The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy Page 7

  “I assume you've got a point?” said Nighthawk dryly.

  “Yes, I do. I think the odds are no worse than even that you're going to run into someone who has a grudge against the Widowmaker, or someone's who's out to make a reputation for himself, on just about every inhabited world on the Inner Frontier. If you think otherwise, you're blinding yourself to the facts. You need a new name and a new face.”

  “Forget it.”

  “But you yourself were going to get a new ID back on Pondoro!”

  “I've given it a lot of thought the past few days.” Nighthawk placed a finger to his cheek. “I spent five years looking for some trace of this face in the mirror. All I could find was some kid's nightmare. Now that it's back, it's staying.”

  “That's stupid!”

  “That's me.”

  “The hell it is. Your clones were always willing to adapt to conditions. Why the hell aren't you?”

  “My clones were young men with their whole lives ahead of them. I'm an old man, and most of my choices have been made, for better or worse. I'm through adapting to conditions; from now on, they can adapt to me.”

  “So you're going to keep killing men on each new world we come to?”

  “I hope not. It's up to the men.”

  “It doesn't have to be.”

  “We're talking about my choices, not yours,” said Nighthawk. “Why are you having such a problem with that?”

  “You're good,” said Kinoshita. “Even at 62, you're far better than I was in my prime. You know, I seriously wondered if you had a chance against those three guys back on Pondoro, but you were never in any danger, were you?”

  “Not really.”

  “I know,” continued Kinoshita. “But you know something? As good as you are, I've seen better. And younger.”

  “Who?”

  “Your clones. Either of them could take you out in a heartbeat.”

  “So what? One's dead, and the other's vanished with a new name and face.”

  “You're not following me,” said Kinoshita. “If they could take you, probably there are others who could, too. You won't know and I won't know until you go up against one of them. I'd rather see you avoid it and live the life you keep saying you want to live.”

  “I do want to live it.” Nighthawk's jaw muscles tightened noticeably as he grimaced. “I tried to walk away from that kid on Churchill, just as I tried to let those men on Pondoro walk away from me.”

  “So why didn't you?”

  Nighthawk sighed deeply. “Because I've been the Widowmaker too long.”

  “You're not going to change, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “And someday, sooner or later, as you get slower and weaker, and the young men who want to challenge you get faster and stronger, one of them's going to kill you.”

  “At least it'll be quick,” said Nighthawk with no sense of regret or resentment. “I've had my fill of the slow way.”

  “Wouldn't you rather never again be in a situation where you have to kill or be killed?” asked Kinoshita.

  “If I've really got four or five million enemies out there, I'm just as likely to be backshot as called out.”

  “That's better somehow?” demanded Kinoshita sarcastically.

  “Look,” said Nighthawk. “I appreciate your concern. I hope you're wrong. I suspect that you're right. But this is the face I've lived with, and it's the one I'm going to die with.”

  “All right,” said Kinoshita bitterly. “Get yourself killed. See if I care.”

  “You do care. What I can't figure out is why.”

  Kinoshita was about to reply when the ship's computer interrupted them.

  “We are being followed by a Class J spacecraft,” it announced.

  “How long has it been on our tail?” asked Nighthawk.

  “Twenty standard minutes. After fifteen minutes I attempted to elude it, as per your programming, but my evasive maneuvering was unsuccessful. I am a 341 Golden Streak; it is a 702 Bullet, which means that it is faster than I am.”

  “Find its port of origin and get its registration,” ordered Nighthawk.

  The computer was silent for a moment, and then spoke again: “Owned by the Starburst Corporation, seventeen hours out of Pondoro.”

  “How long since we left Pondoro?”

  “Nineteen hours.”

  “Where are Starburst's corporate headquarters?”

  “Tundra.”

  Nighthawk looked over at Kinoshita. “Not much question about it, is there?”

  “None.”

  “Can you put it on the viewscreen?” asked Nighthawk.

