by John Bowers
But the woman was shaking her head. “You don’t know anything!” she said bitterly. “That church is as pagan as—as Isis and Aphrodite. With their lady preachers and their phallic symbol…”
“Phallic symbol?” Nick was confused.
“That bell tower! It’s nothing but a giant male organ pointing straight into God’s eye!”
Nick’s eyebrows arched and he backed off. Clearly she was in no mood to discuss it from a rational point of view.
“Well, I’m sure things will work out for all of you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. If I can help, don’t hesitate to call.”
She glared at him a moment, then the fire in her eyes dimmed.
“I know you mean well,” she said. “Thank you for what you did today.”
Nick nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll be around if you need me.”
From the hospital he went over to the police station with King. Nelson was interviewing Nicodemus in an interrogation room and Nick listened for awhile, but didn’t go inside. Chief Dwyer came out of his office and joined them.
“You work fast, Marshal. You got your man.”
“Stumbled over him,” Nick admitted. “Pure luck.”
“Don’t argue with luck. It might not always be there when you need it.”
Nick grinned. “Thanks for the backup. I was a little worried that we might have trouble with the crowd out there.”
“Not a problem. Far as I’m concerned, we’re all on the same side.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He glanced at Carrie King. “I guess you can put Officer King back on regular duty now. We caught the killer.”
“You sure? There still could be some fallout over this.”
“I’m sure. But if I do need assistance, I’ll request her by name. She’s a good cop.”
Nick watched the interview for a few more minutes, then walked outside. It was only midafternoon but felt like a week since he’d seen Suzanne. He killed an hour strolling through the downtown, greeting people and showing the badge, then headed back to the office. Nelson was there, writing a report on the interview.
“How’d it go with the kid?” Nick asked him.
Nelson leaned back in his chair and tipped his water bottle, then set it down.
“He took full responsibility for Hugh and the girl. Just like we figured, he was shooting at the cowboy hat, thought it was you. Wanted revenge because he says you killed his dad in the war.”
Nick nodded. No surprise there.
“He swears Groening didn’t know anything about it, that he acted on his own. Dwyer is gonna give him a polygraph tomorrow, but I think he’s telling the truth.”
“And the girl?”
“He said she was a bonus. When he shot you by the park he thought you were dead, so he took the opportunity to take her out as well. Claimed she was leading the redhead into sin.”
“Same story he gave me. That’s probably all there is to it.”
Nelson nodded. “So it’s pretty cut and dried.”
“The kid’s pretty handy with a gun. If he was using a .357 that night, it was one hell of a shot. He was at least forty yards away. Do you have any unsolved cases he might be good for?”
“None that I’m aware of. Violent crime is pretty rare around here, at least since the war.”
Nick settled into his desk chair.
“How does the court thing work around here? There’s no courthouse in town.”
“We transport felons to Lucaston. That’s the regional capital. I think the kid will plead guilty and you won’t even have to testify. He’ll get thirty to life and that’ll be that.”
Nick heard the words but didn’t react. It was a relief to have Hugh’s and Patsy’s killer in custody, and to not have to look over his own shoulder every minute, but it seemed tragic that a kid of seventeen was looking at wasting the best years of his life in prison. Of course, Hugh and Patsy wouldn’t even have that luxury—they were dead.
“Fucking shame,” Nick said absently. “Groening may not have put him up to it, but he’s responsible all the same.”
Nelson frowned expectantly, waiting for him to complete the thought. Nick obliged.
“If Groening hadn’t started the uprising, I would never have killed the kid’s father and he wouldn’t have done what he did.”
Nelson grunted. “Unfortunately, you can’t charge Groening on that basis. The opportunity for that was lost when the war ended and nobody held him to account.”
Nick leaned forward and switched on his terminal.
“Maybe I can’t get him for that, but how does conspiracy to commit murder sound?”
“Because of the redhead?”
“Yep. Groening fired that congregation up and condemned her to death by stoning. If that isn’t textbook conspiracy, I don’t know what is.”
“You need to tread carefully on that. Religious belief is protected by law.”
“I know that, but believing in stoning is one thing—doing it is something else entirely. I’m gonna get that old bastard.”
* * *
By the time Nick finished writing his report, dusk was settling in. He told Nelson good night and headed home. He found Suzanne bending over a computer at the kitchen table. She looked up with a dazzling smile.
“Hi! You survived another day!”
Nick leaned over and kissed her. “Not only that, I might actually survive several more. We got the shooter.”
“You did? That’s fantastic! Tell me all about it!”
Nick took twenty minutes to fill her in. By the time he finished she was speechless with astonishment.
“Stoning? I never heard of such a thing!”
“I don’t think your Sophia is quite that degenerate. Stoning is an ancient form of execution on Terra, almost always practiced by religious fanatics. I don’t know of anything much more brutal.”
“Goddess! I’m glad I never heard of it. It’s horrible!”
