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

by John Bowers

  “Yes, Ma’am. United Federation Marshal. I’ve been looking for you.”

  She stopped six feet in front of him. “I heard Stan talking about you.”

  Nick studied her closely. “Were you tortured?”

  “For a few days. Stan actually rescued me. He saw what they were doing and made them stop before any permanent damage was done. I guess I owe that bastard my life.”

  “You don’t seem terribly fond of him.”

  She laughed, low and bitter. “A slave well treated is still a slave. No, I hate him with all my heart. He said he was going to take me to Sirius. Is it true that slavery is legal there?”

  Nick shrugged. “I’ve never been to Sirius. I have no idea.”

  She closed her eyes dramatically. “Please tell me you won’t let him get away again!”

  “I promise. Are you willing to testify against him?”

  “Yes! I’ll testify against him, and Henry, and Silva, and the judge, and Turd Murdoch, and just about everybody else who ever worked over there.”

  Nick glanced at Charley, who was just finishing his second granola bar. The boy stared back with innocent eyes. Nick looked at the two women again.

  “Would either of you be interested in some breakfast?” He smiled. “I’m buying.”

  Thank You

  Thank you for taking the time to read this story.

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  That’s all there is to it. You’re now a seasoned reviewer.

  About the Author

  John Bowers discovered his love for writing in 7th grade and started his first novel at age 13. By the time he graduated high school he had written six complete novels, sending his English teachers (all four of them) into paroxysms of delight. The pastor of his church was not so easily amused, however, and Bowers was “encouraged” (can you spell “threatened”?) to give up the creation of “manmade daydreams” and seek the Kingdom of God instead. He continued writing through his twenties, turning out several more books and a number of screenplays, but around age 30 finally surrendered to “God’s will” and gave up writing altogether.

  Fifteen years later Bowers realized that his writing talent, if indeed it was God-given, was not intended to be “hidden under a bushel”, so he gave up “manmade religion” instead. He began work on a novel that eventually became the first in a series called the Fighter Queen saga. A few years later he began another book called Nick Walker, United Federation Marshal. Aside from several magazine articles, publication took time, and it wasn’t until the e-book revolution that Bowers finally saw his lifetime dream come true when a friend introduced him to AKW Books.

  The Bowers name has gained widespread popularity in the e-book world. In addition to the Fighter Queen saga, he has authored the Nick Walker: U.F. Marshal series and the Starport series.

  He lives in Central California with his wife and two spoiled cats, Rama and Dinky.

  Visit John: at his web site, Facebook, Twitter.

  Sirian Summer

  Nick Walker #2

  Available now

  It was Friday night in Kline Corners. Cowboys poured in from the four corners of the Kline ranch, foremen and their families arrived in town, and like a dormant seed waiting for water the town suddenly mushroomed with life. Stores were open late to take advantage of shoppers and the two empty rooms at the hotel were promptly rented. Ranch vehicles and hovercars lined the street; people stood in knots along the sidewalks, visiting and catching up on the week’s news. But the greatest concentration of bodies was inside the Vega.

  Suzanne Norgaard always had three extra waitresses on weekends to handle the load. Every table was filled and people outside waited to get in. A serf combo on the stage played a combination of music—Vegan, Sirian country, and something less easy to define that could only be called serf music, fast and snappy with a definite Latin beat. Talk and laughter almost drowned out the music—in short, the Vega had a holiday atmosphere.

  Nathan Green came in with his parents before the tables were all filled and sat near the window. Kristina waited their table, pointedly ignoring Nathan, though the looks they gave each other spoke volumes.

  Suzanne kept a careful eye in that direction; Kristina had been forbidden to be alone with Nathan, and had told her mother they had cooled their relationship. But Suzanne had her doubts—she’d been young once, too. Her daughter had far too many of her own traits to be trusted.

  Another table, the one nearest the shrine to Sophia, was perhaps the loudest of all. Four bottles of liquor were rapidly dwindling, and though the four men sitting there were also eating heartily, the Lightning had a head start on their empty stomachs. The men were regulars on the weekend.

  Willis Kline was the loudest of them all. Suzanne had known him for years and knew him to be quick-tempered at the best of times, but when he was drinking all bets were off.

  Jason Kline was a different story. Younger than Willis by a good ten years, he hadn’t married yet, but whereas youthful exuberance is usually tempered with age, Jason was the antithesis of his brother—he was the quiet one.

  Gerald Graves was one of the head foremen on the Kline ranch, a hard case who could handle a serf uprising all by himself, if there were ever a need.

  The fourth man was Sheriff Blake.

  Suzanne busied herself between the bar and the kitchen, making sure the orders were getting done on time and supervising the waitresses. Kristina hustled tables taking orders, delivering food, pouring coffee, and clearing dishes. She tried not to be obvious about it, but managed to spend as much time at the Greens’ table as all the rest combined.

