by Mike Resnick
“Got a name chosen yet?”
“I'll think of one before morning.”
They ate a meal of alien game meats and exotic produce, and then, because it was a lovely, cool night, they decided to sit outside before going off to bed.
The hotel had a veranda overlooking a small pond. Very few animals came by, but the building and its lights hadn't scared the birds off, and Nighthawk and Kinoshita sat on comfortable chairs, watching them.
“You know,” remarked Kinoshita after a few minutes, “maybe there's something to this bird-watching after all.”
“Maybe you've found a new hobby.”
Three men walked out of the hotel's bar, headed for a table on the veranda. One of them stopped when he was a few feet from Nighthawk and stared at him.
Nighthawk stared back without saying a word.
“Mack! Blitz!” said the man, calling to his companions. “Come over and take a look.”
Kinoshita tensed as the two other man joined their companion in front of Nighthawk.
“You got a problem, friend?” asked Nighthawk easily.
“Listen to him!” said the man. “It's him!”
“Boy, he sure as hell looks like him,” agreed the one called Blitz. “And like Rimo says, he sounds like him too.”
“But it can't be,” said Mack. “Take a good look. He's an old man. That was just a kid.”
“Anyone can color his hair,” said the first man, the one called Rimo. He took a step closer. “You ever been on a world called Tundra?”
“Tundra?” replied Nighthawk. “Never even heard of it.”
“Damn it, that's his voice!” said Blitz.
“Maybe you remember the Marquis of Queensbury?”
Nighthawk shook his head. “I never heard of him, either. You're looking for someone else.”
“Come on, guys,” said Mack. “We're going out into the bush at daybreak. Let's get some sleep.”
“Maybe we've found something to hunt right here,” said Rimo doggedly.
“I've got no quarrel with anyone,” said Nighthawk. “It's a lovely night out. Why not just enjoy it and go about your business?”
“Look at him!” said Mack. “He's got to be 55, maybe 60. It can't be the same guy.”
“I don't care!” snapped Rimo. “I know who it is!”
Just be quiet and keep still, thought Kinoshita. They've been drinking. Don't rile them. Any minute now they'll realize you can't be the 23-year-old who killed the Marquis.
“I've never seen you before in my life,” offered Nighthawk.
“That's kind of funny, because I've sure as hell seen you!” said Rimo.
Don't egg him on. Just be quiet and polite and humble and they'll walk away.
“You must be mistaken,” said Nighthawk.
“And I think you can't hide who you are behind a gray wig!” shot back Rimo.
Kinoshita sensed a change in his companion, took a quick look at Nighthawk's face, and had a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—because it wasn't Nighthawk's face any more. It was the Widowmaker's.
“Son,” said Nighthawk, “we've done enough talking, and you're standing in my way.”
“You going somewhere?” demanded Rimo pugnaciously.
“No.”
“Then what's your problem?”
“I'm watching birds.”
“Are you?”
“And fools.”
Shut up! You're an old man. They may be a little drunk, but there are three of them, damn it! And they're young.
“Who are you calling a fool?”
“If the shoe fits,” replied Nighthawk. “You're looking for a kid. Do I look like one to you?”
“You look like an old man who hasn't got the brains to keep his mouth shut.”
“And you look like three corpses.”
“Corpses?” Rimo laughed. “We're not dead!”
“You will be soon enough if you don't walk on,” said Nighthawk ominously.
“You don't have to do this!” whispered Kinoshita.
“They don't have to do this,” answered Nighthawk, not lowering his voice. “I was just sitting here minding my own business.”
Blitz's hand snaked down toward his laser pistol.
“Don't do it, son,” warned Nighthawk.
Blitz's fingers grasped the handle of his gun. Nighthawk's hand flashed as he stood up, and suddenly a knife buried itself in Blitz's neck. Mack went for his gun, but Nighthawk's laser fried him before he could withdraw it.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Rimo, who had been watching, too surprised to move.
