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25.

They were two hours out of Purplecloud and headed for the Inner Frontier when his lawyer on Deluros VIII finally tracked him down.

"This is Marcus Dinnisen of Hubbs, Wilkinson, Raith and Jiminez, trying to contact Jefferson Nighthawk."

Nighthawk ignored the signal.

"Please come in."

"You're gonna have to talk to him sooner or later," said Father Christmas.

"Damn it, I know you're on that ship, Jefferson!" said Dinnisen angrily. "Please respond. I'm not going to break contact until you do."

"All right," said Nighthawk after another lengthy pause. "How did you find me and what do you want?"

"Finding you was easy," said Dinnisen. "You put in a claim for forty-five thousand credits."

"You learned about it awfully fast."

"We're a very powerful law firm," replied Dinnisen. "We have connections all over the Oligarchy."

"All right, so you know I did some bounty hunting," said Nighthawk. "So what?"

"So what?" repeated Dinnisen, surprised. "So what the hell are you doing on Purplecloud?"

"Killing bad guys, just like you and Kinoshita told me to do."

"Damn it, Jefferson—you were sent to Solio II to accomplish a specific mission. If it's not done, I want you to go back there immediately. If it is done, then we want you to come back to Deluros VIII."

"What you want doesn't matter to me," replied Nighthawk easily.

"What the hell are you talking about?" yelled Dinnisen.

"You heard me. I have business to take care of. Leave me alone."

"The only business you have is working for the team that created you!"

"You're welcome to think so," said Nighthawk.

"Look," said Dinnisen placatingly. "Let's stop before we say things we'll both regret. Why don't you come to Deluros and we'll talk it over?"

"Not a chance," said Nighthawk.

"I think it would be best, Jefferson," continued Dinnisen in persuasive tones.

"Yeah? Well, I think it would be suicide."

"What are you talking about?"

"The second you get your hands on me, you'll toss me back into a vat of protoplasm."

"Don't be melodramatic, Jefferson," said Dinnisen, trying to control his temper. "We don't have vats of protoplasm, as you well know. We just want to talk."

"Anything you've got to say, you can say right now."

"We're not the enemy, Jefferson," continued Dinnisen. "We created you. You're like family to us."

"That's funny," said Nighthawk. "You don't feel like family to me."

"You're being difficult, Jefferson," said Dinnisen. "You've changed since I last saw you. What's happened, son?"

"I'm not your son, and the galaxy is what happened to me. I've been out here, and I'm not going back."

"No one wants you to stay on Deluros VIII," said Dinnisen. "I'll be perfectly frank with you: you represent an enormous investment in time, money and technology. Since you're alive, it means you've been able to interact with the scum that live out there on the Frontier and survive. We'll have many lucrative assignments for you."

"Most of the scum I've interacted with would look down their noses at a lawyer," said Nighthawk. "Any lawyer. But especially you."

"Why are you being like this? We just want to examine you and make sure you're holding up all right. One day and out. Is that so much to ask?"

"I have work to do."

"Our work?"

"My work."

"You don't have any work!" exploded Dinnisen. "You're less than six months old, for God's sake!"

"Wrong," said Nighthawk coldly. "I'm the Widowmaker, and I was an old man when your great-grandfather was less than six months old."

He terminated the communication.

"Well?" he asked, turning to Father Christmas.

"Does it bother you when I call you 'son'?" asked the older man.

"No. But it bothers me when he does." He paused and suddenly grinned. "Hell, it bothers me when he calls me Jefferson."

"Well, I hope you enjoyed your conversation with him, because it's going to cost you."

"Money?"

"Everything but money," responded Father Christmas. "Five'll get you ten he's already contacting Hernandez to warn him that you're off the reservation."

"Why?"

"Because he and his people have created the perfect killing machine, and suddenly you've got your own agenda. They don't know what it is, but they're going to warn the guy who commissioned you." Father Christmas smiled suddenly. "And you can bet your ass he'll know what your agenda is."

"I hope so," said Nighthawk. "He's responsible for it all: Trelaine, me, the Marquis, Melisande, Malloy, everything. I want to look into his eyes when I kill him."

"He's awfully well protected," noted Father Christmas. "It may be a very short look."

"That'll be enough," said Nighthawk.

 

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Framed