Read Online The Widowmaker: Volume 1 in the Widowmaker Trilogy by Mike Resnick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mike Resnick
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huge thumb coming for his ear until it was too late. A million bells chimed inside his head, and suddenly he had difficulty keeping his balance.
He sensed that the Marquis was coming toward him, but all he could do was spin crazily to his left, extend his arms, and hope for the best. He felt the edge of his hand chop across the Marquis’ neck, and then he was grabbing the bar again, trying desperately to stay on his feet.
He waited for the Marquis’ final charge, wondered what form it would take, wondered if he would even be able to see it coming ... but for a moment nothing happened.
Then the Marquis laughed again. “By God, Jefferson Nighthawk, I do believe you're as tough as you think you are!"
Suddenly Nighthawk felt a powerful arm supporting him.
"We'll have another drink, and then we'll go to my office and talk business.” The Marquis paused and looked out at the crowd. “From this minute forward, this man works for me and speaks for me. An insult to him is an insult to me, and if anyone cheats him in any way, they've cheated me. Is that clear?"
The crowd reaction—total silence, and a number of bitter glances—told him that it may not have been popular, but it was clear.
"What about my friend?” asked Nighthawk, indicating Lizard Malloy.
"I'm feeling generous today,” answered the Marquis. He turned to Malloy. “Listen to me, you little swindler: you return my money before you leave the casino, and maybe I'll let you live. You take one step outside before I get what's mine, you're dead meat. Do you understand?"
"What's this ‘maybe’ shit?” demanded Malloy. “If I give you your money, I get to walk."
The Marquis turned to a burly bearded man. “Kill him."
"Wait a minute!” shrilled Malloy. “Wait a minute. It's a deal!"
The man aimed his weapon at Malloy and looked at the Marquis.
"You're sure it's a deal?” asked the Marquis. “I mean, I do admire bravery in a man."
"It's a deal,” repeated Malloy, deflated.
The Marquis nodded, and the gunman put his weapon away.
"And now, my friend,” said the Marquis, turning to Nighthawk, “let's go enjoy the comfort and privacy of my office."
"If your furniture's any good, maybe we'd better stop bleeding first,” suggested Nighthawk.
"Good idea,” said the Marquis. He pulled a banknote out of his pocket and slapped it on the bar. “Fifty credits says I stop before you do."
Nighthawk matched the bet. “You're on."
The Marquis grinned again. “Jefferson, my boy, I have the feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful working relationship."
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5.
The Marquis of Queensbury's office reflected its owner's tastes. The furniture was rugged, built for large, muscular men. The bar was well-stocked. There was a glass-enclosed room filled with boxes of cigars from all over the galaxy. Music— human music—was piped in. A reinforced window offered a view of Klondike. Paintings and holographs of human and alien nudes, far more provocative than those in the bar, hung on the walls or floated just in front of them. A trio of display cases held jeweled alien artifacts.
As they sat down, the huge man looked intently at Nighthawk for a long moment, trying to see past the blood and the swellings.
"You're a clone, aren't you?” he asked at last.
"Yes."
"I thought so!"
"It was the name, right?"
The Marquis shook his head. “No. Out here people change names like they change clothes. There are probably a dozen Jefferson Nighthawks on the Frontier."
"Then...?"
"There are other ways of telling. For one thing, I've seen holos of the Widowmaker.” He paused. “I've never seen a clone before. I find that more interesting than whose clone you happen to be."
"Oh?"
"Yes. For example, how old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"Not physically, but actually?"
Nighthawk sighed. “Three months."
The Marquis grinned. “I thought so!” He continued to stare at Nighthawk. “What's it like to have no past, no memories?"
"I
He sensed that the Marquis was coming toward him, but all he could do was spin crazily to his left, extend his arms, and hope for the best. He felt the edge of his hand chop across the Marquis’ neck, and then he was grabbing the bar again, trying desperately to stay on his feet.
He waited for the Marquis’ final charge, wondered what form it would take, wondered if he would even be able to see it coming ... but for a moment nothing happened.
Then the Marquis laughed again. “By God, Jefferson Nighthawk, I do believe you're as tough as you think you are!"
Suddenly Nighthawk felt a powerful arm supporting him.
"We'll have another drink, and then we'll go to my office and talk business.” The Marquis paused and looked out at the crowd. “From this minute forward, this man works for me and speaks for me. An insult to him is an insult to me, and if anyone cheats him in any way, they've cheated me. Is that clear?"
The crowd reaction—total silence, and a number of bitter glances—told him that it may not have been popular, but it was clear.
"What about my friend?” asked Nighthawk, indicating Lizard Malloy.
"I'm feeling generous today,” answered the Marquis. He turned to Malloy. “Listen to me, you little swindler: you return my money before you leave the casino, and maybe I'll let you live. You take one step outside before I get what's mine, you're dead meat. Do you understand?"
"What's this ‘maybe’ shit?” demanded Malloy. “If I give you your money, I get to walk."
The Marquis turned to a burly bearded man. “Kill him."
"Wait a minute!” shrilled Malloy. “Wait a minute. It's a deal!"
The man aimed his weapon at Malloy and looked at the Marquis.
"You're sure it's a deal?” asked the Marquis. “I mean, I do admire bravery in a man."
"It's a deal,” repeated Malloy, deflated.
The Marquis nodded, and the gunman put his weapon away.
"And now, my friend,” said the Marquis, turning to Nighthawk, “let's go enjoy the comfort and privacy of my office."
"If your furniture's any good, maybe we'd better stop bleeding first,” suggested Nighthawk.
"Good idea,” said the Marquis. He pulled a banknote out of his pocket and slapped it on the bar. “Fifty credits says I stop before you do."
Nighthawk matched the bet. “You're on."
The Marquis grinned again. “Jefferson, my boy, I have the feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful working relationship."
[Back to Table of Contents]
5.
The Marquis of Queensbury's office reflected its owner's tastes. The furniture was rugged, built for large, muscular men. The bar was well-stocked. There was a glass-enclosed room filled with boxes of cigars from all over the galaxy. Music— human music—was piped in. A reinforced window offered a view of Klondike. Paintings and holographs of human and alien nudes, far more provocative than those in the bar, hung on the walls or floated just in front of them. A trio of display cases held jeweled alien artifacts.
As they sat down, the huge man looked intently at Nighthawk for a long moment, trying to see past the blood and the swellings.
"You're a clone, aren't you?” he asked at last.
"Yes."
"I thought so!"
"It was the name, right?"
The Marquis shook his head. “No. Out here people change names like they change clothes. There are probably a dozen Jefferson Nighthawks on the Frontier."
"Then...?"
"There are other ways of telling. For one thing, I've seen holos of the Widowmaker.” He paused. “I've never seen a clone before. I find that more interesting than whose clone you happen to be."
"Oh?"
"Yes. For example, how old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"Not physically, but actually?"
Nighthawk sighed. “Three months."
The Marquis grinned. “I thought so!” He continued to stare at Nighthawk. “What's it like to have no past, no memories?"
"I
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