by John Bowers
He shut the car off and stepped out. Nathan’s .45 was stuck in the back of his gunbelt and his holsters held his own guns. In his hands he carried the modified .29 calibre machine gun he’d taken from Vanov after Cybele killed him.
The wind hit him from behind, gusting so hard he almost lost his hat. He clamped it down tighter and gripped the MG as he walked at a rapid pace toward the hangar. Just as he approached the corner of the building a man stepped out…shaven head, upper body tattoos, dead eyes…a Rukranian. He carried a rifle slung over his shoulder, but stopped in surprise as Nick shoved the .29 cal into his chest.
“Drop the rifle,” Nick said quietly. “And keep your mouth shut.”
The Ruke stared at him for a bare instant, then took a step back and opened his mouth to shout. Nick leaped forward and swung the MG at his head, much the same way Vanov had done to him in the canyon. He heard a sickening crack as the butt plate made contact and the Ruke collapsed in a heap. Dead or alive, Nick didn’t care.
Nick hurried around the corner of the hangar with the gun leveled. No one was in sight, but the hangar door was now open…probably for the jet he’d seen taking off; almost certainly someone was inside—the Ruke wouldn’t have tried to yell otherwise. Nick took a deep breath and let it out to relieve his adrenaline, then poked his head around the edge of the hangar door.
Two men stood before a medium-sized orbital shuttle, neither of them apparently armed. They wore uniforms similar to airline pilots. A quick glance around the inside of the hangar and Nick saw no one else. Except for tools and repair carts along the back wall, the interior was wide and uncluttered, with no offices or interior rooms. The shuttle faced the open door; an open space to its left was wide enough for another ship the same size, but it was empty.
Nick stepped carefully into the open and leveled the machine gun at the two men. They saw him and raised their hands.
“Who are you guys?” Nick asked.
Neither man replied. The younger one, who might have been twenty-five, licked his lips in fear. The other, maybe ten years older, simply stared at him.
“Do you understand me?” Nick asked. “You speak the language?”
“Yes,” the older man replied. “Federation English is required of all starship pilots.” His accent was Rukranian, but more cultured than the Rukes Nick was accustomed to.
Nick nodded at the spacecraft. “Is this your shuttle?”
“Yes. Actually it belongs to BC Interstellar Freight, but we fly it.”
Nick moved to his left to put the door behind him; he didn’t need the Ruke outside to wake up and get the drop on him. His peripheral vision would detect anyone coming inside the hangar.
“What are you doing at this facility?” Nick asked.
The older pilot’s lips compressed. “Before I answer that, perhaps you would like to tell us who you are and why you are asking these questions?”
“Fair enough. I’m a United Federation Marshal and I’m investigating a murder. Now your turn.”
“Do all U.F. Marshals carry machine guns?”
Nick glanced at the weapon in his hands, then lowered it briefly. He pulled his .44 Magnum and held it pointed generally in their direction, then rested the MG against the hangar door.
“Is that better?”
“Perhaps you also have some identification? A badge, maybe?”
Nick slipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved his badge. He flipped it to the pilot, who caught it in his left hand.
“I’ll want that back,” Nick said.
The pilot frowned at the badge for a moment, showed it to his partner; they both nodded and he tossed it back to Nick, who pinned it to his shirt.
“Satisfied?”
“Yes, I think so. The reason we are here is that we brought in a freight delivery last night and we’re waiting for orders to return to orbit.”
“Why do you need orders? Why not just dump your load and head on back?”
“We were told we may have passengers for the return trip. We are not to leave until instructed.”
“Isn’t this a freight shuttle? Do you normally carry passengers?”
“No, we don’t, but those are our instructions. We do have limited seating for passengers, but we rarely use it.”
“Did anyone tell you what kind of passengers to expect?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“We do not get paid to ask. We get paid to follow instructions. Why are you interrogating us? We have nothing to do with your murder.”
Nick grinned. “Interesting the way you put that. Is there anyone inside your ship?”
“No.”
“What about the guy outside? Who is he?”
“We don’t know him. He is a local man who said he was supposed to guard us.”
“Guard you? You mean protect you?”
“I suppose so. He did not explain himself, and…he isn’t the sort of man I would want to question too closely.”
“Did he come here alone? Did you see anyone else with him?”
“He arrived a few minutes ago with two other people. Another man and a lady.”
“Where are they now?”
“They left shortly after they arrived. In an aircraft.”
“A jet aircraft?”
“Yes. It left about ten minutes ago. Apparently the second man is also a pilot.”
“You didn’t know them?”
“No.”
“What did they look like? How were they dressed?”
“The pilot looked very much like the man outside. The lady appeared more cultured, well dressed. Wealthy.”
“How old was she? What did she look like?”
“Perhaps…twenty-five or thirty, something like that. Slender, petite, brunette. Very beautiful.”
“Did they say where they were going?”
“As they boarded the airplane, I heard the lady giving instructions to the pilot. Someplace north of here…” He frowned in thought. “I had never heard of it. The name of it ended in the word ‘Springs’.”
