Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 3)

by John Bowers

  Not that she was in love with Nick…not exactly, anyway. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what she felt for him, but whatever it was amounted to a deep affection coupled with physical attraction. Was that love? She wasn’t sure, had never been in love. But if it wasn’t “love” per se, it was adequate for her needs, at least for now. And he seemed to feel the same way about her, though they had never discussed a permanent future together. All her teasing about marriage was exactly that—teasing—and yet…

  Maybe…

  Some day.

  She walked past the church on the west side, glancing warily up at the bell tower. Her heart beat a little faster as she stared at it, and her throat turned a little dry. Just one day ago someone up there had murdered that fine young deputy—her eyes misted briefly at the memory—and everyone seemed certain the bullet had been intended for Nick. The second attempt last night removed any doubt about that, and Suzanne felt a brief chill as she realized the killer was still out there, somewhere, and almost certainly would try again.

  Her porta-phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and answered it.

  “Suzanne.” It was Nick. “Sorry, but I’m gonna miss lunch. Something came up and I have to leave town for a little while.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “It’s damn serious, an emergency. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “Okay, Nick, just be careful. Is that officer still with you?”

  “Uh… not right this second, but she’s gonna catch up to me shortly.”

  Suzanne felt a twinge of fear, but nodded. This sort of thing was the price she paid for being with him.

  “Just be careful.”

  “I will. ‘Bye.”

  Suzanne put her phone away. She reached the intersection to Main Street and turned toward downtown. So much for lunch. But she had plenty to do, so it was okay. She would have to get used to this sort of thing and not spend her time dwelling on her fears. Nick was a big boy and she had known that from the first time she laid eyes on him.

  She had barely walked another block when she heard the sirens, and a quick glance upward revealed an ambulance headed east at fifty feet, lights rippling and sirens warbling. Somehow she knew Nick was inside.

  Chapter 17

  Nicodemus Downing stared out the front window of his aunt’s house on 13th Street with a sense of impending doom. He had been restless all morning, even before Father Groening and Titus had come to the door, and after they took Maggie away his mood had darkened even more. At seventeen, he was the man of the house even though he was the orphaned cousin; according to the Bible, he should have been the responsible householder, since all the other residents were women.

  But the house belonged to Aunt Dorcas, and he was merely a charity case. His father had been killed by that sniper in the tower eight years ago and his mother had died of grief less than a year later. The murderer in that bell tower had destroyed his life, effectively taking both his parents and leaving him an object of pity, which shamed and humiliated him.

  But all of that was secondary at the moment. Father Groening had taken Maggie to be judged by the Council of Elders, and though on the surface that sounded like she would get a fair trial, Nicodemus knew in his heart that Father had already judged her, and the rest was just a formality. There was no way the Council of Elders would oppose Father when he declared Maggie to be incorrigible…and the scripture clearly dictated the penalty for that.

  There was no question that Maggie was a wild child—Aunt Dorcas had tried to rein her in, but Maggie was too much a free spirit to be contained—yet she didn’t deserve to be stoned. Nicodemus was a dedicated believer, knew without question that Father Groening was God’s end-time Prophet, yet even the righteous men of the Bible had made mistakes. Look at David. Look at Saul of Tarsus. They were righteous men—the Bible even said David was a man after God’s own heart—and look at the errors he had made! Errors that cost innocent people their lives.

  Father Groening meant well, had God behind him, but if he was wrong about Maggie (and he was), she would still die a horrible death. And God would let it happen. Not because God was evil, but because God had said “whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven”…errors and all.

  Nicodemus had to do something.

  He just wasn’t sure what that was.

  Aunt Dorcas was inconsolable. For the first hour after Father left with Maggie she had sat sobbing out of control. Now she was puffy and red-eyed, bending over her Bible, rocking from side to side, dabbing at her nose with a tissue. Maggie was her failure, her oldest, and Dorcas still had the younger sisters to raise. They were more obedient, but were still young. In two or three years they might also rebel, and if that happened, their lives would also be in danger.

