Carson shrugged. “Well, knowing a killer is guilty beyond a doubt, and seeing the crime committed via their own memories makes the penalty decision easier for me. At least until they learn to block their thoughts. That will happen as time passes, as our ability is recognized more widely, and people learn how to guard incriminating thoughts. For now, if we engage in a gunfight here and a claim of self-defense isn’t accepted for us, we can leave the planet before they can catch and prosecute us. Makes us look guilty as hell, but if a Mind Tap defense isn’t allowed, tough shit. We can forcibly place all the details into a judge or prosecutors mind, and then we leave.”
Ethan shook his head and mounted a lopsided smile. “Oddly enough, the cats have a clearer road in the law here. They are considered animals, and not responsible for moral decisions, and are not subject to prosecution. However, shooting dangerous animals on sight is also allowed, and Kit killed men working for Brethard as she searched for me. They were trying to kill her, of course. That probably isn’t known here in town yet, but we better not wait until supper to eat and do any shopping.”
They got up and headed to Trail’s End, keeping the jog down to twenty miles per hour, out of concern for Ethan’s energy levels from his just consumed meal. The med lab report rated him at ninety-five percent recovered from yesterday’s concussion, and his other minor injuries were fully healed by the nanites.
“After all,” as Kobalt reminded them, after he and Kit complained about the slow running pace, “it was only a bullet to the head. It isn’t as if she shot him in some vital organ he needed to regrow, such as his penis.” Only three of the quartet found that clever.
****
Ethan directed Carson and Kobalt to try a bar called Shaunassy’s, where he said the stable owner told him many of the cowhands ate and drank after a cattle drive. “Kit and I haven’t tried it, but they’re supposed to serve more to eat than just steak and potatoes. It’s my treat, and we’ll come back to join you after I check on Beau. I’ll ask about a horse for you, and then Kit and I can check it out to see how it responds around a ripper.”
Carson grinned at the offer. “We rushed here with minimal supplies. The two of us could probably eat a whole longhorn right now, so hurry back with your credit chit.”
The two headed for the swinging doors of the bar. It was just past midday, but Shaunassy’s sounded rowdy, with loud music and voices pouring out of the entrance. Clearly, the most recent cattle delivery had left recently paid cowboys with excess money in their pockets.
By agreement, Carson entered first, and not being dressed like a local, he drew a few glances, but general disinterest prevailed. That wasn’t the case when the classic style saloon doors swung inwards for the next arrival, which nearly filled the doorway.
The music continued, because recordings couldn’t be startled, but the voices and laughter died in a rapid and ragged spread, as the first reactions drew the attention of those not facing the entrance. First one, then a second provocatively dressed saloon girl screamed at the sight of an eight hundred fifty pound teal colored beast, blocking the only door. Kobalt outweighed his smaller sister by at least two hundred pounds, and much of his added mass was concentrated in his larger head, neck, front legs and shoulders. This was an inherited legacy of ripper males, who generally conducted surprise flank attacks against massive rhinolos on Koban.
The more streamlined female rippers were better suited for pursuit, chasing a herd of animals towards males who waited in hiding. The male tactic often involved breaking one of the prey’s front legs from a flanking ambush with one mighty swipe, or at least tripping one of the three to four-ton rhinolo, allowing other pride members to swarm it when it went down.
Kobalt paused by Carson’s left side, who casually laid an arm over his muscled neck, hand stroking one ear, as he grinned at the expressions he saw around the room. “Howdy. Can a man and his cat get a meal here? We’re new in town.”
Kobalt’s deep base voice came from his synthesizer, set low that way by choice, to match his size. “We hear we can get the best steaks in town here at Shaunassy’s. Is that so?” He was looking directly at one of the two bartenders halfway across the room.
Slightly flustered, the man shrugged, and answered. “I guess so. They’re top quality, medium to large T-bone cuts, flame broiled with a genuine Earth mesquite wood flavor.”
