by Mike Resnick
Hill considered Nighthawk's statement, and finally nodded his head. “I approve.”
“I see you're not the most trusting man in the galaxy either,” noted Nighthawk. “Four security robots in your office, and no Men.”
“Robots are quicker to react and harder to kill,” answered Hill promptly. “Also, their loyalty is programmed into them and can't be bought.”
“They're a lot rarer where I come from.”
“No,” Hill corrected him. “Only when you come from.” His cigar went out. He considered relighting it, finally tossed it into a tiny atomizer built into a corner of his desk, and lit another. “All right, Widowmaker. Talk to me. What's going on out there?”
“I found Ibn ben Khalid and your daughter.”
“So you told me.”
“He says that he wants eight million credits for her safe return.”
“I know.”
“Do you want the details?”
“No.”
“No?” asked Nighthawk.
Hill snorted. “I wouldn't give him eight credits for that bitch! When I'm dead, she'll be first in line to dance on my grave.” He stared across the desk at Nighthawk. “Sit down, Widowmaker. I don't like it when people stand. It makes me uneasy.”
“I don't like looking up to people,” replied Nighthawk. “I'll stand.”
“I could have the robots make you sit.”
“I wouldn't advise it,” said Nighthawk so calmly that Hill decided not to force the issue.
“Sit, stand, do what you want,” he muttered. “Just tell me about Ibn ben Khalid.”
“He hasn't harmed her in any way.”
“I don't give a shit about her!” snapped Hill. “She's hated me from the day she was born, and I hate her right back!”
“I thought you hired me to get her back,” said Nighthawk.
“I hired you to find Ibn ben Khalid and kill him! I couldn't care less what happens to her!”
“That's not what I was told.”
“Of course not,” said Hill. “They wouldn't clone the Widowmaker just to eliminate a political upstart. I had to give them a reason that those weak-kneed bleeding-heart bastards back on Deluros could subscribe to.” He paused. “You should be pleased. If I hadn't lied to them, you wouldn't exist.”
“Why didn't you just send your navy out to kill him?” asked Nighthawk.
“You tell me where he is and I'll do just that,” said Hill. “But in the meantime, there's no way I'm going to send them thousands of light years away after some will-o-the-wisp while he invades Pericles with his army.”
“Or decimates your fleet.”
Hill shrugged. “To be perfectly blunt, they're just cannon fodder. I'd happily see three million of them blown to hell in exchange for Ibn ben Khalid.” He stared hard at Nighthawk. “In fact, if you will tell me where he's keeping my daughter, where he himself is...”
“Not a chance,” said Nighthawk. “You're paying me to kill him, remember?”
“I'll pay you to tell me where he is.”
“How much?”
“A million credits.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Hill,” said Nighthawk. “We have nothing further to discuss.”
“Two million!”
“Go to hell, Mr. Hill. That won't keep the Widowmaker alive, and we both know it.”
“You're the Widowmaker now!” retorted Hill. “We're alike, you and I. We both use force to get what we want, and we both know that life is the cheapest commodity on the Frontier. So don't pretend that you care any more about the first Widowmaker than I care about my soldiers or my daughter.”
“I'm not here to argue motivations with you. I need the money, and if you want my help, you're going to have to pay for it.”
“All right,” said Hill. “Sit down and we'll talk some business.”
“I'll stand.”
“I said sit.”
“I heard what you said.”
“You're going to have to learn who's in charge here,” said Hill. “Number Three, help Mr. Nighthawk sit down.”
One of the robots approached him, arms outstretched. Nighthawk ducked, grabbed a metallic arm, twisted it, and jerked suddenly—and the robot did an awkward somersault in the air and clanged heavily to the ground.
“Human or robot, leverage is leverage,” said Nighthawk, never taking his eyes off the robot as it clambered awkwardly to its feet. “Now call it off before one of us gets hurt. You don't want the cost of replacing a robot, and like it or not you can't replace me.”
