Red Star Sheriff

by Timothy Purvis

  “Ok. Ok. You’re alright. Let’s just… get you comfortable…”

  Placing her head back to the pillow, he covered her up with the blanket. He leaned against the couch arm and felt her forehead.

  “Well, the fever’s breaking at least. One thing’s for certain, I’m taking your guns away until you remember how to play nice. Just look at this room, young lady!” He laughed and exhaled sharply looking around. Sand was blowing in from fresh openings everywhere. Fortunately, it wasn’t coming towards the couch. Unfortunately, he had a hell of a mess to clean up. He looked down and saw the feeding tube dangling off the couch edge.

  “Damnit, Aidele. You’re not making my job any easier. Is this your commentary on my cooking abilities? … Huhn?” He moved his feet realizing he was standing in something moist and wet. Looking down he saw vomit all over the floor and his bare feet in the middle of it. He flopped himself back against the arm and sighed. “Thanks.”

  SEVEN DAYS CAME and went and Durante was starting to get worried. Her fever was gone and she was healing nicely. But Aidele would only be conscious for short spurts. Awake but not really conscious. She would stare up at the ceiling saying nothing, eyes glazed over like she was catatonic. During these times he was able to spoon feed her some non-solid foods like gello or applesauce. It was messy, but it was also encouraging. Though lack of conversation was starting to get to him. And he didn’t want to see Aidele turning into a vegetable before him. So, he began talking to her. Just minor things at first like:

  ‘I’ve got some of the patchwork done to the ceilings you thoughtfully put holes through. Good thing I had been playing with the dials on your revolvers, right? Elsewise, we might be doing this in the sand, am-I-right?’

  Or, ‘I’m charging the buggy little by little. Just a few hours a day. Won’t do to drain energy supplies, you know?’

  And always she would blink like she’d heard him but lacked the ability to respond. Then fall back into a deep sleep.

  NOW, HERE IT was, what, ten days later and once more he was trying to feed her, her eyes staring vacantly into some unknown distance. It was a good thing he still had the fluids IV hooked up, as he wasn’t sure she was getting enough liquids otherwise. He set down the bowl of broth onto the table, wiped off her mouth with a cloth, and leaned back into the arm of the couch. He stared off towards the doorway leading into the monitor room. He’d spent some time cleaning up in there, reorganizing shelves until there was a wide-open space to operate in for whoever needed to use the research station next. The garage door was a loss though. He felt it might need to be removed but he had no idea how to replace it and with what. Still, nobody else had come around like he was hoping. It got him to thinking that maybe this station wasn’t used nearly as much these days as in the past. The past. He smiled and gave a slight chuckle.

  “You know, I think you were about twelve the first time I met you. Spent most of my time out at the labs fulfilling contracts your father had picked up after we left Aquila Mons. I remember I said ‘hi’ and you just looked at me like I was some crazed maniac. You see, your father invited me to dinner at the ranch because Mirra ‘felt guilty’,” he made quotes with his fingers on both hands, “about my being left alone at the labs so often. I really didn’t mind, you know, not at the time. I was a real egghead, always engaged with one experiment or another.

  “Now that I think about it, I guess I still am.” He laughed again, staring not so much at the far wall, as he was those days long gone. When Professor Wilson, smiling and jovial, introduced him to his daughter for the first time.

  “And when you first saw me, you said, ‘Ugh, another one of your broke clients?’

  I had laughed, of course. But your father was like, ‘Aidele, what have I told you about showing respect? This is my pupil, Durante. He’s joining us for dinner tonight.’

  And you rolled your dark brown eyes and then straightened your back and offered your hand for a shake and said, ‘Pleased to meet you, sir. Welcome to our humble abode.’

  Humble abode! Ha! Your father sighed but you persisted, ‘Dad, I did my civic duty. Can I go play with Mesmerize now?’

  The professor shook his head but relented, ‘Okay. But, remember, you’re eating dinner with us and being polite.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, dad. Okay. I’ll mind my p’s and q’s,’ you said.

