But even as the well-wishers tried to absorb this, Capelli fired again and a second stink fell not two feet from the first. It was second nature for Capelli to eject the partially used magazine, and insert a new one in its place, as members of the embarrassed security force entered the church, their heads swiveling back and forth.
There was a moment of silence. Terri was first to speak. Her breath fogged the air. “It was a trick,” she said thoughtfully. “The stinks left two Chameleons behind to kill anybody who came out of hiding after they were gone. Thank God for Rowdy.” The dog, who was oblivious to that sort of praise, continued to lick himself.
Capelli returned the Colt to its holster. “Sorry about that, Reverend! Where were we?”
The minister’s face was ashen, and the hands that cradled the Bible began to tremble. “Do you, Susan Farley, take this man to be your husband?”
Susan smiled serenely. “I do.”
“Give her the ring,” Rawlings instructed. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” And with that, the minister hurried away. It was December 25, 1953, and the best Christmas Capelli could remember.
You don’t deserve her, the voice inside Capelli’s head observed. But welcome to the family.
It had been raining for two days when Tom Hunter and a force of twenty regulators closed in on the town of Haven. They wore cowboy hats of various hues and long oilskin dusters, split so as to hang down along both flanks of their well-groomed horses. All of them carried arms and ammo made at Shipdown and Tunnel-Through. A policy calculated to simplify training, logistics, and repair.
And making the regulators even more dangerous was the fact that one of them was armed with a pulse cannon, two men were equipped with Chimeran field generators, and four carried Ravager-style energy shields. They could not only take on a Chimeran hunter-killer team if forced to do so, but had the capacity to subdue most of the communities within a fifty-mile radius of Tunnel-Through.
But that wasn’t Hunter’s mission. He had been sent into the countryside to persuade the communities to join what Ramsey called the New American Empire. Because, as the judge liked to put it, “The smart ones will take one look at our regulators, realize that we could wipe them out if we chose to, and join up. We’ll deal with the stupid ones later.”
The plan made sense, and as the regulators thundered into Haven, they had already brought two isolated groups of survivors into the fold. And Hunter saw no reason why the community of Haven would be any different. Though hidden from the Chimera, the town was well known to the locals.
Horses snorted and their hooves clattered as the riders brought their mounts to an intentionally showy halt. With the exception of a few men who had been ordered to keep their weapons ready, the rest of the regulators sat with their hands on their pommels. Details that Hunter knew the citizens of Haven would take note of.
The town was deserted, or so it seemed as a steady drizzle fell, and water dripped from the brim of Hunter’s hat. But he knew eyes were on him as he lifted the bullhorn that hung from his saddle and spoke into it. “Citizens of Haven! I know you’re out there—and I know you can hear me. My name is Tom Hunter. I was sent by Tunnel-Through’s founder, Judge George Ramsey, to deliver a very special invitation.”
A good ten minutes of silence followed. But Hunter understood. The regulators had taken the community by surprise, and there was a need to confer before a response was forthcoming. But eventually the front door of what had clearly been a bank opened and four people emerged.
The delegation included an old man and a middle-aged woman, both of whom were sharing a large umbrella. Two bodyguards brought up the rear. One was bare-headed in spite of the rain and armed with a V7 Splicer. The other wore a knit cap pulled down over his ears and was carrying what Hunter recognized as an HVAP Wraith minigun. And judging from the way he held it, the man with the cap knew what he was doing.
Both weapons had clearly been chosen because of the horrific damage they could inflict on the tightly massed regulators. Suddenly, Hunter wondered if the show of force had been a good idea. But it was too late to redeploy his men, so all he could do was put a good face on things. “Good morning,” Hunter said, raising a hand to touch the brim of his hat. “Like I said earlier, my name is Tom Hunter.”
“I’m Terri Locke,” the woman replied, as she looked up at the man who loomed over her. “The man on my right is Mr. Potter. I’m the mayor and he’s a member of the city council.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Hunter said. “I don’t like having guns aimed at me. Please tell your bodyguards to point those weapons somewhere else.”
“And we don’t like uninvited guests,” Terri replied grimly. “Order your men to pull out—and I’ll tell my men to lower their weapons.”
Hunter wasn’t used to push-back and didn’t like it. But his orders were clear: Bring people into the empire peacefully if possible. He forced a smile. “Have it your way. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be on the same side soon. Judge Ramsey is trying to unite all of the local communities under a single government. He calls it the New American Empire.”
“Why?” Terri inquired suspiciously. “So he can run everything?”
“No,” Hunter replied patiently. “So we can fight the stinks more effectively and take our country back.”
“That’s what the federal government is for.”
“Really?” Hunter said sarcastically. “What has the federal government done for you lately? More than that, where the hell are they?
“Whereas we’re right here. And we can offer you and your citizens more protection than you can provide for yourselves, health care from a real doctor, and vaccinations against the Chimeran virus.”
Hunter saw the look on Terri’s face and nodded. “You heard correctly. I’ve been vaccinated and so have my men. So if a Spinner bites one of us we won’t turn. Nor will our families. And that’s a powerful incentive to join up. What do you say?”
“That’s a wonderful development if true,” Terri replied. “But a decision to place Haven under Judge Ramsey’s leadership and control is no small thing. Especially in light of the fact that one of our residents used to live in Tunnel-Through—and he paints a rather bleak picture of life there. In any case, I will have to discuss this matter with my constituents.”
“Who have you got?” Hunter demanded confrontationally. “Mathers? Shaw? Both of them are liars. But if you want more information, then send someone to talk the situation over with the judge. But don’t take too long. Other communities are joining up—and you wouldn’t want to be left out.”
With that, Hunter jerked his mount’s head around and sent the beast galloping out of town. The rest of the regulators followed suit. Half a dozen piles of steaming manure marked where they had been gathered.
Once the last rider had disappeared from sight, Kosmo turned to Capelli. “Well, doggie! That was fun, wasn’t it? By the way, it’s a good thing we didn’t have to open up on the bastards, because the HVAP doesn’t work.”
Capelli looked down at the Wraith and back up again. “You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Kosmo said matter-of-factly. “Wraith parts are real hard to come by.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I figured it might have a negative impact on your morale.”
“You’re a rotten sonofabitch… You know that?”
Kosmo grinned agreeably. “That’s what they tell me. Let’s go. I’m getting wet.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
STARS AND STRIPES