Hill looked from Nighthawk to the robot. “At ease, Number Three,” he said, and the robot walked back to its position in a corner of the room. “If I hadn't said that, he'd have killed you eventually.”
“Perhaps.”
“And if he couldn't, there are three more in this office who would have helped on my command.”
“Proving what?”
“That when I give an order, I want it obeyed.”
“I don't take orders,” replied Nighthawk. “Not from you, not from anyone.” He paused. “Why don't you ask me to sit down?”
“What?”
“You heard me: ask me to sit.”
Hill frowned but complied. “Won't you please sit down, Mr. Nighthawk?”
“Thanks, I think I will,” said Nighthawk, finally seating himself on a chair.
Some of the tension left Hill's face. “Now let's talk business.”
“I'm listening.”
“I want Ibn ben Khalid dead. If you can kill him this week, within seven Standard days, I'll pay you ten million credits.”
“What about your daughter?”
“If she gets in the way of a laser beam or a bullet, well,"—Hill shrugged eloquently—"that's too bad, but she's very young and very foolish and unfortunately these things happen.”
“And if she survives?”
Hill shook his head. “She doesn't.”
Nighthawk stared at him. “I can see why you prefer surrounding yourself with robots.”
“The life expectancy of men who were privy to my secrets was getting to be embarrassingly short,” said Hill with a smile. “At least I know I can trust my robots. Each of them will burn out all its neural circuits before divulging anything that gets said in this room.” Hill puffed on his cigar again, and the smoke almost obscured his face for a few seconds. “Well, Widowmaker, have we got a deal?”
“Can you pay in cash?”
“I thought you'd want it credited to your attorney's account.”
“I don't trust lawyers.”
Hill chuckled. “I agree. That's one thing that hasn't changed in a century.” Suddenly the smile vanished. “Yes, I can pay you in cash.”
“Then you've got a deal.”
“Remember: I want him dead in one Standard week, or we're back to our original agreement and our original price.” He paused. “Pull this off and you can walk away a rich man. Deluros never even has to know. Think about it.”
“I've been thinking about it since yesterday,” said Nighthawk.
“You're a man after my own heart, Widowmaker.”
“Maybe I'll just cut it out right now.”
“I don't find that very funny.”
“Probably it isn't,” said Nighthawk. “I don't have much of a sense of humor.”
Suddenly Hill tensed. “Or was it a joke at all?” he demanded. “How much did Ibn ben Khalid offer you to kill me?”
“Not as much as you're offering me to kill him,” answered Nighthawk. “He's only a poor corrupt man of the people; you're a rich one.”
“A rich, well-protected one,” said Hill pointedly. “You kill me, and you'll never make it out of the mansion alive. And even if you did, my Security forces would hunt you down long before you reached the spaceport. I assume you saw all the checkpoints as you drove up.”
“I did.”
“Good. Don't forget them.”
“I don't plan to.”
“That sounds like a threat,” said Hill.
“I can live with my insecurities,” said Hill. “Easier, I suspect, than you can live with being the ephemeral shadow of a real man.”
“I may be a shadow,” admitted Nighthawk. “I don't plan on being an ephemeral one.”
“Then don't ever try to cross me,” replied Hill. “And now, if we've no further business to discuss, get out. I may need you, but I find that I don't like you very much.”
“No law says you have to,” replied Nighthawk. “Just make sure the money's ready.”
He turned and walked to the door, which remained closed until one of the robots stepped forward and escorted him out of the office. A few moments later he and Melisande were driving back to the spaceport, hoping that Friday wouldn't get over-eager and blow the whole planet to smithereens before they reached the ship.
24.
“How did it go?” asked Cassandra when Nighthawk entered the Blue Dragon, accompanied by Melisande and Friday.
He looked around. The place still wasn't open for business, but Kinoshita and Blue Eyes were sitting at a table, and Jory was at another.
