There was a long stream of static in response from the tablet, and McParlan shook it violently. “Of all the goddamn times to go on the fritz. Control? Can you read me?”
The tablet’s lights blinked as the unit went into reset mode. Disgusted, McParlan clipped it back to his belt and climbed the ladder. He lifted his gun over the top rung and inched upward, ready to blast a hole in anything waiting for him. McParlan reached over the ledge and felt a mop of wet hair. When he pulled his hand away and looked at it, it was covered in blood.
The Marshal cursed when he saw Wendy Diaz lying on the floor, her face turned toward him. He tried turning her head but the broken bones in her neck crunched together. He removed the tablet again, seeing that the lights were steady green. “Control, confirm one victim. Prepare to receive scan.”
He waved the tablet over the woman’s body, recording her injuries. Her wrists were still bound. There were deep cuts in her skin under the ropes that showed through to the bone. “Had fun with her all alone out in space, didn’t you, Elijah?” McParlan whispered. “Gonna make you pay for that.”
The tablet crackled. There was a stream of static when it said, “717-A, be advised we are unable to maintain a steady signal with your unit at this time.”
“Only the best equipment for Field operatives, Control. Thank our superiors for that,” McParlan said.
“Negative,” Control responded. “There is interference coming from your location that is jamming our equipment.”
The screen went blank. McParlan put the tablet away and searched for a blanket to cover the body of Wendy Diaz.
The Marshal checked the supply stores and bath houses, thinking Harpe would be seeking refreshment after a long journey. He checked the gambling halls and bars, and whore houses, thinking that Harpe had ravaged Mrs. Diaz for weeks in the vast emptiness of space, but still not been satiated.
Finally, only one place remained on the station, and McParlan cursed himself for a fool even for considering that Elijah Harpe had ventured into the Antioch Chapel for Travelling Souls. McParlan threw the doors wide and strolled in, lazily scanning the empty pews without even bothering to keep his gun ready. He saw a man kneeling in prayer at the base of the altar with his head bent low toward the ground.
McParlan’s cybernetic eye adjusted as he approached, trying to obtain enough visual data to make a positive identification. McParlan came close enough to stand behind the man and listen to him mutter, “Protect thy servants of your will, Oh Lord. Strike them down where they stand.” The man had a pistol on the ground in front of him.
McParlan undid his Balrog and quietly slid it from his holster. He leveled the gun at the man’s head and said, “Pardon me, mister. You seen the preacher?”
Elijah Harpe turned and looked back at McParlan. His cheeks were smeared with tears and he smiled at the sight of the Balrog pointed at him. Harpe closed his eyes and sighed with relief. “I knew he would send you,” Harpe said. “I knew he wouldn’t force me to send myself to him in sin.”
McParlan cocked back the hammer on his gun. “Don’t you move, boy. I am placing you under arrest for multiple counts of every crime known to mankind. If you don’t put your hands behind your back and come peaceably you’re a dead man. Please don’t put your hands behind your back.”
Harpe lifted his hands to the sky. “I come to you my Lord, prepare my seat beside your throne.”
“I swear to God, Harpe, I will blow your head into pieces all over this floor if you don’t put your hands behind your back.”
“You would murder the Lamb of God, but when you come before the Lord, I will still speak on your behalf.”
McParlan cracked him across the back of the head with his gun and watched him slump to the ground. Blood leaked from the back of Harpe’s head and across his ears. McParlan pulled out a pair of restraints and slapped them onto Harpe’s wrists, then stood up and caught his breath. He used the tip of his boot to turn Harpe over onto his back. “Can you hear me, Elijah?”
Harpe groaned and murmured, “You idiot. You were supposed to kill me! My table was prepared in the House of the Lord.”
“Yeah well, I’m famous for ruining people’s travel plans. Sit up.” McParlan yanked Harpe upright. “I’m going to tell you about your situation, although I’m tempted as hell to let you find out for yourself. You are handcuffed with a brand new piece of technology pre-set to respond to either my command or your actions. You ain’t never seen anything like these before. If you struggle, squirm, run, or otherwise attempt to take undue action, they will administer an electrical shock that will feel like somebody shoved a Tesla Coil up your behind. If you attempt to say anything louder than the volume I am speaking to you in now, they will release a sonic disruption wave that is designed to displace your balance and vision. I had to experience that particular sensation in order to be issued those puppies, and let me tell you, it’s all a fancy way to say that if you yell, it’ll feel like two steel fists are boring their way into your ear holes and reaching into your tiny little twisted brain. You understand me?”
“You are interfering with the Lord’s plan, and I will not listen to you.”
“I’m taking you to court so you can stand trial and hopefully they will roll your diseased ass out the nearest space dock and let you float off into the darkness.”
Harpe said nothing else, and McParlan pulled him up to his feet. He shoved the prisoner down the aisle, when the chapel’s front door opened and a uniformed Customs officer rushed in with his weapon drawn. “It’s ok! Calm down,” McParlan called out, holding up his badge. “I got him. Took you boys long enough to realize his vehicle was docked in your parking area. What’s the matter? Your technology as reliable as the PNDA’s?”
The officer lowered his weapon but did not holster it. He moved forward cautiously, looking from McParlan to Harpe and then back again. “I’m taking the prisoner from here, Marshal.”
McParlan put his hand on Harpe’s shoulder. “Come again?”
“Hand him over, sir. Let’s do this nice and easy.” The officer’s weapon came up again, leveled at McParlan. His eyes turned red and started to water. “Please, sir.”
Elijah Harpe rolled his eyes and said, “Just shoot him already.”
Information about the officer scrolled across McParlan’s eye. “It’s Vale, right? You’ve been here three years. This is your first assignment.”
“Stop scanning me with that damn eye!” Vale shouted. His weapon shook in his hand but his finger was wrapped around the trigger.
“This had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Tell you what, let’s call your sergeant down here and see if we can’t work things out.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then how about I call my Headquarters?” McParlan reached around his back for his tablet. His eye identified a blinking red device on Vale’s shoulder strap that was not part of the standard Customs uniform. “That’s a jamming device, isn’t it?” McParlan said. “Tell me, son, what’s this piece of garbage holding over you?”
Vale’s hands shook. “Just let him go! Please, don’t make me do this. Give him over to me and we can say he escaped. We can say any damn thing you want. I don’t want to kill you.”
Elijah Harpe shouted, “Shoot him!”
“I warned you,” McParlan said. The Peerless binders released a sonic-disruption wave that pierced Harpe’s eardrums and sent him to his knees howling in pain.
Vale looked down at Harpe in confusion and McParlan lifted his Balrog. A jet of flame spat from the mouth of the gun into the center of the young officer’s forehead. McParlan pulled Harpe to his feet and shoved him past Vale’s body.