Asteroid Outpost (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 1) Page 10

  Willoughby’s radio shrilled sharply, filling the space with a piercing tone. Willoughby jerked as if he’d been shot, and Nick was so startled he almost fired. Guthrie seized the moment and went for his expensive new laser pistol. He cleared leather almost before Nick saw the motion.

  Nick spun but was too late—Guthrie had him cold. The only thing that saved him was Guthrie himself, who hurried his shot. The bolt flashed off the bulkhead inches from Nick’s head, and he fell away to the right. Guthrie fired again, missed, and tried to track him for a third shot. Falling on his right side, Nick’s elbow hit the deck painfully; he couldn’t seem to get Guthrie in his sight, so he pulled the trigger anyway. The .44 roared like a Howitzer and blue smoke boiled into the room. The slug exploded through both airlock doors and the sudden shriek of escaping air drowned out every other sound.

  The habitat didn’t decompress all at once, but air was screaming out at a terrifying rate; within seconds Nick found it hard to breathe, and his two opponents staggered as suction drew them toward the breach. But Guthrie still had his sidearm, and was determined to finish it. Struggling to regain his balance, he took aim at Nick once more, but in those few seconds Nick’s situation had stabilized—he was down on the deck, the .44 was up, and he fired first.

  The shot slammed Guthrie against the bulkhead and opened a second breach. Nick staggered to his feet, gasping, and saw that Willoughby was also down, sucking air like a fish out of water. Only seconds remained if anyone was to survive, and Nick dived back through the pressure door into the room with the girl, slapping the door control as he did so. The door swished shut behind him.

  Martha Sledge was sitting upright, panic in her eyes, choking for air. Her mouth was moving but no words came out. Nick dropped to his knees beside her, fishing in his pocket for the communicator Murray had given him. His ears popped painfully and his eyeballs seemed to bulge—the air pressure was down by half, but didn’t seem to be getting any lower. If they could keep breathing until help arrived…

  He squeezed the button and tried to talk, but couldn’t seem to form any words. Blackness edged his peripheral vision. He dropped the button and lifted his chin, trying to enlarge his airway. His vision was fading, his thoughts were tumbling…and the girl was already unconscious. Christ, he thought, I sure as hell blew it this time.

  Seconds before he passed out, he heard the click of a relay switch. From a duct in the floor and another in the ceiling, high-pressure air flooded into the room.

  * * *

  “He isn’t answering,” Keating said, gazing at Murray. “Doesn’t really surprise me—he’s an arrogant son of a bitch.”

  Murray shrugged. “Do you know where his quarters are? Maybe we can find him there.”

  Keating put the radio down in its cradle.

  “It’s getting late. My suggestion is we all get some sleep and come at this again in the morning. Willoughby’s on duty then and he’ll come here before—”

  The lights began flashing insanely, alternating red with white. From speakers in the ceiling an alarm bleated loudly, insistently, chilling the blood. Both men looked up, startled.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Murray asked breathlessly.

  “Atmospheric breach,” Keating said.

  * * *

  Every habitat in space—ship, space station, or asteroid—depends on atmospheric integrity for survival. A breach is always life threatening and of the highest priority. When Nick’s first bullet punched out the airlock, section pressure doors slammed shut all over Caribou Lake and alarms blazed automatically. Everyone except emergency personnel headed for pressure chambers which, like bomb shelters, were provided for just such an event. Emergency crews quickly identified the location of the breach and swung into action; within twenty minutes the threat was contained.

  Nick Walker could hear damage control people outside his pressure door, their magnetic boots clanging on the steel deck, but could not communicate with them. He’d tried several times to contact Murray with the communicator button, but perhaps the signal couldn’t get through the rock, because Murray never answered. The girl on the mattress was awake again, her color returning to normal, though she still looked traumatized. The air that had surged into the room when the pressure dropped was much warmer than the air that escaped, and she had stopped shivering. Though it was gradually getting colder, for the moment they were almost comfortable.

  But next door, the other sister was sobbing loudly. Nick dimly remembered hearing her scream when the guns were firing, but hadn’t had time to think about it. Now Martha Sledge was calling out to her, assuring her they would be all right.

  But Nick wasn’t one hundred percent sure that was true; though they must have found bodies in the corridor, the emergency workers had no way of knowing, and perhaps no reason to suspect, that anyone was alive behind the pressure doors. If they opened those doors before repressurizing the corridor, it would mean disaster. Nick tried calling out without success; he pounded on the door with the butt of his .44, but they were probably wearing space suits, and until air filled the corridor again, would be unable to hear him.

  * * *

  Jim Keating turned pale as he listened to the voice on the other end of the comm link. Russ Murray could see the shock in his eyes, but didn’t dare ask questions until the conversation ended.

  “You’re sure it’s Captain Guthrie?” Keating said.

  Murray couldn’t hear the answer, but Keating nodded.

  “What about those storage rooms? Is anyone alive inside them?”

  Another pause.