  Ah yes. You were an adorable little girl. Seeing you out in the pens just running around carefree and full of joy… Man… I couldn’t have been much over twenty then. How time flies. And here you are now, a grown woman. Saving my ass and fighting outlaws and Berricks, too.” His smile faded and he sighed.

  “It isn’t fair. I know you know it. What happened to your parents, your grandfather… your horse. You loved that horse. I’m just so, so sorry. And I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain.

  “That life has made you suffer so much… it isn’t right. Because I can still see the spark of joy in your eyes, that kindness and hopefulness. I just hope all of this ends soon and you can get it all back.”

  He looked down to her and saw Aidele’s deep brown eyes affixed on his. He smiled. “Well, hey there. Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

  But rather than reply, those sorrowful eyes closed and she fell back into a deep sleep. A solitary tear rolled from her right eye and he thumbed it away with a sigh.

  “Please come back. Maybe I am a little lonely. But most of all I need to know you’ll be alright. That my mentor’s daughter, that Mirra’s daughter, was able to be brought back from the brink by one wayward fool. I want to at least give them that much.”

  SHE AWOKE TO a dimly lit room, nausea hitting her in a wave. Sitting up slowly, Aidele fought the urge to vomit and stared at the floor. Amazingly enough, she was still in the land of the living. She rubbed a hand along her chest and noted she was wearing a cotton gown and nothing else. Tugging on the gown’s front, she saw that her wounds had been cleaned up and bandaged. Every muscle ached as if she’d lain still for an eternity. As well, there was a sharp pain under her left breast. Her hand rubbed at it absently. There was a strong sense that not every bullet had been removed.

  Overhead, a soft yellow light cast a dull illumination over her environ. Which was fortunate given how difficult a time she was having trying to focus her eyesight. From what she could see, she was in some sort of recreational room and she was on a couch. Across the room were a pair of cushioned chairs with a card table between them. To their left, a billiard table. Beyond that, a pile of linens in desperate need of washing. Further left, a doorway through which she could see monitors in a wall. She knew where she was then: the Dustlands Sciences Research Station. Likely station number five which would’ve been the closest if Durante had driven straight.

  A loud sound drew her clearing eyesight to a pile of pillows just past the doorway. Lying there under a blanket was a soundly snoring Durante. An urge to smile came to her, but it wouldn’t form. The aching was too deep, and not just at a physical level. A sigh came out instead and she willed herself to her feet. It took all her concentration and effort to shamble over to him on wobbly legs, that had been trying to atrophy, and shook him on the thigh with a bare foot. He awoke with a start and stared up at her. Aidele stood there a disheveled mess looking much like some itinerant wastrel and felt the part too. And if the musky, sweaty stench wafting up to her nose was any indication, she smelled the part as well.

  Durante smiled and made to sit up and speak but she cut him off with, “Thank… you…”

  She turned and ambled back to the couch to flop down heavily and lean back to cover herself with the blanket. After a moment, Durante stood and walked over to her. He placed the back of his hand to her forehead.

  “Good. The fever’s gone. Bet you’re thirsty.” He reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a bottle of water. “Don’t drink too much too fast… of course, you know that already.”

  She took the proffered bottle, drank a mouthful, and handed it back. He placed it b
ack down and pulled over a folding chair to sit in.

  “You had me really worried. I removed two bullets. Two went straight through. Uh, the last one though I couldn’t get at. Sorry.”

  He pointed to her left breast which she found herself itching at again. It was just as she thought. A souvenir from one more horrible day in the life of Aidele Wilson. Her gaze fell on an unseen distance. He watched for a short bit before continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken to anyone in forever. And maybe he hadn’t. How long had she been out?

  “It’s good to see you awake and conscious. It’s been almost two weeks. It seemed touch and go there for a while. I used up all the O-negative blood reserves. There were no allergic reactions to anything I treated you with. So… yay me.” He cleared his throat and smiled. “Looks like I remembered all my medical training after all. Didn’t poke any permanent holes where none existed before. A real plus! How… how are you feeling? What can I do for you? Are you lightheaded? Don’t, don’t push yourself too hard, now. Rest, relaxation, plenty of liquids. Just… anything?”

