A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) (3 page)

"Would you?"

"Probably not. You don't kill an uninformed person for misguided loyalty."

"Then what's the 'probably' about?"

"If she refuses to tell me where he is, or even if she warns him to get off the planet, she gets a pass. If she's complicit in trying to set me up for Pickett, she doesn't." He looked out the window. "It'll be dark in about half an hour. I think we'd better go out to the ship and bring back some clothes."

"The hotel can clean the ones we're wearing in twenty minutes."

"And if some friend of Pickett's has spotted me or works in the laundry, I could wind up going after him in the morning wearing nothing but my shoes."

Kinoshita sighed. "We'll go to the ship." He paused and looked at the young man. "He taught you well. He was always the most careful, meticulous man I ever met. At first it surprised me, a man with his reputation—but I guess that's how he lived long enough to get that reputation."

They took an aircar to the ship, picked up what they needed, and came back to the hotel. The woman at the registration desk stared at them when they returned, but didn't say a word.

Kinoshita went to his own room, and Jeff entered the suite, activated the room's computer, had it bring up maps, building permits, tax records, anything it could find that might help him figure out where Pickett was staying. When he was finally satisfied that he'd learned all he could, he went to sleep.

He was up with the yellow-orange sun the next morning. After he'd shaved and showered he stopped by Kinoshita's room, waited a few minutes for him to finish his ablutions, and then they went to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast.

"Have you got any idea where he is?" asked Kinoshita as he finished his coffee.

Jeff nodded. "Yeah, I think so. There's an unimpressive little house about six miles east of town, not near anything. Gets its water from a well. I think that's where we'll find him."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Yeah," said Jeff. "A house like that on a world like this can't be worth much than twenty or twenty-five thousand credits."

"So?"

"I checked the real estate tax rolls. It's being taxed on an estimated value of four hundred thousand credits."

"Maybe it's sitting on a couple of square miles," suggested Kinoshita.

"It's on three barren acres," said Jeff. "That means most of it is hidden from view. The guy has built himself a luxury home for when he's here, and he obviously doesn't want certain people to know. Now, the locals are aware of how much he's worth, because he donated a wing of the hospital, so it's obviously not an attempt to mislead them. Put it all together and you've got someone with a pile of money who doesn't want any off-worlders to figure out he's living there."

"Not bad," said Kinoshita, visibly impressed.

"You ready?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I just keep wondering if the desk clerk warned him. She's not here this morning."

"Just how many hours a day do you want her to work?"

"You're not worried about it?"

"Would worrying help?" asked Jeff.

Kinoshita sighed deeply, feeling out of his depth, as usual. "Let's go."

They walked out the front door and summoned an aircar. Jeff gave it the coordinates—the place was too far out of town to have an address—and then they sat back and rode in silence across the brown, empty countryside until the vehicle approached the house.

"Stop here," said Jeff when they were eighty yards away.

The aircar stopped and hovered above the ground while Jeff and Kinoshita got out.

"Wait for us," Jeff ordered the aircar, then turned back to the house. He stood perfectly still for a long moment, then began walking. "Okay, I don't see any booby traps. It sure doesn't look like much of a house, does it? If I didn't know how much of it was hidden under the ground, I'd say a team of robots built it in less than a day."

When he was fifty feet from the house a lean, well-muscled man, his hair starting to turn gray at the sides, stepped out of the house and stood on the sparse grass, facing them.

"Stop right there," he said, "and tell me why you're here."

"I'm looking for Jubal Pickett," answered Jeff.

"You don't want him."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Jeff.

"Then let me put it another way," said the man. "You can't have him."

Where have I heard that voice?
thought Kinoshita.
I know it from somewhere.

"There's paper on him, dead or alive," said Jeff. "He can save a lot of wear and tear on all of us if he'll surrender—but one way or another I'm taking him back with me."

"Don't believe everything you read or hear," said the man. "Jubal Pickett has never killed anyone in his life."

"Of course he did," said Jeff. "Along with everything else he's wanted for, he killed two lawmen and a bounty hunter who were after him."

