The Darkness of God: Book Three of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy

by Chris Bunch

  Wolfe turned and saw Canfield strolling toward them. Ten feet behind him were a very large man with a shaven head and an angry expression and a medium-size man clad in all gray. Both openly wore holstered pistols. Wolfe noted with interest the guns were heavy current-issue Federation military blasters.

  “Morning, Father,” Canfield said. “Who’re your friends?”

  Joshua introduced himself and Kristin.

  “I don’t suppose,” Stoutenburg said, “that it makes any difference to remind you I’m not a priest, Canfield. Father doesn’t apply.”

  • • •

  “Sorry … Father. It’s easy to forget.” Canfield eyed Wolfe. “So you’re a guest at my establishment — and talking to the representative of the other half. Trying to copper your bets, Mister Wolfe?”

  “No,” Joshua said. “It was figured out a long time ago which way I’m intended.”

  “Which is?”

  Joshua smiled blandly. Canfield looked puzzled, then smiled in return.

  “Are you planning on settling here in Graveyard?” he asked.

  “We’re just passing through.”

  “Ah,” Canfield said. “Well, may your stay be a successful one.” He inclined his head to Kristin, then moved on.

  “I wonder if he’ll ever figure out that we’re all just passing through,” Stoutenburg said gently.

  “Probably not,” Joshua said. “His kind take their markers far too seriously.”

  • • •

  They were just finishing dinner when the shouting started in the nearby gaming rooms: “Cheat … Bastard double-counter … Goddamned rayfield scummek …” Kristin swiveled; Joshua managed to watch out of the corner of his eye, still appearing disinterested.

  Three men dragged a fourth out the casino entrance. One wore the green eyeshade of a croupier; the other two were the gray man and the shaven-headed behemoth who’d accompanied Canfield. The fourth wore the high plas boots of a miner and a clean, patched shirt and pants.

  The miner broke free at the door and swung at the croupier. The man in gray struck him down from behind with an edged hand, and the big man kicked him hard six times. Now he had a broad smile on his face.

  “Joshua! Do something,” Kristin hissed.

  “No. Wrong time to play Samaritan.”

  The big man stopped, walked around the miner, aimed carefully, and sent his boot crashing into the side of the man’s head. The impact sounded mushy, as if bone had already been broken.

  The other two picked up the motionless miner, pushed the outer door open, and threw him out into the street.

  The big man swaggered back through the dining room, looking at each table, each diner. No one held his gaze for more than a moment. He stopped at Joshua and Kristin’s table, and glowered at them. Joshua felt Kristin’s hand slide to her waist, where her gun was hidden. Wolfe stared back at the big man, his face calm.

  The man blinked, jerked his gaze away, and went back into the casino, the other two behind him.

  “Poor planning,” Wolfe said as he picked up the dessert menu.

  “Why? What?”

  “A good gambling hell always has a back door,” he said.

  • • •

  Kristin said her appetite was ruined, so Wolfe called for the check and signed it. They started out.

  “Wait,” Wolfe said. “Let’s look in the other room.”

  Kristin started to object, then closed her mouth, followed him.

  There were dice tables, a line of gambling machines, several green-topped tables where men with false smiles and quick hands waited. Canfield leaned against the bar in the back. He saw Wolfe and came to him.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t come in looking for action before,” he said.

  “I’m afraid you misjudge me,” Joshua said. “I’m not a gambling man.”

  Canfield looked surprised, then recovered. “Perhaps your lady?”

  “She tried it once, but got bored with always winning,” Wolfe said.

  Canfield smiled coldly, nodded, and returned to the bar.

  “I’m afraid I misspoke,” Wolfe murmured. “Playing at his tables would hardly be considered gambling.”

  • • •

  “I’m a little angry with you,” Kristin said.

  “I know,” Joshua said. “But we’ve got enough problems without taking on somebody else’s. Besides, the Canfields are self-eliminating.”

  Kristin climbed into bed, shut off her lamp, and rolled over with her back to Joshua.

