by John Bowers
He opened the bag and began to eat, wondering where he should go next. A glance at his watch told him it was almost time to meet Nick, so he started walking back toward the au’tel. He’d gone half a block when he heard the approaching hum of high-speed fans behind him; he turned and glanced up, surprised to see what looked like a gunsled racing toward the middle of town. What surprised him even more were the four men riding in the sled…
They were Rukranians, exactly as Nick had described them.
And they looked grim.
Nathan dumped the bag of chips into a trash can and started to run.
***
Nick began to amble back toward the au’tel, six or seven blocks away. It was time to reconnect with Nathan and compare notes. He now knew there were Rukes in town, knew what they did here, and where to find them. Goldie had been less than honest with him, but that was no surprise. What he didn’t know yet would fill a hard drive, and he needed to find the answers…and stay alive while he did.
As he walked, he kept a sharp eye out for Rukes. Vanov had said the wanted poster sent to Prater’s home was actually for him, Nick Walker, something about revenge for spoiling the revolution. Based on Vanov’s actions, Nick believed the first part, but didn’t buy the second—if someone had gone to the trouble to put a price on his head, it had to be for something more tangible than simply shooting a lot of cultists during the war…but he had no idea what it might be.
However, if Goldie had lied about knowing any Rukes, as she clearly had, then he and Nathan were potentially in danger. Goldie was using Rukes for law enforcement, or the Binary Flats equivalent—and she knew who Nick was. Her disappointment that he hadn’t left town last night was a bit of a puzzle, unless she didn’t know the Rukes were after him, but if that were the case, why had she warned him to leave?
Maybe she didn’t share the Rukes’ hatred of him, or their motive in harming him? He didn’t know the answer to that, but couldn’t discount the possibility that she had told them he was in town. Whatever the truth of it all, he was still in danger…and so was Nathan.
Fortunately, Goldie thought Nathan had left town.
The au’tel was four blocks away. Nick turned a corner—and stopped. There, right in his face, a wanted poster was attached to a lamp post. He stared at it in shock, feeling the blood drain out of his face.
WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE
United Federation Marshal
NICK WALKER
For War Crimes
REWARD: ONE MILLION TERROS
(No Questions Asked)
Nick’s photo was plastered in the center of the picture, surrounded by the text.
He took a step back, his right hand unconsciously wrapping around the butt of his pistol. Before he could react further, or even think, he heard a sound behind him, the ratchet of a slug pistol being cocked.
“Don’t move, Marshal. Take one step and you’re dead. Do anything, and you’re dead.”
Chapter 21
Nathan Green stopped running when the implant in his ear activated.
“Nathan, find cover right now! I’m surrounded. Do not let them find you.”
It was Nick’s voice, quiet but urgent; Nathan felt his heart seize as a sense of panic threatened to overwhelm him.
“Nick! Where are you? Nick!”
But Nick was gone.
Trying to appear casual, Nathan glanced around to make sure no Rukes were in sight. He stepped into a doorway to limit his exposure as he tried to decide what to do. He was about a block from the au’tel where they had left the hovercar, and Nick had been headed to the same spot, so he couldn’t be more than a few blocks away. The gunsled that had passed overhead a few minutes earlier must have something to do with this—maybe they had spotted Nick and called in backup. No doubt the four men he had seen now held Nick as prisoner.
He stared down the street but didn’t see the sled. It could have landed out of his view, or maybe not—quite a few vehicles blocked his view of the street and people were all over the sidewalks. For a moment he was undecided what to do, but one thing was clear—he couldn’t stay where he was. At the very least he needed to recover the car, but the problem was that if the Rukes had Nick, they very likely knew where he had spent the night. The au’tel might be under surveillance…and probably was.
Still, he had to move.
Keeping near the buildings, he walked as casually as possible in the direction of the au’tel, keeping an eye out in all directions. Several minutes later he arrived at the intersection and saw the au’tel across the street. The hovercar was right where they had left it. Resting his hand on the butt of his .45, he scanned the street again and then started across, trying to hurry without appearing to be in a hurry. His heart hammered in his throat until he reached the building, then he skirted the parking lot as he followed the L-shaped contour toward his room.
So far, so good.
He debated calling Nick again, but if Nick had been captured the odds were good that the communicator had been found and confiscated. Calling now would only confirm that Nick had an ally nearby, and that wouldn’t be good for either of them.
Nathan reached the room and used the sonic key to unlock it. He pushed the door open, drew his .45, and looked inside. No one was there. He stepped inside and closed the door, well aware that he might have just trapped himself if anyone was watching. He quickly opened his luggage and pulled out several auto-loads for his .45, jamming them into his pockets. Next he hauled his and Nick’s luggage to the door and peered out; he would take the hovercar to a neutral location to give himself time to plan his next move, but he didn’t want to leave their gear behind. He felt his pulse pounding as he scanned what he could see of the street; there were plenty of places someone could be watching where he couldn’t see them, but he didn’t have much choice. He pushed the door open and quickly carried the luggage out to the car. He reached into his pocket for the keys…
And stopped. When they decided to make the trip south, they had left Nathan’s hovercar at the Prater estate. This was Nick’s car, and Nick had the keys.