“That's some father you've got,” he said at last.
“I know.”
“I think he's as eager to see you dead as you are to see him dead.”
“You told him I was Ibn ben Khalid?” she said angrily.
Nighthawk shook his head. “He hates you for yourself.”
“Good,” said Cassandra emphatically. “I'd hate to be something he admired.”
“You're in no serious danger of that.”
“So is he coming to Sylene?”
“Not a prayer,” said Nighthawk. “Your father isn't a trusting man.”
“Damn!”
“You didn't really think he'd come, did you?”
“No, but I'd hoped...”
“He did offer me ten million credits if I kill Ibn ben Khalid within the week.”
Suddenly Cassandra tensed. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him I'd need it in cash.”
“And he said?”
“No problem.”
She stared at him. “And what are you going to do?”
“Kill him and take the money.”
She relaxed visibly. “Good.”
“Why didn't you kill him while you were there?” asked Blue Eyes.
“Because I'd like to live long enough to enjoy the money,” answered Nighthawk.
“He's that well-protected?” continued the dragon.
“He'd have been easy to kill. It would have been impossible to escape.”
“So what do we do?” asked Kinoshita. “He won't come here, and you can't escape if you kill him there.”
“We work out a way to kill him and escape.”
“But you just said—”
“I was alone and expected. They knew when I was coming, with whom, who I was, what I could do.” Nighthawk paused. “Next time I won't be alone, and they won't be expecting me.”
“How many men are stationed on Pericles?” asked Blue Eyes.
“A few million.”
“Against five of us?”
“Six,” said Cassandra.
“Seven,” chimed in Jory.
“That's still not the kind of odds to give one a sunny sense of confidence,” said Blue Eyes wryly.
“You won't have to worry about more than a few hundred of them,” said Nighthawk. “The rest will be stationed around Pericles V.”
“Only a few hundred?” said the dragon unhappily. “I feel better already.”
“Just a minute,” said Kinoshita.
Everyone turned to him.
“He doesn't know that Cassandra is Ibn ben Khalid?”
“No,” answered Nighthawk.
“That means he has no idea what Ibn ben Khalid looks like, right?”
“Right,” said Nighthawk with a smile, as he saw where Kinoshita was leading him.
“So why not kill some outlaw out here, cut off his head, and present it to Hill as Ibn ben Khalid? Then take the money and run like hell before he figures out he's been had.”
“By God, I like it!” bellowed Blue Eyes, slamming a fist down on the table.
“You know,” said Jory, “it's not bad.”
“It's out of the question!” said Cassandra furiously.
“Yes, it is,” agreed Nighthawk. “Though two days ago I think I might have agreed to do it.”
“What's happened in the past two days?” asked Blue Eyes.
“I've met Cassius Hill.” Nighthawk paused and looked from one member of his band to the next. “He's got to die.”
“You bet your ass he's got to!” snapped Cassandra.
“Hold on a minute,” said Kinoshita. “If you think killing one corrupt politician will make the galaxy a better place for all Mankind or anything noble like that...”
“I know it won't,” said Nighthawk.
“Then what makes you so suddenly noble?”
“It's not a matter of nobility, but of brainpower.”
“I don't follow you.”
“I met Cassius Hill. I spoke to him. He may be an evil man, but he's not a stupid one. He'll know in a matter of days, or weeks at most, that I didn't kill Ibn ben Khalid.”
“So what?” said Kinoshita. “We'll be out on the Rim, or deep into the Spiral Arm, enjoying our money.”
“You don't understand,” said Nighthawk. “Once he figures out he's been duped, the first thing he's going to do is freeze the money in my attorneys’ account, and see to it that the original Widowmaker is thrown out of the cryonics lab to die. I can't allow that.”
“To hell with the original Widowmaker!” said Cassandra. “Cassius Hill has got to die as punishment for all the criminal acts he's performed. He's betrayed his people a hundred times over!”
