A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) Page 15

  "You're welcome," said Nighthawk. "But Kinoshita was right. I sent you out too soon."

  "I think you're overstating the case," said Jeff defensively. "That's the first time in my life I was ever in any serious danger."

  "It only takes once."

  "I've taken some of the most dangerous men and aliens on the Inner Frontier," said Jeff. "Terrible men, men who deserved to die a dozen times over. I've never gone after an easy target, not once. I only tackle the ones nobody else is willing to face. I'm doing what you created me to do, what you trained me to do." He made no attempt to hide his emotional distress. "You're the only man I've ever wanted to please. I had hoped you'd be proud of what I've accomplished."

  "I am," said Nighthawk.

  "You sure as hell don't sound it," said Jeff, clearly unconvinced.

  "A father can be proud of his child and still know that he needs more training," said Nighthawk. "I'm very proud of you, Jeff. You're everything I was, maybe better—but in the past month you've made three mistakes in a business that doesn't tolerate errors."

  "Three?" said Jeff disbelievingly. "What were they?"

  "You made one of them tonight. You rushed in before you'd analyzed your enemy and pinpointed his weaknesses—and at this level, the level the Widowmaker operates at, that's usually fatal."

  "Okay," acknowledged Jeff. "I admit that was a blunder. What were the other two?"

  "You killed a man who was probably innocent."

  "I don't know that," said Jeff defensively. "There were warrants all the hell over the galaxy for him, and just one man said he was innocent."

  "It was a man that you, of all people, should have trusted," said Nighthawk.

  "Aren't you the person who taught me that the Widowmaker doesn't sit in judgment?" said Jeff. "He doesn't pass sentences, he merely executes them."

  "Yes."

  "There was paper on Jubal Pickett."

  Nighthawk sighed. "There's been paper on innocent men before. There will be again."

  "Are you trying to tell me that you examined the evidence on every man you ever went after, and if you thought they were innocent you'd give them a pass?" demanded Jeff.

  "No, of course I'm not."

  "Well, then?"

  "I never had an unimpeachable source tell me a man I was about to kill was innocent."

  "I'll grant you the first mistake, the one I made here tonight," said Jeff. "But I don't agree that killing Jubal Pickett was one. To this day I don't know for a fact that he was innocent, and neither do you."

  "They were both mistakes, and they were both as much my fault as yours," said Nighthawk. "I didn't prepare you properly for these situations. I should have spent more time with you before I sent you out." He paused. "But you made a third mistake of far greater magnitude, one that made it imperative that we meet."

  "And what was that?"

  "You shot a Jefferson Nighthawk—a man who was closer to you than a father or a brother."

  "You're closer to me," said Jeff. "I don't even know Jason Newman."

  "I told you who he was," said Kinoshita, who had been listening silently to that point.

  "All right, you told me who he was," said Jeff. "I never laid eyes on him before, and he got between me and my prey. He drew on me!"

  "He got between you and your prey because he thought I'd trained you better than I did," said Nighthawk. "He knew you'd never fire on a Jefferson Nighthawk."

  "He went for his weapon!" protested Jeff.

  "You went for yours."

  "Damn it!" said Jeff. "What was I supposed to do? You're the one who trained me. You taught me everything I know, and then you turned me loose, pointed me at the Inner Frontier, and said 'Kill the bad guys.' That's what I was doing—and he tried to stop me!"

  "Calm down, Jeff," said Nighthawk. "I'm here to fix a problem, not exacerbate it."

  "I am calm!"

  "Then stop shouting."

  "I'm sorry," said Jeff, lowering his voice. "But I'm the Widowmaker, and you're making me feel like a petulant schoolboy."

  "I don't mean to," said Nighthawk. "Look at me. Have I ever lied to you?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Do you trust me?"

  "You're even closer to me that a father," replied Jeff. "Of course I trust you."

  "Then believe me when I tell you that I'm not angry at you," said Nighthawk. "I wanted to live out my remaining years in peace, and I was so anxious to start that I sent you out sooner than I should have."