  “I can put a representation of a generic 702 Bullet on the screen. This particular ship is still out of range.”

  “If it's been chasing us since Pondoro, how come you only noticed it twenty minutes ago?”

  “I do not know that it has been chasing us since it left Pondoro. It came within range of my sensors twenty-one minutes ago. I only know what it has done since then.”

  “Well,” mused Nighthawk, “we can't outrun it, and there's no sense leading it to a planet we might want to settle on. I suppose the best thing to do is talk to it.”

  “Make sure the damned thing isn't armed first,” suggested Kinoshita.

  “No Class J craft carries armaments,” said the ship.

  “Send it a greeting,” ordered Nighthawk.

  “Sending ... done.”

  “Put any reply on visual and audio.”

  The holograph of a burly man suddenly appeared in front of Nighthawk and Kinoshita.

  “Hello, Nighthawk,” said the man with a toothy grin. “Tired of running?”

  “No one's running.”

  “Are you going to tell me you didn't try to lose me about five minutes ago?”

  “Automatic programming,” answered Nighthawk. “I didn't even know you were there.”

  “Well, you know it now, and you'll know it when you land.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “You killed three of my friends.”

  “I never saw any of them before.”

  “Sure—and you don't know who I am, either.” The man laughed in amusement.

  “That's true.”

  “You disappoint me,” said the man.

  “Oh?”

  “You were a lot of things back on Tundra, but you were never a liar. And now you've lied to me three times in less than a minute.”

  “I haven't lied at all.”

  “You said you didn't try to lose me, you said you didn't know the three men you murdered, and you said you didn't recognize me. Any way you count it, that comes to three.”

  “I killed those men in self defense,” said Nighthawk. “Don't make me do the same to you.”

  “Oh, I know better than to take you on alone,” said the man. “After all, you're the Widowmaker—or at least that's what they say. But you're going to pay for killing my friends.” He paused. “If it'll make you feel any better, I didn't mind your killing the Marquis. I never liked him much.”

  “I can't tell you how relieved that makes me feel,” said Nighthawk dryly.

  The man laughed again—a loud humorless laugh. “You want to tell me where your next port of call is, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

  “The hard way, I think,” said Nighthawk. “Computer, cut the transmission.”

  The holograph vanished instantly.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Kinoshita. “We're not fast enough to lose him.”

  “I know.”

  “So what's next?” persisted Kinoshita. “I suppose we could try to lead him back to an Oligarchy world and—”

  “I don't let the Oligarchy do my fighting for me,” said Nighthawk.

  “Then where do you plan to go?”

  “Well, there's no sense blowing another habitable world by leading him to it.”

  “It sounds like he's got friends with him,” offered Kinoshita.

  “That's th
eir problem,” responded Nighthawk. “Mine is finding the best place to face him.”

  “You have something in mind?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I've been in this section of the Frontier a couple of times before.” He paused. “Computer, how far are we from Bolingbroke VI? In hours, not miles or parsecs.”

  “At this speed, encountering no ion storms, I can reach the Bolingbroke system in 13 hours and 27 minutes.”

  “Do it.”

  “Programming ... done.”

  “Good. I'm going to grab something to eat.”

  Nighthawk walked off to the galley, and Kinoshita began questioning the computer about the Bolingbroke system.

  “There are eleven planets, including four gas giants, and two asteroid belts. The seven inner planets possess atmospheres.”

  “How many oxygen worlds?”

  “None.”

  “None?” exclaimed Kinoshita, surprised. “Then what is Bolingbroke VI?”

  “It's a methane world, mean temperature minus 73 degrees Celsius.”

  And that's where you want to face this guy and his henchmen? If they don't kill you, the planet will.

  11.

  Bolingbroke VI looked like it had been put together from a billion twinkling stars. Exquisite crystalline growths reached toward the distant sun, acting as prisms for its light. The ground was rough and uneven, as if covered by an infinite number of glass shards, each reflecting a different color.

