(eng) Mike Resnick - Widowmakers 01 by The Widowmaker

Author:The Widowmaker [Widowmaker, The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13.

At first Nighthawk thought it was simply a shrill whistle. But it continued, and got louder, and higher, and louder still, and suddenly he couldn't think clearly. He doubled over and clasped his hands to his ears. Father Christmas fell out of his chair and rolled on the floor, also holding his ears. The alien fired his pistol, but he was in such sense-destroying agony that the laser beams burned two holes in the ceiling, and then the gun fell to the floor. The alien began shrieking. Droplets of blood appeared in his ears and nostrils and soon became gushing streams. Still the Holy Roller's whistle continued.

Nighthawk realized through a haze of pain that the Roller was actually able to direct the force of its whistling, that as painful as it was, he and Father Christmas were not bearing the brunt of it. Glasses near the alien began shattering, bottles burst, the alien kept screaming and bleeding, and finally collapsed in a heap on the floor. Instantly the Holy Roller went back to purring and rubbing up against Nighthawk.

“That's some pet you've got there,” said Father Christmas groggily, rising to one knee and staring at the Roller. “It sure packs a wallop.”

“It does, doesn't it?” said Nighthawk, still trying to focus his eyes.

He waited until all his senses were working properly again, then got up, walked over, and examined the alien. It was dead.

“That gonna get you in a mess of trouble with the authorities?” asked Father Christmas.

“He was probably the closest thing to an authority this world had,” said Nighthawk, gesturing toward the dead alien.

Suddenly two servo-mechs entered the room.

“Clean the broken glass,” ordered Nighthawk. “Leave the body alone until I tell you what to do with it.”

They immediately went to work straightening up the room, with special attention to the shards of glass.

“Well,” said Father Christmas, “it's obvious that the Marquis doesn't put a lot of trust in you, and when his stooge doesn't report back he's going to figure out that you killed it.”

“I didn't; the Holy Roller did.”

“Same difference. Who do you think he's going to blame—you or an alien animal that looks like a kid's doll and purrs all the time?” Father Christmas smiled. “If it was me, I'd pack my belongings right quick and start considering finding employment elsewhere. I'll still take you on, of course, but I have a feeling not too many other people in this section of the Frontier will once word gets out that the Marquis is looking for you.”

“He won't have far to look,” answered Nighthawk. “I'm going back to Tundra.”

“Without any part of my cargo?”

“I told you—you're free to go.”

“But the situation has changed,” noted Father Christmas. “Now you've got a dead spy on your hands.”

“I'll say you killed him.”

“And you just stood by while I walked away?” asked Father Christmas.

The Holy Roller began bouncing again, while still purring, and finally bounced high enough to settle on Nighthawk's shoulder. He reached over and petted it without thinking, and the fluffball began purring so loudly that it sounded like an engine.

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