  "I was ready!" said Jeff. "Look at what I've accomplished!"

  "As you said, I taught you everything you know—but if you feel you were right to kill Jubal Pickett and fire on Jason Newman, then I haven't taught you everything you need to know. It's not your fault. It's probably not even mine. I'm new to the parenting business. I never had a son or a daughter. I've never been close to anything or anyone—at least until I met Sarah."

  "I thought we were close," said Jeff, unable to keep the pain from his voice.

  "I'm working at it," said Nighthawk. "Everyone has faults. That's one of mine. Until I came down with that damned disease, all I knew was killing—and then all I knew was suffering. I've been alone most of my life, so forming emotional bonds is as new to me as the Widowmaker business was to you."

  He paused uncomfortably, then continued. "I risk my life every time I go up against an enemy. It's second nature to me; I don't even think about it—and I never face an opponent expecting to die. Dying is not in the Widowmaker's lexicon—yet the first clone died for me, and Jason Newman was willing to die so that I could live. That's a very uncomfortable concept for me, because it implies that there are people I should be willing to die for."

  "What about Sarah?"

  "I don't know," said Nighthawk. "I know I'd risk my life for her. I'd risk it for you, or for Kinoshita. But I don't know if I'd sacrifice it for anyone. I fought too damned hard to keep it when the disease hit." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm still working it out. One of the good things about living as long as I have is that you find you can still learn." A tight, pained smile. "And one of the bad things is that you find you still have a lot to learn."

  "Why are you telling me this?" asked Jeff.

  "Because if I can't love you like a son yet, I can at least be honest with you, and let you know that you're not the only Widowmaker who still has things to learn and faults to overcome," said Nighthawk.

  "This is a side of you I've never seen before," said Jeff. "I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything," replied Nighthawk. "Just listen. Kinoshita and I were so busy teaching you how to kill and to protect yourself that I didn't spend enough time teaching you how to use your judgment, and in truth you probably never needed it until you touched down on Giancola II. I happen to be in a position to know that you've got a pretty practical mind."

  "I've always thought so," replied Jeff with feigned lightness.

  Nighthawk stared at him for a long moment. "Whatever it takes, we'll get things straightened out."

  "I'm willing to try," said Jeff. "I want you to be proud of me."

  "I always was," said Nighthawk. "Though as long as you know how good you are at your work, I don't know why you care what anyone else thinks."

  "Because I'm me and not you," answered Jeff. "You chose not to have any emotional commitments. I never chose not to have a father."

  "I didn't choose to be like this," said Nighthawk. "It's just the way I'm made. And our father died one hundred sixty-three years ago."

  "Your father did."

  "All right," conceded Nighthawk. "Mine did." Suddenly an ironic smile crossed his face. "I guess we're going to train each other."

  "I guess."

  Nighthawk looked down at the bodies of the Wizard and the wand-shaped alien. "I suppose we might as well hunt up an airsled and turn the body over to the police. And on the way out, we'll toss what's left of the symbiote into the trash atomizer I saw in the lobby."

&n
bsp; "Why?"

  "I think we'll start your higher education right here and now," said Nighthawk. "You tell me why."

  Jeff stared at the small, cylindrical alien for a moment, frowning. Then he looked up. "Of course."

  "Well?"

  "If we deliver the alien's body, sooner or later someone's going to figure out that it was the key to the Wizard's power, and they're going to search the galaxy looking for more of them. Better to let everyone think the Wizard was a mutant or a true magician."

  Nighthawk nodded his approval. "Okay, you passed the first test."

  "How many more are there?"

  "As many as it takes."

  "Well, let's go find an airsled," said Jeff, walking over, picking up the symbiote's body. "Where do we go after we leave the body with the police?"

  "Right back here," said Nighthawk.

  "You mean the District?" asked Jeff, surprised.

  "Can you think of a better classroom?"

  22.

  The two men, who looked like father and son but were actually even more closely related, walked slowly down the street, It was mid-morning, and Nighthawk had left Kinoshita at the police station with orders to stay there until the bounty money had been approved.