  “It looks like a big piece of rock candy,” remarked Kinoshita.

  “I suppose it does,” said Nighthawk, testing all the joints of his protective suit.

  “So what's the big attraction about facing them on Bolingbroke?”

  “I like it here.”

  “That's it?” demanded Kinoshita. “You're standing out in the open on a frozen methane planet, ready to face God knows how many men, just because you like it here?”

  Nighthawk smiled in amusement. “You never spoke like that to my clones, did you?”

  “They wouldn't have permitted it,” admitted Kinoshita.

  “Lucky for you us old men are more tolerant, isn't it?” said Nighthawk, still smiling.

  “Damn it!” said Kinoshita in frustration. “Can't you even tell me why we're here? I can help!”

  “I don't need your help,” replied Nighthawk. “I told you that when we landed. You'll be much safer if you just go back to the ship.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Why?” asked Nighthawk. “Not only don't I need you, but you don't owe me a thing.”

  “I'm staying right here.”

  “You didn't answer me.”

  “You didn't answer me either,” shot back Kinoshita.

  Nighthawk stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell, you're a grown man. Suit yourself.”

  “I still don't know why you chose to face them on an airless planet.”

  “Bolingbroke's not airless,” Nighthawk corrected him. “It has an atmosphere.”

  “Nothing anyone I know can breathe.”

  “That's not what I said.”

  “Okay, it's not airless. Big deal.”

  “It's important,” said Nighthawk.

  Kinoshita frowned. “If you say so ... but I sure as hell can't see why.”

  “Hopefully, neither can they,” said Nighthawk, pointing to the sleek silver ship that was plunging down toward the planet's surface.

  Kinoshita looked up. “They'll be on the ground in another three minutes.”

  “Give or take,” agreed Nighthawk.

  “And you plan to just stand here in the open and wait for them?”

  “That's right.”

  “If they land over there,” continued Kinoshita, pointing to his left, “they can hide behind those outcroppings and shoot you down at their leisure.”

  “I imagine that's just what they'll try to do,” agreed Nighthawk.

  “Damn it! I'm supposed to be your partner! Why can't you tell me what the hell you have in mind?”

  “I don't have any partners,” replied Nighthawk firmly. “I appreciate your friendship and your loyalty, but I told you to stay in the ship. It's your decision to stand beside me, not mine.”

  “Will you please stop sounding like the goddamned Widowmaker and go back to being Jefferson Nighthawk?”

  Nighthawk stared at him, but said nothing.

  “Look, I'm sorry,” said Kinoshita awkwardly. “I didn't mean that.”

  “Yes you did, and there's no need to apologize. I've never held it against a man for saying what he felt. Honesty is an underrated virtue these days.”

  Kinoshita shifted his weight awkwardly. “Just the same, I'm sorry.”

  “Fine.”

  “Let me know what you want me to do, and I'll do it. This is your show.”

  “You don't have to do anything. I thought I already told you that.”

  Kinoshita looked down at Nighthawk's hands. “Shit!” he exclaimed.

  “What is it?”

  “You wore the wrong gloves. Those are the metal-plated ones for working on the ship's engine. You'll have a hard time holding a pistol.”

  “I'll manage.”

  “I could go back right now and ... No, of course you can't change them out here. Your hands would freeze. You'd better go to the ship and change while you can.”

  “There's no time,” said Nighthawk, pointing to the pursuing ship, which had just touched down and was disgorging a handful of armed men.

  “Six, seven, eight,” counted Kinoshita. “Eight! Do you really think you can take eight men at once? I mean, maybe when you were 38, but now...?”

  “If I have to.”

  “If you have to? What does that mean?”

  “It means I hope I don't have to,” said Nighthawk calmly, as he turned to face his pursuers.

  The largest of the eight men stopped by a glittering outcropping of purplish crystal. “You picked a hell of a planet to die on, Widowmaker,” he said.

