Read an Excerpt
The hotel had a veranda overlooking a small pond. Very few animals came by, but the building and its lights hadn't scared the birds off, and Nighthawk and Kinoshita sat on comfortable chairs, watching them.
"You know," remarked Kinoshita after a few minutes, "maybe there's something to this bird-watching after all."
"Maybe you've found a new hobby."
Three men walked out of the hotel's bar, headed for a table on the veranda. One of them stopped when he was a few feet from Nighthawk and stared at him.
Nighthawk stared back without saying a word.
"Mack! Blitz!" said the man, calling to his companions. "Come over and take a look."
Kinoshita tensed as the two other men joined their companion in front of Nighthawk.
"You got a problem, friend?" asked Nighthawk easily.
"Listen!" said the man. "It's him!"
"Boy, he sure as hell looks like him," agreed the one called Blitz. "And like Rimo says, he sounds like him too."
"But it can't be," said Mack. "Take a good look. He's an old man. That was just a kid."
"Anyone can color his hair," said the first man, the one called Rimo. He took a step closer. "You ever been on a world called Tundra?"
"Tundra?" replied Nighthawk. "Never even heard of it."
"Damn it, that's his voice!" said Blitz.
"Maybe you remember the Marquis of Queensbury?"
Nighthawk shook his head. "I never heard of him, either. You're looking for someoneelse."
"Come on, guys," said Mack. "We're going out into the bush at daybreak. Let's get some sleep."
"Maybe we've found something to hunt right here," said Rimo doggedly.
"I've got no quarrel with anyone," said Nighthawk. "It's a lovely night out. Why not just enjoy it and go about your business?"
"Look at him!" said Mack. "He's got to be fifty-five, maybe sixty. It can't be the same guy."
"I don't care!" snapped Rimo. "I know who it is!"
Just be quiet and keep still, thought Kinoshita. They've been drinking. Don't rile them. Any minute now they'll realize you can't be the twenty-three-year-old who killed the Marquis.
"I've never seen you before in my life," offered Nighthawk.
"That's kind of funny, because I've sure as hell seen you!" said Rimo.
Don't egg him on. Just be quiet and polite and humble and they'll walk away.
"You must be mistaken," said Nighthawk.
"And I think you can't hide who you are behind a gray wig!" shot back Rimo.
Kinoshita sensed a change in his companion, took a quick look at Nighthawk's face, and had a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—because it wasn't Nighthawk's face anymore. It was the Widowmaker's.
"Son," said Nighthawk, "we've done enough talking, and you're standing in my way."
"You going somewhere?" demanded Rimo pugnaciously.
"No."
"Then what's your problem?"
"I'm watching birds."
"Are you?"
"And fools."
Shut up! You're an old man. They may be a little drunk, but there are three of them, damn it! And they're young.
"Who are you calling a fool?"
"If the shoe fits," replied Nighthawk. "You're looking for a kid. Do I look like one to you?"
"You look like an old man who hasn't got the brains to keep his mouth shut."
"And you look like three corpses."
"Corpses?" Rimo laughed. "We're not dead!"
"You will be soon enough if you don't walk on," said Nighthawk ominously.
"You don't have to do this!" whispered Kinoshita.
"They don't have to do this," answered Nighthawk, not lowering his voice. "I was just sitting here minding my own business."
Blitz's hand snaked down toward his laser pistol.
"Don't do it, son," warned Nighthawk.
Blitz's fingers grasped the handle of his gun. Nighthawk's hand flashed as he stood up, and suddenly a knife buried itself in Blitz's neck. Mack went for his gun, but Nighthawk's laser fried him before he could withdraw it.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Rimo, who had been watching, too surprised to move.
"The name is Jefferson Nighthawk." Pause. "Now aren't you sorry you asked?"
"What happened to you?"
"I grew up," said Nighthawk grimly. "And now I've happened to you."
"Walk away!" said Kinoshita urgently. "Don't go for your gun and he'll let you live!"
"Fuck you!" snapped Rimo. "I'm going to be the man who killed the Widowmaker!"
He reached for his weapon, Nighthawk's Burner spewed out its deadly light again, and the younger man fell heavily to the ground.
Nighthawk stepped down from the veranda and nudged each body with his toe while his pistol was still trained on it, just in case there was a spark of life left. Finally he turned to Kinoshita. "Who the hell was the Marquis of Queensbury?"
"He was an outlaw, or maybe you'd call him a warlord," answered Kinoshita. "He controlled half a dozen worlds. Word has it that your first clone killed him."
"You never saw him?"
Kinoshita shook his head. "No."
"So along with Hernandez's men, I could run into the Marquis' men all the hell over the Frontier."
"It's possible."
"And of all these hundreds, maybe thousands, of men who have a grudge against the Widowmaker, you can identify five or six?"
"That's right."
"Shit!" muttered Nighthawk angrily. "All I want is to be left alone!"
You may think that's what you want, but you could have kept quiet and eventually they'd have gone away. Jefferson Nighthawk may want to be left alone, but the Widowmaker is growing stronger every day. I didn't think you were ready to take on three men at once, but he knew, didn't he?
"Well," said Nighthawk with a sigh, as the Widowmaker vanished to some secret place inside him, "let's find out who's in charge and report this. It'll look a lot better than if we just wait for them to find the bodies."
"Right," agreed Kinoshita.
We all have our agendas. You've got yours, which is out in the open. I've got mine, which I haven't confided to you. And I have a feeling the Widowmaker has his—and only he knows what it is.
Kinoshita sighed deeply.
I wonder what happens when they clash, as sooner or later they will?
