The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy

by Mike Resnick

The robot, which had not been asked a question nor given an order, froze, trying to interpret what Nighthawk had said. Kinoshita stepped forward and directed it to take them to the hotel's registration desk.

  Another robot greeted them, and, after registering their voiceprints and retinas and matching their credit ratings to their thumbprints, assigned them a pair of rooms on the second floor.

  “Have our baggage taken up to our rooms,” said Nighthawk. “I want to grab some dinner. Where's your restaurant?”

  “I regret to inform you that the Sand Castle's restaurant does not open until 7:00 local time.”

  “Where's the closest open restaurant?”

  “I am not programmed to send residents to our competition,” replied the robot.

  “Are you programmed to make value judgments?” asked Nighthawk.

  “Yes, in certain instances.”

  Nighthawk pulled out a pistol. “All right, let's put that programming to the test.”

  “I must inform you that I have no sense of self-preservation and thus will not respond to threats to my person,” said the robot.

  “Shut up and listen,” said Nighthawk. “If you don't tell me where I can find the closest restaurant, I'm going to blow out the two plate-glass windows in your lobby. I want you to compute their cost, compare it to the cost of losing my patronage for a single meal, and then make a decision.”

  “The closest restaurant is the Tumbleweed Road House, 137 feet to the south of this building, sir,” said the robot instantly.

  “I knew I could count on you,” said Nighthawk, holstering his weapon. He turned to Kinoshita. “Let's go.”

  “What if he reports you to the law?” asked Kinoshita as they walked out the door and turned south.

  “Do you know anyone who ever got arrested for threatening to shoot a window?”

  “No,” admitted Kinoshita with a smile. “No, I must admit I don't.” He paused. “What would you have done if the robot hadn't answered?”

  “Nothing. No sense shooting the place up if his programming wouldn't let him answer me.”

  They reached the Tumbleweed Road House, an unpresupposing restaurant, and soon seated themselves at a table. A small, wiry blonde woman approached them.

  “What'll it be, gentlemen?” she asked.

  “A couple of beers and a menu,” answered Nighthawk.

  “Don't need a menu. We've got steak, and we've got stew. Take your choice.”

  “That's not much of a selection.”

  “My cook quit, my waiter's got the day off, and I don't believe in robots.”

  “So who did the cooking?” asked Kinoshita.

  “I did. And it's a damned sight better than you'll get at the Sand Castle.”

  “What makes you think we're from the Sand Castle?”

  “It's the only place in town that's too snobbish to serve dinner at dinnertime,” she replied.

  “You've got a point,” said Nighthawk.

  “So what'll you have?”

  “You choose.”

  “You look like a steak and potato man to me.”

  “I've been a soya man for half a century. Time I started to get used to real meat again.”

  “Hey!” yelled a young man, dressed in colorful silks and satins and sporting an impressive array of weapons, from a nearby table where he sat with three of his friends. “Enough jabbering! We want some service.”

  “If you don't like it, complain to the owner,” said the woman.

  “Fine. Where is he?”

  She turned to him and put her hands on her hips. “You're looking at her.”

  “You don't want to get me mad, lady,” said the young man. “Just come over and take our orders.”

  “I'm taking this gentleman's order,” she said. “And no one tells me what to do in my own place. If you don't like the service, there's the door.”

  “Go take care of them,” said Nighthawk. “I don't want to cause any trouble.”

  “You're not causing any,” she replied. “They are.” She raised her voice. “And the more they cause, the longer they can wait. What's the point in owning your own place if you can't tell anyone to go to hell?”

  “Goddammit, Sarah!” said another of the young men.

  “You know what happened the last time you hassled me,” she said ominously. “You want more of the same?”

  “Come on, Sarah,” he said defensively. “We just want some food.”

  “Then you can damned well wait your turn. You know I'm short-handed.”

  “What the hell did you do to him?” asked Kinoshita curiously. “The last time he hassled you, I mean?”

  “I broke a chair over his head,” she answered. “Nobody gives me orders in my own place. Two steaks, right?”

  “Right,” said Nighthawk.

  “Don't you worry,” she said to Kinoshita. “If he gets uppity, I'll protect you.” She glanced at Nighthawk. “You don't look like you need any protecting.”

  She went off to wait on the other table, and returned with the steaks about ten minutes later.

  “Hope you like ‘em rare,” she said.

  “Rare'll do,” answered Nighthawk.

  “You here on business?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just passing through?”

  Nighthawk shrugged. “I don't know. We're looking for someplace to settle down.”

  She looked from Nighthawk to Kinoshita, then back again. “You two ... ah...?”

  “Just friends.”

  “Well, if I can show you around, just ask.”

  “I thought you were all alone here.”

  “Look around,” she said. “When those four would-be Widowmakers finish, you're all that's left.”

  “Widowmakers?” asked Nighthawk.

  “Just an expression. There hasn't been a Widowmaker in more than a century.”

  “Well, as long as we're all the customers you've got, why not have a seat and a beer?” suggested Nighthawk. “My treat.”

