by John Bowers
Kline took a threatening step forward. “Fuck you!” he shouted. “You can’t come in here and talk to us like that!”
Suzanne had been right, Nick reflected. Willis Kline was barely under control. It had taken only a single statement to set him off. Nick’s right hand slid across his gunbelt to rest next to the laser pistol.
“I’m wearing the badge,” he said. “I’ll say whatever I damn well please.”
“That badge ain’t the whole story!” Kline blustered. “You ain’t the first marshal we’ve had in these parts—you won’t be the last!”
Nick tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Are you threatening a United Federation Marshal, Mr. Kline? That’s a serious felony. You could get ten years for that.”
“You can interpret that any way you like!” Kline retorted. “I don’t have to take any bullshit from you! And I won’t!”
Nick stared at him a moment, letting him pant his rage away. He looked back at Graves.
“That’s a nice bandana, Mr. Graves. Can I take a look at it?”
Graves scowled. “Why?”
“It’s nice. I might like to get one. Where’d you buy it?”
“Jenkins’s store. He’s got a whole shelf of ‘em.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure. Look all you want.”
“Could you take it off?”
“No.”
Nick feigned surprise. “Why not? I’m not going to steal it.”
Graves set his jaw. “It’s fine where it is.”
Nick nodded thoughtfully.
“Any idea where your son is, Mr. Graves? Any idea what he’s doing?”
Graves looked startled. Involuntarily, he glanced at Willis Kline. Kline took another step forward. His breathing had slowed a bit, but his face was still flushed.
“Good-bye, Marshal. It’s time for you to leave now.”
Nick looked at him with innocent eyes.
“But I just got here.”
“You’re on private property. Unless you have official business here, I’m tellin’ you to leave.”
Nick shifted his weight, his hand coming to rest on the grip of his weapon. Kline’s eyes darted downward as he noticed the move.
“Mr. Kline, I’m investigating a crime. I’ll leave when I’m done.”
“A crime? I told you, the kid attacked me first!”
“Not that. I’ve had my say about Nathan Green. Now I’m talking about human trafficking.”
“What?” Kline looked jolted.
“That’s the nice name for it,” Nick told him. “A better word might be ‘slavery’.”
Kline’s astonishment was genuine. He stared at Nick as if he were crazy, then looked at Graves as if to confirm he had heard correctly. Graves had gone rigid, his eyes darting from one man to the other. He took a step to his left, but Nick’s right arm flashed upward, the laser pistol pointed straight at him.
“Don’t take another step, Mr. Graves,” he said. “Unbuckle your gunbelt and let it drop. Slowly.”
Graves was heaving for air, indecision in his eyes. He lifted his hands slowly, still glancing from Nick to Kline and back.
“What the fuck is going on!” Kline roared. “Have you lost your goddamn mind!”
Nick never took his eyes off Graves.
“Mr. Kline, I’m going to ask you to drop your gunbelt too, if you don’t mind. Just for the moment.”
“I do mind! I’ll do no such thing!”
Nick stood facing the two men, who stood about six feet apart. If they were stupid enough to draw on him, he could kill one for sure, but it was a tossup whether he could get them both. His Star Marine training kicking in, he kept his face neutral, controlling his breathing as anxiety swirled through him.
“It’s just a precaution, Mr. Kline,” he said quietly. “For your safety as well as mine.”
Nick took a step to his left, then another, putting himself in an enfilade position that placed both men in front of him. If he had to shoot now, he wouldn’t have to swivel to get them both.
“Gentlemen, I won’t ask you again. Drop the gunbelts.”
Kline flushed even deeper, but unbuckled his belt and let it fall. Graves still didn’t move.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kline. Now step aside.”
“You’re digging yourself a deep grave, Marshal!”
“Another threat?” Nick’s eyes remained on Graves, who stood behind Kline. “That’s two strikes. Now step aside.”
Kline backed away, furious but not stupid. He watched Nick with glittering eyes, but Nick’s eyes were on Gerald Graves, who had taken on the look of a cornered animal.
“One more time, Mr. Graves. Drop the gunbelt.”
Graves still hesitated. “What do you want with me?”
“I want you to drop the gunbelt. What are you afraid of?”
“Maybe you’ll shoot me if I do.”
“Maybe I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”
“Drop the goddamn belt, Gerald!” Willis Kline growled. “We already got enough to sue this guy and the U.F. Marshals.”
Graves compressed his lips—Kline wasn’t backing him. He carefully unbuckled the belt and let it drop. He took a step away from it and kept both hands in the air.
“Thank you,” Nick said casually, hiding the relief that flooded his veins. “Now remove the bandana.”
“Fuck you.”
Nick smiled. “Mr. Kline, tell me if Mr. Graves has a tattoo under that bandana.”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“It’s not a trick question. Does he have a tattoo on his neck?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“What does the tattoo look like?”
“It’s a scorpion snake.”
Nick pulled a pair of E-cuffs off his belt and tossed them to Kline.
“Mr. Kline, will you please put these on Mr. Graves? Behind his back.”
“What the fuck for?”
“Mr. Graves is under arrest for kidnap, rape, and human trafficking.”
