by John Bowers
“Oh. I think I’ve heard of it… Wasn’t there a holovid a few years back?”
Neither man was amused.
“We need you to come with us.”
“Really? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
The shorter agent started to shake his head, but the taller one lifted his chin.
“That’s up to you.”
“Oh, good. Then I’m not in trouble. I really don’t want to be in trouble.”
The shorter agent’s face took on a confused expression. He glanced at his partner.
“Are you sure this is the guy we’re looking for?”
“Yeah.” The taller one glared at Nick’s attire, scanning him from head to foot. “Do you always dress like this?”
Nick smiled. “You don’t like the way I dress?”
“You look like a clown.”
“I’d rather look like a clown than act like a clown.” Nick gave him the same head-to-toe treatment and then laughed. “Jesus!”
The taller agent’s scowl deepened. His face burned red.
“I don’t much care for your attitude.”
“Good. We’re all on the same page, then.”
“What’s your problem, Mister?”
“Marshal.”
“What?”
“You called me ‘Mister’. My proper title is Marshal.”
“What’s your problem, Marshal?”
“That’s better. Here’s my problem—you two walk in here like a pair of matched assholes, demand to know who I am, demand that I come with you…but aside from a couple of badges, I still don’t know who you are. I assume you both have names?”
“I’m Agent Blue and this is Agent White.”
Nick frowned. “What happened to Agent Red?”
“What?”
“The Federation colors. Red, White, and Blue. If you’re Blue and he’s White, then where’s Agent Red?”
The government men exchanged exasperated looks.
“There is no Agent Red.”
“Oh, too bad. I’ll bet he would have been a real winner.”
“Is there anything else you need to know?”
“Yeah. What do you want with me?”
“You aren’t under arrest and you aren’t in any trouble, but we need you to come with us.”
“Where are we going?”
“Lucaston.”
“Lucaston! Jesus, man, I just got off the train from Lucaston an hour ago. Why didn’t you find me before I left there?”
“Our information was that you were in Trimmer Springs.”
“You need to update your database. I haven’t lived in Trimmer Springs for over two years.”
Agent Blue released a sigh. His patience appeared to be running thin.
“I apologize for any inconvenience—”
“What’s this about? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m sorry, but no. The Vice President wants to see you.”
“The Vice Who?”
“The Vice President. Victor diGasse.”
For the first time, Nick was truly impressed.
“DiGasse wants to see me? He doesn’t even know who I am!”
“Apparently he does. He specifically requested that we bring you to him.”
“He’s in Lucaston? I didn’t even know he was on the planet.”
“His trip to Alpha 2 wasn’t made public.” Agent Blue glanced around and lowered his voice. “Now if you don’t have any more questions, can we just get this done?”
Chapter 3
Cachet Hotel, Lucaston – Alpha Centauri 2
Before leaving with the FSS men, Nick located Mijo and Victoria to tell them he had to return to Lucaston. Agents Blue and White had arrived in a hovercar and the trip back to Lucaston only took a couple of hours. Shortly after noon, the agents landed on the roof of the Cachet Hotel and escorted Nick down to a suite on the top floor.
Agent Blue stopped him before they entered the suite.
“I’m going to have to ask you to surrender your weapons,” he said.
“Why? You think I’m going to shoot the Vice President?”
“It’s protocol. No firearms are allowed inside.”
“What about you? You’re both packing.”
“We have to be armed. We’re Federation agents.”
“I’m a Federation officer, so no. If Vice President diGasse wants to meet me, he meets me just as I am.”
Blue and White exchanged glances.
“You won’t need your weapons inside.”
“How do you know? Maybe someone will try to assassinate the Vice President. What am I supposed to do then, spit on them?”
“That won’t happen. We’ll be armed.”
“Well there you go. Maybe one of you will try to kill him. I need to be armed so I can protect the Vice President.”
Agent Blue’s face reddened in anger.
“I’m afraid I have to insist,” he said.
“Insist all you want. It isn’t going to happen.” Nick took a step back. “It’s up to you. I don’t care if I step through that door or not, but if handing over my guns is a condition, then you gentlemen can just have a nice day.”
“Marshal Walker—”
“I don’t work for you.” Nick nodded at the door. “I don’t work for him, either. I came here strictly as a courtesy, and I can leave any time I want. You don’t get to make the rules.”
Both men clenched their jaws and Agent Blue began to swell like a toad. Before he could voice another argument, the door to the suite slid open and Vice President Victor diGasse stepped through, his left hand clutching a glass of red wine.
“I thought I heard voices. Isn’t anyone going to come inside?”
Nick stared in surprise at the second most famous politician in the Federation. Until that moment he wasn’t actually sure the agents were being straight with him about the purpose of the trip.
“He refuses to give up his weapons, Mr. Vice President,” Agent Blue said. “We were just trying to get him to follow protocol.”
DiGasse looked Nick up and down, then grinned.
“Hell, what’s a U.F. Marshal without a pair of six-guns? Come on inside.” He shoved his right hand toward Nick. “Victor diGasse.”