  “I'll take the seat,” she said, sitting down at the table. “But I'll take a raincheck on the beer until the place is closed.” She extended a hand. “I'm Sarah Jenner.”

  “Jefferson Nighthawk. And this is Ito Kinoshita.”

  “Nighthawk, Nighthawk,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Seems I've heard that name before.”

  “I've never been here before.”

  “I've only been here five years myself. Hell, I don't think we've got two hundred natives on the whole world. If you grew up somewhere else, Tumbleweed looks idyllic; but if you grew up here, you can't wait to see the rest of the galaxy.”

  “Where are you from originally?”

  “Pollux IV,” she said. “Inner Frontier born and bred. I grew up on a farm out there.”

  “What brought you to Tumbleweed and what keeps you here?” asked Nighthawk. “As long as we're thinking of settling here, we ought to know what its virtues are.”

  “It's empty and it's clean,” answered Sarah Jenner. “That's what got me here. And inertia keeps me here.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I've got a son,” said Sarah. “It seemed like a nice place to raise him.”

  “If you're short-handed, why not ask him to fill in here?”

  “He's half the galaxy away, on Aristotle.”

  “The university planet?”

  Sarah nodded. “It took every credit I had, but it's been worth it.” She paused. “It's lonely without him. Still, I keep busy. I've got my business, and my reading, and my birds.”

  “You raise birds?” asked Kinoshita.

  “I watch them.”

  “So does he.”

  She looked at Nighthawk with renewed interest. “You're a birder?”

  “Not really. But I think I could become one.”

  “Hell, I'll take you out tomorrow morning,” she said. “I know some wonderful places for watching.” Suddenly she stopped. “That is, if you're interested.”

  “Why not?” said Nighthawk.

&
nbsp; “I thought we were looking for property,” said Kinoshita.

  “Nothing wrong with property that's got birds on it,” replied Nighthawk.

  “I like you, Jefferson Nighthawk,” she said. “You don't find many men out here who like birding.”

  “I like you too,” said Nighthawk. “You don't find many people anywhere who like to read.”

  “I knew it!” she said happily. “You're a reader too!” She paused. “Tell me you're not a lawman before I get too fond of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you're here to apply for the job, it's only fair to tell you that you've got a life expectancy of less than two weeks.”

  “Oh?”

  Sarah nodded. “That's another reason I sent my son away. Tumbleweed is a beautiful little world, but lately it's become a drug drop. They smuggle alphanella seeds from ten or twelve secret farms to the Oligarchy, and this is one of the drop points. The last couple of lawmen we had tried to stop the trade. They were damned good men.” She pointed through a window. “They're buried about half a mile in that direction. So before I get too fond of you, I want to make sure you're not here for the job. I know they've been advertising it all across the Inner Frontier.”

  “I'm an old man. Why would I want to be a lawman?”

  “You're not that old,” she replied. “And you've got that look about you.”

  “What look?”

  “I don't know. A look that says it wouldn't be a good idea to have you as an enemy.”

  “I just want to be left alone.”

  “Well, if you don't chew alphanella seeds or wear a badge, there's no reason why anyone should bother you,” said Sarah. “Just don't stand too close to me if any strangers show up.”

  “Why not?”

  “I'm on their hit list.”

  “The drug runners?”

  She nodded. “Tumbleweed used to be a decent place to live. I want it to be again. So I reported them to the Oligarchy. They set up a sting operation on Raleigh II, and killed about ten of them ... but one of the survivors found out that I was the informer, and since then there've been attempts on my life.”

  “And you're still here?”

  “I'm harder to kill than you might think,” she said, her expression a cross between price and arrogance.

  “Well, if you go around hitting young gunmen over the heads with chairs, I can believe it.”

  “It sounds like this world needs a protector,” offered Kinoshita.

  “At least one,” agreed Sarah.

  “I wonder where it can find one,” continued Kinoshita.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” said Nighthawk, totally expressionless. “I just hope when he gets here, he protects me, too.”

  Sarah stared at him. “I said it before: you don't strike me as a man who needs protection.”

  “Sooner or later everyone needs it,” said Nighthawk.

  “Hey, Sarah, can we get some coffee?” asked the young man at the other table.

  She stared at him impassively.

  “Please,” he added hastily.

  “Happy to,” she said, getting up and vanishing into the kitchen.

  “Well?” asked Kinoshita.

  “Well what?”

  “Do you want me to spell it out?”

  “I'm too old to go back to being a lawman. This place can find some other savior.”

  “And her?”

  “I like her. She's bright and she's tough.” He paused. “I think we'll stay in town a few days so I can keep an eye on her. Just in case.”

  “But you won't take the job?”

  “I gave up the hero business a century ago.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “I did,” repeated Nighthawk decisively.

  You're fighting a losing battle, thought Kinoshita. You can deny it all you want, but you can't help being the Widowmaker. That's why you're going to stay in town ... and in a curious way, that's why I'm going to stay, too.

  14.

  “Got one,” said Nighthawk.

  “Where?” asked Sarah, following him down the winding path between the tall trees and aiming her lens in the direction he was pointing.

  “Top branch. Silver, almost phosphorescent. See how she shines when the sun hits her?”