  By the time those at the corner table had finished dinner, Willis Kline and Gerald Graves were as drunk as Suzanne had ever seen them. They’d been drinking Lightning for over an hour before the meal. They were swapping boisterous stories and smoking cigarettes when Kristina arrived to clear their table, and she couldn’t have picked a worse moment.

  As she leaned over the table to lift the dirty dishes, Willis Kline winked at Graves and slid his right hand up her thigh and under her skirt.

  Kristina had just lifted the stack of plates and reacted instinctively, jerking upright with a squeal and losing the plates, which cascaded into Kline’s lap.

  Kline leaped to his feet in sudden fury, grabbed the girl and shook her, then slapped her soundly. Kristina screamed in panic and tried to throw up her hands to cover her face, but Kline shoved her face down against the table, grabbed her by the hair and began slamming her forehead down again and again.

  It all happened in five seconds’ time, too fast for anyone to react. Suzanne leaped around the end of the bar, but was too slow. Someone else was already there, and Willis Kline was catapulted across the stage, crashing into band instruments, as Nathan Green hit him like a railsled.

  “Get your hands off her, you goddamned pervert!” Nathan screamed, and as Kline struggled to his feet the boy knocked him down again, and then again.

  Kline was reaching for his laser pistol when Gerald Graves grabbed Nathan from behind and twisted him to the floor, punc
hing him brutally with short, hard jabs to the stomach and kidneys.

  Nathan struggled like a hypercat, but couldn’t get free of the older man, and suddenly found himself helpless before both Graves and Willis Kline.

  Suzanne had reached the table by then and pulled Kristina away, holding her even though the girl was screaming hysterically at the men to release Nathan. Across the club Nathan’s parents were staring in horror. Everyone else seemed paralyzed, and Suzanne turned to Blake in cold fury.

  “Do something, Sheriff!”

  Blake got unsteadily to his feet, as if just remembering that he was the sheriff.

  Kline was beating the boy with his laser pistol and blood was spurting across the floor.

  “That’ll do, Willis!” Blake said. “Let him go!”

  Kline either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He hauled Nathan to his feet, where he sagged into Graves’s arms, and began hammering him with his fists.

  “I said let him go, Willis!” But Blake didn’t move from where he stood.

  Jason Kline, realizing Willis wasn’t going to stop, rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away. Willis shook his brother off and returned to his task, but Jason lunged again and the two men struggled, finally crashing to the floor and upsetting a nearby table. Willis Kline’s alcohol intake and the sudden exertion finally caught up with him—his younger brother managed to pin him and hold him.

  “God damn it, Willis! You’re gonna kill the kid!”

  “I will kill the little bastard!” Willis panted, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Lemme go!”

  But Jason held him down, turning his head to look at Blake.

  “Get over here, goddammit! Help me!”

  Blake obeyed, and between them they got Kline to his feet and pushed him toward the door. Everyone in the club was staring in disbelief as they passed, but Suzanne stopped them at the exit, pushing in front of Willis Kline, her green eyes blazing with anger.

  “Willis, if you ever touch my daughter again I will personally cut your balls off! Do you hear me?”

  Kline stared at her a second, spat blood on the floor, then his lip twisted into a sneer.

  “Fuck you, Suzanne!”

  “Only in your wet dreams, cowboy!”

  “You seem to forget who you’re talking to.”

  “No I haven’t! You have! If I tell your daddy about this incident you’ll wish I hadn’t. He has a vested interest in this place and what goes on around here. He’ll rip off your skin and salt it for you. You know he will. Now you get your stupid ass out of here, and when you come back you act like a gentleman, or you’re finished! I won’t tell you twice.”

  Willis stared uncomfortably at her, more than a little cowed by the threat of his father finding out. He wanted to keep up the bravado, but she had him treed and he knew it. He ground his teeth shut and pushed on out the door.

  “I’m sorry, Suzanne,” Jason Kline said. He stared at her with hollow eyes, and she just nodded.

  “Thanks for stopping him,” she said, her voice only slightly less frigid.

  As Jason followed his brother outside, Suzanne turned and marched back across the room to where Gerald Graves was picking up his hat. He saw her and started to grin, but she stunned him with an open-handed slap across the face that cracked like an electro-whip.

  “I don’t want to see you in here for thirty days!” she hissed at him. “And when you come back, you will protect my daughter if she’s ever mistreated again.”

  “Suzanne, for God’s sake…”

  “Shut up! You say one more word and I’ll tell Mr. Kline that you stood by and let Willis molest Kristina. You wouldn’t like what would happen next! Do we understand each other?”

  Graves stared at her for long seconds, twisting his hat rapidly in his hands. Finally he swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Sure, Suzanne. I’m sorry.”

  “All right. Get out. And don’t come back for a month. A whole month!”

  He left quickly, painfully aware of the stares and whispers from the other customers. Suzanne then advanced on Roy Blake and stood nose to nose with him.