Kline was stunned. “That’s a load of—”
“I never raped anybody!” Graves shouted.
Kline turned, silenced by Graves’s outburst. Astonishment was evident in his eyes as he registered what Graves didn’t deny.
“Gerald?”
Graves stared at his boss in desperation.
“Serf girls, Willis! That’s all, just serf girls. It’s not like anybody would miss them, there’s a million of ‘em!”
Kline looked at Nick.
“Is that right, Marshal? Is this about serf girls?”
“They’re Federation citizens, Mr. Kline.” Nick’s pistol still pointed at Graves.
“But this is Sirius. It’s a whole different society than you’re used to. Up in the states…”
“I don’t care about the states. Kline Corners is in Federation territory. What they do in the states is still against the law down here. Now we can discuss this over coffee any time you’d like, but right now I’d like you to put the cuffs on Mr. Graves.”
Kline wavered for a moment, then turned to Graves.
“We’ll get this all sorted out when my dad gets back, Gerald. Put your hands behind your back, let’s play along for now.”
“This is bullshit, Willis.”
“I know it is, but we’ll fight it. My old man will take care of it.”
Graves stood angrily while Kline put the cuffs on him. Kline backed away and Nick nodded, holstering his weapon.
“Thank you, Mr. Kline.” He took Graves by the arm, picked up his gunbelt, and pushed him toward the double doors. The serf mechanics near the harvesters stood staring in disbelief. Nick walked Graves outside and held open the car door for him. Graves’s hat fell off when he got in; Nick picked it up and set it back on his head.
“How much did you get paid for selling those girls?” he asked.
Graves glared at him.
“I have the right to remain silent,” he said.
Nick smiled grimly and s
lammed the car door.
* * *
In the absence of government offices on many frontier worlds, formal charges could only be filed via subspace. Only nine U.F. Marshals remained on Sirius—eight, since Nick had killed Steve Baker—and no prosecutors were in residence. Misdemeanors could usually be handled by paying a predetermined fine, but felonies were more complicated. An appointment had to be set to talk to a prosecutor by subspace; if he chose to file charges, a later subspace appointment would be needed for a hearing before a magistrate; if the accused was bound over for trial, it was usually necessary to arrange starship transportation back to Terra, or whatever Federation world was closest.
Things were much easier if the defendant simply pleaded guilty; the magistrate could hand down a sentence on the spot, and incarceration could be arranged on Sirius, thanks to a treaty with Missibama, which billed the Federation for the cost of imprisonment. It wasn’t ideal—none of it—but it was necessary.
It was also a pain in the ass.
* * *
Roy Blake looked dazed and confused when Nick brought Gerald Graves in and demanded he be locked up. Blake and Graves were friends, drinking buddies, and Graves was a Kline Ranch foreman. When Nick removed the E-cuffs, Blake stood there looking bewildered.
“Do you have a proper warrant for this man?” he asked Nick.
Nick eyed him warily, surprised, but…not really surprised.
“That’s not your concern, Sheriff,” he said quietly. “He’s a Federation prisoner, and that’s all you need to know. I’ll file the proper documentation with the Federation authorities.”
“What’s he charged with?”
“No formal charges have been filed yet, but the charges will be kidnapping and human trafficking.”
Blake rubbed a hand across his chin, but still didn’t move.
“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” Nick’s eyes bored into his skull.
“Well…” Blake fidgeted. “I’ve known Gerald Graves for seventeen years, Marshal! I just cain’t believe he’s guilty of what you’re alleging.”
“It isn’t up to you to believe it. It’s up to a Federation prosecutor to prove it, and only then can he be convicted. In the meantime, he is to be held in your jail until arraignment.”
Blake frowned. Graves stared back at him, silently encouraging him.
“It just don’t seem right.”
“If it’ll make your job any easier,” Nick said, “he admitted it.”
Blake’s eyes widened a fraction. He looked at Graves.
“Serf girls, Roy. That’s all.”
“Are you going to lock him up, Sheriff? Or do I have to charge you with interference?”
Blake’s eyes jerked toward Nick. “Charge me?”
“That’s what I said. I think you know that the U.F. Marshal’s authority exceeds your own, so I have that option if I need to invoke it. I sure hope I don’t need to.”
As if breaking loose from plaster, Blake’s feet moved at last. He took Graves by the arm and nodded toward the cells in the back.
“Come on, Gerald. Let’s see if we can make you comfortable.”
Nick waited until Blake came back from the lockup, saw him hang a sonic key on the wall beside the door.
Blake saw Nick watching him, and stopped suddenly. “Something else, Marshal?”
Nick shook his head, hoisted Grave’s gunbelt over his shoulder, and walked out the door.
Chapter 16
“Local law enforcement may try to resist your authority. Don’t let it happen!”
—Professor Milligan, U.F. Marshal Academy
Nick filed the paperwork from his office by subspace, locked Graves’ gun belt in his safe, and headed for the Vega. It was a little early for lunch, but he had things to do and it seemed prudent to get it out of the way. A hot wind gusted down the street and the temperature was already scorching. Sirius A filled most of the eastern horizon, and Sirius B was hot overhead. The dreaded period known as Sirian Summer was approaching fast.
