by John Bowers
Nick stared at her a moment, feeling his racing heart begin to settle. He lowered his hands to his sides, still holding the .45.
“I could kill you, Goldie. I really ought to kill you.”
She shook her head again. “Do you really think so? All I have to do is pull this trigger. I’ve already got you lined up.”
“Ah, but when I shoot, I will be diving to one side or the other. I figure I have a fifty-fifty chance that you won’t be able to guess which way that is. And whether you hit me or not, one thing you can count on is that I will get you. That’s a hundred percent guarantee.”
Goldie hesitated. Nick heard running footsteps and turned to see a fourth man, another Ruke, racing toward him from the next block. He glanced at Goldie again, but she hadn’t moved. He shrugged minutely.
“They can’t hold you responsible for how many I kill before you stop me. Can they?”
Goldie’s tongue traced across her lips as her only answer. Nick spun and fired at the fourth Ruke, who was now only ten yards away. The heavy .45 slug stopped him dead in his tracks and he dropped into the street. Sweating now, Nick looked at Goldie again. Her eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight.
“I still have four rounds left,” he said. “If you’re smart, you never saw me.”
She stood there panting, a hundred and ten pounds of sinewy woman, the heavy shotgun still in her hands. Nick took a step back, and then another. Goldie didn’t move. He took a third step, now halfway into the street, and she lowered the shotgun.
“I owe you one, Goldie,” he said, then turned and raced down the street to the other side, where he disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds after he was gone, Goldie pointed her shotgun into the air and fired her three remaining rounds.
“Damn!” she muttered. “Missed.”
Chapter 24
Nathan Green’s head pounded. He stirred as consciousness slowly returned, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. It was cold. A stiff breeze was blowing from somewhere and it carried a damp chill, like an ocean breeze.
Ocean…he was near an ocean. Two oceans, actually—the Syracuse Sea and another body of water whose name he didn’t know. As his temples bulged with every beat of his heart, he moaned and tried to move, but at first could only twitch his fingers. He tried to lift his head but the pain was too great, and for a minute or so he lay there, just breathing and trying to get his mind working. Another attempt and he was able to push himself a few inches off the ground, and slowly, taking his time, to roll onto his side.
His head still pounded. Something had hit him in the occipital region and damned near brained him, but somehow he was still alive. Working carefully, he pushed himself to a sitting position, swayed, and then leaned back against the side of a building. He still didn’t know where he was, and worked at recovering his memory…where had he been when the lights went out? What had he been doing?
Slowly it came back. Cybele Gannon. Nick. Marshal Eurich.
He opened his eyes and looked around. It was still dark overhead, but the area around him was brightly lit. He was leaning against a metal building apparently in the middle of nowhere…
He smelled fossil fuel. That’s right, the fuel depot! Cybele had been getting fuel while he talked to the Marshal’s office in Camarrell. It was starting to come back.
But what had happened? He remembered Cybele calling his name, had seen her struggling with two men. Yes, he’d reached for his .45, but…
He checked his holster. He was still wearing his gunbelt, but the .45 was gone. He inventoried his other pockets, and everything seemed to be there…except his pocket phone. They…whoever they were…had taken his gun and his communications; they had dumped him behind the fuel station where the garbage was collected. That’s why no one had found him.
After two or three more minutes of just breathing, Nathan finally was able to grip a metal stud attached to the building and haul himself to his feet. The move created agony in his head, but after swaying for a few seconds he was able to keep his balance. If he continued to improve at this rate, he just might live to see the dawn.
He rubbed his head, shaking it slowly from side to side until his vision cleared, then leaned back against the building to steady himself. Something seemed to be gouging him in the back, and when he stepped away from the building it was still there. He reached behind him and felt the lower part of his back—something was stuck into his belt beneath the shirt. His fingers closed around it and he pulled it forward. A blessed sense of relief washed over him…
It was the laser pistol Nick had insisted he carry. The bastards had missed it.
***
Nick only ran half a block. Running was dangerous for several reasons—not only did his boots make a racket every time they hit the ground, but a running person was less likely to spot danger in time to react. He had no idea how many Rukes were in town nor where they might be. He had just taken care of four, two of them permanently, but that couldn’t be all of them. As soon as he was out of sight of Goldie’s Grass and Grill, he slowed to a walk and moved onto the sidewalk, hugging the storefronts as he walked lightly toward the next intersection.
In one sense, he was glad it was the middle of the night; no civilians were likely to be on the street for at least a couple more hours, but the flip side of that was that he was a clear target to any Ruke or other ally of Harold Reed’s who might be looking for him. He switched weapons, pulling his laser and placing Nathan’s .45 in the holster. His next move wasn’t clear—somehow he had to find Nathan—but the immediate objective was to keep moving and avoid recapture.
The next intersection was clear. A few surface and hovercars were parked haphazardly here and there, but he saw no one about. The intersection itself was lighted by street lamps, but the middle of the block in all directions was cloaked in darkness. He took his time studying the street before trying to cross, listening for footsteps, anyone coughing or spitting, or the murmur of voices. The only sound that reached his ears was the moan of the wind across some of the rooftops. Nick turned right and walked half a block to where the street was darkest, halted to listen again, then trotted across the street and continued down to the next intersection where he turned left and continued moving away from Goldie’s. It was probably best to avoid traveling in a straight line…harder to track him that way.
