Mike Resnick - Widowmaker 3 - The Widowmaker Unleashed.pdf

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The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy
The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy
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Copyright ©1998 by Mike Resnick
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The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy
To Carol, as always
And to Ed Elbert:
friend,
producer,
keeper of promises
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The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy
1.
The emaciated figure, its flesh hideously disfigured by the ravages of a virulent skin disease, lay
perfectly still. Patches of shining white cheekbone protruded through the flesh of the face, knuckles
pierced the skin of the hands, and even where the skin remained intact it looked like there was some
malignancy crawling across it and discoloring it.
Suddenly a finger twitched. An eyelid flickered. The breathing, though weak, became more regular, and
finally Jefferson Nighthawk opened his eyes.
“I'm starving!” he croaked.
“Of course you are,” said the man in the white outfit. “You haven't eaten in more than a century.”
“Am I cured, or did I just run out of money?”
The man in white smiled. “You're not cured yet,” he said. “I just brought you out of the deep freeze. But
we finally can cure you, and we will in the coming weeks.”
Nighthawk closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Thank God!”
The man looked amused. “I thought the Widowmaker didn't believe in God.”
“I believe in anyone or anything that keeps me alive,” rasped Nighthawk.
The man in white leaned over him. “Do you remember my name?” he asked.
“Gilbert something.”
“Gilbert Egan. I'm your physician. Or, to be more accurate, I've been your most recent attending
physician while you were cryogenically frozen. In the coming days, you'll be in the hands of specialists.”
“Help me up,” said Nighthawk, reaching a hand weakly in Egan's direction.
“That wouldn't be a good idea, Mr. Nighthawk,” said Egan. “Your body is riddled with eplasia , and you
haven't used your muscles in ... let me see ... 112 years.”
“So it's 5106?”
“5106 Galactic Era,” Egan confirmed.
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The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy
“And my clone's been out there for five years?”
“Actually, your first clone died a few months after they created him.”
“My first clone?”
Egan nodded. “They created a second clone two years later.”
“I don't remember.”
“I wouldn't allow them to wake you for that one. You were too weak. I felt we could only revive you one
more time. This is it.”
“This second clone—did he die too?”
“Nobody knows. I have a feeling he's still alive somewhere out on the Rim, probably with a new name
and a new face.” Egan paused. “But he accomplished his purpose. He sent back enough money to keep
you alive until the cure for your disease was discovered.”
“I'll thank him when I see him.”
Egan smiled and shook his head. “People have been looking for him for three years. You'll never find
him.”
“If I need to find him, I will,” replied Nighthawk with certainty. Suddenly his body went limp. “What's
the matter?” he asked, puzzled. “I've been awake for maybe two minutes and I'm exhausted.”
“As I said, except for one five-minute interlude a few years ago, you've been in deep freeze for more
than a century. All of your muscles have atrophied. Once we get you healthy again, you've got a lot of
work to do with the physical therapist.”
“Why am I so damned hungry?”
“All we did was slow your metabolism down to a crawl. We didn't stop it, or you'd have died. And no
matter how slow it was, eventually you digested everything in your stomach. From time to time—
actually, about every sixth year—we've fed you intravenously to keep you alive ... but there's a
difference between being alive and not being hungry.”
“So can I get something to eat?”
“Not for a few days. We have to be sure your digestive system is functioning properly. A meal right now
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The Widowmaker Unleashed: Volume 3 of the Widowmaker Trilogy
could kill you. As soon as you're moved to the hospital, we'll inject some proteins and carbohydrates
directly into your bloodstream, enough to keep you going for a couple of days.”
“Then what?”
“The doctors perform their magic and eradicate all traces of eplasia from your system—and then, since
you still look like something from a child's worst nightmare, you'll undergo a month or more of
reconstructive cosmetic surgery.”
“How soon before I'm out of here and on my own?”
Egan shrugged. “That's up to you—two months, four months, a year, whatever it takes.”
Nighthawk was silent for a moment. Then he spoke again: “There was another man last time you woke
me.”
“Yes,” answered Egan. “Marcus Dinnisen. Your attorney.”
“Where is he now?”
“Who knows?”
I want to know. His firm is in charge of my money.”
“Not any more. Your second clone sent five million credits back with Ito Kinoshita and instructed him
to pay it directly to us as we required it, rather than to allow the money to pass through Mr. Dinnisen's
law firm.”
“Were they robbing me?”
“I don't think so. It's just that your clone was not the most trusting soul I've ever encountered.” Suddenly
Egan smiled. “We were able to imprint your personality and memories on him.”
“Who is this Kinoshita?” asked Nighthawk. “I never heard of him.”
“He trained your first clone. The second one didn't really require any training, but Kinoshita
accompanied him on his mission.”
“Is he still around?”
“I believe so.”
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