  “Well, don’t open them until you get the atmosphere back. You got that? If there’s anyone—goddammit, listen to me! Stop talking! Do not open those doors until atmosphere is restored! Did you hear me?” He rolled his eyes at Murray. “Repeat it back to me!” He nodded once, twice, and once more. “Yes, that’s right. In fact, don’t open those doors at all until I get there. I’m headed your way.”

  He hung up the comm and sighed in exasperation.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve located Willoughby,” Keating said. “He’s dead.”

  Murray blinked in surprise, but Keating wasn’t finished.

  “Guthrie is dead, too. Someone blew him open with a very big gun.”

  * * *

  Nick stayed by the door, sweating, as work in the corridor continued. He could hear men moving about, could hear their equipment, but couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was a little over an hour before he heard high-pressure air flooding the corridor outside his door. Only then did his tension begin to ease. Using the butt of his .44, he banged on the door again, but it was still ten minutes before it opened.

  The first person he saw was Russ Murray.

  Chapter 12

  Wednesday, August 7, 0440 (CC) — In transit, the Asteroid Belt

  Nick stared out the canopy as Russ Murray piloted the jalopy back toward Ceres on Wednesday morning. He and Murray had spent all day Tuesday clearing things up at Caribou Lake, and it had been quite a snarl. Murray and Keating had questioned him closely about the shootings, each with a report to write, and of course Nick would have to write his own report. At the moment he didn’t care—he felt unbelievably light-hearted. Not since Alpha Centauri had he experienced such a heady joy at just being alive.

  Three of the rear seats were occupied by Rev. Sledge and his two daughters. Murray had suggested, and Sledge agreed, that it might be wise to get his girls out of the Asteroid Belt as quickly as possible. Both girls had been raped multiple times and were suffering mild medical and severe emotional trauma. From Ceres they could arrange transport back to Mars, where Sledge had his church.

  The girls’ rescue had been followed by a great deal of drama, everything from tears of joy to wails of despair. They had been captive for two weeks and both claimed that multiple men, all wearing Farrington Security uniforms, had abused them. Certainly Willoughby had been one, and probably Guthrie, but the girls couldn’t categoricall
y identify anyone, so any other men would never be called to account. Sledge and his girls said they didn’t want revenge, just escape, but in Nick Walker’s mind the matter was far from settled.

  “How much farther is it to Ceres?” Sledge asked as he peered through the forward screen at the endless vastness of black space.

  “Three hours, more or less,” Murray replied with a yawn.

  “Thank the Good Lord.” Sledge leaned back in his seat.

  Nick turned to face him. “I got a question.”

  “Yes? How can I help you?”

  Nick studied him a moment, then let his tongue slide over his lips.

  “First of all, I want to apologize for what I said to you the other night. I may have been a little too harsh under the circumstances.”

  Sledge’s eyes crinkled and his dingy teeth showed through his beard.

  “Young man, you saved my children. I bear no grudge toward you.”

  Not yet, you don’t. You haven’t heard what I’m about to say.

  “I just want to know what the hell missionaries are doing in the Asteroid Belt? Can you tell me that?”

  Sledge looked surprised, if not exactly offended.

  “Why, preaching the Word of God, of course. That’s what missionaries do.”

  “Yeah, I know that, but historically I thought they went to places where the Word hadn’t been heard before. Pagan cultures, things like that.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But you saw for yourself the decadence of that place! Those people need salvation. They need the good news of the sacrifice Jesus made for them!”

  “I won’t argue that. But don’t you think they’ve already heard that message? Ninety percent of the people out here come from the Western Hemisphere of Terra. Christianity has been prevalent in the Americas for centuries.”

  Sledge smiled. “Of course they’ve heard it, but how many of them believe it? The very fact that they’re here at all is ample proof that they’ve lost their way. Most of the people out here are fugitives of one kind or another. They’ve lost their souls. They’re depraved! They need redemption.”

  Nick nodded slowly, as if Sledge had just made his point.

  “Yes they are. ‘Depraved’ is the perfect description for most of them.” He pointed at the two girls huddling together in the rear seats. “And you took those two gorgeous, innocent girls into that environment! You led them straight into the lion’s den! What the hell were you thinking?”

  Sledge’s smile evaporated and he swelled slowly in indignation.

  “Marshal, you may not believe this, but there is no higher calling than the service of the Lord. No sacrifice is too great—”

  “Are you sure about that?” Nick pointed at the girls again. “Was their sacrifice worth it?”

  “They wanted to come. They volunteered.”

  “Did they? You didn’t pressure them?”

  “Of course not! They’re fine Christian girls, with hearts of gold. Their hearts ached for the sinners on that rock. They went in there with the love of Jesus in their hearts, and those men responded.”

  Christ! The girls were raped!

  Nick sighed.

  “Reverend, forgive me for being cynical, but don’t you think it’s just possible that those men came to see the girls and didn’t give a shit about your message?”

  “Well—I’m sure some of them did, but—”

  “And now that you’re gone, they’ll go right back to their sinful ways and never think about the message again?”

  Sledge huffed impatiently. “What is your point, young man?”

  “You damn near got your kids killed, Reverend!”