  “You son of a bitch!” she spat. “What the fuck were you thinking!”

  “Jesus, Suzanne, I…”

  “You fucking hand puppet!”

  “Hey, now look…”

  “Get out! If you can’t keep peace in here, then don’t come in at all!”

  Blake didn’t know what to do. He was the sheriff, he should be shown some respect—especially in front of all these people. But she was Suzanne Norgaard, and though she was just a woman, no one in Kline Corners had ever been able to stand up to her. He wasn’t brave enough to be the first.

  He cleared his throat uncertainly. “I’ll come back and talk to you when you’ve calmed down…”

  “I am calm, goddammit! Get out before I lose my temper!”

  Blake turned and beat a hasty retreat, and finally it was over.

  Almost.

  The Greens had picked up their son and set him down on the stage, where the band members stood awkwardly around wondering what the hell to do.

  Kristina sat next to Nathan, pressing against him, alternately mopping his face with a towel and kissing any place she could find that wasn’t bruised or cut or bleeding.

  The boy was in serious pain, moaning from the beating he’d taken; his eyes were swollen and one ear was smashed, but he’d lost no teeth and there were no obvious broken bones.

  Suzanne approached and looked down at him, then turned to one of her waitresses.

  “Get Dr. Taylor!” she ordered, then turned to Mrs. Green. “Let him lie down here. The doctor should be here in a few minutes.”

  Dr. Taylor was there in three minutes flat, and after examining the boy pronounced him fit to live, though he would be sore for several days and might have a couple of scars.

  “Right now he just needs bed rest,” she said.

  Suzanne helped the Greens get the boy to his feet, an arm around each parent. Before he left, Suzanne spoke to him softly.

  “Nathan, that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Thank you for helping Kristina.”

  He tried to grin, but winced in pain as Kristina kissed him full on the lips. “I love you, Nathan!” the girl declared solemnly, and then his parents led him out, to the standing applause of the other patrons.

  “Okay, everyone,” Suzanne said when things had quieted down. “The show’s over. I’m sorry your dinner was disturbed. Dessert is on the house.” She turned to the band. “Back to work, fellows.”

  Mother and daughter retreated toward the kitchen as the music started again and the other girls cleaned up the mess. Suzanne hugged the girl frantically and Kristina, now overwhelmed by all the adrenaline, burst into tears. It took ten minutes for them to both calm down.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I just…it all happened so fast!”

  “I know. If Willis ever touches you again, I’ll kill him!”

  “Nathan saved me, Mother.”

  Suzanne backed off and studied her daughter’s face for a minute. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And he loves me, too.”

  “I think that’s obvious. He damn near gave his life for you in there. Only a fool would attack Willis Kline like that—or a man who loves a woman more than his own life.”

  “You were wrong about him, Mother.” Kristina’s clear green eyes stared holes through Suzanne’s. “He’s not a bad person.”

  “I never thought he was a bad person. I just thought he was bad for you. You’re both so young.”

  “Willis Kline isn’t young, and look what he did to me.”

  “I know. Nathan is more of a man at seventeen than Kline will ever be.”

  “So can I see Nathan now?”

  Suzanne stared at the girl—correction, the young woman—facing her and slowly nodded her head.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I guess you can. But don’t
let yourself get carried away.”

  Kristina’s somber expression disappeared and a smile came out. She threw her arms around her mother and hugged her.

  “Thank you, Mom! I love you!”

  “I love you, too, honey. All I want is for you to be safe and happy. Now, why don’t you take the rest of the night off? Go see that boy and let him know that he can eat here free for the next year.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Now go!”

  Kristina was gone like a shot, and when she had disappeared out the door Suzanne leaned against a wall and closed her eyes with dread. It wasn’t over. She knew that for a fact. Willis Kline would never forgive Nathan Green for attacking him, especially in public. He would get even, somehow. Maybe not openly—he wouldn’t likely shoot him down in the street—but he would do something.

  Suzanne had a desperate feeling that Nathan Green was as good as dead.

  Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri

  Nick Walker #3

  Now available

  Hugh Povar had lived around Trimmer Springs his whole life, had been born there and went to school there. Except for a class trip to Lucaston in the eighth grade, he had never been more than a hundred miles from home, and though he dreamed of someday seeing the galaxy, he didn’t really have the ambition to venture out very far. He could have gone to the U.F. Marshal Academy, but opted instead to hire on as a deputy, which meant he could never run his own office or be assigned to another planet.

  Hugh didn’t mind; his father had died in the war and his mother lived alone, so he felt an obligation to take care of her. He was only twenty-two and had plenty of time to realize his dreams. At the moment he felt life couldn’t get much better—he was a real, live U.F. deputy and he was working with Nick Walker, the hero of Trimmer Springs. Of course, he wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend like Nick had—that would make life absolutely perfect—but there were plenty of girls in town and more than one was impressed by the shiny badge on his shirt.