Kobalt and Carson, having established they were just here to eat, walked down the center isle that divided the tables in the room. The bar was already two thirds full, even this early in the day. Ethan had said trail hands from a recent cattle drive had taken all the hotel rooms. This was a place where many cowboys apparently spent their off-work time.
Men, and some women customers, were eating and drinking, others were playing cards, and three men at a sidewall were proving none of them was any good at throwing darts. A number of scantily clad saloon girls were near a small dance floor, where the source of music originated. It resembled an old style upright player piano, but the recorded music coming from the fake piano included various instruments. An obviously inebriated man prompted his bored looking dance partner to resume their dance, stepping on her probably sore toes. A sign on the piano offered dances for four credits, and the drunk wanted his money’s worth.
As the pair neared the bar, the man that had answered Kobalt gestured to a menu that suddenly appeared glowing in the mirror behind him. “We ain’t got a lot of choices. What do you want to order? I saw you yesterday, by the way, walking down the street with a different man on horseback.”
“That wasn’t me. I want ten of the large cut steaks, served very rare but I want to try that flavor you mentioned.” He looked at Carson. “I guess you want something, right?”
“Yep. I’ll take a single large cut, medium rare, the baked potato, and any green local vegetable if you have some. I’ll also try a tall local beer, whatever you recommend, and served with our meal.”
The man looked behind them towards the door. “How many others will join you? We can put some tables together.”
Kobalt chuffed. “Not needed. Other will join us when we’re done eating, but the ten steaks are all for me, no vegetables please. Do you have a big bowl of fresh cream, and perhaps several cans of tuna for desert?”
The man looked at his cohort. “Carlos, check if we still have some of that cream from Mrs. Atwell in the kitchen. I know we have cans of tuna in the pantry.” He looked back at them. “We’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”
“Thanks.”
Carson looked for a table isolated enough that Kobalt could easily reach it without forcing anyone to stand to let him pass. There was one such table, not yet cleared from its previous use, right on the aisle at the center of the room, where Kobalt could squat without crowding anyone.
Conversations in the bar had resumed, although it was obvious the two newcomers were the main topic. Several tables, where men were playing poker based on the chip stacks, produced multiple hostile glares and whispered comments. One of the men, having a puffy look around his nose and eyes, was whispering to the men at his table, staring at Carson with obvious animosity, possibly mixed with puzzlement.
He pulled out a satellite com set and told it to call someone. Speaking to someone at the other end, he glanced at Kobalt and shrugged, a gesture lost to his listener. He said something else, and then put the com set away. Ear buds were personal phones, and the larger com sets were often company satellite phones, furnished to various hired hands.
Kobalt moved around the table to avoid blocking the aisle, and squatted so he was able to scan the side of the bar where the hostile stares originated. Carson, sensing the same thing, took a chair facing that way.
Using Comtap only, Kobalt shared what he’d seen and heard. “The seventeen men playing cards must think I’m Kit, but they know you aren’t Ethan. Two of them asked the man with the com set how he knew you weren’t Ethan.”
Carson finished by repeating what he too had overheard. “That’s bec
ause he told the others that Ethan was dead. He also noted that I have black hair and Ethan’s hair is brown, and I’m a bit larger. He’s the one that pulled out the com set. Interesting this guy thinks Ethan’s dead, since that shouldn’t be common knowledge around here. It happened yesterday morning, and the woman that did it snuck his body out secretly.”
Kobalt started a slight ripper grin, but suppressed it quickly. “They don’t realize how sensitive our hearing is, particularly your wolfbat hearing. What else can you hear that I missed, brother?”
“The man with the phone spoke to someone he called boss. He told him that I’m definitely not Ethan, but he isn’t sure if you’re Kit or not. He thinks you look bigger today. That means he’s seen both Ethan and Kit previously and he was told Ethan is dead. Kit says he believes the Brethard woman was paid to shoot Ethan by a man named Egerton. This boss guy on the phone may be the one that paid her.”
“The man on the phone isn’t very observant.” Kobalt complained, simultaneously offended and indignant. “I’m clearly a male, even if he doesn’t know male rippers are larger than females.”
