by John Bowers
“What do you mean?”
Nick sighed. “When we first met, you were a little surprised that he didn’t get married until he was forty-five?”
“I remember.”
“There was a reason for that. Dad was in a Federation prison for bank robbery.”
Danby’s eyes widened dramatically.
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m not kidding. He pulled half a dozen bank jobs when he was about my age. He got caught, of course, and got fifteen to life in Leavenworth.”
Danby, looking shocked, shook his head in disbelief.
“While he was locked up,” Nick continued, “he ‘discovered’ Jesus. He read the Bible from cover to cover, several times. It changed his life.”
Danby stared at him, his eyes misting. For a moment he had trouble finding his voice.
“Well… Nick, doesn’t that tell you something? You seem to think the Bible is merely a collection of ancient myths that have no bearing on our modern age, but what you just told me sounds like pretty good evidence to the contrary. Don’t you think?”
Nick shook his head.
“I don’t think you fully appreciate my position. I do believe the Bible is, to a great extent, a collection of myths. I believe that about all religions. But I’m not an activist. I’m not trying to dissuade people from believing, I just don’t want to be pressured into accepting something that isn’t real to me.”
“How can it not be real to you, after what it did for your own father?”
“I’ve done an awful lot of thinking about this,” Nick said, “and I know my conclusions could be wrong. I might even change my mind someday, but right now I am convinced that some people actually need religion—just like some people need painkillers. For those who need it, I’m not going to judge, or criticize, or condemn…unlike many believers I know—and I’m not talking about you, Chaplain.
“My dad was in the darkest moment of his life. He had hit bottom, he had no hope. The only thing that could keep him going was that collection of ancient myths, and they saved him. He served twenty years. His sentence was commuted because he had reformed himself, and when he got out, he went to divinity school and became a pastor so he could help others.”
“That’s a wonderful story. A very inspiring story.”
“Yes, sir. But what you don’t understand is that my dad had a headache, a very severe headache, that was about to kill him. All he needed was an aspirin, and he found one. It worked for him, and it works for a lot of others. But I also know a lot of people whose lives have been destroyed by that same aspirin.” Nick coughed into a fist. “I could tell you stories, a lot of them, but neither of us has the time.”
Danby stared at him a moment, as if he wanted to say something else. Instead, slightly red-faced, he smiled and got to his feet. Nick followed suit.
“Private Walker…Private First-Class Walker—it has been a pleasure knowing you. You are a credit to your planet and to the Star Marines. I wish you well in life. Any idea what you’re going to do next? Will you stay in the service?”
“I don’t think so. Lately I’ve been thinking about a career in law enforcement.” Nick smiled. “I think my dad would appreciate the irony.”
“That sounds like a noble undertaking. I’m sure you’ll be good at it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Danby opened his arms in a tentative manner, and Nick stepped forward to accept the hug. Danby kissed him on the neck. They both stepped back.
“You will always be in my prayers, Nick. If you ever change your mind about church, or if you just want to talk about things, you can contact me through the Star Marines. I’ll be sticking around for a few more years.”
“I appreciate that, sir. I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful—I didn’t make the choices you hoped I would, but don’t ever think you didn’t help me. You absolutely did.”
“It was my privilege. Take care of yourself, Nick.”
“You too, sir.”
With another smile, Danby slipped on his garrison cap and turned away. Nick watched as he walked out the door, and for a moment felt as if his best friend had just walked out of his life.
They would not meet again for many years.
Chapter 36
Tuesday, 16 December, 0436
Los Angeles Interstellar Spaceport – SoCal, Terra
Nine days before Christmas, 0436, Echo Company disembarked from a military shuttle in Los Angeles. Those who had been with the company from the beginning had been on Alpha Centauri 2 for nineteen months, and it was good to get away, especially since so many who landed with them would never leave the planet. After the defense of Trimmer Springs, Echo only had eighty-eight men left, not counting those who were wounded and still in hospital—and most of those were replacements. They were wearing camo fatigues and field caps.
It was a brisk December morning and the sky was clear over Los Angeles. As they filed out of the terminal, they could see the downtown skytowers just a few miles away, and for Nick, a California boy, it was the sweetest sight he would ever see short of home itself. He breathed the cold, clean air and let it out with a sensation close to ecstasy.
Kopshevar did the same.
Nick hadn’t told his family he was coming home. He preferred to just show up and surprise them. It was amazing what one could discover with such a surprise, and not all of it pleasant.
He had surprised Victoria Cross once…
He didn’t want to think about that.
As they turned toward the loading zone where surface shuttles were waiting to transport them to Pendleton, Nick’s eyes narrowed at sight of a motley crowd a few yards ahead of them. It looked like some sort of protest group, both men and women. They were holding colorful homemade placards attached to wooden sticks, and as they spotted the Star Marines they began to jerk them up and down as they shouted insults. The signs carried a variety of slogans, most of them misspelled.
MAKE LUV, NOT WAR!!