“The name is Jefferson Nighthawk.” Pause. “Now aren't you sorry you asked?”
“What happened to you?”
“I grew up,” said Nighthawk grimly. “And now I've happened to you.”
“Walk away!” said Kinoshita urgently. “Don't go for your gun and he'll let you live!”
“Fuck you!” snapped Rimo. “I'm going to be the man who killed the Widowmaker!”
He reached for his weapon, Nighthawk's burner spewed out its deadly light again, and the younger man fell heavily to the ground.
Nighthawk stepped down from the veranda and nudged each body with his toe while his pistol was still trained on it, just in case there was a spark of life left. Finally he turned to Kinoshita. “Who the hell was the Marquis of Queensbury?”
“He was an outlaw, or maybe you'd call him a warlord,” answered Kinoshita. “He controlled half a dozen worlds. Word has it that your first clone killed him.”
“You never saw him?”
Kinoshita shook his head. “No.”
“So along with Hernandez’ men, I could run into the Marquis’ men all the hell over the Frontier.”
“It's possible.”
“And of all these hundreds, maybe thousands, of men who have a grudge against the Widowmaker, you can identify five or six?”
“That's right.”
“Shit!” muttered Nighthawk angrily. “All I want is to be left alone!”
You may think that's what you want, but you could have kept quiet and eventually they'd have gone away. Jefferson Nighthawk may want to be left alone, but the Widowmaker is growing stronger every day. I didn't think you were ready to take on three men at once, but he knew, didn't he?
“Well,” said Nighthawk with a sigh, as the Widowmaker vanished to some secret place inside him, “let's find out who's in charge and report this. It'll look a lot better than if we just wait for them to find the bodies.”
“Right,” agreed Kinoshita.
We all have our agendas. You've got yours, which is out in the open. I've got mine, which I haven't confided to you. And I have a feeling the Widowmaker has his—and only he knows what it is.
Kinoshita sighed deeply.
I wonder what happens when they clash, as sooner or later they will?
9.
Nighthawk sat in the mayor's office, which happened to be a wood-paneled den at the Big Seven Safari Company.
“Damn it!” he said softly as he and Kinoshita waited for the mayor. “I'm an old man. My enemies have been dead for a century. I shouldn't have to watch my fucking back!”
“They weren't your enemies,” said Kinoshita for perhaps the fifth time. “They were your clones'.”
“Same goddamned thing!” snapped Nighthawk. “I've earned a little peace and quiet! I spent 45 years on the Frontier, I went up against every human and alien outlaw I could find, I never ducked a fight, I never asked for favors.” He took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “I've done my duty, damn it!”
“You could have let them walk away,” suggested Kinoshita gently.
“They'd just have come back.”
“You don't know that.”
“I'm trying to be a man of peace,” said Nighthawk irritably. “You know I am. But you can push any man just so hard and just so far—even a man of peace.”
“Couldn't you have held off another ten seconds?” said Kinoshita.
“Another fifteen? Maybe they'd have left.”
“And if they had, maybe they'd have harassed some other old guy who isn't Jefferson Nighthawk.”
“And maybe they wouldn't have.”
“No more guessing games,” said Nighthawk. “They went for their weapons. It was self-defense, and I don't think you're going to see a lot of mourners at their funerals.”
A well-built middle-aged man, with shoulder-length silver hair and wearing an outfit made of native animal skins, entered the den, looking almost like a poster for his company. He spotted Nighthawk and walked up to him.
“Mr. Nighthawk?”
“Right,” said Nighthawk, shaking his extended hand.
“My name is Hawkeye Silverbuck.”
Nighthawk smiled. “It is?”
Silverbuck returned the smile. “It is now. And you must be Mr. Kinoshita.”
“I am,” replied Kinoshita.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Silverbuck. “I am the mayor and chief law officer of Pondoro, as well as the owner of the Big Seven Safari Company.” He paused. “Mr. Nighthawk, would you care to tell me exactly what happened in front of the Taylor just after nine o'clock tonight?”