  Grandma Dru wasn’t in much better shape. Nicodemus watched covertly as she paced through the house, dry-eyed but tormented. For all her iron exterior and righteous indignation, she loved Maggie as much as he did, and the thought of losing her, even to save her soul, was more than she could bear.

  But the women, broken in spirit as they were, were helpless to do anything about it. They were subservient, the weaker vessels, destined to be ruled over, never to rule. They had no rights under church government, no authority; their word carried no weight. Under biblical law as understood by the congregation, the role of women was to serve, to minister to the physical needs of others, to bear children…and not much else. Maggie knew that, and found it intolerable. That was part of her problem, that she could not limit herself to her role as set forth in scripture; she had too much spirit, too much ambition, was too full of life—and that could not be tolerated.

  At some level Nicodemus understood all this. Though a staunch believer himself, he understood Maggie’s frustration and the reasons behind it. She wasn’t wicked, even though she liked to shock people—she was just too…alive…to submit to church government. And though that was unfortunate, in no way was it evil, no matter what Father Groening thought.

  Nicodemus turned away from the window. He’d been feeling the cold grip of fear all morning, but his rising passion dissipated the chill in his blood. He had to do something. Something! He took two strides to the middle of the room and stopped. Facing his aunt. Facing his grandmother.

  Drusilla looked up at him.

  “I’m going to the village,” he said.

  The haunted look in her eyes intensified. The tip of her tongue snaked across her lips to moisten them.

  “What do you think that will accomplish?” she asked quietly.

  “I have to speak to Father. I know what he’s going to do, and I have to stop him.”

  Aunt Dorcas looked up from her chair, a thin ray of hope lighting her puffy eyes.

  “You can’t stop him!” Grandma Dru whispered hoarsely. “He’s the Prophet. God chose him to lead this congregation. How do you think you’re going to stop him?”

  “I can try. I’m a man, he’ll listen to me—”

  “You’re a boy! He won’t listen.”

  “Well, he won’t listen to a woman! I have a better chance than anyone else in this house.” Nicodemus closed his mouth as anger burned in his grandmother’s eyes, and took a step back. “I have to try,” he said again, and turned for the door.

  He was halfway across the porch before his grandmother answered him.

  “Nicodemus, wait! I’m coming with you.”

  * * *

  The sidewalks of downtown Trimmer Springs were busy, but not terribly crowded. Wheeled vehicles parked along the streets and hovercars perched on rooftop spaces; pedestrians browsed the shops and bought their lunch from small diners.

  Suzanne stopped suddenly in front of a boutique and recognized it as the same one where she and Nick had met the elderly woman who had praised Nick and talked about wedding plans. The sign in the window, in a flowery script, proclaimed:

  Mildred’s Parisian Boutique.

  Suzanne’s eyebrows tilted—so this was where she might find Mildred.


  With a smile and a sense of anticipation, she pushed open the Solarglas door and stepped inside.

  The shop was fairly small, only a few hundred square feet, and decidedly feminine. Display tables ringed the room at tasteful intervals sporting partial holoquins dressed in bras, panties, and filmy underthings. Racks of exotic garments lined one wall, and other displays showcased accessories, cosmetics, and perfumes. The air carried the pleasant essence of flowers. The whole place was shiny, modern, and chic. Even the girl behind the counter looked like something out of a fashion zine.

  She looked up as Suzanne approached, a lovely young woman about twenty-five, slim and sexy and brunette. Her smile faded slowly as she gazed at Suzanne, who easily eclipsed her by a factor of ten.

  “Can I help you?”

  Suzanne dazzled her with perfect white teeth.

  “Hi! I hope so. I’m looking for the landlord who owns this building.”

  “That would be my grandfather. What do you want to see him for?”