Nick didn’t feel like talking about it anymore. He changed the subject.
“So how was your day?”
“Compared to yours, it was pretty quiet. Just the way I like it.”
“Boring, you mean.”
“No, not boring at all. I’m meeting Mildred Trimmer tomorrow to discuss plans for our partnership.”
Nick nodded. She had told him the night before about meeting Mildred.
“I was just on VegaNet pricing merchandise.”
“Is it going to work?”
“I think so. I’ll know more after we meet tomorrow. Oh, and I transferred my money out of SiriusBank. I now have an account with First Centauri Savings.”
“That was a smart move. You don’t want any ties to the Confederacy.”
“I agree. And that was my last one.”
“Good.”
“Now, what about you? How’s your back?”
He twisted his shoulders and spine—he still had some soreness, but it wasn’t as bad as the day before.
“It’s still there,” he said.
“I’m so glad to hear that.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely.”
“A woman as hot as you should never be lonely,” he said.
“Being hot has nothing to do with it. Do you realize that, until you came along, I spent most of my life alone?” Her eyes had turned serious.
“Really?”
She nodded. “There were always men who wanted me, but I was busy raising Kristina and I didn’t want any of them in her life. I was so busy guarding her that I never took time for myself.”
“That’s understandable. Kline Corners wasn’t the safest place for her to grow up.”
“I’m not complaining, Nick. It was the right thing to do and I don’t regret it. But it was still damn lonely. And then you showed up.”
“In the nick of time?” He grinned at his own choice of words. “Nick in the nick.”
“Nick in the nick,” she agreed, pressing her forehead agains
t his.
“So where is all this going?”
“I’ve just been thinking. I know we never talked about anything permanent, and there’s an age difference…but these past few days, with that guy trying to kill you…”
“That’s over now. We got him.”
“I know, but you’re still a lawman, and there will always be someone who hates you. It scares me.”
He kissed her.
“I’m here now, and I’m safe. Live for the moment.”
“I do. But I don’t want to lose you.”
He was silent for a long moment, then kissed her forehead.
“Are you talking about marriage?” he asked quietly.
“Not necessarily. It doesn’t have to be that. We might drift apart at some point and decide to go our separate ways, but…”
“What, then?”
She lifted her gorgeous green eyes and gazed into his dark brown ones. There was no smile on her face.
“I love you, Nick.”
Chapter 24
Millennium Village – Alpha Centaur 2
The dusk was as deep as it was going to get at this time of year. The sky was a deep, dark blue, with only the brightest stars visible. Alpha Centauri B, though below the mountain, was too bright for the night to get any darker.
Antiochus Groening sat on a wooden chair in his back yard among the peach trees, smoking tobacco in a homemade pipe carved out of a corncob. His son, Titus, relaxed in another chair a few feet away. They shared a fruit jar filled with “fermented grape juice”, since their religion disdained wine or other alcoholic beverage. A cool breeze ruffled the peach leaves. They spoke in quiet tones, to avoid being overheard.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Titus said after his father recounted the incident at the quarry. He had been pastoring another church a few miles away.
“There was nothing you could have done. Nicodemus disrupted everything with his gun and before we could get him under control the marshal showed up with a gang of police. Once they arrived it was hopeless.”
“What are you going to do about the girl?”
“Magdalene? Nothing. If we stone her now the law will be all up in our business. I’ll just have to disfellowship the whole family and be done with it. I can’t have that girl poisoning the other children with her defiance.” Groening sucked at his pipe stem. “The bigger problem now is defusing Drusilla’s lies. Nearly four hundred people heard her call me a liar and a whoremonger.”
“They won’t believe it. It was the devil talking.”
“They will pretend not to believe it, but once an accusation like that is leveled, people will always wonder. Some of them will secretly start looking for evidence, others will whisper among themselves. Once something like that starts, there’s no snuffing it out. It spreads like a cancer, growing slowly, eating at the fabric of the congregation. You have to stamp it out early, cut it out with a knife, so to speak.”
“And how will you do that?”
“I won’t. You will. You and the other Elders. You need to come up with a sermon, or even a series of sermons, that explains how the devil uses such lies to undermine the congregation’s faith. Make sure the other Elders give the same sermon. I’ll preach about something else, since it would look self-serving for me to use the same text, but the word will filter back. You have to be very clear that everything Drusilla said was a filthy lie.”
Titus sat silent for a time, sipping at the fruit jar. He stared at the brighter stars, his face barely visible in the gloom.
“How much of what she said was true?” he asked quietly.
Antiochus glared at him. “What in blazes do you mean?”
Titus met his gaze. “Come on, Pop, none of us is perfect. We all did things in our youth that we’re not proud of.”
Groening huffed. “Not me. I was called to be Prophet.”
“David was called to be king, but he committed sins. So did Solomon, and Saul, and just about every other man of God we know of.”
“You’re out of line, Titus!”
Titus looked away.