“Three men thought I was someone else and threatened to kill me. When they went for their weapons I was forced to defend myself.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“I saw the whole thing,” said Kinoshita. “He's telling the truth.”
“Let me amend that,” said Silverbuck with a smile. “Were there any witnesses who could reasonably be considered objective observers?”
“I don't know,” said Nighthawk. “But that's the way it happened. And the moment it was over, I came here to report it to you.”
“Did you do or say anything to encourage them?” asked Silverbuck.
“I tried to discourage them. Why?”
“You say it was a case of mistaken identity. If you goaded them into a fight and they didn't know who they were facing, I would consider that tantamount to murder. After all, you are the Widowmaker.”
“I was the Widowmaker,” Nighthawk corrected him. “Now I'm just an old man looking for a place to live out his life.”
“I think the presence of three dead bodies belies that statement,” said Silverbuck. “I've checked, and there was paper on two of them.” He smiled in amusement. “So now it's up to me to decide whether to pass the reward on to you or charge you for killing them.”
“Bullshit,” said Nighthawk. “If they were wanted men, how can you charge me with murder?”
“They were wanted for robbery. I know you've been away, but robbery is still not punishable by death.”
“Then give me some sodium-P, or hook me up to a Neverlie Machine, and let's get this over with,” said Nighthawk.
“I don't think that will be necessary,” said Silverbuck. “I'm sure we can settle this quickly and amicably.”
“Oh?” asked Nighthawk suspiciously.
“And I'll make sure you receive the reward.”
“Not necessary.”
“But I insist.”
Nighthawk stared at him. “In exchange for what?”
“It's very simple. Leave Pondoro and promise never to come back.”
“I didn't break the goddamned law!”
“It doesn't make any difference,” replied Silverbuck. “Once word gets out that you're here, every young gun on the Inner Frontier will make a beeline for Pondoro to go up against you.” He paused. “We do a lot of killing here, but we prefer to confine it to animals.”
“They don't have to know I'm here. I plan to get new ID papers tomorrow.”
“If you hadn't killed three men, I could probably keep your identity a secret, but now...” Silverbuck let his voice trail off. “It's a lot harder to change a police record than a Customs registration form—and yes, I'm aware than you plan to change it.”
“Damn it!” snapped Nighthawk. “You have no legal right to make me leave!”
“I'm the only elected official and the only lawman on this planet, or at least on this half of it. My word carries the full force of the law, and I'm telling you we don't want you here.” He paused. “Hell, you don't want to be here either,” he continued reasonably. “Go deeper into the Frontier, and establish a new identity before you land on the world where you want to live.”
“I'm staying,” said Nighthawk adamantly.
“I've already explained why it would be foolish to stay,” said Silverbuck. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
“The Widow—” he began and then quickly caught himself. “I don't run from threats.”
“No one's threatening you. I'm just telling you what will happen if you stay.”
“You're the law. Your job is to protect me.”
“I'm the law by default, Mr. Nighthawk,” said Silverbuck. “No one else was willing to accept the position. But I spend most of my time on safari—and to be perfectly honest, I'd be a lot better protecting you from animals than men.”
“Some lawman,” snorted Nighthawk contemptuously.
“You want the job?” shot back Silverbuck. “Just say the word and it's yours. Two thousand credits a month, and no one can deport you. Kill anyone you want; see if I give a damn.”
“I'm retired.”
“I saw what you did in your spare time.”
“They went for their weapons.”
“We're back where we started. I'm accepting your story, but I want you off the planet tomorrow—or I'll re-open the investigation.”
“I'll let you know.”
“Think about it very carefully,” continued Silverbuck. “You don't want me as an enemy, Mr. Nighthawk. I know better than to go up against you; no one could pay me enough to do that. But I'll hide in a blind, and nail you from a quarter mile away. You'll never know what hit you—and I guarantee that with my rifles, I don't miss at 400 yards.”
