The Centaurus Legacy (The Adventures of Heck Thomas)

by Tom Bielawski

  He left the restaurant as a pair of constables entered and walked away quickly, wondering why he let himself get sidetracked. He glanced at the ID vid in his hand and he stopped cold. That was the source he was supposed to meet! His heart raced and he cursed himself for a fool. He had just tampered with evidence, left the scene of a crime, eluded police, and stolen someone’s jacket.

  What does all this mean?

  His holophone rang. He looked at the caller identity, it was Revelier. Against his better judgment, he answered it.

  “Yes?” he tried to sound casual.

  “Don’t ‘yes’ me, Hall!” barked Revelier. “What the hell did you do?”

  Hall hesitated. How had he known anything happened at all? Revelier was supposed to be far away, on the Moon.

  “Something happened to the contact, sir.”

  “Heck Thomas happened.”

  “How-”

  “Don’t ask, Hall. Plans have changed. Marshal Thomas is now wanted for murder by the authority of Churchill Drift, kidnapping of a Moon Police detective, and Commonwealth charges for murder and the destruction of Commonwealth property. Heck Thomas has gone dark.”

  “Wait. What detective?”

  “Laylara Espinosa, Moon Police Service. She met with Thomas and Doolin not long after the bank job there, ostensibly to help the Marshals track Yulia Kharkov.”

  Hall was silent. This was all moving way too fast. Wasn’t Espinosa his girlfriend? What could he gain by kidnapping her?

  “You did the right thing, Hall.”

  “What?” he asked, bringing his mind back to the present.

  “Staying low. Staying out of the local investigation. That was wise.”

  “You’re monitoring Churchill Drift, aren’t you? We don’t have authority for that-”

  “Stow it, Hall. This is bigger than that. Commonwealth Security Clause allows us to intercept comms, even from subordinate authorities.”

  Hall had been wondering when Revelier was going to pull that card. Revelier had high connections in Commonwealth government, even within the Intelligence Directorate. It was only a matter of time before that happened.

  “As I said, you did the right thing. We can’t get bogged down in the bloody trail Heck Thomas leaves behind him. We have larger concerns.”

  “Sir, if you could only tell me what they are. I might be able to help you more,” pleaded Hall.

  “Better if you don’t know. I’m working this from every angle. It should suffice to say that Thomas must be brought in. Keep working on leads there, I’ll direct you when I learn where he’s going.”

  “Why would he kill the informant?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Hall?” Revelier asked in that condescending tone. Hall already knew the answer, he just wanted his boss to say it. “Thomas and Doolin knew we would be coming to talk to their source. So they killed him. Dead men, Hall. Dead men...”

  The holophone clicked off and Hall continued on, avoiding authorities wherever he could. He grabbed a taxi and hurried back to his hotel to clean up and change his appearance. Then he slipped out and checked in to another hotel, all the while wondering what Revelier was up to; and how Revelier expected Hall to find out anything at all on the Drift. Sure, he had a list of some of Thomas’ known informants. But a good cop never disclosed his best ones. Doubtless, Thomas wasn’t visiting any of the petty informants on Hall’s list. And it was even less likely Hall would kill a bottom-rung con like Billy Campbell, whose list of crimes included retail theft, gambling, rum-running.

  Disgusted, Hall tossed his holotablet on the bed. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Maybe I just follow along blindly, like Revelier wants. Then I can retire and find my family. But Hall rejected those thoughts as they entered his head. That was the Old Hall. New Hall was disgusted with the way he had been acting and was determined to end his career with some backbone. He was going to have a hard enough time breaking down the walls between himself and his children, how would they feel if they knew what kind of person he had become? Didn’t he want his family to take pride in the work he did?

  Knowing what had to be done, what needed to be done, Hall decided to act. To catch a fugitive you had to think like one.

  Chapter Five

  Thomas strapped himself into Sixkiller’s pilot seat. Business Mode was engaged, but it was hard to stay on task. He found himself constantly battling to knock back the perpetual questions. What was going on? Why was the Commonwealth targeting him, and why now? Too many coincidences for his liking, which only reinforced his distinct lack of belief in matters of coincidence.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready. All signatures disguised,” said Dooly.