“Gee. Perhaps you should have squatted in front of the table and not behind it, exposing your magnificent maleness, to impress them.”
“Ha. As I recall, that trick didn’t impress the girls at home at the swimming hole.”
That memory made Carson defensive. “The river was cold when I dove in, I didn’t intend to lose my shorts, and I was thirteen years old. Give me a damn break.”
Kobalt let his jibe drop. “Look. The com set talker’s just turned pale, and his face’s infrared temperature went down. I think his boss told him to do something that scares him.”
“I think you’re right. He’s motioning some of the men near him to get up and follow him. They all have that hard look to them that I saw in experienced combat troops on Poldark. I think we’re about to meet them.”
“You didn’t wear your gun.”
“This place is tame compared to home.”
“You need to look at that hairless spot on the back of Ethan’s head again.”
Glancing at the used whisky glasses on the dirty tabletop, he said. “I have eight shots right here.”
The five men picked their way through the maze of tables and into the aisle, spreading out so that no one blocked the line of fire of anyone else. Carson approved of their caution, regardless of how inadequate it was.
He spoke up first, looking at the man that appeared to be in charge. He noted that he had puffy eyes, recently blackened, and the bridge of his nose had a newly healed scar. “I assume you know that I’m not Ethan Greeves, and let me tell you for certain that this isn’t Kit. His name is Kobalt, and I’m Carson Martin. We’re friends of Ethan and Kit, and we came here on his behalf. I heard you say I can’t be him because he’s dead. What makes you think that?” He smiled slightly.
Carson sat with his left arm casually resting on the table. A detail the puffy-eyed man seemed to pointedly notice, seemingly nervous at what he saw.
“He ain’t armed Jace,” the man to the left of puffy-eyes said. “Why are you pussy footing around?”
“Shut up Slade. You don’t know shit.”
Carson smiled wider. “I think he knows that Kobalt here isn’t some tame kitty, and none of you are carrying high caliber pistols with armor piercing or exploding rounds. From how he looked down at my hand on the table, close to these whisky shot glasses, and seeing how nervous he is, I don’t need to read his mind to know he met my friend not long ago. I’ll bet Jace here knows what a man like me can do, with whatever they have available to them. You walked over here favoring your right arm because it didn’t swing normally. Did you hurt it recently, when you had your nose broken?”
Slade spoke for him. “It was a riding accident while breaking in a horse. Med lab made him good as new. Besides, that blue cat asked for cream to drink. That sounds pretty damned tame to me. Show them your fast draw Jace.”
The deep loud voice from Kobalt made all five men jerk. “I think Jace wants to see another sunset. If you don’t feel like you do, Slade, you can start without him.” He showed several more inches of natural dental weaponry.
Jace moved his arms and hands wide, placed across the torsos of the two closest two men on either side of him. “Don’t provoke a fight in here. Mr. Edgerton owns the place and he won’t like it getting damaged.” Carson didn’t think for a moment that was Jace’s real concern, because he’d glanced down at the table again when he’d seen him casually cup a shot glass in his left hand, and then at Kobalt.
“Mr. Martin, I was asked by Mr. Edgerton to find out what your business here in town is, and if you really were from Koban. Since you say you are, he wants to offer you a job. I’m passing on his offer.”
“Thank you, Jace. Let’s shake hands on the offer, and I’ll consider it. I’m sure Edgerton’s a man of his word, don’t you?” Carson, smiling, stood up slowly, so as not to startle anyone into a mistake. He reached out his right hand, but Jace backed away as if it were a venomous snake.
“No. Sorry. My right hand’s still tender from an injury. I’ll tell my boss what you said.”
“OK. By the way, do you know where a Ms. Brethard is today? It seems her business is closed. I hope nothing unpleasant happened to her, perhaps she’s out at her father’s ranch.” He winked.
Genuinely mystified as to what the wink was for, Jace shrugged, and said, “No idea where she is.” He turned, motioning the four men with him to return to their tables.