  “I’m hoping to rent a space to set up a shop. Do you know where I might find him?”

  The girl was looking Suzanne up and down, studying her outfit, which was cheap by Vegan standards but rivaled anything on display in the shop. Her eyes betrayed a sense of wonder and just a little envy.

  “What…kind of shop were you thinking of opening?”

  Suzanne glanced around. “Something like this, actually. You certainly have some lovely things here.”

  “You want to be my competition.”

  Suzanne’s smile widened as she held the girl’s attention.

  “I think competition is a healthy thing, don’t you? The community is better served when they have a choice.”

  The young woman’s expression chilled a bit and her smile died completely.

  “You can certainly talk to my grandfather,” she said in a strained voice, “but I doubt he has any property available.”

  “Oh.” Suzanne slumped. “Well that’s disappointing. Are there other landlords in the area?”

  “Two or three, but my grandfather owns the choicest locations. You might try—”

  “What’s your grandfather’s name?”

  The girl blinked. “Harold Trimmer.”

  “Trimmer! As in Trimmer Springs?”

  “Yes. His father—my great-grandfather—founded the town.”

  Suzanne beamed at her. “Hey, that makes you a charter citizen. How cool is that?”

  The girl’s smile returned, guardedly.

  “Yeah, I guess that is kind of cool.”

  “Believe me, that is super cool. And you’re so pretty!”

  The girl’s eyes widened slightly, as if she wasn’t sure of Suzanne’s sincerity.

  “Thank you. But obviously not as pretty as you.”

  Suzanne shrugged. “I have an unfair advantage. I’ve been genetically enhanced.”

  “You have? They can do that?”

  “Well, not me personally, but my culture. I was born on Vega.”

  The girl clasped both hands over her mouth. “Oh, my God! I heard you were in town, but I couldn’t believe what they were saying. You really are from Vega.”

  “I really am, though I haven’t lived there for twenty years. What’s your name?”

  “Mildred Trimmer. I own this shop.”

  “So you’re Mildred. I met a lady yesterday who was talking about you. An older lady.”

  “That’s my grandmother. She comes in here every day to annoy me.” But Mildred was smiling.

  They chatted on for several minutes. Mildred Trimmer admired Suzanne’s clothing and jewelry.

  “Seriously,” she said, “I don’t think Grandfather has any storefronts available. But you might find a less expensive property on one of the cross streets. What kind of line are you planning to sell?”

  Suzanne smiled and popped open her case.

  “I don’t have any stock yet, but I have a few samples from my personal wardrobe, just to give you an idea. And I have some catalogue exhibits.”

  She lifted things out and showed them to the girl, who gazed at them with astonishment.

  “This is gorgeous!” she gasped.

  “What about this?” Suzanne sprayed a fine mist on Mildred’s arm, and the girl’s eyes closed in rapture.

  “What is that perfume? I’ve never smelled anything remotely like it!”

  “That is actually a rather ordinary Vegan brand. The expensive ones are much more exotic.”

  Mildred Trimmer opened her eyes and looked at the older woman a moment, her expression fluctuating between admiration and apprehension.

  ““You’ll put me out of business,” she said quietly. “Even on a side street.”

  Suzanne’s brow furrowed in a frown as she closed her case.

  “I don’t want to put anyone out of business. But I do think there’s a market for this line. I was at the concert last night and a lot of young women were admiring what I was wearing. That’s what gave me the idea.”

  Mildred’s eyes drifted around her own shop, which carried the latest Federation fashions, none of which were available anywhere else in town—and none of which even came close to what Suzanne was wearing. Suzanne could see her mind working, the cold but somewhat desperate calculations of a businesswoman.

  Mildred looked at Suzanne again.

  “Maybe you’d like to come in as my partner?”

  Suzanne smiled cautiously. “And how would that work?”

  “Well…I’m guessing you probably have to order your stock from Vega Three, is that right?”