Nick shook hands with a sense of unreality, as if the whole thing were a dream.
“Nick Walker.”
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Come in.”
DiGasse stepped back through the doorway and Nick followed. The FSS agents started to follow, but diGasse stopped them.
“Why don’t you make that other call now? We need to get this thing rolling.”
“Yes, sir. Shall w—”
DiGasse closed the door in his face and led Nick into the suite.
Nick had stayed at the Cachet a couple of times in the past, but this was the nicest suite he had yet seen. The main room was fifty feet across, with a recessed seating area in the center; a kitchen opened off to the left and to the right were three doors that apparently led to bedrooms. The view of Lucaston from the wide window beyond the step-down was spectacular.
DiGasse waved Nick to a sofa and strode over to a small hotel bar.
“Something to drink? Wine? Whiskey?”
“Nothing right now, thanks.”
The Vice President returned to the step-down and took a seat facing Nick. For a brief moment they studied each other. DiGasse was forty-eight years old, trim and athletic. His weathered face could have been designed for a political poster—and probably had been; he looked every inch the rugged type, from the sun-browned skin to the styled silver hair with every strand accounted for, his capped teeth as white as a glacier. Nick knew little about his personal life, but didn’t much care for him as a politician. DiGasse had a reputation for running his mouth when it wasn’t necessary, often making contradictory statements in the same breath or insulting the electorate with poorly thought-out comments. His office was constantly issuing “clarifications” to explain “what the Vi
ce President meant”.
In spite of that, in the last election Nick had voted to reelect him—not because he liked diGasse, but because he liked his running mate, the President.
“I’ve been hearing some great things about you, Marshal Walker. Do you mind if I call you Nick?”
“If I can call you Victor, then I don’t mind at all.”
DiGasse laughed. “Okay! It’s a deal. Call me Victor.”
Nick nodded but didn’t reply.
“What have you been hearing about me?” he asked instead. “That I got hauled into court for using excessive force?”
“Oh, yeah, I heard about that, but that’s not why I wanted to meet you. You’ve been racking up quite a reputation the last few years. I wanted to personally thank you for taking down that terrorist outfit last year.”
Nick dipped his head. Taking down Kenneth Saracen’s revolutionary movement had cost him dearly.
“You don’t have to thank me for that. It had to be done.”
“Indeed. I understand you lost a couple of friends to the terrorists. My condolences.”
Nick nodded again. He didn’t point out that one of the “friends” he lost had been the love of his life. DiGasse probably already knew it, but if not, it didn’t matter.
“Mr. Vice President—”
“Victor. Remember?” DiGasse grinned.
“Right. Look, I’m flattered that you wanted to meet me, but what am I really doing here? You didn’t come all the way to Alpha Centauri just to shake my hand.”
“Of course I did. At least that was one of the reasons.”
“What are the others?”
“I have an assignment for you.”
“An assignment.”
“That’s right. I’m convinced you’re the right man for the job, and I think you’ll like it.”
“With all respect, sir, I take my orders from the U.F. Marshal Service.”
“This isn’t an order. It’s a request.”
“Well…I’m afraid I don’t take requests.”
“At least hear me out first. You don’t turn down requests without even knowing what they are, do you?”
Nick frowned, at a loss how to respond.
“I already have a job, sir. I go where the U.F. Marshal sends me.”
DiGasse sipped some wine and smiled again. His right arm rested along the back of the sofa, his fingers drumming a rhythm.
“I understand that. Which is why we’re waiting for someone.”
“Who are we waiting for?”
“Be patient, please. Everything will be explained in a few minutes. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Maybe a beer?”
“No. Thanks.”
Nick’s nose wrinkled and he glanced at his watch. Barely an hour past noon. He had wanted to spend the day with Victoria and Kristina—and Mijo—but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Now he began to drum his own fingers.
“Do I make you nervous, Marshal?”
“No. Should I be nervous?”
“You seem a little…distracted.”
Nick shrugged. “Annoyed is more like it. No offense to you, sir, but there are things I’d rather be doing.”
“I understand. I’m sorry to haul you in on a Saturday.”
“It goes with the job.”
DiGasse watched him for a moment.
“If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t waste your time. But this truly is important.”
Nick nodded. He studied the paintings on the wall.
Victor diGasse leaned back and crossed his arms, then crossed his legs.
“I get the sense that you don’t like me much, Marshal. Do I have that right?”
Nick’s cheeks puffed.
“It’s nothing personal, sir. I just don’t care for politicians, no matter who they are.”
“You and twenty billion other people.”
Nick smiled. “And yet we keep on electing you. I guess we have no room to complain.”
“Well, it’s a dirty job, but…” DiGasse laughed. “Okay, Nick, since we have a few minutes, give me some specifics. What do I do that annoys you?”
“Like I said, it isn’t personal. You’re no worse than a thousand other elected officials.”
“But I’m higher profile.”
“That’s true.”
“So tell me.”
Placed on the spot, Nick cast around for an example.