  Nighthawk pointed out various individuals of different alien races, questioning Jeff about them: where would they hide their weapons, what were their vital spots, what method of attack were they likely to choose, what tiny signs would indicate that an attack was imminent?

  Finally, after almost two hours had passed, he stopped in front of a tavern.

  "It's a warm day," he said. "I'll buy you a beer."

  "Thanks," replied Jeff. "Deciding how to kill every alien I see is thirsty work. I could do with a break—and a beer.

  "It's more than a break," said Nighthawk. "We're finished."

  "I don't understand."

  "I just realized that I've been going about this the wrong way," explained Nighthawk. "In the two years you've been around, the Wizard was the first man who gave you any trouble at all. The only reason I could beat him when you couldn't is that I've got decades of experience to draw upon. I can't give you that experience; you're going to have to acquire it a piece at a time and figure out how best to use it."

  "I have a question," said Jeff. "When you were my age, could you have taken him?"

  Nighthawk signaled the robot bartender to bring two beers.

  "Probably," he said.

  "Why? You'd have had no more reason to believe he was in a symbiosis with an alien than I did. You were at the peak of your physical powers, you knew no one could beat you—so what was the difference?"

  "The difference is that the instant you were born you were the Widowmaker, with unequaled skills and a reputation that's been building for a century and a half—and never underestimate the effect that reputation has on someone who finds himself forced to face you." Nighthawk paused long enough to take a swallow of the beer the robot just delivered. "But there wasn't any Widowmaker when I was a kid. The people I saw, the deaths I witnessed, the corruption I encountered, all of that led me to my calling. If I'm a little more cautious than you, it's because I've seen too damned many people die, so I know it can happen."

  "I know I can be killed," said Jeff defensively.

  Nighthawk shook his head. "You know it academically, but have you felt the need to go one step out of your way to protect yourself, to push the odds in your favor?"

  "No," admitted Jeff. "No, I haven't."

  "It's nothing to feel guilty about," said Nighthawk. "You're the best. I saw to that. And until last night, you never needed an advantage. For all I know, you never will again."

  "Then that's it?" asked Jeff. "You've got nothing more to teach me, and we go our separate ways?"

  "I've got things to teach you, and you have things to learn," replied Nighthawk. "They just don't have much to do with the art of killing. How you apply them to the Widowmaker business is up to you."

  "May I ask you a question?"

  "Go ahead. I have no secrets from you."

  "I'd like to know how and why you became the Widowmaker," said Jeff. "Kinoshita's been curious about it since the day he started teaming up with Widowmakers. The one who died didn't know, and of course I don't either. And he tells me that you and Jason Newman never talked about it."

  "It's none of his business," said Nighthawk. "It's no one's business except ours—Jason's, mine, and now yours." He was silent for a moment, ordering his thoughts. "I never planned to be a bounty hunter. I grew up on a farm on Phalaris II. I was twelve years old when a gang of thirty men and aliens robbed the bank and the businesses there. My father was in town on business; he was an innocent bystander. He'd never even owned a weapon in his life. They killed him anyway. And they paid off the planetary police, so no one arrested them or followed up on any leads. They didn't even question the survivors. When I saw that, I stole a couple of burners and went after them on my own. One by one I picked them off—but by the time I'd killed the thirteenth, I was spotted and identified. They came out to our house to kill me. I wasn't there, but they killed my mother and my sister."

  The muscles in Nighthawk's jaw twitched, and he continued. "That was a little more killing than the police had bargained for —or at least more than they'd been paid to ignore—and the remaining gang members fled to the Preteep system. I followed them there and killed all but three of them. They grabbed some hostages and escaped. Later they killed the hostages—a woman and her two daughters. I tracked them down and killed them, face to face."

  "At twelve years of age?" said Jeff, cleearly impressed.