  “Yes, and it would take a minimum of two weeks for the order to arrive.”

  “Any business venture is a risk when you first start out, so you don’t want to invest too heavily in merchandise at first, in case it doesn’t sell. So…we could set aside a section of this shop for your line and give it a trial run. If it fails, your risk will be minimized.”

  “Do you think it will fail?”

  “No, I don’t. The only question will be the pricing; some people won’t be able to afford it.”

  “It will definitely be more expensive than what you’re carrying,” Suzanne agreed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your stock—”

  “No, I understand. The shipping alone will dictate that. My stuff comes from Paris, and Vega is much farther away.”

  “And how would we split the profit?”

  “Well…in exchange for the display space I would take a percentage. We can work out the numbers on that. I don’t think my profits will suffer too much because, as I said, a lot of my customers won’t be able to afford your line, and my percentage will cover the difference.”

  “You realize,” Suzanne the businesswoman pointed out, “that the selling price drops if we order in greater quantity. For example, if we filled this entire shop with Vegan products, the price would drop by twenty-five percent or more. And the profit margin would increase accordingly.”

  Mildred’s eyes widened again as terro-signs drifted through her imagination.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m thinking we display a small quantity of stock for a few months, let the customers see it, smell it, and acquire a taste for it…create a desire for it. Then, maybe we double the quantity of stock and let the price drop for a while, giving even more people a chance to buy it. Finally, if its popularity holds up, we might convert the entire shop to Vegan styles, with an even lower price.”

  “Oh my God, that might actually work!”

  “And…” Suzanne smiled. “We would be the only shop on Alpha Centauri to handle Vegan products. We could advertise and start selling by mail order.”

  “And people would come here just to visit our shop! Tourism would boom!”

  Suzanne laughed. “I don’t know if it would boom, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a specialty boutique that people from all over the planet came to visit.”

  Mildred Trimmer’s smile was back, unreservedly. She was almost giddy in her excitement.


  “Let me work up some numbers. If you can get some pricing figures from Vega then we can get a better idea of what we’re talking about. Can you come back on Monday?”

  “Monday?”

  “We’re closed tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Well, sure, Monday is fine. Let me give you my porta-phone number in case you have any questions.”

  “Great. And here’s my business card—you can call me, too.” Mildred looked up suddenly. “I didn’t even ask your name.”

  “Suzanne Norgaard.”

  “Suzanne. That’s a nice name. Sexy. Like you.”

  Suzanne smiled again. “Don’t sell yourself short, Mildred. You’re sexy, too.”

  The girl actually blushed. “Thank you!”

  “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Suzanne picked up her case and walked out the front door. Turning toward home, she felt comfortable with the way things had gone. She hadn’t expected to have a partner, but given the situation it made sense. She considered herself a good judge of character and Mildred Trimmer was, in her estimation, honest and genuine. A business arrangement might benefit them both.

  As she reached the first intersection, she spotted a police car, and suddenly thought of Nick. She wondered where he was right now, and hoped he was all right. If she lost him, none of this would be much fun.

  Chapter 18

  The Hawkins Farm – Alpha Centauri 2

  As soon as the ambulance cleared the east end of town Nick told the pilot to kill the siren and over-under lights.

  “No need to broadcast our presence,” he said. “Give them five minutes warning and they might try to move the boy.” He turned to Hawkins. “How far is it?”

  “Forty-one miles from the intersection.” Hawkins pointed to where the road branched north from the one leading toward Petra.

  “Okay,” Nick told the pilot, “screw the road, cut straight across. It will cut down our visibility.”

  The ambulance streaked cross country like a fighter ship, fifty feet above the ground at a hundred twenty knots. The light, early afternoon breeze buffeted it slightly but didn’t slow it down. Farms and fields swept past underneath; Nick saw farmers and children and dogs and farm animals, but they were moving so fast no one would have much time to call ahead even if they knew where the ambulance was going.