Slade wasn’t happy, and said so, barely above a whisper. “What the Hell Jace? You won’t catch him and that animal in a better spot or with more guns at your back.”
“You ain’t seen one of ‘em move or what they can do.” He whispered back. “That shot glass in his hand could probably kill a man, and that cat a lot more.”
“Shit. Clampton’s right. You lost your nerve, and you ain’t very bright.”
His face red, Jace decided to turn the smart mouth loose. “Edgerton will definitely give you my job if you can take him, tough guy.”
Slade spun in place, hand going for his gun, just as a spinning shot glass smacked into his forehead, base first, and shattered in a spray of glass. Slade fell back as if poleaxed, a circular depression in his forehead, which started to bleed no sooner than he hit the floor with a limp thud.
“There goes one competitor for your job, Jace. Good advice.” Carson told him.
“I have seven more shot glasses, and a big blue tiger that won’t be nearly as neat as that throw. Kobalt will definitely leave a bloody mess on the decor here in Mr. Edgerton’s property, should you tell another man try to follow Slade’s example. I suggest you order a few of your men to carry Slade to the Doctor’s office just up the street. I don't think he’s dead, but he certainly has a concussion, and a possible skull fracture.”
Jace, his frightened eyes locked on Carson, said. “All you Double T hands; pay your tabs and finish your drinks. Four of you drop Slade off at the infirmary. Get your horses and all of your gear and meet me on the road at northwest edge of town in thirty minutes. Mr. Edgerton gave us something to do, and he’s sending livestock shuttles.”
The men cleared out, leaving the bar less than half-full, with a bartender that wasn’t happy about the sudden loss of paying customers. He was a lot less cordial when he brought out the food and drinks.
Carson offered him several Hub credit notes as a tip, pressing it into the man’s hand, holding it there firmly as he asked him a question. “Do you know where they were going? Jace said they were getting a shuttle ride.”
“I don't know nuthin’ about what that bunch does, and I don't want to know. They work for Mr. Edgerton, just like me. It ain’t healthy to ask questions.” He took his tip and hurried away.
Kobalt picked up one massive steak from his two stacks, and dropped it to the floor, using his claws to hold it down as he tore off chunks, which he swallowed hardly chewed. “What did he really know?” he
asked by Comtap.
“We need Ethan and Kit to meet us here fast, and then get out to the Wanderer. I don't think we have time for a two-day horse ride to Plains, and we may already be too late to keep their contract with the SGA in force. Eat fast, while I get the two of them moving back here. You can have my steak too, while I run up to that infirmary to check on poor old Slade’s health.”
“You care how he is?”
“Nope, but he might be awake by the time I get there. He knows more than the bartenders do. You want my steak or not? Ethan’s paying, remember?”
“Not a problem,” answered Kobalt, as he started on his second two-pound T-bone. “This taste is marvelous. I want to take some of that mosquito flavoring home with us, to try it out on rhinolo and antelope.”
“Mesquite wood.” Carson corrected.
“Bugs, or wood, I don't care what it is.”
****
Carson passed on the news as the four of them jogged back to the Wanderer, Ethan leading his horse, Beau. “Kit told us you two were supposed travel to a town called Bison, to protect the farmers and small ranchers around there from the cattle barons.”
“Yeah, So? Why the hurry now? What did you find out?”
“Well, a group of men in that bar got a bit pushy with us, and one of them is a man you must have met before, by the name of Jace.”
Ethan nodded. “Comtap us what happened there.” A second of mental sharing, and Kit and Ethan had the details.
“That’s Jace Wilkins, a gun hand who works sometimes for Edgerton sometimes for Gregos. Both of those cattlemen are murderous bastards, and direct the CCA’s death squads. I let Jace break his hand and shoulder trying to punch me the day I arrived, and then when he took a shot at me, I broke his nose and knocked him out. That same night I saw him wearing an arm sling and his face bandaged when I made a surprise visit to Edgerton’s office. He must have spent time in a med lab after that.”
Koban Universe 2: Have Genes, Will Travel Page 28