“I don’t follow politics closely, so I can’t cite many examples. But I did see a holo V interview once where you kept dodging the questions.”
“Which questions?”
“I don’t remember. I just remember that the interviewer tried four or five different ways to get a response and you dodged every single one.”
DiGasse nodded.
“Okay, that’s fair. Why don’t you ask me a question, something specific, and let’s see if I can get it right.”
Nick spread his hands.
“About what?”
“About anything. Ask me my favorite color.”
Nick shrugged.
“Okay. What’s your favorite color?”
Without hesitation, diGasse looked him straight in the eye and answered.
“Rainbow.”
Nick’s eyes expanded and his jaw dropped an inch. DiGasse exploded into laughter.
“I’m sorry, Nick, that’s a joke! I saw it on a comedy special years ago and I’ve been dying to use it ever since.”
Nick had no choice but to laugh. DiGasse was in hysterics, tears running down his cheeks. It took him a moment to get his breath back.
“I wish you could see the look on your face!”
“I have to admit, that was a good one.”
A door chime sounded and the outer door slid into its groove. Agent Blue stepped through.
“You have a visitor, Mr. Vice President. It’s Marshal Bridge.”
“Good! Show him in.”
DiGasse leaped to his feet and strode toward the door. Nick also rose, surprise on his face. His boss, U.F. Marshal Robert Bridge, stepped into the room looking a little awed as the Vice President shook his hand. DiGasse led Bridge into the seating area. As Bridge and Nick made eye contact, Bridge offered him a weak smile.
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Nick.”
Nick saw the expression in his eyes, as if Bridge were apologizing in advance. Right then he knew he wouldn’t like this assignment, whatever it was.
He was right.
*
U.F. Marshal Robert Bridge was the top law enforcement official on Alpha Centauri 2, which, even though ruled by a colonial government, was still a Federation colony. Bridge was in his early fifties, medium height, with a distinguished look about him. Nick had worked for him for several years after returning from his assignment on Sirius. Each respected the other, and Nick could tell that Bridge was troubled. The three of them sat facing each other in the recessed seating area.
DiGasse kicked off the discussion.
“Marshal Bridge, I assume you have studied the material my office sent you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before we begin, do you have any comment?”
Bridge frowned, clearly uncomfortable.
“I think I can safely say that Nick isn’t going to want this assignment. And I don’t disagree with him—it’s a highly unorthodox proposal.”
DiGasse nodded, smiling as if they were all in agreement.
“But?”
Bridge sighed. “To be honest with you, Mr. Vice President, I hesitate to order him to take it. It’s completely outside the purview of the U.F. Marshal Service. It looks like more of an FIA operation to me.”
“I understand that.” DiGasse looked at Nick. “To be very clear, I’m not going to order you to take it, either. But I do hope to persuade you that it’s in the best interest of the Federation—not to mention Beta Centauri—that you do.”
Nick frowned. “Beta Centauri?”
“Beta Centauri, Centauri B—whatever yo
u choose to call it. The locals call it Beta Centauri, even though it’s technically Alpha Centauri B.”
Nick shook his head.
“What are you talking about? You want me to go to Beta Centauri?”
“Specifically, to Periscope Harbor. It’s their principle resort city.”
“I know. I’ve been there, but what’s there that needs my attention?”
DiGasse sighed. “Let’s start at the beginning. Are you familiar with the political situation on BC?”
“Not really. I know it’s the home of the Rukranians, but beyond that, I haven’t kept up.”
“Well, right now the hottest spot in the galaxy is Beta Centauri. We’re talking interstellar relations here, not just political trash talk.”
“Okay.”
DiGasse glanced at Bridge.
“Marshal, feel free to jump in at any time.” He turned his attention back to Nick. “To give you a broader picture, we’re concerned with the direction that Sirius seems to be going. You’ve been to Sirius so I don’t have to tell you about the racism or the slavery that has existed there for well over a century, but now that the planet has unified under the Confederacy, things are looking ugly from a diplomatic point of view.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I didn’t think you would be. I suspect that, in a century or so, we’ll have a war with Sirius, and we’ll have to prepare ourselves for that. As a civilization, they aren’t nearly as big as we are, so we can probably handle them. What we don’t need is to fight Sirius and Beta Centauri at the same time.”
Nick’s eyebrows arched.
“The Rukes are allied with the Sirians?”
“Not yet, but the Sirians are courting them in a big way. We’ve known for a long time that the BCs are the primary supplier of illegal arms in the galaxy, and Sirius sees that as a positive source of weapons until they can gear up their own arms production.”
“What’s their rush? They don’t have a single enemy to threaten them.”
“They’re looking at the long term. If they really do plan to expand their influence by military means—and all indicators at present point to that—they don’t want Beta C as an enemy. To avoid that, they’re laying the groundwork for an alliance. In a few decades, if they keep going the way they are, their military would be twice as strong as it would if they had to go it alone. Our job, if we can pull it off, is to keep Beta C neutral, just like Altair and Vega 3.”