  • • •

  Joshua was already dressed when Kristin woke.

  “Joshua,” she said softly. “I was wrong last night. We do have enough troubles of our own. Don’t be mad at me.”

  • • •

  Wolfe came over, sat down on the bed. “Funny, I was just going to apologize for last night. And I’m never mad at you.” He kissed her. “I’ve just got some people I want to talk to. I’ve decided we need something to keep our minds busy until the ship gets here. So I’ll meet you for lunch.”

  He kissed her again, and she pulled the covers away. “Now, don’t do that,” he said. “Or I’ll never get out of here.”

  “Would that be a bad thing?” she asked, her voice silky.

  “As I said before, I refuse to get involved in theological disputes.”

  Wolfe buzzed their room and asked Kristin if she wanted to meet him in the dining room.

  As she crossed the lobby, Canfield approached her. “Mrs. Wolfe …”

  “The name is just Kristin,” she said.

  “Kristin, then. I wanted to make sure I — or anyone else at the Saratoga — haven’t done anything to upset either of you.”

  “What makes you think we’re angry?” Kristin asked, realizing with amusement she was echoing Wolfe’s words.

  “Well, I thought I recognized your friend as being one who’s of the sporting sort. I was wondering why he refused my invitation to join us at the tables, and wanted to make sure nothing was amiss.”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mister Canfield. Perhaps Mister Wolfe just isn’t sure you can cover the size of his bets.”

  Canfield flushed, stammered. Kristin bowed and went on into the dining room.

  Joshua rose, kissed her as he held a chair out. “I saw you chatting with Canfield.”

  “I was. He wanted to know if we were miffed at him.”

  “Miffed? No, we’re not miffed,” Joshua said. “He’s upset because we didn’t stumble into his thimbleriggery?”

  “I assume that means a fixed game?”

  “It does.”

  “Well, then …”

  Joshua laughed when Kristin told him what she’d said to Canfield. “That must have tweaked him a little. By the way, some of the people I talked to said Canfield’s not only got the Saratoga, but runs the games in three other places. Your friend Tony was right — he’s hell-bent, pun possibly intended, on running this town. He also seems to have an interest in a couple of the bordellos, and owns a lot of the open property around Graveyard. And he buys any high-grade stellite that happens to come his way. For about thirty-five percent of the market value. The assay office pays sixty percent. But Canfield doesn’t ask where you got it.”

  “What’s stellite?” Kristin asked.

  “Interesting metal,” Wolfe said. “Kind of pretty. Light purple in its natural state. High heat application can change the color to a dozen or more different shades. Corrosion-, wear-, stress-, and heat-resistant, very lightweight, so it’s used for internal stardrive controls and other delicate, high-stress applications. Or machined, worked, and polished, it can be jewelry. Ultra-expensive. As I said, you’ve led a sheltered life, m’dear. If you’d seen the holos of the rich and insipid, you surely would’ve seen examples of it dangling hither and yon.”

  “I’ve never been interested in yons,” Kristin said. “Especially on the rich. So Canfield is the boss of this town?”

  “Not quite yet,” Wolfe said. “He’ll need to own a mine or t
wo before he can rename Graveyard. But he’s working on it. Now, let’s eat, for I’ve got to meet a man after lunch.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  “Sorry. I love you enormously. But this one’s way too dirty for you. In the literal sense.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Kristin was staring at him. “You never used the word ‘love’ before.”

  Joshua met her eyes, then looked down at the menu. “That’s right,” he said after a while. “I haven’t, have I.”

  • • •

  Wolfe left the main street, hiking up a rutted sidetrack toward one of the mines. He appeared not to notice a medium-size man in gray following him from a distance.

  There was no fence, no guard around the mine. He sauntered toward the yawning high-roofed horizontal main shaft. A man wearing a white safety helmet spotted him. “Hey!”

  Wolfe walked to him.

  “What’s your business?”

  “Looking for a man named Nectan.”

  “He’s down th’ hole. I’m Redruth, th’ super. You ain’t workin’ for me, you ain’t here. And you sure ain’t goin’ down. Too damned dangerous.”

