“What about me?” asked the Hunter evenly.
“Well,” said Santiago, scratching his head, “it’s just that you sort of force us to make a decision. About you, I mean. We can’t really hold you here or anything; we have no legal authority. But then again, laws and all of that are kind of touch and go these days, so then again, who’s to say we don’t? I guess we could just let you go, send you on your way, but somehow that doesn’t seem right, either. What does everyone think? What should we do with him?”
At first no one spoke and the Hunter waited, feeling their stares, until finally one of the Council members, a little black man with a loud voice, spoke up.
“This dude gotta name?” he asked. “I mean, we can’t jus’ call him “him” alla time, can we? Hell, for that matter, we don’t know squat about this dude, one way or another!”
All eyes swiveled back to him and the Hunter scowled slightly. “My name’s Shipman,” he said, staring back. “Jack Shipman.”
“Well there ya go,” said the black guy. “That’s a start, right? So what else? Obviously you’re some kinda mercenary or somethin’. What were ya Before, Mr. Shipman?”
Uncomfortable, the Hunter shifted in his seat. “I was a bounty hunter,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Still am, for that matter.”
“Ah ha,” said Santiago, nodding. “And you were hired by the Governor, right? But to do what, exactly?”
“Grab the Old Man,” said the Hunter laconically, “an’ bring him to New America.”
“Of course,” said Santiago, nodding. “And then the Governor would… what? We don’t have the facilities here to create a vaccine, so what was he going to do with Mr. Lampert?”
“Sell him,” said the Hunter, with a slight shrug. “Vend him off to the highest bidder. Most likely these folks out in Frisco, I guess.”
Apparently this was a little too much for the CDC com specialist, Swails, who now stood up and, eyes bulging, loudly interrupted.
“I can’t believe,” she said hotly, “that you’re seriously listening to this guy! He’s nothing less than a murderer! A kidnapper and a thief and a murderer! I say we lock him up and throw the key into the ocean!”
“OK, OK,” said Santiago, patting the air. “Just take it easy, alright? We all heard about what he did.”
Swails scowled and was obviously ready with more, but nurse Cass and Doctor Kaes calmed her down and got her to take her seat, where she muttered and continued to glare daggers. Santiago turned back to the group.
“The issue here,” he said expansively, “as far as I’m concerned, is not what he’s done. After all, most of us here have killed someone since the Fall. Or we’ve been involved in helping someone else to kill someone. Either way, if this was Before, we’d all be up on murder charges. I mean, it’s nothing any of us is proud of, but this isn’t Before, is it? This is now, and that means survival, plain and simple. We don’t have the luxury of thinking in terms of Pre-Fall law and order, mainly because law and order are gone! Caught the Sick and died, so to speak. So the idea that we can judge this man, whatever his actions, isn’t really something we probably wanna get into. We don’t have time to argue philosophy.”
There was some general hubbub about this, mainly scowls and angry whispers from Swails and the other CDC folks, plus a few of the Council. Then Doctor Kaes, newly shaved and dressed in a plain white coverall jumpsuit, stood up and raised his voice.
“I beg to differ,” he said stiffly, blushing a little. “That is, much as I admire your pragmatism, I cannot condone the taking of human life. Ever. Under any conditions whatsoever. It isn’t a matter of philosophy, it’s a matter of right and wrong. And murder is always wrong. Even now, after the Fall. And what’s more, let me assure you, neither I nor any of my colleagues has ever killed anyone. I can’t speak for Teresa, of course, but even with all we’ve been through, none of the rest of us has been forced to that.”
“Then yer awful fuckin’ lucky, pal,” came a deep voice like gravel on asphalt. It was the big man, Lumler, the former PF man, who now shook his head disgustedly, without rising. “That, or yer just plain chickenshit. Hell, why are we even listening to this pacifist crap?”
This, of course, brought a whole big noise of protest from Kaes, his group, and more than a few others, and pretty soon the whole theater was echoing with angry words of accusations and counter-accusations. The Hunter sat back and waited. For a second he thought of standing up and saying something, but no one would have heard him anyway, so he just sat and let them argue. Finally, after maybe a good ten minutes of bickering, the nasal, wheezy voice of none other than Howard Lampert rang out, cutting through the clamor like a rusty bugle.
“Shut up, allaya!” he called harshly. “Just shut the fuck up for one minute, alright?!”
Sort of confusedly, the assembly quieted down, looking at each other and shrugging. Lampert nodded and, painfully rising from his seat, headed up to the podium. The Hunter saw that the dried-up old coot was freshly dressed, shaved and clean, and apparently no worse the wear for his imprisonment in the mines. There was a long pause as Lampert, rejecting assistance, tottered on up to the front of the room. Then he looked down critically at the New Americans before him and gave a snort.
“Look at all of you,” he said sneeringly. “So self-righteous, so sanctimonious. Call yourself the Reform Council all you want, but really all you are is a gang. Thugs, murderers, thieves and terrorists. Just a gang like any other. Yeah, yer a real sweet bunch alright, real prime specimens of the species.
“But I’m here to tellya,” he said after a pause, glaring pointedly at Santiago, “that these CDC people, Dr. Kaes and his crew, are not like you. Understand? Shit, didn’t you hear what they’ve been through? All the shit they’ve put up with? And through all of that, from the moment I met ‘em to right now, they have never, ever stooped to your level. Never harmed a hair on head one, no matter how insane or violent the survie they came across. You can call ‘em pacifists, or chickenshit or whatever damn thing you wanna call ‘em, but here’s the plain facts—they are still human, or at least humane. Get me? They’re good people, and not in some daffy, goodie-two-shoes bullshit way, neither. They do good things. In other words, they still care about their fellow man.”
He paused and caught his breath as an uneasy silence came over the NA group. Finally Lampert went on.
“And with all they’ve been through,” he waved, “what the fuck thanks are they gonna get? Who’s gonna thank ‘em for saving the whole damn species, even if they manage to do it? Not you screwheads, that’s for sure! You’re too busy fighting over what’s left of fucking Lawrence, Kansas! I mean, what is the goddamn point?!”
“Sir, I—” Santiago tried to say, when the Old Man paused for breath, but Lampert cut him off.
“Quiet, you!” he snapped, staring Santiago back down into his seat. “I ain’t done yet. Now, I don’t know what kinda plans you got for me and Doctor Kaes and his mission, but I do know that if you don’t do everything in your power to help him, do whatever he says, you’re all nothing more than a bunch of fucking morons, too goddamn stupid to save your own species. And that’s all I wanna say about that.
“As far as this Shipman fella goes, well, I hate to tell ya, Erin and Doc Kaes and you guys, but this man is valuable, like it or not. Deadly and homicidal, but valuable. And he could really help in your mission. I dunno, mebbe you could think of him as I weapon, you know? Point him at something you want to die. Not that I’m sayin’ you should trust him, either, but you gotta admit, he’s shown that he’s pretty damned good in a fight. But hell, did you ever think of maybe asking him what he wants to do? I mean shit, we been here for hours now and he ain’t put more than three words together yet!”