“Centauri Springs?”
“Possibly. She said it was about four hours flying time.”
Nick’s cheek twitched. Four hours? Centauri Springs was four hours in a hovercar—a jet plane could do it in thirty minutes. Where was she really going? And why?
He thought about it for a second, and a cold chill settled over him.
He walked around behind the two men, still holding them at gunpoint.
“Are either of you armed?”
“No. Carrying guns in a spacecraft is not a good idea.”
Nick snorted. “Don’t I know that. Okay, I need you to both move over to the wall and put your hands flat against it. I’m going to check you for weapons, and if you’re clean, you can put your hands down.”
Both men cooperated fully. Nick patted them down and found no weapons. He took a step back and holstered his pistol.
“I need to see some IDs.”
Each man produced a leather case with ID cards inside. Nick compared flat photos with their faces and they seemed to check out. The older pilot was Captain Potemkin and the younger was Pilot First Class Nikolai. In spite of the fact that they were Rukranian, Nick decided they were probably okay. Actually it was nice to meet a Ruke that didn’t deserve killing. Maybe there was a respectable civilization on Centauri B after all.
Nick walked over to the spacecraft and looked up into the open cargo bay. It was completely empty, but he climbed the ramp far enough to get a better look. No one in evidence. He returned to the pilots.
“You said you were waiting for orders about taking passengers on board. Where would those orders come from?”
“From our starship.”
“Is it still in orbit?”
“Yes. At this moment it is probably on the other side of the planet.”
“If you left right now, do you have enough fuel to make it back?”
The two men exchanged glances.
“Possibly, but we normally refuel before returning to orbit.”
Nick stared out a window at a trio of huge tanks fifty yards from the hangar.
“From those tanks outside?”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t refueled yet?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t know what time we are leaving. The liquid oxygen tends to bleed off if we refuel too soon before takeoff.”
“Liquid oxygen?” He glanced at the spacecraft. “This thing still uses LOX?”
“Only for orbital maneuvering. I realize the technology is out of date, but our company is too cheap to purchase more modern engines.”
Nick stared at them a moment, playing his tongue across his top lip. An idea had been forming in his mind as he interrogated them. Now he came to a decision.
“Okay, here’s my situation. I have reason to believe the passengers you’re waiting for may actually be the people I’m looking for.”
“The murderers?”
“Yes. I suspect they plan to use your shuttle to escape from justice.”
The older pilot shook his head with a frown. “We have no part in that. If that is the case, we are not responsible.”
“I understand that. What I need you to understand is that I can’t allow you to leave the planet with those people on board.”
“We obey the law, Marshal. If you tell us not to take off, then we will not take off.”
“Well that’s nice, but that’s only part of the problem. The other part is that I have no backup right now and I can’t stay here all day. So I’m going to have to take steps to prevent you from leaving the planet.”
The pilot frowned. “What steps?”
“Don’t worry, you’re not going to be harmed. If you have the fuel, you can leave right now and return to your ship.”
“We don’t have enough fuel to guarantee that. We might be able to make orbit or we might not. Either way, it would be reckless for us to take off without refueling.”
“That’s too bad, because I don’t have time to wait around while you do that. So here’s what you’re going to do…”
Binary Flats – Alpha Centauri 2
“Should we wait for backup?”
Virgil Bullard looked uncertain. He had only been deputized as a U.F. Marshal a few hours earlier, and wasn’t sure of the agency protocols.
“Marshal Chiang would say yes.” Nathan was checking his laser pistol, hoping the charge meter was accurate. “But Nick would say no.”
“What do you say? I may be the senior man, but you’re more familiar with the agency.”
Nathan sucked a deep breath and let it out to still his nerves.
“I say no. For one thing, if we don’t do this, Nick might be dead before backup arrives. For another—call me selfish, but I’m not feeling too hot and I don’t want to miss the end of this story.”
Bullard frowned. “I’m not sure I agree with you.”
Nathan looked at him. “You don’t have to come along, but I’m going in. You can cover my back.”
Bullard shook his head. “We both go or we both stay. How do you want to play it?”
They were standing on the sidewalk under the awning outside Goldie’s Grass and Grill. Pedestrians were streaming in both directions, no one paying them the slightest attention. Nathan scanned the street for skin heads but didn’t see any.
“Goldie said he’s up there alone. Cybele left a little while ago and all his men are out looking for Nick. If we just walk up and kick the door in, we should be able to take him.”
“That sounds pretty ambitious. How do we know Goldie didn’t tip him off?”
“We don’t, but I think you got her attention when you threatened her with the Federation.” And I think she likes me, he didn’t add.
“Okay, I don’t want to come across as a pussy…” Bullard’s cheeks flushed pink. “…but I’ve never been in a gunfight before. In that respect, you’re more experienced than I am.”
“Then I’ll take the lead. Are you wearing a vest?”
“No. You?”
“Under my shirt is a standard issue vest that will stop anything smaller than a rifle.”
“Do you trust it?”
Nathan nodded. “Nick took a round in the back last year from a .357; he was wearing a vest like this and he survived it. I’m wearing the same model.”