  “Yes, I see her now. She's gorgeous!” She lowered her lens and turned to him. “And you can see her with your naked eye? That's amazing!”

  “I've always had pretty good eyesight.”

  “That's not just good—it's exceptional. Especially for a man in his fifties.”

  “Older than that.”

  “Oh?” she said. “How old are you, Jefferson?”

  Nighthawk smiled ironically. “Well, there's some debate about that.”

  “It sounds like there's a story there.”

  “Someday I'll tell it to you.” He looked back into the tree. “So what do you call that bird?”

  “Officially, it's not a bird at all.”

  “It's not?”

  “They only have birds on earth. It's an avian—a flying animal. But it looks like a bird, and it acts like a bird, so I call it a bird.”

  “Makes sense to me. What kind of bird?”

  “Almost none of them have been named yet,” replied Sarah. “Avianology isn't one of Tumbleweed's more popular pastimes.” She paused. “I guess that gives you the right to name her anything you want.”

  “I think I'll call her a Silver Sarah.”

  “I'm flattered.” Suddenly she smiled. “You know, if I were to let my hair grow out, it would almost be that color.”

  “Why don't you?”

  “Being blonde makes me feel young.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Don't you ever wish you were young again?”

  He shook his head. “I'll settle for being old and alive. The graveyards are full of men who were young and foolish.”

  “I'll wager you put a lot of them there yourself,” said Sarah.

  “Why should you say that?”

  “Just a guess.” She shrugged and shifted the box lunch from one hand to the other. “Probably I'm wrong. I think I know most of the famous killers, good and bad, on the Frontier, but I've never seen you before. Your name rings a bell, but I can't quite place it.”

  “Don't blame yourself,” replied Nighthawk. “You're a century too late.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “112 years ago I lay down to take a nap. I just woke up a few months back.”

  She stared at him curiously. “You were frozen?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “On Deluros?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, Jesus—you're him!”

  “Probably.”

  “You're the Widowmaker! You're really him!” she continued excitedly. “I'd heard rumors, legends, that you'd contracted some horrible disease and had yourself frozen until it was cured, but no one ever knew any details. I knew you had that look about you! I knew it!” Suddenly she laughed and shook her head. “Here I am, babbling like a schoolgirl. I'm sorry.”

  “You're not afraid to be with the Widowmaker?”

  “You always fought for the good guys,” she replied.

  “Sometimes I did bad things on their behalf,” he pointed out.

  “Necessary things. You were best lawman and bounty hunter who ever lived.”

  “That was a long time ago. Before you were born. Hell, before your great-grandparents were born. Now I'm just an old man who wants to learn birding and catch up on my reading.”

  “You can tell me the truth, Jefferson,” she said. “I'm on your side. You're here for the drug runners, aren't you?”

  He shook his head. “I'm here for me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” replied Nighthawk. “Why did you inform on them in the first place? They'd surely have left you alone if you'd kept quiet.”

  “My son had a drug problem. He chewed alphanella. It almost killed him. When I found out where
he was getting the seed, I blew the whistle.” She stared at him. “I'd do it again.”

  “You must have known they'd come after you.”

  “I was hoping the Oligarchy's sting would nail them all,” said Sarah. “But I'm prepared to live with the consequences of my actions.”

  “That's more than most people are prepared to do,” noted Nighthawk.

  “That's their problem.”

  “How many drug runners are there?”

  “Who knows? Five, ten, twenty. They recruit killers of every shape and size from all over the Frontier.” She smiled wryly. “A real equal-opportunity employer.”

  “Maybe the Widowmaker can lend a hand.”

  “It's not necessary,” she replied. “You're not here for them, and I'm not afraid of them.”

  “I admire your courage,” said Nighthawk. “But it does you no credit. Nobody in his right mind faces odds of twenty-to-one.”

  “You did.”

  Nighthawk smiled. “There are plenty of men who would swear that I was never in my right mind.” The smile vanished. “Besides, it was my job. It's not yours.”

  “This is my home. I'm not running away.”

  “I'm not suggesting that you do,” said Nighthawk. “I just think that you could use a little help.”

  “I appreciate your offer, but the answer is no,” said Sarah adamantly. “I'm the one they want; I'm the one who has to cope with the situation.”

  “Whatever you say.” Nighthawk walked along the path, searching for more birds. “There's a bright red one at ten o'clock.”

  “I know what you're thinking.”

  “I'm thinking that if you keep talking, you're going to frighten it away.”

  “You're thinking that you'll pretend to agree with me, but when the drug runners show up, you'll protect me.”

  “I'm too old to protect anyone.” Nighthawk looked to his right. “Purple and gold one at three o'clock.”

  “I remember hearing legends about you when I was a girl,” continued Sarah. “You were one of my heroes. You never walked away from a fight in your life.”

  “I ducked one for 112 years.”

  “But when you were ready, you won.”

  Nighthawk looked uneasy. “I didn't win. The doctors did. And it took a pair of younger Widowmakers to pay them.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “I'm not totally sure I do, either,” he replied. “Are you getting hungry? We could have lunch.”