the miners, who seemed to pay no attention. She looked at Nick again, lowered her head, and nodded jerkily.

  Nick realized she was terrified and wouldn’t stand still for a long interrogation. He took another bite and spoke quickly around it.

  “My name is Nick Walker,” he said quietly. “I’m here to help you. Where are you from?”

  Speaking quietly and quickly in Spanic, she told him she was from New Dallas, in Texiana. Her husband was a laborer on a dam project, and was away from home much of the time. She had been grocery shopping at the local serf market when six men with guns had raided the place and forced about twenty Spanic housewives into a hovervan. They had been transported to the Outback and sold the next day. Booger had purchased her for ten thousand sirios.

  That had been twelve years ago.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Maria Escobar.”

  Nick filed her name away for later.

  “Do you want to go back to your husband?”

  She pinched her lips, and he saw tears forming in her eyes.

  “Sí, pero he probably already has another woman.”

  He nodded. “Sí, es posible. Just the same, you don’t have to live here, like this.”

  She gazed at him with sudden hope in her eyes.

  “You can help me?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “I hope so.” He took another bite. “I’m looking for some girls who arrived in this area within the last year. Do you know anything about them?”

  “¿Muchachas?”

  “Young girls, fourteen years old, or less.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, lo siento. I have not seen them.”

  Nick nodded, disappointed. He had hoped Maria might have knowledge of the missing girls, but it had been a long shot at best. He wasn’t really surprised. He took another long drink of water. He saw movement in the back, saw Booger walking toward him. He smiled at Maria.

  “Me gusta la comida bastante,” he said in a normal voice. “Muchas gracias.”

  Maria nodded and turned away. Booger frowned at her, then frowned at Nick.

  “You speak that monkey jabber? Where’d you learn that?”

  Nick grinned. “I grew up on Terra. Billions of people speak it there.”

  Booger wasn’t impressed. “What was you sayin’ to her?”

  “Told her the food was good. Just like you said it was. Best I’ve eaten all day.”

  Booger spun around. “Maria! What did this man say to you?”

  She peered at the fat man fearfully.

  “He tell me he like the food. Tha’s all.”

  Nick spooned the last of the food into his mouth and pushed the plate away, chewing contentedly.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  Booger scowled, wiping his hands on the apron.

  “Twenty sirios.”

  Nick reacted. “Twenty! That’s highway robbery!”

  “That’s the price, Marshal. We got overhead here. Vegetables have to be imported. You want cheap, you shoulda took the tripod.”

  Nick stood up slowly, tipped the bottle to finish the water, and nodded in resignation. He pulled out his wallet and peeled off a twenty, dropping it on the table.

  “There you go. I guess it was worth it. Maybe I’ll stop in for another meal on the way back.”

  “Where you headed from here?”

  “Still looking for Marshal Baker. You see him, tell him I’m looking for him.” Nick put on his hat and walked out of the tent. Booger Jones stared suspiciously after him.

  * * *

  Energized by the meal, Nick walked around Paradise Gulch, hoping to find Marshal Steve Baker. He talked to half a dozen people, but none knew where the marshal was—or wouldn’t say.

  He asked where the killing had happened and got three different answers. Three claimed not to know, the other three pointed in opposite directions.

  Nick walked on.

  A quarter mile from where he’d left his car, he spotted a stope in the side of a hill. The actual excavation was a hole only four feet high, but the steps leading up to it were littered with rock and gravel; broken pieces of equipment lay scattered about. A man in filthy work clothes sat facing downhill, apparently resting from his labors. Nick climbed the gentle slope toward him.

  “Excuse me,” he said by way of greeting. “I’m looking for Marshal Baker. Have you seen him?”

  “Who?” The man’s eyes looked like white holes in his blackened face.

  “Steve Baker, U.F. Marshal. I heard he was here in Paradise to investigate a killing.”

  “Oh.” The man waved a hand carelessly. “He was here yesterday. He’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  “I dunno. Wherever marshals go, I reckon.”

  Nick stood still and rested a hand on his knee.

  “When did the killing take place?”

  “Wasn’t really a killin’. Just a damn feud.”

  “Nobody got killed?”

  “Never said that. Two men dead, good riddance to ‘em both.”

  “Did Baker arrest anybody?”

  “Dunno. Yew’d have to ask him.”

  Nick let out his breath in frustration. Talking to people in the Outback seemed to be an exercise in verbal Olympics.

  “You’re sure Baker left the area?”

  “Yep. Seen him pull out yesterday.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  “South.”

  Nick picked a piece of ground and sat down. Sweat ran down his chin and into his collar, making him feel gummy. Baker was gone, god knew where, but did it really matter? Baker would probably be no more helpful than Marshal Colwell had been.

  Nick turned to the miner.

  “When’s the next slave shipment due in?”

  “What?” The miner stared at him in surprise.

  “I understand they come in here pretty regular. Just wondered when the next one was due.”

  “Yew lookin’ to buy a slave? Yew? A lawman?”

&n
bsp; Nick shook his head. “Didn’t say that. Just want to talk to whoever is selling them.”

  “Yew plannin’ to arrest ‘em?”

  “Only if I find they’re doing something illegal. I understand most of them are licensed by the states. If all the paperwork is in order, then I won’t interfere.”

  The miner clenched his jaw and stared across the desert.

  “I’d ruther you was gonna arrest ‘em.”

  Nick tilted his head.

  “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “Because slavin’ is immoral as hell, an affront to Gawd Almighty.”

  Nick felt his pulse quicken.

  “You don’t approve?”

  “Approve? Shit, yew kiddin’? Yew oughta see ‘em, those women. Scared out of their minds. Some of ‘em cryin’, others shakin’ with terror. They been ripped away from their homes and families and they know they’ll never git to go back.”

  “But they’re serfs, right?”

  The man’s glare was hostile.

  “What the hell difference does that make? They’re people, ain’t they? Human as you and me. Most of ‘em been raped before they git here, all of ‘em git raped after they’re sold. They got no rights, no freedom, and they’re at the mercy of whatever son-a-bitch buys ‘em. Mister, yew’re wearin’ a Federation badge, I’d think yew had a little more compassion for their situation!”

  “So I take it you don’t own any slaves?”

  “Hell no! And I got no respect for any man that does.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Matheny. Garland Matheny.”

  Nick clambered to his feet and took three steps until he was standing over the man. He extended his hand.

  “Nick Walker,” he said.

  Matheny glared at him, but didn’t take his hand. Nick dropped to one knee, backing off a few feet.

  “I wasn’t quite truthful with you, Mr. Matheny,” he said. “Since I arrived in the Outback I’ve run into a stone wall when I tried to get information. So I thought I’d try something different with you. The truth is that I would like very much to put an end to slavery on this planet, but in view of the fact that the governments up north condone it, there isn’t much that I can do. However, I also understand that some of the victims are taken from Federation territory, and I can try to put a stop to that. So—anything you can tell me would be a big help.”

  Matheny studied him a moment, his grimy face relaxing as his hostility faded.