Asteroid Outpost (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 1) Page 5

  Milligan’s cigar had gone out. He relit it.

  “What’s going on in your head, Walker?”

  Nick leaned back in his chair.

  “When I was in the courtroom a little while ago I saw two security men rough up a prisoner. It was a simple arraignment for criminal negligence; the guy only wanted to talk to his lawyer. The security goons were from Farrington, so I was wondering if that’s common around here.”

  “Probably depends on who you ask. So ask around.”

  Nick nodded. “Okay.”

  “Just remember…the security people are supposed to be on the same side we are. And they outnumber us a couple hundred to one.”

  Nick’s eyebrows floated as he gazed at the old marshal. Was that a warning?

  Milligan noticed.

  “All I’m saying is, be sure of your ground before you take a stand. Don’t borrow trouble unless you really need it.”

  Nick returned the old man’s gaze for a moment, then grinned.

  “Trouble is our business, isn’t it? That’s what I trained for.”

  Milligan sighed and spun back to his monitor, shaking his head.

  “Fucking kids!” he muttered. “You all think you’re gonna live forever.”

  Centerville - Ceres

  Nick had seen the two E-cars parked in front of the office and used one to get to his hotel, which was in a different habitat than Government Annex. The cars were old and battered, nothing fancy about them, and ran on battery power. The only distinguishing features were the stencils on the doors that identified them as belonging to the U.F. Marshal’s office; they had a top speed of about ten knots.

  Nick left the office for the second time that morning and climbed into the pilot’s seat of the newer looking car. He turned onto the street that led to the south tunnel and tooled along at a snail’s pace until he reached the edge of the habitat. Each habitat was connected to the next by one or more tunnels; to enter or leave the tunnels one passed through a double airlock system. The locks were open most of the time, but would close under emergency depressurization to minimize loss of atmosphere and life. For Nick, entering the tunnel was no different than driving across a bridge back on Terra, and mere minutes later he emerged into the Centerville habitat.

  On an impulse, he stopped at the hotel and went up to his room. Rummaging through his space bag, he drew out the Ru-Hawk .44 and hefted it lovingly. Marshal Milligan was right, of course—such a weapon was far too powerful to use in a controlled environment in space, or even on Ceres…but for some reason Nick felt compelled to carry it. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but four years in the Star Marines and fifteen months in combat had taught him to trust his instincts. Right now he had a gut feeling, nothing more than that, but he refused to ignore it. He pulled the laser pistol out of his shoulder holster and replaced it with the .44, though it barely fit. Then he strapped on a conventional gun belt and placed the laser in the belt holster. People might laugh, or people might sneer, but fuck ‘em—with his badge on his shirt and his laser on his hip, they would know he was a lawman.

  Nick locked his room and headed down the stairs. In the hotel lobby he was halfway to the front door when someone called to him.

  “Marshal Walker?”

  Nick stopped and spun to his left, senses alert. The person who’d called him was a young fellow about his own age, tall and gangly and painfully thin. He was carrying a tool kit and looked nervous; he glanced about uneasily as Nick strode toward him.

  “Are you Marshal Walker?”

  “Yes, I am. Who are you?”

  The skinny guy tried on a smile, but it looked forced and unnatural. He stuck out his hand.

  “I’m Fred Ferguson. I, uh…came here to find you.”

  Nick nodded, looking him up and down. Ferguson’s hair, barbered in back, was too long in front, long strands covering half his face. His skin seemed greasy and unhealthy, as if he hadn’t bathed in a while, and he was pale…no surprise considering the lack of real sunlight in this place. Nick accepted his hand and shook it.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Ferguson glanced around again, as if fearing he might have been followed.

  “Look, maybe it’s none of my business, but I thought I ought to warn you.”

  “Okay. About what?”

  Ferguson blinked several times.

  “I was there last night. In the Open Airlock.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. The joint had been packed with scruffy, unwashed bodies, too many faces to remember. He didn’t recognize this one.

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “The guy you beat up last night…the big one?”

  “They were both pretty big.”

  “Yeah, but the first one, the one who challenged you…”

  “What about him?”

  This time Ferguson turned almost in a complete circle, looking for threats. Then he lowered his voice.

  “He says he’s gonna kill you. I just—thought you might want to know.”

  Nick felt his pulse spike a little; he hadn’t been on the asteroid a whole day yet and he already had a death threat. He must be doing something right.

  “He wants to kill me over a bar fight?”

  “You humiliated him. Nobody’s ever beaten him in a fight before, and now his reputation is on the line. Only way he can save it is to kill you.”

  Nick’s tongue traced his top lip as he considered that.

  “How come you’re warning me, Fred? What’s in it for you?”

  For just a moment a flash of life brightened Ferguson’s eyes. “Because I really enjoyed seeing you kick the shit out of him. He fucks with everybody, browbeats everybody. He thought you would be a pushover, but you surprised him.”

  Nick grinned slowly and Fred Ferguson actually smiled.

  “Okay, Fred. Thanks for the warning. What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Turd Murdoch.”

  Nick stared at him in disbelief.