"No he didn't."

Jeff stared at the man. "
You
did," he said at last. "Who are you?"

"My name is Jason Newman," replied the man. "As for who I am, I'm the guy who's not going to let any harm come to an innocent man."

"An innocent man who pays you to protect him."

"With people like you after him, he needs all the protection he can get," was the response.

He's so familiar,
thought Kinoshita.
The way he carries himself, even his choice of words. Where the hell have I seen him before?

"Enough talk," said Jeff ominously. "You're standing between me and the man I've come to collect."

"I've already told you: you don't want him."

"What gives you an insight into what I want?" said Jeff sardonically.

Newman looked amused. "Tell him, Ito."

"Omygod!" exclaimed Kinoshita.

3.

Jeff turned to Kinoshita, puzzled.

"It's
you
, isn't it?" said Kinoshita, never taking his eyes from the man facing them.

Jason Newman nodded. "It's me."

"But . . . but you look so different!"

"The last time we saw each other I told you that I was going to change my face," said Newman. "And of course
this
"—he held up his left hand—"is prosthetic, thanks to our friends back on Pericles. And since so much else was new, I thought I might as well take a new name too."

"Jason, son of Jefferson," said Kinoshita. "And Newman for the new identity. I approve."

"Are you who I think you are?" said Jeff.

"Probably," replied Newman. "It all depends on who you think I am."

"The clone who survived—the one who overthrew Cassius Hill on Pericles IV."

"That's right. And since the first clone died before I was born, I have to assume you're a new one."

"I was created, to quote our progenitor, to take over the family business."

Newman looked at Kinoshita. "How's he been doing?"

"He's the Widowmaker," said Kinoshita, as if that was answer enough.

"The galaxy can use one," said Newman.

"Why did you stop?" asked Jeff.

"Being the Widowmaker, you mean?" replied Newman, as a sudden wind blew clouds of dust through the air. "I completed my assignment. I was created to earn enough money to keep the original alive and frozen in his cryogenic cocoon until they came up with a cure for his disease. Once I'd done that, I figured I'd earned the right to live my own life." He stared curiously at the younger clone. "Haven't you ever felt that way?"

Jeff shook his head. "This is my own life. Your mission was performed with the knowledge that if you were successful, the original Widowmaker would be revived and live again, so your term as the Widowmaker had a finite limit. Me, I'm here so that he could retire from the Widowmaker business. My mission is permanent; there's no time limit on it."

"So are you just a bodyguard called Jason Newman now?" asked Kinoshita, brushing the dust from his tunic as the breeze died down as suddenly as it had begun.

"Not exactly."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"After I recovered from the injuries I suffered on Pericles, I got myself a new face and a new identity, and Cassandra and I moved to the Outer Frontier, way out by the Rim. It seemed a good place to start a new life."

"How did you tean up with Jubal Pickett?" asked Jeff.

"A man named Willis Nordstrom tried to hold me up at gunpoint out on a world named Mistover."

"Not smart," commented Kinoshita.

"I killed him. And two weeks later I saw that there was paper on Jubal Pickett for killing Nordstrom and half a dozen others. I flew to Mallachi VII, where the warrant was issued, to explain that whatever else he'd done, he hadn't killed Nordstrom." Newman paused. "They didn't give a damn. They wouldn't even take Nordstrom's name off the warrant."

"Why not?" asked Kinoshita.

"I wondered about that too," said Newman, "so I began looking into the matter. I learned that Pickett was a very wealthy man, that his primary residence was on Mallachi VII, and that a handful of local politicians had tinkered with the tax code so that the government—all seven members of it—could confiscate the entire holdings, even the off-world holdings, of any citizen convicted of a felony. And a month after the law was passed, they found Pickett guilty of killing nineteen men, women and children, and issued paper on him. I found him before anyone else did, and he convinced me that all of the charges were as phony as the one about killing Nordstrom. I made it my business to find him before any bounty hunters did." He paused again. "And here I am."