  Heck nodded in return, engaged the launch sequence, and braced himself. The automated controls of Churchill Drift gently carried Sixkiller along the corridor to the runway and deposited the craft there. Ten amber colored lights turned off, one by one, marking the countdown to launch. The final light, green, turned off and Sixkiller hurtled forward along the runway, catapulted into open space beyond.

  Heck righted his brain, aligned his holographic instruments, and set on the course for Alamo Drift. Then an explosion rocked Sixkiller and sent the cruiser into a deadly spin, careening off into deep space and away from their course. Heck shook his head, barely aware of a stream of curses from his partner signaling that Dooly was alive, and fought the ship for control. Gauges were spinning wildly and all of space seemed to be roiling around him.

  Another explosion rocked the craft.

  “Dooly!” he called through clenched teeth, fighting for control of the craft.

  “I’m trying!” he answered. “Hold still so I can shoot, dammit!”

  The automatic correction controls began to kick in, firing engine bursts at the precise moments to augment Heck’s efforts at stopping the deadly spin. A hoot from Dooly told Heck that someone was paying for this mistake.

  “Pirates!”

  “How many?” Heck growled as the craft finally came back under control. His scanners populated the enemy positions in space relative to his own craft and he veered toward the nearest craft, particle trails from missiles streaking past the bow.

  “Two now.”

  A small red triangle racing around his sensors showed Heck that Dooly was trying desperately to lock onto one of the two pirate craft while Heck pursued and dodged missiles at the same time.

  “Damage?”

  “Two reactive armor plates damaged, that’s all-” Dooly paused a moment then yelled, “Yes!”

  “One left?”

  “One left. Correction, one fleeing.”

  “Ok. Enter the course corrections, we need to get to Alamo Drift.”

  “Uh, boss?” said Dooly, his voice quiet. Heck pulled up the long-range sensors.

  “Damn,” he whispered. The holocomputer flashed seemingly random images of ships, big ships, on the screen in front of him. Then it stopped, leaving one image suspended before his eyes.

  “Trouble.”

  ***

  “Is that CS Revenge?” came the question, the very quiet question.

  “Uh huh. All stop and go quiet, please.”

  Heck hit an emergency All Stop command on his holodisplay and Sixkiller quickly came to a halt in space, floating. Dooly reached back and hit a switch over his head which cut all systems off, including gravity and life support. Everything went dark except for a pair of glow strips on the overhead which needed no power to illuminate the cabin. A can of compressed air drifted across the zero-g cabin to Heck’s waiting hand. He quickly donned the mask and breathed in the stale, malodorous air.

  “Damn it, boss. That’s the baddest ship in the Fleet!”

  “I know it.”

  “She’s three times the size of CS Marauder! What do we do?”

  “Nothing we can do. We sit. She’s on patrol. Maybe looking for us, maybe not. She’s big and very, very bad; but she is also very, very old. Our long-range sensors are probably better than hers. She may not have seen us.”


  “What if she has?”

  “Then we’re dead. She’ll launch a hundred fighters to overwhelm us, then grapple us.”

  “Then she’ll board us.”

  “Right. So, best stay dark. Hope she hasn’t seen us,” Heck said calmly. Inside, he wasn’t so calm. Business Mode was about to be overrun by Panic Mode. Every minute wasted here was another minute off the clock, Laylara’s clock. “How far off course are we from her?”

  “If she kept on the same course she was on before we cut power, and if she doesn’t see us, she’ll pass over top by fifty kilometers.”

  “Fifty kilometers,” he whispered. “A long way, but not long enough to avoid a sensor sweep.”

  “If she’s sweeping,” offered Dooly hopefully.

  “Bet on it, Dool. The Fleet knows about us by now, and they’re gonna want revenge. They’re sweeping.”

  Dooly sat in his chair, shivering. Space got cold very quickly when life support turned off. Heck pulled a pair of blankets from a compartment near his feet. He balled one up as best he could and shoved it, sending it drifting across the cabin to Dooly. Then he wrapped himself up and waited.

