Asteroid Outpost (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 1)

by John Bowers

  “Anyway,” Beech said, “I don’t think there’s much interest in taking on the Farrington corporation. If they closed their doors, or someone shut them down, this whole rock would dry up. Farrington runs eighty percent of the water mining on Ceres, and Ceres water is the lifeblood of the Outer Worlds. Titan, Europa, and Ganymede would literally die if they lost that water. Seriously, they wouldn’t last more than a few weeks. Even Mars gets forty percent of its water from here.”

  Nick’s eyes widened a fraction as he gazed back at Sandy Beech. That was it! That explained how Farrington Industries had become so powerful. No matter how corrupt they might be, too many people depended on them for anyone to stand up to them. Even Marshal Milligan wasn’t too excited about the prospect.

  Nick closed his eyes a moment, as if dozing, and Sandy Beech returned to his computer screen. But Nick wasn’t dozing, he was thinking. What were the risks of pursuing his investigation further? If literally millions of lives were at stake—dependant on Farrington water—what did it matter if the company was corrupt? Was the welfare of a few hundred more important than the lives of millions?

  It was an imposing question, and not one to be taken lightly.

  Nick found Scott Garner’s accident report without help. It wasn’t filed with court documents, but in the vital statistics database at the morgue. As he pulled it up on his terminal he felt reasonably sure that no one would be able to trace his inquiry; no one should have any reason to even suspect it.

  The accident report itself was pretty straightforward; Scott Garner had worked on a drill crew for Farrington Industries, one of the men who serviced the drill heads that bored into the permafrost and dug out the ice that would later be crushed and converted into water. According to the report, Garner had failed to set the locking brakes on the drill head before attempting to service it. During the course of maintenance the locking brakes had slipped and the head, which was six feet wide, had activated, chopping Garner into hamburger in a matter of seconds.

  Read the accident report. You’ll see for yourself.

  Nick read the report twice, and then a third time. On the surface it seemed plausible enough—men who worked at dangerous jobs sometimes became numbed by the routine and got careless; but when viewed in the perspective of Garner trying to get his wife released from Farrington lockup, where she was being repeatedly raped and tortured, it took on a whole new look.

  Nick scrolled down and read the eyewitness accounts, then the signatures attesting to the accuracy of those accounts. There were three signatures, including that of the crew chief.

  His name was Turd Murdoch.

  Chapter 17

  Farrington Industries - Ceres

  The habitat housing Farrington Industries was almost as big as Government Annex. Located outside the loop on the extreme north-west edge of excavated habitats, it was somewhat isolated from the rest of the Ceres community. As Nick came out of the tube he saw the monorail station where employees arrived and departed, and the pedestrian bridge that took them from the station into the facility itself. By following the paved road, he was obliged to stop at the main gate, where his ID was rigorously inspected.

  “Federation Marshal, huh?” the guard grunted. “What’s your business here?”

  “I came to inspect your prison facility,” Nick replied with a straight face.

  The guard’s mouth fell open as if he’d been slapped. He stared at Nick as if he were mad.

  “Do you have a, uh, warrant?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “Well, I…”

  “The only reason I should need a warrant would be if you have something to hide. I can get one, if you think that’s the case.”

  The guard stood speechless, his tongue sliding across his lips.

  “Do you have something to hide?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I, um…let me make a call.”

  “Stop right there!” Nick shoved his door open and stepped out of the E-car. The guard, who looked about nineteen, took a step back. “What’s going on in there?” Nick demanded.

  “I, uh—look, sir, I don’t work in there, okay? I just work the gate here.”

  “Then why are you suddenly scared? Is there something I should know?”

  The kid shook his head, his eyes filled with dread.

  “It’s just that—I could lose my job.”

  “Why? Who told you that?”

  The kid fidgeted, glancing to right and left as if looking for help.

  “I asked you a question! Who said you would lose your job, and why?”

  “I—sir, I need to make a call.”

  Nick glared at him, then nodded. “Fine. Put it on speaker and we’ll both make the call.”

  Thoroughly intimidated, the young guard stepped into the gatehouse, Nick on his heels, and reached for the comm set. He punched three buttons, then the speaker button.

  “Silva.”

  “Mr. Silva, there’s a U.F. Marshal at the gate. He wants to inspect the lockup.”

  “Bullshit! Tell him to go to hell.”

  “I told him it was no dice, sir, but he’s pretty insistent.”

  “Goddammit, Browning! Tell him it’s private property. He has no authority here.”

  Nick shouldered the guard aside and bent over the comm unit.

  “Benny Silva? How’s your forehead? Still got a headache?”

  Silence spilled from the speakers for five seconds.

  “Who the hell is this!”

  “I think you know who this is. We met in the courtroom the other day.”

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “You know that, too. I want to inspect your facility.”

  “Well, that ain’t gonna happen, asshole! You got a warrant?”

  “Why do I need one?”

  “Because this is private property, that’s why.”

  Nick stared through the window and made a decision.

  “Here’s how we’re going to do it, Silva—I’m coming in there, without a warrant, and you can sue me later. However…if I find what I’m pretty sure I’m gonna find, then you will be taking a one-way, all expenses paid trip to Mars where you will be sucking prison dick for a very long time. How does that sound?”