DISBAND THE STAR MAREENS!
BABY KILLERS!!
GIVE PIECE A CHANCE
FUCK THE FEDERASHUN!!
Every man in Echo stared at them in dismay—no one had expected this.
“What the fuck is their problem?” DuBose muttered.
“Who the fuck are these guys?” someone else asked.
Nick laughed.
“Don’t you know? Anti-war activists. These guys are our conscience. They hold all the moral high ground for the entire galaxy. They want peace, and they’ll kill to get it.”
“I don’t fucking believe it!” Kopshevar said. “What a bunch of losers.”
“This shit has been going on for centuries,” Nick told him. “Every time there’s any kind of war, no matter how justified it is, people like this crawl out of the gutters and make a spectacle of themselves.”
DuBose grunted. “Freedom of speech, eh? I guess this is what we were fighting to protect.”
The company moved on down the sidewalk toward the shuttles, but as they came abreast of the protestors, the shouting increased in volume. Altogether, the mob numbered no more than a couple of dozen, but they were making a hell of a racket. Four LAPD officers stood between them and the Star Marines to prevent a confrontation. Most of the protestors were young, many still in their teens. But one in particular, a rawboned guy who stood about six feet three, seemed to be their leader. He wore dirty jeans and a faded shirt that was ripped in three places. Long, dirty, unkempt hair sprouted from his head in all directions, flying about with every move he made. Covering his chin was what looked like a dirty smudge, but was actually a handful of whiskers, probably all he was capable of growing.
He was at least thirty.
He was more vocal than the rest, leaping up and down like an African tribal dancer. His eyes burned with hatred as he glared at the objects of his rage.
“Baby killers!” he bellowed. “Fucking Star Marines! Baby killers!”
“Have you killed any babies lately?” Kopshevar a
sked Nick.
Nick shook his head. “Not recently. I’ve never killed more than ten or twelve in my entire life.”
Nick stepped out of line and stared at the protestors. He loved provoking idiots, and this was a perfect opportunity. Standing behind a cop, he pointed his finger at the stringy-haired guy and cackled like a witch.
“Look at that hairy freak!” he shouted.
“Get a job!” another Star Marine shouted.
“You still live with your parents, don’t you?” Nick shouted.
The stringy protestor’s face contorted with rage. Screaming obscenities, he lunged at Nick, but a cop intercepted him. Two women rushed to his aid, and another cop intercepted them, then the entire mob surged forward, shoving the officers back.
“Get out of here!” one cop shouted. “You’re just antagonizing them!”
DuBose and the other sergeants urged their men along, but Nick stood his ground. He pointed at the protestor again and started laughing.
“Look at you! Can’t even afford a haircut!”
The protestor lunged again, but two cops pushed him back. He leaped up and down like a Rottweiler trying to get at a kitten.
“BABY KILLER! Are you proud of yourself? Are you! Do you enjoy murdering people? Huh? DO YOU???”
Nick shouted right back.
“What a loser! You’ve never been laid, have you!?”
“MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
This time the protestor took a step back, nailed the nearest cop with his fist, and charged past him to get at Nick. The rest of Echo had already passed, leaving the sidewalk clear.
Nick braced himself as the man lunged at him and swung with all his might. Nick blocked the swing as easily as swatting a fly, then grabbed him by the throat, spun him around, and slammed him to the ground. Before the guy could react, Nick jabbed him in the solar plexus, driving all the air out of him. His opponent’s eyes bulged and he gagged, then struggled to regain his breath while still flailing at Nick, trying to land a blow. With a firm grip on his throat, Nick jerked his head off the sidewalk and slammed it down again, then leaned over him.
“Baby killer? Is that what you called me?”
He released the guy’s throat so he could catch a breath, then choked it off again until his eyes bugged out.
“Yeah, asshole, I am proud of myself. I’m proud of everything I’ve done.”
He slammed the protestor’s head down again.
“And since you ask…yes, I do enjoy murdering people. I love it! I’m good at it and I miss it!”
He slammed the guy’s head down yet again, then leaned over until their eyes were inches apart.
“Would you like me to show you?”
The protestor’s eyes bugged wide with fear. He shook his head in a jerky movement. Nick pinched his throat a little harder.
“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? Asshole?”
One of the cops broke free from the mob and grabbed Nick by the collar, pulling him back. Nick released his grip on the protestor and bounced to his feet. The cop was right in his face.
“What the hell are you doing? Get on the fucking shuttle.”
Nick grinned and saluted.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He glanced again at the guy on the ground, who was wheezing for air as he tried to regain his feet. He turned back to the cop.
“Have a nice day, Officer. He’s all yours.”
END
Coming in 2018
Victoria Cross, U.F. Attorney
A Nick Walker novel
Victoria Cross finished entering her trial notes in the computer, sealed it with an electronic signature, and closed the file. Another successful prosecution.