Suddenly Silverbuck was looking down the barrel of Nighthawk's burner.
“What makes you think I'll let you get 400 yards away, Mr. Silverbuck?” asked Nighthawk in low tones.
Silverbuck raised his hands, too frightened to say anything.
“I've been threatened by experts,” continued Nighthawk. “I don't rattle.”
“You killed a lot of men,” Silverbuck said with more confidence than he felt. “But you were always a lawman or a bounty hunter, never an outlaw. You won't kill me.”
“I learned a long time ago never to bet more than I could afford to lose,” replied Nighthawk. “Are you prepared to bet your life on that?”
Silverbuck shook his head.
Nighthawk lowered his burner and put it back in its holster. “I'll leave when I'm ready to.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the building. Kinoshita considered apologizing for his behavior, thought better of it, and followed him into the street.
“He's right, you know,” said Nighthawk.
“Then why did you pull a gun on him?”
“There's a difference between being right and being arrogant. Telling me how he's going to kill me is arrogant.”
“So what do we do now?”
Nighthawk was about to answer when there was a small commotion at the doorway to the tavern.
"That's him!" someone shouted.
"Did you hear what he did?"
"Is he really the Widowmaker?"
"He's an old man. How could he—?"
"—killed all three of them before they could get off a shot."
"Yeah? Well, wait til he goes up against Billy Tuesday!"
"I hear Backbreaker Kimani is already on his way here!"
“Yeah,” said Nighthawk disgustedly as he turned and approached the doorway to the Taylor, “it's time to move again.”
10.
Nighthawk sat at the controls of the ship, looking at the viewscreen. Kinoshita returned from the galley with a some food and took his seat.
“Can I get you anything to eat?”
“No.�
��
“Mind if I ask where we're going?”
“Go ahead.”
“All right,” said Kinoshita. “Where are we going?”
“I don't know.”
Kinoshita stared at him for a long moment. “Are you mad at the whole galaxy, or just those members of it who remember the Widowmaker?”
Nighthawk made no reply, and Kinoshita ate his meal in silence.
“You mind if I say something?” he asked after a few more minutes had passed.
“Yes.”
“Damn it, Jefferson, just how long are you going to be like this?”
“Until I feel differently.”
“I could die of old age before that happens.”
“I'll die of old age first.”
“Not you,” said Kinoshita. “You'll die taking on 20 men at once, all the while protesting that you just want to be left alone.”
Nighthawk turned to him. “Just what the hell do you expect me to do?”
“The last clone had cosmetic surgery,” Kinoshita pointed out. “He's got a new face and a new identity. No one will ever know who he is, or was. If you're so hot to live a peaceful life, why don't you do the same thing?”
“In case it's escaped your attention, I've been doing the same thing, and it hasn't helped a bit ... so why bother? It was a lousy idea to begin with. I'm still Nighthawk; it's the Widowmaker I'm getting rid of. These are my face and my name. They're two of the things that define me. I don't see any reason to change them.”
“I could give you four reasons,” answered Kinoshita, “but they're all dead.”
“I was in DeepSleep for 112 years,” said Nighthawk angrily. “I shouldn't have to hide who I am. My enemies should all be dead.”
“But they're not. You yourself would be dead if we hadn't created two clones to earn enough money to keep you alive until a cure for your disease was found. But in the process, the clones made new enemies, enemies who haven't reverted to dust yet. Now, that's a fact, and all the arguments about what life should be like aren't going to change it.” Kinoshita paused. “You know, so far we're only mentioned the Marquis and Colonel Hernandez. But the last thing your second clone did was kill Governor Cassius Hill and a few hundred of his best soldiers. He had a standing army of close to four million men and women who had a pretty soft touch until you came along. Probably most of them would like to see you dead, too.”