  Nick glared at the young guard, Browning, while he waited for an answer. Browning paled and swallowed hard.

  “You stay where you are, Marshal!” Benny Silva growled. “I’m coming out.”

  The connection was cut and Nick stepped out of the guard shack.

  “Open the gate. I’m going to park my car before he gets here.”

  Browning nodded and the gate swung upward. Nick got back into his vehicle and guided it into the nearest parking space. As he exited the car again he saw a familiar face striding toward him from a long, five-story building on the north end of the compound. Silva was coming hard, and as he approached, Nick could see the fury that flushed his features red.

  He was two inches shorter than Nick, but stockier, with a weathered brow and curly black hair. They weighed about the same, and Silva was wearing a laser pistol in a belt holster.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are!” he snarled as they met in the middle of the parking lot.

  “That’s what I should be asking you. I’m a United Federation Marshal, duly authorized and sworn by Federation Authority in London. You’re just a two-bit overpaid security guard on a rock in the middle of the Asteroid Belt. And you dare defy my authority?”

  “Fuck you, Walker!”

  Nick’s eyes crinkled with amusement. He’d run into Silva’s kind before, and when the chips were down they always resorted to the same refrain—fuck you!

  “Would you like to give me a tour?” he asked conversationally, “or let me prowl around by myself? I can do it either way, but whichever way we do it, I will see what I came here to see.”

  “We ain’t doing either one!” Silva inclined his head to the right. “Mr. Farrington w
ants to see you.”

  The Farrington compound consisted of several buildings, the prison being far and away the largest. The main office was more modest, a simple two-story stone structure with a tower in the center that stuck straight up like an obelisk. Seven rows of windows decorated the tower; Silva marched Nick toward the main entrance and led him past a security desk to the elevator, then used a round metal key to send the lift to the top floor. Silva stepped out before the doors closed, and Nick winked at him.

  In spite of everything, his heart was beating faster. He had known that eventually he would face the Farrington brothers, but hadn’t planned on doing it just yet; circumstances had dictated that now was the time, so he went with it. One benefit of Star Marine training was the ability to adapt to the situation.

  Improvise!

  The elevator opened into a private lobby with an elderly, white-haired woman sitting behind a desk. She peered at him through thick-lensed eyeglasses—a rarity these days—and spoke without smiling.

  “Marshal Walker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Farrington will see you immediately.” She nodded toward the door behind her. “Go right in.”

  His nerves humming, Nick walked toward the heavy oaken door and pushed it open. As he stepped inside he saw at a glance that the entire office was paneled in oak, which must have cost a fortune to import from Terra. The office itself was huge, larger than most conference rooms, and decorated tastefully with various works of art. The floor was an intricately woven parquet of polished, multicolored wood and the broad window facing him displayed a magnificent mountain landscape—a stunningly clear lake flanked by evergreens, crowned by a towering snow-covered peak. Nick knew there was no such view outside the window—this was a holo-window, an expensive one, that offered the illusion of a terrestrial landscape where no such thing existed.

  Nick strode slowly into the room, taking it all in, and his eyes came to rest on the man behind the wide mahogany desk. Harvey Farrington was slumped in his chair, his elbow resting lightly on the left arm, an amused look on his face. He didn’t look much like a monster, Nick decided, just a funny little man with too much money and too much power. An aura of arrogance surrounded him like the vapor from a block of CO2. As Nick stopped in front of the desk Farrington didn’t take his eyes off him, and the eyes became more amused as the seconds ticked away.

  Nick looked at the other man in the room, this one leaning against the wall a few feet away, a wine glass in his hand. He appeared taller, though it was hard to be sure because Farrington was sitting down. That they were brothers was obvious. Indeed, they were identical twins, though not exactly identical. The Farrington behind the desk had a rounder face, wavier hair, and his jaw seemed to shift from side to side as if he were chewing a nut between his front teeth. The Farrington standing by the wall was leaner, less comical, but the same amused arrogance reflected from his eyes. His lips curled up on one side in a cynical sneer.

  Nick looked at the man seated behind the desk.

  “Let me guess. Harvey Farrington.” He nodded at the man standing. “Henry Farrington.”

  “Very good, Marshal Walker!” Harvey Farrington said. “You are obviously smarter than you look.”

  Nick gave him a wry smile, then settled into a chair without being invited. His senses were on high alert—he left plenty of room for his right hand in case he needed to draw his weapon.

  “Too bad I can’t say the same about you,” he replied.

  Harvey Farrington burst into laughter, a harsh braying that didn’t sound quite human. After a second he subsided and sat staring at his visitor, his jaw still sliding about as if he had tectonic plates in his mouth.

  “Nice view.” Nick nodded at the holo-window. “Mt. Shasta, isn’t it?”

  Farrington’s brows floated upward. “Mm, impressive. You’ve been to California?”

  “Born and raised. Chowchilla.”

  “Ah, the state capital. My brother and I are from the old capital.”

  Nick nodded. “Sacramento. I’ve been there, too. Nice town.”