Shit!
Feeling a wave of hopelessness wash over him, Nathan carried the bags back inside. Just as he was about to close the door he heard another hovercar settle down in the parking lot outside. He glanced back and did a double-take. The clamshell on the hovercar popped open and a familiar figure leaped out. Nathan stared in shock as she ran toward him. She looked stunning in tight pants and a frilly white top, but her face was drawn with tension. She ran right up to him and threw her arms around him.
“Nathan! Thank god I found you! You’ve got to get out of here!”
“Miss Gannon? What the hell are you doing here? How did you—”
Cybele Gannon pushed him back and held him by the arms.
“No time for explanations! I’ll tell you later, but right now you’ve got to get out of town. Nick is in trouble and they’re looking for you!”
“Who is looking for me?”
“The same people who have Nick. I don’t know who they are, but—”
He pulled her into the room and closed the door.
“I can’t leave now! Not if they have Nick. I have to help him.”
“Nathan…they will kill you!”
“And if I don’t do something, they might kill Nick.”
“You can’t help him, Nathan. Not by yourself. You have to call for help, but first you have to get clear of Binary Flats. If they get you, Nick doesn’t have a chance.”
Panting with stress, Nathan stared at her. What she said did make sense, but leaving town right now just didn’t feel right. He needed time to think, but everything was happening at light speed. For a moment he didn’t move.
“What are you going to do?” Cybele Gannon insisted. “You can’t stay here.”
“I was about to take the car, but Nick has the keys.”
“We can take my car. I’ll take you out of here.”
“Where?”
; “Anywhere! Once we’re out of town, you can decide what to do.”
Nathan gazed at her a moment. He felt a sense of rising panic, but this wasn’t his first roundup. Back on Sirius 1, long before he ever went to the U.F. Marshal Academy, he and Nick had faced a couple of crises together. His nerves began to settle as he remembered Nick’s cool head in those situations. He needed to keep his own head and think this thing through.
“Miss Gannon, what are you doing here?”
“I told you, there isn’t time for—”
“Bullshit. Answer the question.”
“Okay, fine. I followed you.”
“You followed us? Why?”
“I was with Nick in the canyon when Vanov tried to kill him. I knew you were heading into trouble, and I thought you might need a witness if something did happen. A witness that nobody knew about. And I was right.”
“How did you know where we were? Were you keeping us in sight the whole way?”
“No, of course not. I was a few hours behind. When I got here I checked the au’tels until I spotted Nick’s car.”
Nathan frowned at her. It sounded thin, but not impossible. Nick had told him she was impetuous, and in the short time he’d known her he had concluded pretty much the same thing. He suspected that, even though she knew he was involved with Susanne Norgaard, she had a romantic attraction to Nick, and that alone might cause her to do something reckless.
“Did you know this town was here?” he asked.
“No. I knew there were settlements down this way, but I didn’t expect to find a town like this. Look, why the third degree? I’m on your side. I’m trying to help you.”
He held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“What?”
“You want to help? Give me your keys.”
She stared at him a moment, then reached into her purse and withdrew her hovercar keys. She placed them in his hand.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now let’s go find Nick.”
***
“Who are yew talking to, Marshal?”
Nick stood on the sidewalk facing the lamp post, both half-raised arms held out to his side. A gunsled had landed in the middle of the intersection and four men boiled out of it, all with shaven heads and tattoos. They surrounded him in a rough semi-circle, all of them holding weapons. A curious crowd had gathered around the intersection, watching the drama.
He turned his head slightly.
“What’s that?”
“I said, who are yew talking to?”
“Jesus.”
“Who?”
“I was praying to Jesus. I asked him to strike you down.”
“Didn’t take yew for the religious type, Marshal.”
“I’m not, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“I’m surprised yew didn’t speak to the goddess Sophia.”
“I was gonna talk to her next.”
“Unbuckle your gunbelt.”
“And then what?”
“And then I’ll give yew another order. One thing at a time.”
Keeping one hand out to his side, Nick reached for his belt buckle with the other. Taking his time, he worked the buckle loose and let the belt slide down to the sidewalk.
“You want to tell me what this is about?” he asked.
“Eventually. Now, take two steps back and drop to your knees.”
Nick did as instructed. Two steps took him off the sidewalk and into the gutter. He stumbled briefly but kept his balance, then settled to his knees. One of the Rukes moved in to retrieve the gunbelt. So far none of the four skin heads had said a word. The man behind him pressed a gun to the back of his head.
“Hands behind your back,” he said quietly.
Nick complied, his heart racing. He couldn’t deny he was scared, but he had to keep his head. He’d been in tight situations before, just never quite like this. He hoped Nathan had got his message and didn’t do anything to get himself captured as well.