  She understood he’d been there for her. Treated her as well as he could. Could see his concern for her and she just wanted to hug him and thank him for all his efforts. However, there was a welling pit of anguish and rage growing. The sort of anger that wouldn’t just let her say ‘I’m fine’, because she wasn’t. She was raw, vacant, full of a deep mournful void that was enveloping her very existence.

  “They took my father…” She said, staring at nothing and everything. “They took my grandfather…

  “They took my horse…

  “…and my boob itches…”

  Durante sighed and leaned forward, “Well, I wish there was something I could—”

  Aidele thrust forward, closed her eyes, and screamed. Tears fell like a dam had burst open and her face had been all that was holding the flood back. Her whole body heaved, looking on the verge of a seizure. Durante leapt from the chair and to the couch to wrap his arms around her, to console her, to offer up anything that could mend her hidden wounds. A watery stare and held up hand brought him up short.

  “Don’t touch me! I… I don’t need…!” A coughing fit wracked her further and her hands ran across her face.

  Durante drew back and sat at the edge of the couch, his hands fussing around themselves. The couch shimmied as she unloaded an untold amount of grief.

  Aidele flung herself onto his lap. He froze at first, then just leaned back and let her sob into his thigh. Nothing needed to be said so he placed a hand on her back and rubbed. They would remain there for as long as she needed.

  SEVERAL MORE DAYS passed. Aidele busied herself cleaning up around the station and re-patching segments of the building she’d blasted into oblivion. Durante had done a decent job fixing what he could (the rampant destruction she’d unleashed saw some walls that were beyond repair without extensive refits and they just didn’t have the materials for that, so they’d resorted to propping up large slates of sheet metal against those portions). Sand was still pouring in, though, and forming sizable hills in various spots. Which caused her nothing but guilt. Sure, she’d been delirious and suffering from combat fatigue (a little something Durante told her about), but the research station was crucial for wayward travelers and keeping it in at least decent shape was probably for the best. Of course, based on the junk scattered everywhere, and the buildup of dust, it didn’t look as frequented as it once was.

  Whereas she saw Durante daily, she hardly talked to him. Not because she was ungrateful, far from it. Only that it was easier to deal with her emotions if she kept to her own head. And he seemed to understand without having to be told anything. Yet they did have one potent conversation the night before. And it stuck in her mind like a catchy song you just couldn’t get rid of no matter how many other tracks you listened to.

  Aidele placed her hands on the stovetop before her and stared at its surface, ruminating on that conversation. Focusing on all that it meant and implied. Something was stirring up inside of her beaten soul. Something that was brewing to the surface.

  “IT’S GOOD,” DURANTE had said as they sat at the small table in the rec room. The chairs were comfy but they still had to hunch over to eat. “How often do they restock this station?”

  She shrugged and swallowed. “Every two or three months, I think. Not sure when the last time was, though. I haven’t been out this way in… years.”

  Durante forked through some mash and was quiet for a moment like he was mulling something over. Turns out he was as he put his fork down onto his plate and looked at her with a smile.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You just did.” She looked at him and shook her head as he quirked a brow. “Shoot.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll, uh, leave the shooting to you. Better aim and all that. No. I’ve noticed that, occasionally mind you, you enunciate your words more precisely than normal. The accent is still there. But it’s… oddly inconsistent. Is there a reason for that? Or is it… just a thing?”

  Aidele sighed and leaned back. “Grandfather commented on that too. I… uh… hadn’t realized how deep ah let mahself git.” She chuckled. “Sorry. It’s a recent thing. Trackin’ down my father’s killers… I had to become one of them…” Moisture came to her eyes as she stared at a wall. “It was the only way to track down Kern Michaels. The only way to wade through that cesspool that is the Wastelands. Ah even started dreamin’ in that inflection. You don’t survive out in all this by being prim and proper…” Aidele brought her hand up to her chest in a dainty reconstruction of the well off and unsullied, fingers pointed to her boobs.

  She glared at the floor and went silent. Durante exhaled and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drudge up bad emotions.”