  “It used to be. Until the niggos ruined it.”

  Nick frowned. “The…what?”

  “The niggos. You know about niggos, don’t you, Marshal?”

  It took Nick a second. He’d heard the word once, years ago…or maybe he’d read it in a history book. He couldn’t remember for sure, but it was an archaic term, a racial epithet of some kind. He searched his memory, but came up empty.

  “No,” he said slowly, “I don’t think I do.”

  “Oh, come on, Marshal! Sure you do. You slept with one last night.”

  Nick felt a chill ripple across his skin. The Farringtons had him under surveillance? He felt his face turn red and it annoyed him—Farrington saw it too, and his look of amusement deepened. Nick took a deep breath to fight back his adrenaline, consciously relaxed in the chair, and crossed his legs.

  “I’ve been here four days,” he said, “and you already know who I’m sleeping with? Why would you want to know that?”

  “Why would you be investigating Farrington Industries?” Henry asked from his place against the wall. “Like you said, you’ve only been here four days.”

  Nick glanced at him and saw that the amusement in his eyes had faded. He looked positively angry.

  “Who says I’m investigating you?”

  “Do you deny it?”

  “No. But if I’ve only been here four days, why would you know that already?”

  Henry ignored the question. “Are you fucking that niggo defense attorney, too?”

  “What!”

  Harvey brayed with laughter again, then sat staring at him with undisguised contempt, more amused than ever.

  “You can’t keep any secrets on this asteroid, Marshal. Now why do you want to inspect our lockup?”

  “Why do you want to keep me out?”

  The brothers exchanged glances, as if communicating by telepathy. Harvey turned back to Nick.

  “I would think the U.F. Marshal had better things to do than worry about the fate of the losers we have locked up.”

  “Is that what you would think?” Nick struggled to get his balance back—these were two very cagey characters, and the last thing he wanted was for them to think they owned him. He glanced at the brother by the wall. “What would you think, Henry?”

  “‘Mister Farrington’, if you don’t mind,” Harvey said.

  Nick glanced at Harvey, then back at Henry.

  “What would you think, Henry?” he repeated.

  Henry Farrington glared at him, hostility evident in every muscle.

  “I think we need your interference like we need a hole in the head.”

  Nick didn’t reply right away. He glanced from one brother to the other, then back again. Throughout the conversation, almost subliminally, he’d been picking up a sound, barely audible, that sounded like a grunt. Now he realized it was coming from Harvey Farrington, some kind of unconscious nervous exhalation that was barely noticeable.

  There it was again…

  Uh. Uh.

  It seemed to coincide with Harvey’s jaw movements.

  “What kind of interference are you worried about?” Nick asked casually. “Your mining operation? How you run your office? Are you afraid I’ll start making business decisions for you?”

  Henry angrily drained his wine glass and slammed it down on the corner of the desk. Nick picked up a pungent scent as droplets spattered across the surface.

  “Are you drinking vinegar?”

  Harvey answered the question for his brother.

  “We grew up poor,” he said. “My brother always liked wine, but when we couldn’t afford it he learned to sip watered-down vinegar as a substitute. He developed a taste for it.”

  Uh. Uh.

  Nick shrugged. “Whatever circles your orb.” He placed both hands on his knees. “So, do I get to inspect your lockup, or not?”

  “Not,” Henry said.

  “Why? Wh
at are you hiding over there?”

  “We’re not hiding anything, but we don’t appreciate heavy-handed government interference.”

  “Which you need like a hole in the head.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Nick winked at Harvey Farrington. “Your brother is very eloquent.”

  Harvey smiled. “He’s coming along.”

  Uh. Uh.

  “I understand you are the company president?”

  “You understand correctly.”

  Uh. Uh.

  “What does your brother do? His name doesn’t seem to appear on any corporate documents.”

  “Do you understand ‘need to know’, Marshal? You don’t need to know.”

  Nick grinned at him, as if they were sharing a private joke. Harvey grinned back.

  Uh. Uh.

  This was going in a circle. Nick took a moment to consider his position, then decided to go for broke.

  “All right, Harvey—”

  “Mister Farrington.”

  “All right…Harvey…tell me this—you said you grew up poor. How did you make your money?”

  Harvey laughed again, hurting Nick’s ears.

  “Are you crazy, Marshal? Look around you! Farrington dominates the mining industry on Ceres!”

  “Before that. You came here twelve years ago and started acquiring properties, which you then built into this huge industry. Where did you get your start-up capital?”

  Harvey’s eyes gleamed with enjoyment, his jaw worked from side to side.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  Uh. Uh.

  “Maybe it isn’t, but what’s the harm in telling me? Is there anything in there that you’re ashamed of?”

  “Me? Ashamed?” Harvey brayed again. “I’ve never done anything that I’m ashamed of, Marshal. Not once, not ever.”

  Watching the arrogance drip from his chin, Nick believed him.

  “So you came here with nothing, no capital, and started acquiring properties. Is that how it happened?”

  “It might have been. Or not.”

  “I can find out.”

  “I’m sure you can. But you won’t find out from me.”