  “His name is Turd?”

  “Yeah. Turd Murdoch. He’s an ice drill supervisor, works for—”

  “His mother actually named him Turd?”

  Ferguson’s smile died.

  “Well—I don’t know about his mother, if he even has one. But that’s his name. Turd.”

  “What else did he say? Did he say when or how?”

  “No. But after you left, he started telling everybody that you were a dead man. Said no two-bit pussy lawman could do what you did and live to brag about it.”

  “Two-bit pussy lawman.”

  “Yessir. That’s what he called you.”

  “And he comes to the bar every night?”

  “Yes, sir, Marshal. He’s there every night. He gets off shift at 1600 and he’s there by 1630. Stays till about 0100.”

  “What about the other people in the bar? Are they loyal to…Turd?”

  Ferguson shrugged. “I’d say most of them are loyal to whoever proves to be the baddest ass. We’re all survivors out here, Marshal. Nobody much stands on principle, we just do what we can to stay alive. If that means kissing Turd’s ass then we kiss his ass. If somebody else comes along and beats him out, we’ll start kissing a new ass.”

  Like you’re kissing mine right now? Nick didn’t ask.

  “How many of them would be happy to see Turd go?” he said instead.

  “Probably most of ‘em. At one time or another Turd has dumped on everybody, so nobody’s gonna shed too many tears if he gets his ass whooped.” Ferguson cleared his throat. “You seem like a nice guy, Marshal. I figured if anybody can whoop Turd, you can. But not if he ambushes you first.”

  “Does Turd carry any weapons?”

  “I think he has a knife. Just about everybody on Ceres carries a weapon of some kind.”

  Nick nodded slowly and stared thoughtfully through the front window of the lobby. He turned back to Ferguson.

  “Okay, Fred, thanks. And if I see you in the Open Airlock, we’ve never met. Right?”

  Ferguson g
rinned in relief. “Yes, sir, Marshal! I was just about to suggest that.”

  On the move - Ceres

  Nick left the hotel and headed south out of Centerville. He figured to spend a few hours touring the entire settlement; so far he’d seen only a fraction of it, and his job demanded he become familiar with the terrain. The pressure tunnel leading out of Centerville brought him to an industrial area with a sign that read FARRINGTON SOUTH.

  Only a quarter the size of Centerville, Farrington South looked like a factory complex, the entire area crammed with buildings, girders, and storage tanks. Nick drove around the periphery to see what he could see, but had little idea what he was looking at. Cranes, girders, and catwalks jutted above the buildings, giant pipes connected buildings with tanks, and electric vehicles moved to and fro, both on the ground and in the air. Hardhat workers bustled about, operating equipment or overseeing each other; harsh floodlights cast a glare over the entire scene, and the noise was horrific.

  Nick was able to circle the entire complex by staying on the narrow road outside the forcefence, but when he’d made a complete circuit he turned into the main gate and stopped at the guard shack. A grim looking security guard leaned into his E-car and glowered at him. He looked about thirty, hard-muscled, with a thick but neatly trimmed beard.

  “I’m new in town,” Nick told him casually. “What is this place?”

  The guard glanced at the badge on his shirt and his scowl deepened.

  “New in town, huh? How new are you?”

  “Got in eighteen hours ago. I’m making a tour of the asteroid, thought I’d start here.”

  The guard grunted and straightened up. He glanced over his shoulder as if to see whether anyone was watching him.

  “Is there a problem?” Nick asked, keeping his tone even. “Maybe something you want to tell me?”

  The guard stared at him a moment, then leaned into the car again.

  “You know a man named Turd Murdoch?”

  Nick’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “I think I met him last night. Can’t say I know him.”

  The guard studied him a moment, then inclined his head toward the factory.

  “This here is Farrington South,” he said. “Water crusher.”

  Nick showed his surprise. “Water crusher?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know you could crush water.”

  “You can’t, but you can crush ice. That’s what this place does.”

  “So why don’t you call it an ice crusher?”

  “Because I didn’t name the goddamn thing!”

  “Where do you get the ice from?”

  “That comes from Farrington North.” The guard pointed. “That would be—”

  “North,” Nick finished for him.

  “Right. They mine the ice, we crush it. Then we melt it—”

  “And store it in those tanks,” Nick guessed.

  “You’re good.”

  “How do you get the ice from North to South? I don’t see any trucks coming this way.”

  “Underground conveyers. We also crush ice for the other mining companies, then pipe the water back to their tanks.”

  “And where does all this water end up?”

  “Outer Worlds, mostly. None of the worlds outside the Belt have reliable water supplies, so they buy from us. Mars buys a lot of it, too, although they do have permafrost of their own.”

  Nick nodded thoughtfully. The guard seemed to know an awful lot about the operation for a guy who just watched the gate. On an impulse, he stuck out his hand.

  “Nick Walker. United Federation Marshal.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You do!”

  “Yeah. Like I said, Turd Murdoch.”

  The guard ignored his hand, so Nick lowered it.

  “What’s your name?”

  “You don’t need to know my name.”

