TW12 The Six-Gun Solution NEW (19 page)

"I had not thought of it that way," she replied, softly, still looking at the floor. "I was afraid you would he angry with me."

"Why should I be angry with you?" Drakov asked "Have you failed me in any way? I created you. I gave you life. And it is I who care about you, enough to tell you the truth. I have no wish to see you hurt."

Jenny nodded and swallowed hard, torn by conflicting emotions. "Thank you. I do not wish to disappoint you."

"You won't. Enjoy yourself with Neilson. Indulge those feelings and you will soon find they are not nearly so profound as you suspect. He uses you. Use him in return to explore the depths of your sensations. But don't deceive yourself with thoughts of love. Love is for humans.”

All Scott wanted to do was sleep. The posse got back to town without catching the outlaws. Head, Leonard and Crane had led them on a merry chase throughout the countryside and they were never able to catch up with them. They had ridden so hard one of the horses died. They were tired, they were thirsty, they were sore, and they had simply given up. On their return, the Earps had received even more had news. Luther King, the prisoner they had taken back at the Redfield ranch, had managed to escape.

The whole thing was ludicrous. He had simply stepped out the back door of the jail while the deputy was engaged in selling his horse. Accusations were flying back and forth. The Earps were convinced that Behan and his deputies, being involved with the rustlers, had simply allowed him to escape. Which certainly seemed likely. Behan and his men were claiming that King had help, that Doc Holliday had been waiting behind the jail with two horses and had spirited King away.

Holliday, conveniently, had been out of town when the stage was robbed and the posse left. He was known to have been acquainted with one of the outlaws before, Bill Leonard, when the two men were in Las Vegas, New Mexico. On the strength of that association, Behan and others in his faction were claiming that Doc had been involved in the robbery and had helped King to escape. (Though no one explained how Holliday knew that King would have a chance to simply stroll out through the back door of the jail while the deputy's back was turned, or why he hadn't been locked up in the first place.) Behan was even spreading rumors that Wyatt Earp and his brothers had been involved in the robbery, tipped off by Morgan, who, in his capacity as a Wells Fargo guard, would know when silver shipments were going out. The town was becoming polarized, with the hostility between the factions rapidly growing worse.

Scott wished that Priest and the others would show up. He couldn't understand what was keeping them. He felt certain now that the Network was behind it all, but he couldn't take them on all by himself. That would be crazy. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He felt the situation was completely out of his control.

There was a soft knock at his door. He quickly grabbed a gun from the holster rig he'd hung up on the bedpost.

"Who is it?"

“It's Jenny, Scott. Can I come in?

He opened the door. She was alone. She saw the gun and her eyes grew wide.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"I had to be sure you were alone," said Scott.

"Who did you think might have been with me?"

"Well, I did make some enemies in this town," he replied. "Man can't be too careful." He closed the door behind her and eased the hammer down on the Colt.

"Did you really think I'd be part of anything like that?"

"You might have had no choice, Jenny. Someone might have been holding a gun on you, or a knife."

"That wouldn't make any difference," she said. "They'd have to kill me before I'd go along with doing anything to hurt you." She suddenly started crying.

"Jenny! What's wrong?"

"Hold me, Scott."

He put his arms around her. She was trembling.

"What's wrong, Jenny?" he asked, with concern. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Everything's wrong," she sobbed. "I wish I were dead!"

"Jenny!" She was holding onto him as if for dear life. "What is it? Tell me! Is it something I've done?"

She shook her head. "No." she said, quietly. "It isn't anything you've done. It's me."

He took her over to the bed and sat down with her. He took her hands in his.

"Whatever it is, Jenny, you can tell me. I'll understand."

"I don't think you would," she said.

"Try me. At least give me a chance. If there's anything I can do to help, you know I will."

"I don't think anyone can help me," she replied, sniffling.

He kissed her "If I possibly can, I will. I love you, Jenny."

"Oh, God," she said, her voice barely audible. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's true, I love you."

She pulled away from him. "Scott . . . there are things about me . . . things you don't know. And if you knew, you'd hate me."

"I could never hate you, Jenny. I know what kind of life you've led. It makes no difference to me."

"I wasn't talking about that," she said, not looking at him."There are things...” she bit her lower lip. "Oh. Scott, if you really knew the truth about me, you'd want to kill me."

He stared at her, astonished. "How can you say that? That's crazy! What could you possibly have done—"

"It isn't anything I've done," she said. "Well, yes, it is, but it's also what I am. If you knew . . ." She got down on her knees before him and took his hands, holding them tightly. looking up at him with fear and confusion. "If I tell you the truth, I know I'll lose you. You'll hate me and you'll want to kill me, but even if you do. I don't care anymore. I just don't want anything to happen to you. You have to leave, Scott. You have to leave Tombstone as quickly as you can and go back where you came from, before it's too late!"

"Jenny, what are you talking about?"

"Scott . . . before I tell you . . . kiss me. Please, kiss me one last time."

"Jenny . . . “

"Just do it. Scott. Please."

He kissed her. She clung to him with desperation and he could taste the saltiness of her tears.

"Oh, God, I love you, Scott," she said. "I don't care if it’s not possible. I know I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"I love you too, Jen," he replied, bewildered She shook her head and placed her forefinger up against his lips. "Maybe you think you do." she said. "But you can't You mustn't."

“Why?"

She stared at him with fear in her eyes. "Because . . ." she swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Because I'm not human. Scott."

“What?"

I'm not a real woman. I only look like one. And God help me, somehow I feel like one, too, but I'm not a human being. I wasn't born. I was created. The Master made me in a laboratory."

Scott simply stared at her, speechless with astonishment.

"I know he's your enemy,” she continued, "I know who you really are. I know you're from the future. I know why you're here. And no matter what you do to me, you will go back. Please, you must go back before it's too late!"