"So he's paying you to protect him?" asked Jeff.

"He's not paying me anything," answered Newman. "I don't need the money. I'm doing it because I'm in the justice business, and I'm not going to stand by and watch some bounty hunter kill a man I know to be innocent."

"I've studied that warrant," said Jeff. "Seven of the murders he's accused of committing occurred on Mallachi, including his wife."

"So what?"

"The fact that he didn't kill a man half a galaxy from home doesn't mean he didn't kill his wife."

"He says he didn't do it. I believe him."

"Let him say it to me, and I'll decide if I believe him," said Jeff.

"And if you don't?"

"Then I'll do what I came here to do."

"I won't let you kill him," said Newman.

"Don't stand in my way," said Jeff. "I'm younger than you are, I'm quicker, and I've still got both the hands I was created with."

"I'm
you
—a version of you, anyway. If I vouch for him, that should be enough for you."

"I'm not in the judge or jury business," said Jeff. "The warrant's been issued, the reward's been posted, and my job is to bring him in."

"Look," said Newman. "I can prove he's innocent of one murder, and no one else has proven he's guilty of anything except being rich and living on the wrong world."

"Then let me take him back. You can come along and testify on his behalf in court."

"On Mallachi?" said Newman with a harsh laugh. "They'll convict him before he has a chance to sit down. If he sets foot on that planet he's a dead man." Jeff looked dubious. "Why are you having such a difficult time believing me?" continued Newman. "We share the same DNA, the same fingerprints, the same retinagram. You're the last person I'd lie to."

"That doesn't mean your judgment isn't distorted," answered Jeff. "You've been in Pickett's company for some time now. He's probably become a friend. You've killed three men on his behalf, men in our own profession. It would be very uncomfortable for you to think you killed them for a man who'd murdered his wife and a bunch of others. It's a lot easier to convince yourself he's innocent."

Suddenly the door to the house opened behind Newman, and a gaunt, balding man stepped out into the harsh sunlight.

"Jubal Pickett, I presume?" said Jeff.

"What are you doing out here?" demanded Newman angrily. "I told you to stay put!"

"I've been listening, Jason," said Pickett. "It's clear he isn't going to leave without me, and I won't have you dying on my behalf."

"I have no intention of dying," said Newman, never taking his eyes from Jeff. "And if you'll get inside, there's a possibility that you won't die either."

"I'm tired of running and I'm tired of this world," said Pickett. "Nothing grows on Giancola. It hasn't rained since I've been here, and I haven't see a bird in two months. I'll take my chances on Mallachi."

"Your chances are slim to none," said Newman. "You know that."

"What are
your
chances against a younger, fitter version of yourself?" said Pickett. "Come to Mallachi and testify. Bring the press with you. Maybe it won't go so badly." He turned to Jeff. "I'm ready, young man."

Newman positioned himself between Pickett and Jeff. "
I'm
not ready," he said.

"Damn it!" said Jeff irritably. "We don't have to fight! He's
willing
to go back to Mallachi."

"Only because he thinks he's saving my life," said Newman. "Not quite the behavior you'd expect from the killer of nineteen men and women, is it?"

"Let me go with him, Jason," said Pickett, starting to walk forward. "I'm through letting you put yourself in danger on my behalf."

"You heard him," said Jeff.

"Yes, I did," replied Newman. "That's why I can't step aside."

"One way or another I'm taking him back. There's paper on him and it's my job."

"
He
turned you loose before you'd learned all your lessons," said Newman. "Killing innocent men isn't what you were created for."

"It's not my job to judge them," repeated Jeff stubbornly. "Someone else has already done that. I just bring them in."

"Not this time."

"Don't make me do this."

"You don't have to do anything," said Newman. "Just turn around and go home." He paused. "Ask yourself what the
real
Widowmaker would do."

"I
am
the real Widowmaker," said Jeff angrily. "Don't make me prove it."

"You're going to have to."

"I'll try not to kill you," said Jeff. "You're
me
—a version of me, anyway."