StarCraft II: Devils' Due (21 page)

Jim tensed slightly at the words but said nothing as

Cadaver and his cronies limped, lurched, stumbled,

or were carried out, some of them casting hate-fil ed

glances behind them as they left. Tychus turned to the

surly bartender, who also looked at him with

contempt.

“Looks like we made a right mess here,” Tychus

said, counting out credits. “This should cover repairs.

And this is a little something to cleanse your lily-white

innocent mind of this terrible scene you were forced to

witness.”

The man looked at the amount and brightened

considerably. “Mr. Findlay, you and Mr. Raynor are

welcome to trash my joint any time you want.”

He plunked two bottles of ice-cold beer in front of

them and they al grinned. Jim picked up the bottle

and took a swig.

“Tychus, I stil want to—”

“I know, Jimmy. Whatever is going on, I can see it’s

important to you. I’m thinking I’l enjoy letting O’Banon

stew awhile after this bul shit he just pul ed on us

anyway. I’l drop you off on Shiloh and give you a day

to conduct your business. But then no slacking.

Deal?”

Jim grinned. The gesture hurt like hel as he

realized he’d gotten at least one good punch in the

face, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He clinked his

bottle against Tychus’s.

“Deal,” he said.

CENTERVILLE, SHILOH

It was early fal , and the heat was searing.

Jim squinted in the bright sun as the dust devils

swirled about him, kicking up little puffs as he walked.

He had sent a reply back to Myles, and true to his

word, Myles had found a good spot. Jim had had

Tychus drop him off in the prearranged site, a field

that struck a good balance between “in the middle of

nowhere” and “driving distance to town.”

This field should have been bursting with triticale-

wheat ready to be harvested. Instead, it was sere and

dry. The dust would make for a spectacular sunset,

Jim remembered, and as luck would have it,

Centervil e lay to the west.

He wore nondescript farmer’s clothes that had

been left for him at the drop point along with an older-

model pickup truck. Jim knew that he was a wanted

man, but he also knew Shiloh, and people on this

planet tended to mind their own business. He clapped

the hat on his head to complete the disguise, climbed

into the truck, and took off.

He barely recognized the place. The town itself had

sprawled past the limits he remembered as a youth,

but many of the buildings had been built, inhabited,

and then closed down—an entire life cycle in the

period in which he had been away. The main street

had several FOR SALE signs on places that Jim had

never seen.

It was early evening, and the sun was only

beginning its glorious red-hazed descent, so most of

the remaining businesses were closed for the day.

That made it safer for him. As he passed a smal park

on the right, something caught his eye. He slowed,

made a U-turn, and stopped.

It was a large rectangular wal made of the tan

stone quarried in Shiloh. The stone had been cut and

highly polished, and there were some kind of

drawings etched in it, and a plaque. Curious, Jim

climbed out of the truck.

As he drew closer, he realized that it was a

memorial for the Guild Wars. A smal flame flickered

in front of it, and at the little fire’s feet were the words

WE WILL NEVER FORGET. The drawings were of

farmers on one side, armored Confederate marines

on the other. Al struck poses so heroic, it would have

made a recruitment officer weep.

He walked around to the other side. It was almost

completely covered by a huge plaque. Jim realized

with a jolt that it was a list of those sons and

daughters of Shiloh who had fal en in the wars.

It was a hel of a long list.

Slowly, he reached out and touched the raised

names, trailing his fingers downward through the

alphabet. Too many to read each one, but those he

recognized jumped out at him: Phil ip Andrews, Jacob

Cavanaugh, Roger Gregson, Henry “Hank” Harnack

…

Harnack. Hard to believe he and Jim had grown up

as bitter enemies, and become friends, brothers in

arms, when they both had joined Heaven’s Devils.

Hank’s death … had not been a good one.

Felicia Karlson, Vincent Lamont …

“Thomas Omer,” he said quietly. He and Tom Omer

had grown up together. They had signed up together.

He’d watched his friend receive the wound that would

take his life. Jim al owed his fingers to linger on the

name for a moment, remembering.

He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. He turned, got

back in the truck, and sped on his way.

The offices of the mayor were smal and out of

date. A fan whirred, laboriously trying to cool the

receiving room, succeeding only in feebly blowing the

hot air around. The mayor returned from a quick

dinner break, briefcase in hand, to file some papers

and sighed as he realized the room was not

noticeably cooler than it had been several hours

earlier. He loosened his tie and removed it; it was,

after al , after office hours.

He removed his hat, hung it up, and headed down

the narrow corridor to his private office. He opened

the door—

And closed it behind him quickly, staring at the man

who sat in his chair.

“Wel , hel o, Myles,” Jim Raynor said. “You know, al

this time, when you told me in the messages that

you’d become mayor, I thought you had lost it. But you

real y
are
the mayor, you old son of a gun!”

Myles Hammond laughed. “Some days I wish I was

crazy and imagining this, let me tel you,” he said,

chuckling. He regarded Jim with kind eyes, and the

smile faded. “Now … what in blazes are you doing

here? I left the clothes and the truck specifical y so you

wouldn’t have to come into town.”

“I wanted to see you,” Jim said, rising. He stuck his

hand out. Myles clasped it warmly, then pul ed the

younger man into an awkward but affectionate

embrace.