  “Dool,” he said quietly. “Engage Emergency Power-up Protocol when I say and not a second before.”

  “Ok,” he said between shivers. “What’s that do?”

  “Just be ready, and hang on.”

  Heck watched Revenge drift closer and closer through the cockpit window. She was almost directly overhead.

  “Ok, we are going to be picked up on scans any second now.”

  “And then all hell breaks loose!”

  “Only if they ID us right away. Our hull numbers are facing away, so they can’t read them. And the signature mask works off the plasma shields, which need no power to operate.”

  “That won’t fool her for long.”

  “We don’t need long. We need long enough.”

  “I see,” said Dooly as the Heck’s plan appeared in his head.

  “Ok, Dool. On three,” said Heck.

  “One, two, THREE!”

  Dooly slammed the red switch on the bulkhead behind him and Sixkiller’s systems all burst to life at once, including the propulsion system. Two seconds later, Sixkiller was hurtling away from CS Revenge at full speed. That desperate move would cost them dearly, but Heck didn’t want to think about that now. He had to escape. Sixkiller was shaking violently from the strain of such rapid acceleration, hull beams were groaning and the engine was running very, very hot.

  “Whoa! Revenge is coming about!” called Dooly. “I’m getting lit up with a crap-load of long range missile locks!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Heck calmly.

  “Don’t worry,” mimicked Dooly in a childlike voice. “The baddest ship in the Commonwealth Fleet, the Revenge, is after us and he says, ‘don’t worry’!”

  “Are they fighters, or long range cannons from Revenge?”

  After a moment of computer analysis he said, “Definitely not fighters.”

  “Good. We’re going to outdistance them. Scan Commonwealth frequencies. Have they identified us?”

  Dooly engaged the communications scanner so both could listen in. Luckily, the Fleet had yet to change their encryption codes.

  After a few minutes, the pair determined that Sixkiller had not been positively identified. Revenge only saw an outline of an unidentified cruiser with an indistinct signature. Revenge transmitted a ‘look-out’ report to the rest of the Fleet and resumed her original search for a fugitive Marshal’s cruiser. Sixkiller.

  “That was too close, Heck!” growled Dooly.

  “Yeah, it was. Put us back on for Alamo Drift. How much time do we have left?”

  “Twelve hours.”

  ***

  Heck nodded grimly. They had wasted a lot of time activating their disguises, fighting pirates, and dodging the Commonwealth Fleet. Luckily, Alamo Drift wasn’t far away. They’d be there in one hour at top speed. He didn’t want to risk crippling Sixkiller’s engines by maintaining that speed so he powered down to normal speed bringing their arrival time to just under two hours.

  The time drifted unbearably slow for Heck Thomas. There was little to do except monitor long and short range scanners for collisions or the approach of anyone who might want to do them harm.

  “Tell me about Tombstone Drift, Dool.”

  Dooly looked up from the floating holograms in front of him, a shrewd look on his face. “Nothing to tell,” he said, returning to his work.

  “Why is it that Virgil and his men seemed to know more about you than I do?”

  “Maybe you outta do better background checks,” growled Dooly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You tell me, Heck. Why are you interrogating me?” Dooly was angry, very angry. Heck had seen that look in his eyes before; he was on to something here. But what? Dooly could simply be protecting something about his past that he wasn’t proud of. But was it criminal? Or was it emotional?

  “All right, Dool,” conceded Heck. “You’re right. I was outta line,”

  “Damn right it was,” he grumbled, somewhat mollified.

  “Let me ask you more politely.”

  Dooly looked skeptical.

  “Would you mind telling me about your family’s connection to the Doolin Gang of the 1800’s?”

  Dooly let out a big sigh, accepting Heck’s question for what it was.

  “Ain’t much to tell,” he began. “Late 1890’s, Old West, USA, my ancestor was part of a gang.”

  “The Doolin Gang,” offered Heck.