  “You didn’t.” She smiled and leaned forward to let her arms dangle over her knees. “It’s true that you can figure a lot about a person by the way they speak. I suppose I’ve gone so deep into this… false identity of mine, that maybe ah’m truly lost.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re still you. Driven by your own needs and thoughts. Reacting as is your nature. And I think… you’ve done well. Even under the unfortunate circumstances you’ve found yourself in. Having to deal with my idiocy especially.”

  She fixed him with her eyes. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. One thing ah’ve learned on my travels is how to read a man. It’s not just speech, but how he carries himself. Take the words you choose to wield. They’re concise, polite, well spoken. Impeccable manners, if I do say so myself. Based on how you carry yourself, the knowledge you bring to bear, particularly in fixing the station and cleaning my guns, I’d say you spend a lot of time around smart people. People who know how to get things done. Like engineers or tinkerers. It tells me you yourself may work in one of the scientific fields. You’re probably an engineer yourself.”

  Durante managed to keep his surprise in check as he swallowed. “You’re pretty good at that. Yes, I’m an engineer.”

  She nodded then shook her head. “It’s more’n that as well. Before we left the Spine, you told me that you were a crewman working under General Berricks, that he threatened to ‘raze the Wastelands’ unless he got ahold of a certain journal. But since you once knew my father, you had an idea of where to look and Berricks could just sit back and wait. Only, that wasn’t completely true, was it?”

  “How do you mean?”

  Aidele growled. “Ah know ya think yer protectin’ me, but yer not, Durante! Yer only making it worse on yerself and makin’ it harder on me!” She inhaled deeply and set up straight to calm herself. “Look, I appreciate your efforts. I really do. It was stupid to not just come to us about it, but I understand. If I may tell you what I think is really going on?”

  He nodded with a frown. “Okay.”

  “You’re an engineer on a Union dreadnought commanded by General Sam Berricks. Maybe even in charge of the ship’s operations.”

  “How do you—”

  “Let m
e finish. I’m sure of this because I think you once apprenticed for my father and that’s how you knew about the journal.”

  “Fuck, you and your grandfather are insanely observant.” He leaned back and crossed his arms.

  “Runs in the family. Anyway, while we were in the caverns, I was thinking you looked familiar. You came to the house once or twice. And then you were telling me about how you met me in my youth…”

  “You were delirious. I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “I remember more than you think.” She smiled. “And that got me to thinking more. But I need something from you to complete those thoughts. Tell me about this bastard Berricks, and what brought you all here to begin with.”

  Durante rubbed his face. “Uhm. Sure. Okay. So, our mission was supposed to just be testing out a new propulsion system using an engine driven by these Pylons. I’m the Technical Mission Specialist on the project and it was my department that was tasked with the creation and development of the drive. It draws in surrounding dark matter and converts it into raw energy. This triples thrust in momentum, meaning a trip from Earth to Mars, Sorry, Hinon… they just call it Mars on Earth but I was born here you know.”

  She listened intently and nodded. “Good to hear.”

  “Anyhow, a month-long trip can now be made in under three weeks. Two if you push it. Huge improvement in space propulsion. But a huge drain on energy reserves. I’d been trying to figure out how to improve the storage batteries’ life, since we kept having some overcharge and blowout, or just stop storing energy. And then I’d heard about my mentor, your father, being killed and I was furious. Mr. Berricks allegedly ordered the assassination, or so the scuttlebutt went.”

  “That son-of-a-bitch…”

  “Well, he claims he didn’t order it. That Mr. Michaels was the one that carried it out on his own because, I guess, there was supposed to have been a hand off with this journal but your father had a change of heart. I wasn’t sure at the time why this journal was so important since your father had written so many, but I had a notion of which one it was because when Mr. Wilson was moving from Aquila Mons to the Crags labs, he’d given me a tracer to make sure it didn’t get lost. I’d forgotten all about it until the general was fuming about Michaels basically ruining everything and how he was going to have to set loose the troops to ensure that the book didn’t end up in the wrong hands. General Berricks himself was tasked with leading the Stonewall Fleet, Eighth Division…”