Nathan Green was seated at his corner table, staring out the window as he chewed on a sandwich. Kristina was behind the bar and smiled happily as Nick settled onto a stool and placed his hat on the bar.
“Hi, Nick!” She hesitated. “Is it okay if I call you Nick?”
“Only if I can call you Kristina.”
She laughed, a sound like tinkling chimes. “What can I get you, Nick?”
“I’ll have whatever Nathan is having. And some ice water.”
She went into the kitchen to relay the sandwich order, then came back and filled him a cold glass.
“When does Sirian Summer get here?” he asked. “It’s getting damn hot out there.”
“Any day now. You’ll know when the wind starts.”
“And how long does it last?”
“It varies, but never less than six weeks.”
Nick sucked the ice water down his throat. “How do the farmers keep their crops from drying up in Sirian Summer? If it gets as hot as you say, I’d think everything would burn to a crisp.”
“Most of the crops are harvested before it starts, but the rest have to be sprayed constantly. The foggers run around the clock.”
“What about the animals? Cows and horses and whatnot?”
“Most of the cows are native animals. They’re pretty tough. I think they keep most other animals locked up and air-conditioned.”
Nick nodded. It wasn’t important to him, but he had wondered about it. “Is your mom around?”
“Upstairs. She takes a day off now and then when it’s slow. Do you need to talk to her?”
“No, I was just asking. How are things with you and Nathan?”
Kristina glanced across the dining room and smiled. “Better than ever. Thank you for your help.”
Nick spread his hands. “I didn’t do anything. Thank Nathan. He showed your mother what he was made of, and she was smart enough to figure out the rest.”
The door opened and someone came in. Nick took another deep drink of ice water and set the glass down. Only then did he notice the tension in Kristina, who was glaring at the newcomer and trembling slightly.
Nick heard the hiss of a hover stool and glanced to his right. Willis Kline set his hat on the bar, meeting Nick’s eyes briefly.
“Can you get me a beer?” he asked Kristina.
The girl didn’t move for a heartbeat, then shook her head. “Sorry, it’s against Federation law for me to serve you alcohol,” she said. “I’m a minor.”
Surprised, Nick glanced at Kline again to see his reaction. Kristina still stood in front of Nick, as if hesitant to leave his protection.
Kline also looked surprised, then his expression turned sheepish.
“Kristina…” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Look…I’m sorry about the other night. I was—I was drunk. I promise you it won’t happen again.”
Nick sat rooted with astonishment. After what Suzanne had said about Willis Kline, and his own encounter with him a few hours earlier—an apology was the last thing he’d expected from the man. He looked at Kristina, who seemed every bit as shocked as he was. For just a moment she didn’t speak.
“I still can’t serve you,” she said finally. “The marshal here might arrest me.”
Nick picked up his water glass and got off the stool.
“I’m going to go sit across the room,” he told the girl. “If I don’t see you serve him a beer, I can’t do much about it.”
He picked up his hat and walked over to Nathan’s table. When he glanced back at the bar he saw Kline drinking from the neck of a cold bottle.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked Nathan.
“No problem.” The boy nodded at the chair opposite and Nick sat down.
“How are you feeling?” Nick was looking at Nathan’s face.
“Only hurts when I breathe.” Nathan glanced toward the bar, where Willis Kline sat drinking his beer. “I don’t like him sitting that close to Kristina,” he said in a low voice.
>
“I think it’ll be okay. He apologized to her a minute ago.”
“He did?” Nathan shook his head. “If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Heard him myself. I think he was sincere.” Nick sipped some more water. “Nathan, what can you tell me about Joel Graves?”
Nathan put his sandwich down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. A frown appeared on his forehead.
“What about him?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. I assume you know him.”
“Everybody knows him. He’s Gerald Graves’s son.”
“How old is he?”
“Eighteen, I think. He just finished high school last year.”
“Do you know him well?”
“Well enough. We’re not friends.”
Nick stared at him, waiting. Nathan seemed uncomfortable with the question, but continued.
“He’s a lot like…” He glanced at Willis Kline. Nick nodded. “Thinks he’s hot shit. He’s a big guy, strong and tough. Likes to push his weight around.”
“Does he have a job?”
“Works on the ranch. I’m not sure exactly what he does, but they gave him a pickup to get around.”
“A new pickup?”
“No, old and battered up. Runs good, though.”
“Does he work alone?”
“I dunno. Don’t know that much about him, don’t want to.”
“What you’ve told me so far describes a bully,” Nick said. “Would you say that’s accurate?”
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
“How is he around the girls?”
“Big shot. Big mouth. He made a play for Kristina, but she didn’t want any part of him. She can see right through him.”
“What about the other kids, the Spanics?”
“He treats them like animals. There are only about a dozen that attend the high school, but he beat up all the boys, and…” Nathan stopped, his battered face blushing darker than the bruises.
“And what?” Nick took a guess. “He beat up the boys…and did what to the girls?”
“He raped them.” Nathan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“All of them?”
Nathan nodded. “There were only four.”
“And when was this?”
“Last year. Before he graduated.”
“Did you see this?”