The gun was withdrawn from his head and the man behind him pulled his wrists together; metal cuffs snapped into place. Nick tugged at them and felt a mild jolt of electricity shoot up his arm. E-cuffs. The first jolt had been weak, but if he really struggled they would respond with a stronger charge; he’d seen men rendered unconscious by resisting too vigorously.
“On your feet.”
Nick stood.
“Turn around.”
With a deep sigh, Nick turned to face his captor. His eyes narrowed.
“You’re not a Ruke.”
“I’m not a what?”
“A Ruke. A fucking Rukranian.”
The other man snickered. “No, I’m not. So you’re a Christian and a racist?”
“I’m neither one. I just don’t like Rukes.”
“That would make yew a racist.”
“Race has nothing to do with it. I just don’t like assholes.”
“Well, let’s get yew inside, then we can discuss it.”
The four armed Rukes closed in on Nick and pushed him down the sidewalk toward Goldie’s Grass and Grill. The crowd on the street kept its distance but didn’t disperse—this was great gossip for later. When they reached Goldie’s, Nick was led up a flight of exterior stairs at the far end of the building to a balcony on the second floor. A door led from the balcony to a comfortable sitting room with a pair of divans, several chairs, and a table. A row of liquor bottles adorned a windowsill.
“Take a seat, Marshal Walker.”
The man who had captured him prodded him toward an armchair in the center of the room. As Nick sat, one of the Rukes took his cowboy hat and pulled the communicator out of his collar.
“Make yourself comfortable. We have a lot to talk about.”
Nick studied the man with a critical eye. He had none of the characteristics that identified the Rukranians he had met. The man had no tattoos and his head wasn’t shaved. He was slightly shorter than average, probably five feet eight, with narrow eyes and thinning hair. He looked vaguely familiar, but Nick couldn’t place him. He was in the neighborhood of thirty years old, his skin toughened by exposure to the elements. Sun lines extended from the corner of his eyes. His accent was somewhat Southern, not Rukranian.
“Do we know each other?”
“I know yew, but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
Before Nick could reply, he heard footsteps behind him and an inner door swung open. The woman he knew as Goldie stepped inside and stopped, an expression in her eyes that might be surprise…or disapproval.
“So you got him,” she said.
“Yeah, we got him.”
She walked in front of Nick and stood gazing down at him.
“You damn fool. I tried to warn you.”
“You did?”
“I told you to get out of town. Didn’t I? I gave you a chance.”
“Gee, thanks. I’m grateful.”
“You should be.”
Nick forced a grin. “What’s your role in all of this?”
“I don’t have a role. None of this is my doing, but I can’t stop it, either.”
“Why not? You’re supposed to be the governor.”
“That’s right, but only of Binary Flats. These men are on a mission of their own.”
“But they work for you, right?”
“Not all of them.”
Nick glanced around the room. “I think at least four of them do.”
“Yes, and I need their services. But part of the agreement is that I don’t interfere with their other business.”
“What business is that?”
“I don’t know and I don’t ask.”
“But you knew they were looking for me.”
Her expression clouded and she didn’t respond to that. She shook her head sadly.
“I’m sorry, Walker. I hope they won’t make you suffer too much.”
She chewed her lip briefly and went out the way she had come in.
Nick looked at his captor again.
“Sorry about the interruption. You were about to tell me how we know each other.”
The short man smiled, relaxed and patient.
“As I said, we haven’t met, but I do know who yew are.”
“Enlighten me, please.”
“My name is Harold. I think yew knew my uncle.”
“I did?”
“Yes. His name was Harry Reed.”
It took Nick a moment. The name rang a very loud bell, but several seconds passed before the picture snapped together. He felt a jolt of adrenaline and leaned forward.
“Member of Parliament Harry Reed? Of Texiana, Sirius 1?”
Harold smiled. “The very same.”
“Is that what this is about? Because I broke up his little slave-running racket? That was almost three years ago.”
Harold Reed shook his head.
“It’s not that simple. Yew didn’t break up any slave operation, yew just stole a few of the women and we had to replace them. The operation is still going strong.”
“Then…what?”
Harold Reed’s eyes hardened as he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice vibrated with anger.
“Because yew humiliated my uncle. Yew made him a laughingstock in Texiana and the KK. He was forced to resign in disgrace because he couldn’t handle an upstart Federation Marshal who interfered with the operation.”
Nick listened in fascination; he was tempted to say “Good!” but restrained himself. More was coming, and it probably wasn’t to his advantage.
“A few months ago,” Harold Reed said, “my uncle just couldn’t deal with it anymore. The whispers, the snickers, the jokes, the shame. He was a very proud man, a Confederate, and a patriot. He killed himself.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“Yes! Yes, it is your fault. He was an old man, and yew humiliated him!”
Nick stared at Harold in dismay. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to…laugh.
“The shame, you said? He couldn’t deal with the shame?”
“That’s right.”
“What shame are we talking about here—the embarrassment of being laughed at, or the shame of treating human beings like cattle? Your uncle was an elected official! He should have been concerned with the rights of the Texiana people, but instead he was selling them as slaves.”