“I’ve seen pictures of Drusilla when she was young,” he said quietly. “She was quite a confection. Long, beautiful hair, thick and red, like Maggie’s. Petite, willowy—”
“ENOUGH!” Groening trembled in sudden rage. “How dare you even suggest that I, the end-time Prophet—”
“Relax, Pop, it was a long time ago. You’ve repented. God forgave you.”
The old man subsided, still trembling. His breathing sounded harsh, ragged.
“Sexual desire is not a sin, Pop. God created desire to make sure we obey His command to be fruitful. Without it we might get busy and forget, and the race would die out.”
Groening said nothing, scowling as he sucked at his pipe.
“How old are you now? Sixty-five?”
“Sixty-two! Don’t try to kill me off before my time.”
Titus shook his head, a little smile on his lips.
“I’m just thinking…maybe God is trying to tell you something.”
“Tell me what?”
“That it’s time to turn over the reins.”
“What! Where did you get such a ridiculous notion?”
“Think about it. David turned his kingdom over to Solomon, Moses turned his exodus over to Joshua…nobody lives forever. Even Jesus gave way to Peter.”
“I am the end-time Prophet!” Groening said firmly. “What do you not understand about ‘end-time’?”
“Who said you were the end-time Prophet? As I recall, your title just says ‘Prophet’.”
“We’ve known these are the end times for a while now. That’s why we came here in the first place!”
“Over a century ago. Your grandfather thought he was the last leader, too, but he died and then your father became Prophet. And now you. If this truly is the end-time, it’s moving awfully slow.”
“We don’t question the Almighty,” Groening said doggedly. “Our lot is to wait on the Lord.”
“And people have been waiting for twenty-five hundred years. He hasn’t come back yet.”
“But he will! The scripture says no man knows the day or the hour—”
“Or the century. It might be another five thousand years from now, we just don’t know. The scripture also says that in God’s eyes, a day is the same as a year.”
“You’re being impertinent, Titus!”
“I’m being practical. If you really believed this was the end time, why did you start the war? Why did you form the Coalition? Why not just wait on the Lord?”
“You know why. To establish a Godly paradise on this planet, a safe haven for believers to live in peace.”
“And what about the millions who already lived here who don’t believe? What were you going to do with them?”
“Teach them. Convert them. The Bible says go ye forth and preach the gospel to every creature, baptizing them in His name.”
“And that’s fine, but what about those who reject the Truth?”
Groening sucked at his pipe. “They would have to be dealt with.”
Titus nodded quietly, and let the subject drop.
“What is your point, Titus? Are you that ambitious? Do you want my job?”
“You won’t live forever, Pop. I’d rather ease into it slowly, while you’re still around to guide me, than have it thrust on me all at once if you should die.”
Groening sniffed, his skin pale in the dim, dappled light filtering through the peach leaves.
“If you took over the job tomorrow, what would you do?”
“The first thing I’d do is exactly what you said, preach that sermon about the devil undermining our faith. Then I’d get that marshal off our backs.”
“And how would you do that?”
Titus smiled smugly. “I have a plan.”
Monday, January 17, 0444 (CC) – The Trimmer Plain, Alpha Centauri 2
Monday morning Nick returned to the Pickard farm. He had to find that minefield.
The river that ran alongside the Pickard property was really just a stream no more than twenty yards wide. It meandered through the countryside like a snake, cool and pleasant, flanked by tall marsh grass and occasional willows. Aaron Pickard accompanied Nick as the two boys, Joel and Jacob, pointed out where they had gone the day Jonnie Hawkins triggered the land mine. The four of them followed the riverbank on foot, starting at the same point the boys had on that fateful day, retracing their steps as they played. The river ran behind the Hawkins farm and began to curve back toward the road. A clear path had been beaten into the grass, indicating that a lot of foot traffic passed through the area.
The boys seemed enthusiastic in spite of their father’s reserve. Nick reflected that their lives were probably so routine that anything out of the ordinary represented excitement, even an infidel such as himself.
“What were you guys doing that day?” he asked as the boys romped ahead.
“We were playing war,” Joel told him.
“War?” Nick glanced at the father, whose stony expression suggested he still didn’t approve of this mission, even though Father Groening had specifically requested him to cooperate. “I didn’t know boys in your congregation played war.”
“Sure,” Jacob chirped. “We have to defend our land from the bad guys.”
“Who are the bad guys?”
“The Star Marines.”
Nick left it at that.
The river gradually crossed the road under a narrow stone bridge. Nick and the Pickards followed and plowed into the trees on the other side; Carrie King crossed the bridge and stayed on the road, hovering three feet above the surface. The river ran another forty yards and turned again, parallel to the road; the trees thinned out and the water became shallow, flowing through thick reeds and native plants similar to cattails. The trail led them through a thinly wooded area and emerged at the edge of a cornfield. Nick lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with a sleeve—Alpha Prime was midway up the morning sky and starting to get hot.