Suddenly, comprehension dawned. "My God." said Scott. He felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. "You're one of Drakov's hominoids."

She nodded, staring at him, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with fear.

"He said love is only for humans," she whispered, "and that what I feel toward you isn't really love, and that you couldn't possible love me if you knew what I really was. An imitation of a human being. He said you'd kill me, but I don't care! I don't want to live like this! It hurts! It hurts too much. If I can't be human, then I just don't want to be!"

"Jesus Christ," said Scott. He reached out for her and she cringed. "That bastard. That lousy bastard. What's he done to you?"

He put his arms around her and she became very still, as if afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

"You poor girl," he said, stroking her long blonde hair. His own eyes were misty. "Jesus, it must have been awful for you."

"I . . . I don't understand. . ." she said in a small frightened voice.

Scott held her away from him, so he could look into her eyes. “He had you believing you weren't human?"

She stared at him with incomprehension.

“Oh. Jenny, you don't even realize what you are," he said. "How much do you really know about Nikolai Drakov?"

She shook her head, dazed, still unable to believe he wasn't furious with her, that he wasn't striking out at her.

“He's insane, Jenny. He's brilliant, a genius, but he's a madman and a criminal. God knows, maybe he even believes that the hominoids aren't human. It would certainly fit with his insane megalomania. The thought that he's created an entirely new species, that he's some sort of God . . ."

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"Jenny, the first hominoids that Nikolai Drakov created were androids. They weren't really human, but crude imitations. They weren't really capable of independent thought, or of human feelings and emotions. But later, Drakov resorted to genetic engineering to create clones in a laboratory. . . ." He trailed off as he watched her. "God, you don't understand the first thing about what I'm saying, do you?"

She shook her head.

He stared up at the ceiling. "How on earth can I explain it to you? You don't know the first thing about science. . ."

"I understand a little about science," she said, in a small voice, still confused by his lack of a violent reaction, which was what she had expected.

"Well, genetic engineering is a science," Scott told her. "What Drakov did was to . . . to give birth to humans in a laboratory without the benefit of parents. What I mean is, there were parents, human parents from whom Drakov obtained the raw material, but the hominoids—he still called them that, even though they were different from the first ones—were born without the necessity of a man and a woman having sex. The eggs were fertilized in a laboratory and the fetuses came to term in artificial wombs. . . ."

He saw that he was losing her again and he felt exasperated. There had to be some way that he could make her understand.

"What I'm trying to say. Jenny, is this. Even though you were never born in the normal way, even though you never had a father or a mother, you are still a human being. Drakov lied to you. He wasn't really your creator, he . . . he was more like a midwife. It's much too complicated for me to explain to you, but you have to believe one thing. You are as human as I am."

She shook her head, slowly. "Is it possible?" she whispered.

He grabbed her by the arm. "That's human flesh, Jenny." He put his hand on her breast. "That's a human heart beating in there." He kissed her. “Those are
human
lips," he said, softly. "I couldn't love you if you were not human. And I do love you."

She gave a small cry and clutched at him, burying her head against his chest as her small body was wracked with sobs. He held her tightly, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. Meanwhile, his mind was racing. Drakov, here!

Then it wasn't the Network or the S.O.G. Or perhaps the Network was here, as well. Or maybe the S.O.G. He was no longer sure of anything except two things. One was that with Drakov here in this time sector, the threat was even greater than he had imagined. And the other was that he was deeply in love with this poor, tortured girl.

He couldn't begin to imagine what her existence must have been like. Cloned in a laboratory, she had been raised to believe she wasn't human, but some sort of clever simulacrum. It was simply monstrous. Unlike other hominoids that Neilson had encountered, she had not been artificially mutated into some sort of frightening creature, her mind had not been destroyed, her personality—severely damaged though it was–-had been left more or less intact. Only she had grown up believing that she was some sort of an inferior creature and that Nikolai Drakov was her "master," her god, to whom she owed unquestioning obedience. Except that he had triggered feelings in her that had been powerful enough to upset a lifetime of conditioning.

Apparently, she had been told that if he found out "what she really was," he'd kill her. And yet, she had disobeyed her master. Convinced that he would kill her if she told him the truth, she had told him anyway. Because she loved him. At that moment. Neilson would have died for her

She needed help. It would probably take years of therapy to overcome all the damage that had been done to her. But before he could even think of that, he first had to make sure that he could get her away from Drakov. And that Drakov would be stopped. Only he wasn't sure if he could do it alone.

If he kept her from going back to him, wherever he was, Drakov would realize what must have happened and it would force his hand. But he could not bear the thought of having her go back to him. Obviously, Drakov had placed her in Tombstone, in the saloon, so that she would be in a position to report to him.

Which meant be had to know about him. Scott was torn. He didn't know what to do.

Where the hell were Priest, Cross and Delaney?

Lucas Priest came over to the table in the hotel dining room where Neilson was eating his dinner and sat down.

"Mind if I join you, Kid?" he said.

"Looks like you just did, mister."

"I'd like to introduce myself. The name's Priest, Lucas Priest I'm a writer and, from what I hear, you're somebody worth writing about." He lowered his voice and said. "We have to talk.”

"Go ahead and talk. Mr. Priest. I'm listenin'."

"I'm writing some articles about the West for a magazine back in New York and I believe you're someone my readers would be very interested to know about."

He lowered his voice again. "Why the hell haven't you made contact? Are you being watched?"

Neilson put down his fork and frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"I hear you re mighty fast with a six-shooter," Lucas said. “I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind." Then lowered his voice once more. "Are you under surveillance?"

"No, sir, I ain't no surveyor. Don't know anything about it."

Lucas stared at him. "What the hell's the matter with you, Neilson?" he whispered.