  “I admit,” Sledge said reasonably, “that it was a calculated risk. But all things worthwhile carry some measure of risk. Christians have been martyred for millennia while spreading the Word. We count it an honor to be persecuted for His name’s sake.”

  Nick closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his forehead.

  “All I’m saying is that sometimes you can bring persecution on yourself. If you want to risk your own neck, fine. But if I were you I’d think twice before putting those girls in danger again.”

  Nick turned around and faced forward again, suddenly depressed. He felt Murray nudge his knee and glanced in his direction.

  “Save your breath,” Murray said quietly.

  No one spoke the rest of the way back to Ceres.

  Government Annex - Ceres

  Marshal Milligan was just lighting a fresh cigar as Nick and Murray came into the office. He glanced at them as if they were just returning from lunch, then turned back to his computer and finished the task he was working on. Nick walked over to his own desk and dropped his space bag on it, then rummaged for a cup and filled it with bitter coffee. Murray dropped into a chair with a sigh, and a moment later Milligan swung around to face them.

  “Well?”

  “Walker found the missing missionaries. Case closed.”

  Milligan remained silent, but shifted his gaze to Nick.

  “The case is not closed,” Nick said.

  Milligan’s eyes returned to Murray, who looked at Nick in surprise.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Here I am bragging on you and you make me look stupid.”

  Nick saw his expression and faltered.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He spoke to Milligan. “Yes, we did find the missing girls. They’re alive and safe, and they’re here on Ceres.”

  “What do you mean the case isn’t closed?”

  “Well…that case is solved, but I think there’s a bigger issue. We brought back two dead men who worked for Farrington Security. One or both of them were the kidnappers, and they also raped those girls.”

  “Farrington Security?” Milligan’s shaggy brows lowered.

  “That’s right. Remember the other day I was asking you about prisoner abuse? Well now I think the problem may be a lot bigger than that.”

  “How much bigger?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m starting to think that Farrington Industries is corrupt through and through. Certainly their security branch is, from everything I’ve seen.”

  Milligan peered at him through a haze of smoke. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Nothing…yet. But if I had a gut feeling before, now it’s a full-blown suspicion. I’m gonna investigate. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Milligan sniffed and laid the cigar down.

  “Before you go running off anywhere, go see Judge Maynard. She’s looking for you.”

  “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. But you might want to shave your armpits.”

  Court was in session when Nick walked in, so he took a chair and watched the proceedings. Monica Maynard spotted him and fifteen minutes later called a recess. As she left the bench she made eye contact and inclined her head toward her chambers. Barely a minute later they were alone behind closed doors.

  “I hear you made a trip to Caribou Lake,” she said as he settled into a chair.

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  She smiled. “Nick, when we’re alone, you can call me Monica.”

  He grinned. “Yes, Monica.”

  “How did it go? Kidnapping, wasn’t it?”

  “Suspected kidnapping. In fact, that’s exactly what it was. We were able to recover both victims alive.”

  “Really! That was fast.”

  “We were lucky.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Marshal Murray and myself.”

  “Mm. Russ Murray. Arrogant bastard, isn’t he?”

  Nick dipped his head, but didn’t answer. Monica smiled again.

  “And what about the perp?”

  “Perps—there were two of them that we know of. They’re both dead.”

  She tilted her head. “Dead how?”

  He cleared his throat. “I killed them.”

  “In…self defense?”

  “Yes.”

  �
��Good. I’m sorry I won’t get them into my courtroom, but at least they didn’t get away with it.”

  “Your courtroom? Does your jurisdiction extend to Caribou Lake?”

  “This is a Federation court. My jurisdiction extends all the way around the sun.”

  He nodded. “I guess that makes sense. I just hadn’t thought about it.”

  She sat smiling at him, and the silence stretched for several seconds. He began to feel a little uneasy.

  “The reason I wanted to see you,” she said, “is that while you were gone I had a defendant in here name Murdoch.”

  Nick blinked at her. “Turd Murdoch?”

  “You know him.”

  “Met him once, the night I arrived on Ceres.”

  She nodded. “Mr. Murdoch is no stranger to this courtroom. I’ve had him in front of my bench six or seven times for a variety of offenses, mostly involving assault and personal injury. The case in question this week stems from a beating he delivered a couple of weeks back in which he severely injured a man who dared to stand up to his bullying.”

  Nick frowned. “That was before I met him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why wasn’t he in jail awaiting trial?”

  “He’s an ice drill supervisor, apparently a very good one. His employer posted his bail.”

  “Who’s his employer?”

  “Farrington Industries.”

  Nick said nothing, but mentally filed that item in his Farrington collection.

  “Nick, while he was in the courtroom waiting for his case to be heard, the bailiff heard him mention your name.”

  “My name?”

  “Yes.” She stared at him a moment, concern in her lovely dark eyes. “Exactly what happened the night you met him?”

  “I walked into a bar called the Open Airlock, ordered a beer, and was minding my own business when he approached me and ordered me to leave. I declined his invitation and he attacked me.”

  “Did he hurt you?”