  Nighthawk and Kinoshita picked up his radio signal with almost no static, and the former answered into his helmet's transmitter: “Then don't kill me.”

  The man threw back his head and laughed heartily. “You've got a wonderful sense of humor! I don't remember your having any back on Tundra. Five years bumming around the galaxy has done wonders for you.”

  “I don't suppose you'd like to tell me who you are, and why you're here?”

  “Are you kidding?” demanded the man.

  “I just want to know what name to put on your grave,” came the answer. Kinoshita noted that even the tenor of the older man's voice has changed. Nighthawk had totally vanished; it was the Widowmaker speaking now.

  The man gestured with his hand, and his seven cohorts instantly spread out, always keeping outcrops between themselves and Nighthawk.

  “You got any short prayers, Widowmaker? I don't think you've got time for a long one.”

  “You're sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Am I sure?” The man laughed again. “You got balls, Widowmaker; I'll give you that. But I've got eight guns, and we're well protected. You're two old men out in the open. What are you going to do now?”

  “Applaud your superior generalship, I suppose,” said Nighthawk.

  He held his hands out so they could see he wasn't holding any weapons, then clapped them together once.

  As metal plate struck metal plate, it was as if a bomb had exploded. At the sound of Nighthawk's hands striking each other, every outcrop within a quarter mile collapsed like so much broken glass, burying the men standing beside or behind them.

  “Shoot this in the air,” said Nighthawk, pulling a small bullet gun out of a hidden pouch on his thigh and handing it to Kinoshita. As Kinoshita began firing it every few seconds, creating ear-shattering explosion after explosion, Nighthawk withdrew his burner and put a lethal burst of solid, silent light into each of the eight men as they struggled to dig themselves out from beneath the crystal shards.

  �
��Jesus!” muttered Kinoshita, looking at the carnage. “Jesus!”

  “You look upset,” noted Nighthawk calmly as he walked back and rejoined him.

  “I keep forgetting who you are,” said Kinoshita. “It was like a walk in the park for you! 62 years old, and you wiped out eight men without drawing a deep breath!”

  “Would you be less impressed if I was 32 years old?” asked Nighthawk dryly.

  “How the hell did you know it would work on an airless world?”

  “I told you: it has an atmosphere. No air, no molecules. No molecules, no way for sound to travel.”

  “And that's why you wore the metal-plated gloves?”

  “I knew they'd make a noise, and I couldn't be sure I could fire the pistol before they shot me down.”

  “You also had to know they'd stand next to the outcroppings,” added Kinoshita.

  “Well, I figured that between my reputation and a display of confidence, they'd make sure they had some cover before the shooting started. And by standing in the open, where they could see me if I made any sudden moves, it encouraged them to take cover before they pulled their weapons.”

  “It's just business to you, isn't it?”

  Nighthawk shook his head. “It used to be my business. It isn't any more.”

  “Sometimes you can't hide from who you are.”

  “I'm Jefferson Nighthawk.”

  “And the Widowmaker.”

  “That's not who I am. It's who I was.”

  Something in the tone of his voice convinced Kinoshita not to continue the discussion. Instead he walked over to the eight corpses, turning a few over with the toe of his boot, studying their faces.

  “That's quite a haul,” he said at last.

  “There are no more men than there were five minutes ago,” responded Nighthawk, unimpressed.

  “That's not what I mean. I recognize three of these faces. I've seen them on Wanted posters. I'll bet there were prices on the others, too.”

  “Good,” said Nighthawk. “It means I won't have to answer a charge of murder if they're ever found.”

  “Found?” asked Kinoshita, puzzled.

  “Right. Let's get to work. We've got time to bury them before nightfall.”

  “Are you crazy? I'll bet the lot of them are worth more than half a million credits. Let's pack ‘em in the cargo hold and take them to the nearest bounty station.”