  “The Doolin Gang. It was one of the most dangerous, most violent gangs in the history of the United States. Bank robberies, train jobs, cattle theft, murders, lynchings, it was all the same to them. Their leader, Wild Bill Doolin, was responsible for killing fifteen lawmen; US Marshals, deputy sheriff’s, policemen, and even a Pinkerton Detective.”

  “In 1893 US Marshal Ed Nix formed a task force of over a hundred lawmen to hunt down and kill the Doolin Gang. Over the next ten years all of the Doolin Gang were hunted down and killed in gunfights with lawmen. None were taken alive.”

  “Bill Doolin was killed in the Oklahoma Territory, 1896, attempting to escape capture by a trio of Marshals calling themselves the ‘Three Guardsmen.’ They were Marshal Chris Madsden, Marshal Bill Tilghman, and Marshal Heck Thomas.”

  “Dang, Dool. I had no idea you were related to Wild Bill Doolin. Man the history between our families-”

  “Is nothing to be proud of!” Dooly said passionately. “Bill Doolin had more kids in more towns than he could count, but my line runs through Bill’s brother, Ned. A nobody deputy sheriff in a nobody town. Everybody thought he was in Bill’s pocket because Bill didn’t kill him.”

  “Maybe he was a coward for not going after his brother. Maybe that made him a hero among his own clan, the Doolins. No one really knows. But the Doolin Clan soon forgot about Ned Doolin and old Bill was idolized. A mafia of sorts sprang from Bill’s loins that started in the West and reached into Chicago, Boston, and New York City in the 1920’s.”

  “Over the centuries, Doolins and their extended family were part of every kind of crime ever conceived. Back when Tombstone Drift was established, my more recent ancestors went there looking for more ways to get into trouble. My old man was one of the worst criminals you can imagine. He was a hit man for the new mafia on Tombstone Drift. And he was good. But one day he pulled a job that ended his life,” Dooly was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Heck didn’t disturb him.

  Then he spoke. “He killed my baby brother.”

  Heck didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just waited for Dooly to continue.

  “My dad, William Doolin, shot and killed my brother, Ned Doolin.” Heck was amazed at how Dooly’s family could have stayed involved in crime for so long. And worse, commit fratricide.

  “You wanted to know why Virgil knew so much about me? Because I killed William Doolin! I ki
lled that son-of-a-bitch! The most famous killer on Tombstone Drift; I killed him.”

  “I see,” said Heck. “I’m very sorry, Dooly.”

  “Don’t be,” he replied harshly. “Don’t matter anyway.”

  “Sure it does. You honor Ned’s memory everyday by fighting for what’s right and being the lawman he aspired to be. There’s honor in that, Dool.”

  Dooly said nothing. Heck didn’t push it. Now he understood. In places like Tombstone Drift, anyone on the side of the law was not to be trusted - unless they were on the payroll. Which may have been Ned’s problem. Perhaps Ned had a backbone, and his old man had to go and break it for not being loyal to the family? When a man like Dooly goes against his family, and the criminal culture of his homeland, he’s viewed as a traitor. Not to be trusted. Yet, Virgil trusts me. Maybe it’s because all I’ve ever been is a lawman. It’s what they expect me to be, what they trust me to be.

  He shook his head at the irony.

  “Alamo is coming into long-range scans,” said Dooly, all business.

  “Ok. What’s our best approach?”

  “Hard to say,” he paused. “There is a field of debris around it. Looks like Alamo’s been used as a bone-yard for old ships.”

  Heck digested that and pulled the long-range scans up on his holodisplay. There was indeed a debris field, a massive debris field.

  “Can’t use auto for this one, boss.”

  “I was just thinking the same,” murmured Heck. “Gonna have to do this solo.”

  “Virgil said to link up with his contact at Platform Ten. That appears to be on the stern. Section Alpha Five.”

  Heck slipped Sixkiller in and out of the debris field with much more ease than he’d expected. There was a lot of debris but a path seemed to have been partially cleared that he was barely able to squeak through, with only a few bumps along the way. Heck was suspicious at first, but realized that the criminals operating on this radioactive waste-heap needed some way to get in and out.