He needed to get to the au’tel. Hopefully his rented hovercar was still there, but it might be under observation. The au’tel was still four blocks south of him, to his right, but he would proceed a block or two past it before heading there. If anyone had set an ambush between Goldie’s and the au’tel, he wanted to avoid it.
***
For months, Harold Reed had lived with a burning rage in his heart, a hatred of Nick Walker. His uncle, Member of Parliament Harry Reed, had told him all about the hated lawman, how he defied the KK (Texiana’s secret police and the true source of power in the Confederacy), and ruined Harry Reed’s life. When Reed hanged himself, the nephew vowed revenge, and ever since then had been on a mission to carry it out.
Now he had him. Walker was his, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Tomorrow Harold would take Walker—and Cybele, the love of his life—into orbit, where they would board the freighter that had delivered goods to Binary Flats. The freighter would take them to Beta Centauri (as he thought of it—Centauri B to everyone except the Sirians) and a starship to Sirius. Back in Texiana, Walker would stand trial for crimes against the Confederacy, an automatic death penalty—and MP Harry Reed would be avenged.
Completely relaxed for the first time since his uncle’s death, Harold Reed slept like a dead man.
The roar of a Colt .45 jolted him, but he didn’t wake immediately. Instead, he worked the sound into his dreams, a confusing jumble of images that made no sense and which he wouldn’t remember after waking. The hollow roar of a shotgun blast jolted him again, and this time he stirred, opening his eyes as he stared into the darkness and waited to see if it was repeated…it might have
been something else entirely, something completely benign, or—
The .45 boomed again. Reed sat up, his heart pounding. What the hell?
Three rapid shotgun blasts left no doubt. Something was happening in the street outside, but he couldn’t imagine what it was. He leaped off the bed and into his shoes—he was still wearing his pants—and picked up his laser pistol. He pushed open the door into the room where Walker was still E-cuffed in his chair…
…only, he wasn’t.
Harold Reed stared in shock as he saw Cybele and one of the BCs unconscious on the floor. The E-cuffs lay a few feet away, open and empty. Reed’s rage overflowed—how in the name of Zeus had Walker got away? A glance about the room revealed that his gunbelt was gone as well. So Walker had…
He pulled open the outer door, half expecting to find the other guard lying on the balcony, but he was nowhere in sight. Reed thundered down the wooden stairs to the street, looked to the right and saw a man lying sprawled in the street at the end of the block, his weapon lying a few feet away. He looked left, and saw Goldie standing on the sidewalk in front of her diner; another man lay in the street just beyond her, not moving.
Reed turned and ran toward Goldie.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded.
Goldie looked at him with baleful eyes. She was still holding the shotgun.
“It was Walker. I heard a shot and came out to investigate. I got off one round before he killed that one—” She pointed at the man in the street. “—and then he drew down on me. I th-thought I was d-dead, but…he…”
Her features twisted as she began to sob.
“Which way did he go!”
Goldie pointed to her left, opposite the direction Nick had actually run.
“That way. I got off three shots…I think I hit him, but I’m not sure.”
Panting with anxiety, anger, and just a touch of fear, Reed nodded.
“If you hit him we’ll find a blood trail. Good work, Goldie.”
He patted her on the shoulder and ran back down to the end of the building, where he mounted the stairs. He had to check on Cybele.
***
Swaying slightly, Nathan walked around the end of the fuel station, bracing himself against the side of the building with his left hand. The pain in his head was fading a little, but he still felt woozy. He needed something to drink, and he needed to make a call. The fuel depot was still brightly lit, so he had to assume the station was still open.
He made it to the front door and stepped inside. He still carried the laser pistol in his right hand. The only person in sight was the man behind the counter, who sat dozing in a straight-backed chair tilted against the wall. Nathan walked carefully up to the counter and laid the pistol on it with an audible clunk.
The man opened his eyes. He saw the pistol and sat upright, startled.
“Ain’t got no cash, Mister! Everything goes in that hole right there and into the safe. Thing weighs about a ton and you’d need PlastOMite to open it.”
Nathan glanced at the slit in the counter where the man was pointing. He shook his head.
“I’m not here to rob you. I just need some cold water and I need to use your comm.”
The clerk, who looked about sixty, peered at him.
“Oh, hell, it’s you! I thought they took you with ‘em.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You was here a few hours ago with that hot little brunette. Three guys jumped you and then took off like scalded cats. I thought they took you, too.”
Nathan felt a ray of hope.
“You saw it?”
“I seen the whole thing. Two fellers jumped the lady, then when you pulled your gun a third one clunked you on the head. They threw you in the car and took off. Like I said, I thought they took you with ‘em.”
“They dumped me behind your station. I just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“You okay? You look a little peak-ed around the gills.”
Nathan swayed and let out his breath in a gasp.