“All right,” said Kinoshita. “There's no sense shooting each other because we differ about why he has to die. The question now is how do we go about it?”
“We don't do anything for the next Standard week,” said Nighthawk.
“Why not?” asked Friday, who was still unhappy about not being permitted to blow up the planet.
“Because he thinks I'm going to kill Ibn ben Khalid this week. That means he thinks Ibn ben Khalid is relatively close to Pericles V. As long as he believes that, his navy isn't going anywhere—and we don't want them around if we have to land there.”
“So he's a coward in addition to everything else?” asked Blue Eyes.
“Not at all,” answered Nighthawk. “It's just sound tactics not to disperse your forces when the enemy might be lurking nearby.” He paused. “Still,” he added, “maybe we can convince him to do just that.”
“Oh?” said Cassandra. “How?”
“He's got to have followed me here—not Hill himself, but some of his men—or else he's managed to put some kind of trace on my ship.”
“No one landed while I was in the spaceport,” said Friday adamantly.
“It wouldn't have had to be a person,” said Nighthawk. “This guy depends on machines more than most people do. It could have been anything that passed for a Service Mech. Anyway, I'm sure he's keeping tabs on the ship.” He turned to Cassandra. “Based on your knowledge of him, is that a logical conclusion?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Then all we have to do is have one of your men fly my ship halfway across the Inner Frontier. He'll think I'm after Ibn ben Khalid...”
“...and once he thinks he knows where I am, he'll send half his navy there to be in on the kill and wipe out any of my forces that happen to be on the scene!” concluded Cassandra.
“Well, it sounds logical, anyway,” said Nighthawk. “But will he do it? I mean, he didn't strike me as the most gullible man I've ever encountered.”
“I really don't know,” she said, frowning. Suddenly she looked up and smiled. “Unless he's convinced beyond any shadow of a doubt that Ibn be
n Khalid is really there!”
“How do we convince him of that?” asked Kinoshita.
“We put her on the Widowmaker's ship,” said Friday.
“Not a chance,” said Cassandra. “I'm going to be in on the kill. But I can make a holographic recording, pleading for his help.”
“Will he listen?” asked Kinoshita dubiously.
“Not sympathetically,” said Cassandra. “But yes, he'll listen, because he'll have no reason to think it's phony.”
All eyes turned to Nighthawk, who considered the suggestion for another minute, then nodded his head.
“Yeah, I think it'll work. And anything that might lower the odds is worth trying.”
“Right,” said Blue Eyes unhappily. “Send half his forces out after her, and it's only two million to seven.”
“Oh, we'll have more than seven,” said Nighthawk. “And half of his two million will be sound asleep.”
“Well, that's wonderful,” said the dragon. “You don't hang around casinos much, do you?”
“No. Why?”
“You've still got the shirt on your back. The way you compute fair odds, that's the only logical conclusion.”
“Hey,” said Nighthawk. “This is your cause. I'm just in it for the money.”
“Thanks,” said Blue Eyes. “I feel so much better now.”
“Shut up!” said Cassandra.
“I was just teasing him,” said Blue Eyes petulantly.
“Enough,” she said. “This is serious business. You may be joking, but the odds are two million to seven.”
“We'll start lowering them before we strike,” said Nighthawk.
“Good,” said Blue Eyes. “How?”
“As soon as I come up with an answer to that, you'll be among the first to know.”
He got up and walked to the airlift behind the bar.
“Where are you going?” demanded Blue Eyes.
“I've had a long day,” answered Nighthawk. “I'm going to go relax with a good book.”
“That's it?” demanded the dragon. “That's all you're going to say about the overthrow of Cassius Hill?”
“For the moment.”
Nighthawk floated gently upward to Cassandra's apartment. She joined him a few minutes later.
“He's a monster, isn't he?” she asked as the door slid shut behind her.
Nighthawk looked up from his book. “Blue Eyes?”
“My father!”