  "Thirteen," answered Nighthawk. "It took some time to hunt them all down." He paused. "My parents and sister were buried on our farm, but of course no one had kept up the payments, and I heard that it was going up for auction. I wanted to buy it back, if only to plant proper headstones on their graves. I knew there was paper on most of the gang members, so I took the last three to the bounty station on Daedelus IV and asked how to claim the reward, which would have come to four hundred thousand credits, more than enough to buy the farm. A kindly white-haired old gentleman helped me fill out the forms, and even bought me a couple of meals. I stopped by every day to see if the money had arrived—and on the fifth day the old man was gone, and so was my money."

  "Is that when you became the Widowmaker?" asked Jeff.

  "It was years before they began calling me that," said Nighthawk. "Anyway, I became a bounty hunter after I tracked the old man down and took back my money."

  "After?" repeated Jeff. "You didn't kill him?"

  Nighthawk shook his head. "I knew even then that if I killed every lawbreaker on the Inner Frontier, there weren't going to be too many people left alive. People come out here to get away from the Oligarchy and its laws. So I created a code I've tried to live by: I will kill only those who themselves have killed—or, if the occasion demands, I'll kill in self-defense. As I got more skilled, I limited myself to the men and aliens that normal lawmen and bounty hunters couldn't take. It's the same code I taught you when I was training you."

  "I know," said Jeff. "And I've lived by it. I fired on Jason Newman in self-defense."

  "Did you?"

  "You sound like you don't think so," said Jeff.

  "Let me suggest that he stood between you and Pickett precisely because he knew you wouldn't shoot him, that you lived by the same code he and I do, that if he didn't pull a weapon on you, you wouldn't draw first. Think hard, Jeff—did he go for his weapon before you did?"

  Jeff closed his eyes, trying to relive the scene. Finally he opened them. "I don't know."

  "Well, it's an honest answer."

  "We're both so fast."

  "I know," said Nighthawk. "Now let me ask you a question, just one, and then the subject is closed. With everything I've told you, with everything you know, do you think Jason would have fired at you if you hadn't gone for your weapon?"

  "No," said Jeff slowly. "No, he wouldn't hav
e."

  "Good," said Nighthawk, placing a hand on Jeff's shoulder and squeezing it gently. "You're learning."

  "Learning what?" asked Jeff bitterly. "Not to shoot Nighthawks?"

  "No, you're learning to believe me when I tell you something you'd rather not hear."

  Jeff looked at him, surprised. "I guess I am," he said.

  "And I'm learning to confront things I'd rather not think about," continued Nighthawk.

  "Such as?"

  "You didn't ask to be born. The fact that I feel an obligation to you, that I trained you and will keep working with you, doesn't absolve me from other things I owe you. As you pointed out, you don't have a father. It's not enough to tell you that genetically you and I share the same one; he's been dead for a century and a half. You don't have a mother. You never had a childhood. By the time you were a week old Kinoshita and I were teaching you how to handle weapons. You're actually better-adjusted than you have any right to be—but as I said, that doesn't absolve me. I wanted to retire, to live out my life with Sarah, to never hold a weapon in my hand again."

  "There's nothing wrong with that," said Jeff. "You were the Widowmaker for a long time."

  "There's nothing wrong with wanting that. What was wrong was the way I went about it." He looked at the young man. "I created you to be a lightning rod. I wanted them to stop shooting at me and start shooting at someone else—at you. You never had a choice. It was a shitty thing to do, and I'm sorry."

  "I'm not," said Jeff firmly. "I enjoy being the Widowmaker. I'm proud of what I've accomplished. I like the fact that kids look at me with awe when I walk down the street, and that killers fear my name." He paused. "I just wish I knew that there was one person in the whole damned galaxy who cared about me—not about the Widowmaker and what he can do for them, but about Jeff Nighthawk."

  "I'm working on it," said Nighthawk.

  "Did you ever feel this way?" asked Jeff.

  "No. Every person who ever cared about me wound up dead. That was last thing I wanted. The closer people got to me, the sooner they died. Do you know why I wasn't on New Barcelona when you arrived here?"