“I dunno. I probably have a concussion, but it will have to wait. Can I use your comm?”
“You could, if I had one. The town ain’t tied in to any satellites, and the only thing we have are some ancient landlines, but only a few people have those. Never needed one here.”
“Shit. Well, did you see which way they went? Did they hurt the young lady?”
The clerk looked surprised.
“Did they hurt her? Is that what you’re askin’?”
“Yeah. Was she all right?”
“Mister, that whole thing was staged. As soon as you went lights-out she started givin’ orders and the other three loaded you into the hovercar. Then they took off in another car and headed back into town. I don’t know who you think she is, but that woman was not your friend.”
***
Nick worked his way east of Goldie’s Grass and Grill, then turned south until he came even with the au’tel. The night was getting colder and he didn’t have a jacket, but his blood was running and he hardly felt the cold. So far he had avoided contact with anyone who might be looking for him, but from time to time he heard shouts several blocks away—no doubt Harold Reed was organizing a search to find him. From Reed’s point of view there wasn’t a lot of time…dawn was only a couple of hours away and then the streets would be crowded with locals, which would make the search that much more difficult.
All Nick needed to do, if he couldn’t claim his hovercar, was stay out of sight until daylight. He moved to within a block of the au’tel and took up a position across the street, where he had a diagonal line of sight to the parking lot. His car was still there, but he couldn’t tell if anyone was hiding in the lot. His night-vision contacts could have highlighted any lurkers by their body-heat signatures, but the contacts were in his luggage inside the au’tel.
Great planning, Walker!
Nick settled down onto his haunches against the building. It was completely dark here and if anyone approached on the wooden sidewalks he should hear them. He retrieved his badge from a pocket and pinned it back on his shirt. If he bit the dust in the next few hours, no one would be able to claim they didn’t know he was a Federation Marshal.
He lifted his head. Somewhere not too far away he heard the hum of fans, a distinct sound that was different from a hovercar. Hovercar fans were generally loud, but gunsled fans were designed for stealth; on a normal day, with normal background noise, a gunsled made a whispering sound, but in the still of night they carried more clearly. Nick remembered the gunsled that had landed in the street when he was being captured. Harold Reed must have mobilized it to help with the search.
He felt his pulse quicken—a gunsled would have infra-red scanners. If he didn’t get under cover, and soon, they would find him.
He stared at the au’tel parking lot for another minute, tilting his head this way and that to see if he picked up any shadows, any residual shapes. He was well armed, but three handguns might not be enough if he were confronted by a mob of Rukranians. He remembered the machine gun he’d taken from Vanov…a rapid-fire .29 cal would be a lot more intimidating than a laser pistol, or even his Ru-Hawk .44 Magnum.
If no one had taken it, the .29 cal was still in the trunk of his car. He needed to get into that car.
He rose to a crouch and began walking down the sidewalk, stepping softly to reduce the noise his boots made on the wooden planks. He could still hear the fans in the distance, fading in and out as the wind played with the sound waves. He couldn’t tell if they were coming closer, but if they weren’t, they probably would soon. He also didn’t know if Reed knew about the au’tel, but had to assume that he did.
He reached the middle of the block and hesitated, staring for long moments in both directions. He saw no movement, no human shapes. Taking his heart in his hand, he trotted across the street and slipped into the shadows again. He was now on the same side of the street as the au’tel, but could no longer see it. He moved in that direction
, the laser pistol in his right hand, blood pounding in his ears. This wasn’t the most terrifying situation he’d faced in his life, but it was probably in the top five.
Or the top two.
Two minutes later he reached the corner and halted, squatting again. Once again he searched the street in both directions, then peered around the corner and searched the side street as well. He now faced a new challenge—reaching the au’tel across a lighted intersection. Binary Flats didn’t seem concerned about lighting the middle of a street, just the corners. Crossing here, even at a run, would expose him for long seconds while anyone watching could hide in the safety of darkness.
He glanced up at the street lamps—there were two, diagonal from each other. He considered shooting them out; he could do it with the laser and not make much noise. It was unlikely that Binary Flats was sophisticated enough to have the lights monitored by computer, so shooting should not raise an alarm. But anyone conducting a search, if they saw a dark intersection when all the others were lit, would certainly come to investigate.
He decided to leave the lights alone.
He took a moment to gather his nerve. He checked his wristwatch—five minutes to four in the morning, Alpha 2 local time. He wasn’t sure what time the suns came up, but given this location on the isthmus, it would probably be earlier than most regions of the planet. But the sky was still dark with no trace of dawn, so he was looking at another hour for sure, possibly longer, until daylight. The moon had slipped toward the horizon and no longer lighted the street. That, at least, was a good thing.
Nick swallowed down his nerves, crouched again, and trotted across the street. He skirted the light pool from the intersection and reached the parking lot. Half a dozen cars were visible and people were sleeping behind those darkened windows. He reached his car and crouched in its shadow, hidden once again, listening for danger. The sounds of gunsled fans had faded, so maybe the Rukes were searching in another direction. But he couldn’t take anything for granted.