“Okay…”
“I’ll go in first and you come in right behind me. I’ll try to get him to surrender, but if he pulls a weapon then you take him down…and try not to shoot me.”
“What about your laser pistol?”
“I’m not sure I trust it. It reads fully charged but the meter is a little flaky. I’d feel better if you did at least part of the shooting. What are you packing?”
“Forty calibre Smith Special.”
“That should do it.”
“Are you sure we’ll have to shoot?”
“No, but this guy is a Sirian and he’s probably a KK member, so he’s not going to be a pushover.”
“KK?”
“Secret police, sort of a terror organization. His uncle was a member and he probably is, too.”
Bullard sucked a deep breath and nodded.
“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”
They stared at each other a moment, as if each was waiting for the other to move. Nathan swallowed on a dry throat and nodded.
“Right.”
Binary Flats “Spaceport”, Binary Flats – Alpha Centauri 2
Nick stood in the open doorway of the hangar and watched as the orbital shuttle taxied toward the runway, both Rukranian pilots on board. He hadn’t met any resistance from them, but the machine gun in his hands might account for that; when he gave them final instructions and told them why, they seemed almost eager to obey.
He watched as the shuttle turned onto the runway and began to roll. The engines fired but only at low thrust—the shuttle wasn’t planning to take off, just taxi. It took two or three minutes to reach the far end of the runway, almost a mile distant. As soon as it arrived, he heard the engines wind down and the shuttle stopped. He gauged the distance and nodded to himself.
That should be far enough.
He turned and walked back to where he had left the unconscious Ruke. He still couldn’t tell if the man was dead or alive, but it didn’t matter—he couldn’t leave him here. He moved the hovercar forward and loaded the man into the trunk, then left the turbine spinning while he walked back inside the hangar.
Along the far wall he found the tools he needed, primarily an acetylene torch and the fuel canisters to operate it. He hauled them outside the hangar and down the flight line toward the giant tanks holding jet fuel, rocket fuel, and liquid oxygen. At this point he felt his anxiety level up a notch, because he wasn’t sure he could pull this off, but he had to try. He positioned the cutting torch about fifty feet from the tanks, at a point midway between them, and fired it up. Adjusting the flame to a medium intensity, he hooked the nozzle on the rack holding the canisters, then trotted back to his hovercar.
From the hovercar, he turned and looked back at the storage tanks and tried to judge the distance. He was probably fifty yards away, but wasn’t sure that would be enough. He climbed into the car and lifted off about ten feet, sliding the window down. He fed power to the lifters for a quick departure, but kept the outtakes throttled, causing the car to shake and tremble as it fought against the restraints. Finally, with a deep breath, he laid the machine gun across the edge of the open car window and took aim at the tank holding the jet fuel.
This was the tricky part…literally taking his life in his hands, he opened fire. The .29 cal thundered inside the car, almost deafening him, but he ignored the noise and poured a stream of tracers at the fuel tank. He wasn’t surprised that the first couple of bursts hit the tank and ricocheted away, but he continued firing until he saw a rupture in the tank. High-pressure fuel spewed out, spilling toward the lighted cutting t
orch.
Nick hit the power and released the throttle on the outtakes. He banked right and the car seemed to leap into the air; he jammed the power to the stops and within seconds was retreating at sixty knots. He glanced into the mirror just as the fuel tank exploded. It made a nice fireball, but the shock wave passed over him without doing any damage…
Then the fireball cooked off the LOX tank.
Binary Flats – Alpha Centauri 2
Nathan led the way down the street to the corner of the building. The stairs leading up were made of wood, which meant they would probably be noisy. Nathan peered up at the balcony but didn’t see anyone. He checked the street again, then drew his weapon.
“Nice and easy,” he said, and started up the steps.
Bullard followed. Both men were wearing their badges.
The steps were noisy, but by stepping carefully they tried to minimize it. Nathan counted twenty-two steps to reach the balcony. It was midmorning and the breeze was still blowing, but both suns were up and the air was starting to warm. Nathan eyed the window behind the balcony to see if anyone inside could see out. He thought he saw a shadow behind the glass, but only dimly; whoever was in there appeared to be bent over, as if studying something.
Nathan reached the balcony and moved to one side until Bullard joined him. They approached the apartment door side by side, weapons drawn. Blood pounded through Nathan’s arteries and his head pounded in reply—he was still suffering from his concussion.
He glanced at Bullard, who nodded, and Nathan positioned himself in front of the door. He was about to kick it in—
BA-BOOM-BOOM!!!
The explosion came from the south, behind them, and it was no sonic boom. Both men whirled by reflex and Nathan’s eyes bulged as he saw a gigantic ball of flame rising into the morning sky barely a mile away. It had taken the sound several seconds to reach them and whatever had exploded was already burning fiercely. It almost looked like a starship had crashed—he couldn’t imagine what else it might be.
The door behind them flew open and they heard a startled shout. They spun back again and saw a man staring at them in shock, his mouth hanging open. He scrambled back into the room.