It was late afternoon; outside her window, the rays of Alpha Prime slanted across the city. Rush hour was starting as commuter traffic began to build. She glanced at her watch and debated bailing out early…or should she review the latest case in her E-box? She already had five open cases, all in various stages of investigation or pre-trial maneuvering, but new ones continued to arrive.
With a sigh, she turned to her terminal and pulled up the E-box, but before she could open the file, she heard a tap at her open door and looked up. She wasn’t totally surprised to see Hayes Crawford standing there with a grin on his face.
Hayes Crawford, fifty-four, the richest and most prominent defense attorney on Alpha 2, was something of an icon in the Centauri legal system. His textured grey hair had been treated with a rinse that turned it silver, and in the sunlight it glowed like some prehistoric god’s. His legal skills were legendary—he only took high-profile cases, the kind that made headlines across the galaxy—and usually won, thanks to his stable of bright young paralegals and a squad of dogged investigators.
He also played dirty whenever it suited him.
Victoria had faced him in court twice before, but the Wilson Fong case was the first time she’d beaten him.
“Mr. Crawford!” She pulled her hand back from the terminal and swiveled her chair to face him. “What have I done to warrant this visit?”
Crawford took three steps across the room and extended his hand.
“I just wanted to congratulate you, Miss Cross. You pounded the shit out of my client today.”
Victoria stood and accepted the handshake, then gestured Crawford to a chair and resumed her own.
“Thank you, counsellor, but it wasn’t that hard. It doesn’t take much to pound shit out of a turd.”
“Ouch…” Crawford took a chair. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. Your client is a first-class, steaming pile. I wasn’t kidding about the death penalty—if it was available, I would have lobbied for it.”
Crawford stared at her with a half-smile, not sure if she was joking.
“Well, I certainly admire your passion.”
Crawford adjusted his suit coat and straightened his tie, as if preparing for a vid interview.
“Now that the trial is over, I wonder if I might invite you to dinner this evening. I’ll let you pick the venue.”
Victoria raised an eyebrow at him.
“Looking to expand your harem?”
“What?”
He looked momentarily startled, then had the grace to blush. He’d been married five times, divorced four, and his reputation as a philanderer was second only to his rep as a trial attorney.
“Oh, no. No…” He stopped, glanced up at her with a curious eye. “…unless, of course… Well, I mean, I certainly wouldn’t turn you down, but that isn’t why I’m here.”
“Good. Because otherwise you wasted a trip.”
He grinned good-naturedly, apparently unoffended. He had a politician’s ego—nothing could shame him.
“No, I just figured that, since we did battle, we should share a meal. Bury the laser-saw.”
“I appreciate it, but might still need my laser-saw.”
He tilted his head in a half shrug.
“Okay, that’s fine. I understand.”
Victoria stared at him. Waiting. He shifted in his chair.
“Okay, since dinner is off, I’ll just get to it. I figured I would do this over a meal and drinks, but since that isn’t going to happen—”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. Whatever you were going to propose, the answer is no.”
His grin faded and he stared at her for ten seconds.
“Even if it pays half a million a year?”
Victoria laughed.
“Seriously? You were going to offer me a half million?”
“Uh, well, not initially, no. I was going to offer a quarter million, but you are clearly worth twice that, and since you’re playing hard-ball—”
“Mr. Crawford—”
“Hayes, please.”
She hardly blinked. “Mr. Crawford, today I did a really good thing. A really satisfying thing. I argued for the maximum sentence for your piece-of-shit client and I got it. Tonight
I can sleep like a baby and wake up happy and refreshed.
“But—if I had to represent that crooked asshole, I would have to drink myself to sleep and wake up with a puking hangover. No amount of money is worth that to me.”
Crawford tilted his head again.
“Everyone deserves representation, Miss Cross. Even assholes. The Constitution guarantees it.”
“The People of the Federation also deserve it. They have me. The assholes have you.”
Her lips curved upward at the corners.
“No offense.”
Hayes Crawford got to his feet and stood a moment, his expression suggesting he had another thought to express. He apparently thought better of it. He extended his hand again.
“Okay, then. Once again, Miss Cross—congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Until we meet again.”
He walked out the door.
Thank You
If you enjoyed this book, it would be fabulous if you could leave a brief review where you obtained it. Readers trust other readers, and the number of positive reviews has a huge impact on sales.
If you’re on Facebook or other social sites, and liked the book, perhaps you could recommend it to your friends there as well. Again, thank you so much. You are my marketing team!
--John
Writing and posting reviews is easy
You don’t have to be a professional writer or particularly verbose. Reviews by “real people” are what most readers are seeking. Just tell them, in your own words, what you thought of the book. If you can put into words why you liked the book, you can also add that information.
Don’t give away the ending. Most people hate spoilers.
Then give it a rating (usually 1 to 5 stars), a title, if needed, and click on the appropriate button (on Amazon, that would be the “preview” button, followed by the “publish” button if you like what you’ve done).
That’s all there is to it. You’re now a seasoned reviewer.
Why Reviews Are Important