  Nick shrugged. “Fair enough. How long you been out here?”

  “Too goddamn long.”

  Nick smiled and narrowed his eyes.

  “What’re you hiding from?”

  The guard’s eyes hardened and his lips compressed. He didn’t answer.

  “From what I hear,” Nick went on, “just about everybody on this rock is running from or hiding from something, so it’s not like I’m trying to single you out.”

  “What the fuck, are you tryin’ to be my buddy?”

  “Anything wrong with that?”

  “Yeah. You’re wearing a badge.”

  Nick nodded slowly, heaved a deep sigh, and reached for the throttle.

  “Thanks for the guided tour. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  The guard stepped back as Nick turned the car. Just as he was about to drive away, the guard slapped the vehicle roof with his hand, and Nick stopped. The guard leaned in again.

  “Statutory rape,” he said.

  Nick gazed at him without a reply, and the guard’s eyes took on a tortured look.

  “I was nineteen, she was seventeen. We were gonna get married. But then she got pregnant.”

  Nick’s lips compressed as he began to suspect the rest.

  “Even her parents vouched for me,” the man said, “but the goddamn district attorney filed felony charges and demanded a life sentence.”

  “A life sentence!”

  “Yeah. For making love to the girl I was gonna marry.”

  “The jury went for it?”

  “They did. The way the DA set it up, they didn’t have much choice. The law didn’t make exceptions, he said. Love didn’t enter into it, he said. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, he said. It all boiled down to whether we had sex and whether she was under age. Period. Obviously we’d had sex because she was pregnant—and I never denied it. And obviously she was under age because she was seventeen. So it was open and shut.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Boston, North America’s hotbed of religious fundamentalist insanity. Goddamn Jesus freaks, all of them!”

  Nick shook his head sympathetically. “How the hell did you get out here? I would have thought they’d lock you up until sentencing.”

  “They did. Thank god the judge had a conscience. He gave me a choice of hard time or exile to the asteroids. Wasn’t much of a choice.”

  “I guess not.”

  “So you see, Marshal, I’m not hiding from anything. I can leave here any time I want to, but when I do I go straight into lockup, and I won’t ever be getting out.” The guard smiled bitterly. “And I was gonna be a school teacher.”

  “What happened to your girl friend and the baby?”

  “I dunno. She wrote to me for a couple of years, but I told her to get on with her life. I ain’t ever going home, so there was no point in her hanging on to me. Finally she stopped communicating, and I try not to think about.”

  Nick was silent a moment. If the guard was telling the truth, it was a story too terrible to think about. He stuck his hand out the window again.

  “That’s a horrible story,” he said. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  The guard shook his hand this time. “My name is Tim Barron. Nice to meet you, Marshal.”

  “Glad I met you, too.”

  “One more thing—you watch out for Turd Murdoch. I’m not much of a fan of law enforcement types, but I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  Chapter 7

  Turning east from Farrington South, Nick followed the pressure tunnel through a small habitat housing another mining operation, Astral Fountains, and continued until he reached another residential habitat. This was Ghetto Gardens, and looked very similar to Centerville, but was only half the size. From there he had no option but to travel north, the route taking him through East Village and Ceres North, also residential habitats. All three habitats were nearly identical, featuring several square blocks of compact housing structures, a small park with artificial sunlight, two or three markets, a dozen or more bars, a building that resembled a fire station, and a Farringto
n security office. He had seen a school in Centerville—a very small one—but none here. Very few people were on the streets and he only saw two women, both in the company of armed guards.

  The tunnel out of Ceres North was a long one that ended at a freight terminal, known locally as a B-terminal.

  According to the information he had downloaded earlier, Ceres had three B-terminals with access to surface transportation. Here, piped water from the ice crushers was loaded into tanks for shipping; the tanks were lifted to the surface and loaded onto cargo ships. The water froze again as soon as it reached the surface and was shipped to final destination as a solid.

  Nick circled the terminal slowly and looked the operation over, but like Farrington South, entry was restricted by a security barrier. He could see portable tanks being shifted onto a cargo lift and others being filled with water. Literally thousands of shipping tanks were stacked about waiting to be filled, and men in hard hats bustled about. Once again he saw overhead cranes and catwalks, much like a shipyard on a planet.

  Moving west from the terminal Nick entered Farrington North, another crushing operation, and turned south again. Passing through System Springs, another mining operation, he finally returned to Government Annex. In a little over an hour he had toured eighty percent of Ceres, and had seen the general layout. What he missed, according to his map, lay just west and a little north of Government Annex—Farrington Industries headquarters—and south of that, Colonial Waters. Nick was anxious to visit the Farrington facility, but not just yet. For some reason he couldn’t yet explain, he had an uneasy feeling about FI, and before he dropped in it would be prudent to have as much information as possible. There was no rush.

  Government Annex - Ceres

  Nick walked into the office to find a ceiling fan sucking cigar smoke out of the air. Marshal Milligan was still at his desk, looking grumpy, but two other men were also present, both of them wearing U.F. Marshal badges. They turned curious eyes on Nick as he came to a stop in the middle of the room.