“I’m glad to hear that from you, Jimmy, I am, but you

are a wanted man. This was a dangerous little stunt.”

He unlocked the briefcase he’d been carrying,

reached into it, and pul ed out a piece of paper. Jim

found himself staring at his own face with the word

WANTED written over it in large capital letters.

“Huh,” he said jokingly, “I thought I was better-

looking than that.”

“This ain’t a laughing matter,” Myles said. “I assume

you were too smart to let anybody see you.”

“People see what they expect to see,” Raynor said.

“I look like a farmer in these clothes, and that’s what

anyone who noticed me at al saw. I promise.”

Myles relaxed slightly, nodding. “Good, good. That

poster was at the post office. I just came from there. I

took down al I could find. Stil —hardly a hero’s

welcome. Cup of coffee?”

“If you stil cal that swil you brew coffee, sure,” Jim

said. Myles smiled again and prepared a fresh pot.

He locked the door, pul ed down the shades, and

turned to Jim.

“So,” Jim said, sitting on the edge of the desk, “tel

me about Mom.”

“You know al I know, Jim,” Myles said.

“I mean about the money. I’ve been sending you a

goodly amount of money from my”—he was about to

say “heists” but caught himself—“
business profits
for

several years now. What’s been happening to it?”

Myles sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I been trying

to tel you, Jim, she won’t take it. Not her, not your

father before her.”

“None of it? It’s tens of thousands by this point.”

“Not a single credit,” Myles said firmly.

Jim swore. “She always was stubborn.”

“Her and your father. Salt of the earth.”

“She’s okay, though?”

“Wel enough. Farm Aid’s been a real blessing to

the people of Shiloh. A lot of families here have been

able to have roofs over their heads and food on the

table because of it. Your mom’s one of those.”

Jim nodded. Myles had mentioned Farm Aid

before. He was glad to know that hadn’t stopped for

some reason.

“Since you’re here …”

Myles went to the wal behind the desk and

removed a painting of Creek Canyon at sunset.

Behind the painting was a safe. Myles keyed in a

code, and the door swung open. “You might as wel

take your money back,” he said, removing several

sacks that made a distinctive clinking sound. Myles

also took out a smal data chip.

He placed the sacks and the data chip on the desk

and went to pour their coffees. Jim looked at the

sacks for a moment, pushed the data chip out of the

way, then opened the sacks and dumped their

contents on the table. It made for a large, messy pile.

Jim started counting. “Nothing personal, Myles, I’m

just used to counting my money before I walk away

from a deal.”

Myles stiffened slightly, but then nodded and

finished pouring. “I reckon you would be, considering

the line of work you’re in. Count away.”

Several moments later, Jim was both disappointed

and angry. “You’re short, Hammond.”

“Yes, I most certainly am.”

“What’s going on?”

Hammond plunked down a steaming cup of coffee

in front of Jim and pointed to the smal data chip Jim

had ignored. Jim looked at him, puzzled. Myles

picked up the data chip and slid it into the computer

on his desk. A file came up.

“Take a look. Jim, we both know that what you’re

doing ain’t on the right side of things by anyone’s

reckoning. We also know your parents needed that

money. I couldn’t get them to take it, but I did what I

could. It’s al there. I took a smal percentage of what

you sent me each time. I routed it through various

channels and was able to directly pay off the liens that

were put against the Raynor farm without your mom

catching on. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but

sometimes you just have to do the best you can with

what you’ve got.

“I also invested some funds into research—

compiling some statistics on your family compared

with others on Shiloh. It was pretty persuasive stuff.

Your parents, being your parents, insisted that others

were in worse shape than they were, so they declined

any kind of help other than the most basic survival

assistance. I talked to some people at Farm Aid,

showed them the statistics, and was able to quietly

get your parents some better-quality food and

supplies than they thought they were getting. It was

what they rightful y deserved.”

“I saw a lot of empty fields,” Raynor said quietly. He

was stil staring at the documents on the screen.

Everything corroborated Myles’s words.

“You’d be seeing a hel of a lot more empty fields

here if it weren’t for Farm Aid. That program is the

only thing keeping a lot of people afloat here. It sure

helped your parents.”

Jim leaned back slowly, stil looking at the screen.

“I owe you an apology, Myles,” he said quietly. “I

jumped to a conclusion. I—I guess I’ve been dealing

with con artists and crooks for so damn long I forgot

what it’s like to do business with decent men.”

Miles sipped his coffee. “You were a decent man

once, Jim,” he said bluntly. Jim’s eye twitched at the

words, but other than that he gave no reaction. “Your

father always thought you’d turn out like him, and why

shouldn’t he? He was a man of strong principles. He

—”

“Thanks for looking out for them,” Jim said abruptly.

“I appreciate that. But I don’t need no lecture. Just set

up the meeting with my mother, and I’l be out of here.”

He started to pick up the sacks of credits. They

were heavy and awkward. Myles wordlessly pointed

under his desk. Jim looked down and saw a large

satchel. He plunked the satchel on the desk, opened

it, and fil ed it with the sacks.

Myles took another sip of coffee. “I ain’t lecturing,

Jim. I understand that things aren’t so black-and-white

al the time. Why do you think I decided to run for

office?”

“Hel , I don’t know. Free checking account?”