  “What happens when the owner comes to visit?”

  “Huh?”

  “Doesn’t he have friends? Don’t they get to see what’s making him rich?”

  “That’s different!”

  Wolfe extended a bill. “Think of me as a friend.”

  Redruth considered it, shook his head. “Naw. Too damned dangerous.”

  Another bill joined the first, then a third.

  “You get killed, it’s your ass.”

  “I get killed, shove me up a drift, drop the ceiling, and swear you never saw me,” Joshua said.

  Redruth grinned. “Get a helmet an’ ear protection from the toolman over in that shed. There’ll be a lift goin’ down in twenty minutes or so.”

  Joshua nodded his thanks.

  The man in gray watched from a distance.

  • • •

  The lift floated close to the high ceiling. The driver leaned back.

  “You ever been in a workin’ mine afore?”

  “Not stellite. And not this big.”

  “ ‘Kay. Thisun’s a good ‘un,” the driver said. “No wood on th’ planet t’ speak of, so they pitpropped with metal, so it’s safer’n your house.” A chain of ore cars rumbled past below, a man in a sled controlling it from above, and the two sleds slid past, almost bumping.

  “Now’s th’ fun part,” the man shouted, and Wolfe’s stomach moaned as the sled suddenly fell, straight down an absolutely vertical shaft.

  “We bet on who c’n go down th’ fastest,” the miner bellowed at Wolfe, apparently paying no attention to his controls.

  “Let’s lose this one,” Joshua shouted back.

  “What?”

  “Never mind!”

  The miner pushed a stick forward, and the lift slammed to a stop. Joshua’s guts didn’t. Breathe … breathe …

  “That was interesting,” he shouted as a new noise grew around them.

  “Yer all right, Mister. Most tourists puke f’r half an hour, I pull that on ‘em.”

  “I used to run a roller coaster in another life,” Wolfe said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  The sled floated down another passageway as deep as the one far above them. Machines growled and groaned around them, seemingly without human control. Joshua spotted a few men here and there, keyboardlike control panels hung around their necks. Then the lift driver grounded the sled near a passage that led sharply upward.

  “G’wan up th’ slope to the face,” the miner shouted. “Nectan’s up there, likely. I’ll wait here. Don’t want t’ get too close. I’m what they call claustrophobic.”

  • • •

  A long conveyor belt almost filled the shaft, and chunks of rock bounced along it toward the main passage. The air was hot and smelled of machine oil and ozone. In spite of the earmuffs, the grinding scream tore at Wolfe’s hearing. At the end of the belt was a square machine with a metal-framed clear operator’s cage on the side. The screeching stopped for an instant, the machine moved forward an inch or two on wide tracks, and the worm began tearing at the rock again. Wolfe climbed onto the machine’s body, carefully made his way to the back of the cage, waited until the grinding stopped, then crashed his fist against the back of the cab.

  A dirty face turned, eyes gaped in surprise, and the machine’s howl lowered. The operator opened the door, motioned Wolfe inside.

  There was a tiny seat beside the operator’s station, and Wolfe sat. The man closed the door, and there was almost complete silence.

  He grinned at Wolfe’s expression. “Like night ‘n’ day, don’t it be? An’ there’s real air t’ suck on.”

  Wolfe nodded.

  “So who th’ hells’re thou?”

  “Joshua Wolfe.”

  “I assume thou has business.”

  “I do, Mister Nectan. I want to talk about the time you let a man named Canfield bankroll your prospecting.”

  Nectan shook his head.

  “Nay, nay. I learned m’ lesson well. No need t’ repeat it.”

  “Left arm,” Joshua said. “Broken in two places. Lost most of your teeth on one side. Four broken ribs.”

  “An’ still don’t sleep right of a night,” Nectan said. “So thou can be well outta here, an’ tell Canfield I said I’d naught speak, an’ I’m a man of m’ word.”

  Wolfe looked at him, and Nectan started to get angry. He glared at Wolfe, then the anger faded from his face.

  Wolfe was breathing slowly, regularly.

  “Who’re you — I mean, who’re you with?”

  “I’m with me,” Wolfe said. “I collect all sorts of interesting facts. Sometimes I put them to use.”

  “M’ da always said I was born a fool an’ I’d likely die one, t’ boot,” Nectan grumbled. “All right. You ask. I’ll answer. An’ th’ only reason I’m doin’ it is ‘cause I hope one day Canfield reaches for something that’s way beyond him.”

  • • •

  The man in gray watched Joshua Wolfe walk away from the mine, back toward Graveyard, and went after him.

  The road wound down, through huge boulders, high piles of spoil. The wind was cold this high above the canyon floor, and the man pulled his coat tighter about his shoulders as he hurried downward. He came around a bend, saw the empty track in front of him, and swore. Wolfe must’ve started running.

  He broke into a trot, then heard a metallic snick behind him. The man skidded to a stop, almost falling. He lifted his arms away from his body very slowly.

  “Good,” Joshua approved. “Thought you’d recognize a safety going off.”

  He walked forward, fished the man’s pistol from its holster. “Nice choice of iron,” he said. “Anderson Vari-port. Just like the Federation big boys carry. Now let’s step over here where it’s peaceful, and have a chat.”

  • • •

  “How did you spend your day?” Joshua asked jovially. “I went for a walk after you left,” Kristin said. “And I ran into Tony — Pastor Stoutenburg.”

  “Uh-oh,” Joshua said. “You’ve got to watch those men of the cloth. First you’re praying together, then — then they come up with strange ideas like marriage. Be careful.”

  “I’m careful, you loon,” Kristin said. “He was going out looking for funds — ”

  “Begging.”

  “All right, begging. I asked if I could go with him. He said he’d rather I didn’t, that he was going into the bars, and I might be misunderstood. I said I could handle things, and he said I could go.”

  “How did you do?”

  Kristin flushed. “All right.”

  “What’s all right?”

  She looked away, cheeks red. “Seven hundred and ninety-seven credits, and two IOUs.”

  “Good heavens.”

  “Plus six proposals of marriage, seven miners who w
anted something else, and a woman in one of the girl-houses who wondered if I was looking for a job.”

  “Twice good heavens. What a productive morning. It looks like you’ve found a real home here in Graveyard.”

  “Tony said he would’ve thought he was lucky if he’d made fifty credits,” Kristin said.

  “There’s nothing like good works,” Joshua said.

  Kristin noticed Joshua was wearing a gun. Not the small pistol she knew he had tucked out of sight in his belt, but a large, heavy military blaster worn on an equally military-looking weapons belt. “What’s that for? Are we expecting trouble?”

  “I always expect trouble. I decided I needed to be a little more open in my habits. And somebody I met this afternoon decided to give this to me.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “To chat with a miner. Fascinating line of work. I may take it up as soon as hell gets a nice ice-frosting.”

  “About Canfield?”

  “About Canfield. And then I had another little talk with one of his men — that charmer in gray who helped Canfield’s main bully the other night, who used the name Saratov. The bald goon’s chosen name in these parts, by the way, is Brakbone. Delightful folks around here, I must say.”

  “Joshua, what are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

  “I got bored,” Wolfe said. “And Mister Canfield irritates me.”

  “How did you get the man in gray to talk to you?”

  “I exerted charm and lovability.”

  “What’s he going to tell Canfield?”

  “I seriously doubt,” Wolfe said, “if he’ll be communicating anything of import within our lifetimes. Now, is there anything on the wine list that’s dated in years instead of days of the week?”

  • • •

  Kristin woke to the soft thump of Wolfe’s bare feet hitting the floor, then saw him silhouetted against the open window, naked, with his pistol ready. Her own reflexes cut in, and she was crouched beside the bed, pistol ready.

  “I heard shots,” Wolfe said. “Two of them.” He cautiously peered through the window. “Lights, about a block down,” he said. “Other people heard them as well.”