Red Star Sheriff

by Timothy Purvis

  “KEN YA WALK!?” Asta yelled down to her daughter where Drevan knelt by her side gauging her wound.

  “I… I think so. Hurts like a mother, though…” Amelia uttered through gritted teeth.

  Drevan looked up to Asta who still had her revolver trained on the pillar where Nielson cowered. “Bullet’s still in there. Gonna hafta dig it out.”

  “Uhmmm, dad,” Amelia reached a hand forward to pat her father’s arm, “how about you just get me to the hospital? We can call the police on the way.”

  Drevan flinched and rocked back on his heels. “Hospital?”

  Amelia sighed despite the tears in her eyes. “Yeah. Big place with doctors and drugs. Hear they’re pretty good at treating injuries and illnesses.”

  “Ya don’ trust me ta do it?”

  She laughed. “No offense, pa, but they’ve got the antiseptic. Also, this isn’t the Wastelands where we’re on our own. Now, can you help me to my feet?”

  “Well, now, hold yer horses. Least let me staunch the blood flow some.”

  He reached into a satchel at his hip and pulled out a roll of bandages and went to work wrapping it around the shot on her thigh where her dress jeans were a darkening red and spreading.

  “You just carry bandages around on you?” she asked him stunned.

  “Girl, ain’ ya never paid attention when ya lived down in the Wastelands? Always come prepared. Never know when yer gonna git bit, cut, stomped on, or shot.”

  Amelia looked at him trying to find the words and shook her head instead. “Not like I ever went out with you all on your hunts. But, when you put it like that, guess I can’t argue with you there.”

  Drevan chuckled and finished up the task. After that was done, he helped her to her feet and she clung to his shoulder for support. Curt came forward to offer her additional support. Behind them, Sonoros rose to his feet in slow disbelief. He looked towards the pillar, brushing at his robe. Nielson made no attempt to engage them. Asta was pretty certain it was because of the revolver in her left hand waiting for just a hair to peek out. Aside from their movements, the foyer was eerily silent as it echoed back the ruffling of clothing and grunting.

  “Thank you immensely, uhm, good people,” the old Chuhukon said and Asta inwardly growled to herself. “If you escort me off premises, I will reward you handsomely.”

  Asta jutted her chin towards him. “Who’s twinkle toes?”

  Amelia hobbled a turn. “My boss. Senator Elien Sonoros. We were actually trying to get away from Mr. Nielson over there. For some reason, he really wants the senator dead.”

  “And I assure you I have no idea why!” Sonoros tugged on his robe putting on an air of affront.

  Asta was pretty sure he did know why as she got the strong sense he was just a weasel, but she merely nodded. “Drevan, darling, wouldja take the kids’n Mr. Sonoros out o’here? Me’n Master Nielson over yonder gonna have a private conversation ‘mongst ourselves.”

  “Ah ain’ leavin’ ya here ta deal wit’ Nielson alone. Ah ken send ‘em all out wit’ Curtis.”

  “I can do that,” Curtis agreed.

  Asta fixed them both with her steely gaze. “Ah din’t even want ya followin’ us up in here, Curt! Felt in mah gut things were ‘bout ta git violent! Why ah tol’ ya ta wait by the coach!”

  “But, mom—”

  “Ya ain’ bein’ put in any further danger! Yer father is gonna lead ya all out’n that’s the way o’vit!”

  Drevan started to guide them towards the stairwell. “Let’s git movin’. Yer momma’s right.”

  Curtis looked to her for a moment, not moving. “Okay. But come back safe.”

  She smiled. “Wild mangers kent stop me.”

  Curtis grinned and turned to help his father with Amelia back down the stairs. Asta looked back to the pillar with Nielson hiding behind it, her gun still targeted on his position. He had yet to make a move and it made her nervous. Hadn’t said a word during their exchange. She didn’t like that one bit. Whatchou up ta, ya skinny fuck?

  THE PLASMA DOORS buzzed open as Aidele reached the Praetorium’s main foyer. She could hear voices echoing out as she started up the grand stairwell listening intently for any clue as to what Asta was up to up there. Asta’s voice boomed as she commanded someone or some people to leave, offering no room for argument. Blood hung in the air, the taint of copper and fear-filled sweat thick and angry. Strangely, Aidele didn’t think it was Asta’s doing this time. This wasn’t the sort of haunt a hunter like Lynch would grace unless she was forced to and there was no other option.

  Aidele checked her revolvers and lowered the settings to just between two and three. No sense getting too violent in the halls of government, she figured. Her right revolver she left in hand and holstered the other. Then began the ridiculous march up the foyer stairwell. She was halfway up when a group of people started down. Two were assisting a young woman who looked shot in the thigh and was bleeding profusely in spite of the bandaging over her dress jeans. The other man she recognized immediately as Senator Sonoros. That son-of-a-bitch… Should’ve known you were involved somehow.

  Asta was nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh great. If it isn’t the instigator. Come to tell more tall tales, Ms. Wilson?” Sonoros remarked snidely as the group stopped just ahead of her. The man to the woman’s right, Asta’s man she knew—Drevan, glared at the senator with the sort of malice reserved for rabid mangers. She liked him already.

  Aidele glared at Sonoros. “Looks like all the tall tales, as you say, jus’ came ta pay you a visit.”

  Sonoros’ scowl deepened but he gave no retort. Drevan gave a slight grin and nodded to her. “Assassin named Nielson was gunnin’ fer him’n mah daughter here, Amelia. This here’s Curt.”

  Curt grinned. “Pleasure to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances, uh…?”

  “Aidele. What’s the score?”

  Drevan grimaced. “Asta’s got ‘im pinned behind a pillar. We showed up when we heard Amelia was in trouble. Got her jus’n time. Sorry, Aidele. We were forced ta hunt ya on a… General Berricks’ orders.”

  Aidele scowled. “Yeah. Me’n him are acquainted already. Thought it strange ya’ll out in the Sutures. Not after… well, that business’s behind us, ah suppose.”

  “Glad ta hear it, yung’un. Cuz Asta shore could use yer help. Nielson’s real trouble. Dangerous man, so… keep yer eyes open. Ah don’ hear no shootin’. Gotta reckon it’s still a standoff.”

  They heard Asta saying something but it was indistinct. Likely a taunt at the Nielson fellow. Aidele nodded. “Ah’ll git her side. Bring her out in one piece.”

  “‘Preciate it. Would like mah children’s mother comin’ home with all her bits attached. Shoulda set down, y’know, when we had the chance. Instead o’gittin’ drawn inta the Union’s grip once ag’in.”

  Aidele tugged on the brim of her hat. “Ah’ll do all ah ken ta make sure ya git one more chance at that.”

  He nodded and they all parted ways, Aidele pushing up to whatever fight was waiting.

  “WHATCHOU WAITIN’ FER, Nielson!? Fraid ah might whoop yer ass? Din’t take ya fer such a yeller belly!” Asta took a light step to her left. Nielson had yet to make a move and her gut alarm was singing a symphony of tension, the focus on all her surroundings as sharp as it’d ever been. He was being too cautious all of a sudden. He had to have realized it was just her and him now. Had even taunted him with it, yet he wouldn’t even respond. “Ya up’n die back there?”

  If she tried to circle the pillar, he would do one of two things: keep the column between them, or try to surprise her with his own patient assault. A ‘poof’ echoed out followed by a smattering like something electronic had just exploded. On the panel by the lifts, a section of interface was sparkling as if it’d been punched by something hard and fast. A brow raised up and she smiled as the digital number display above the lift indicated that the elevator car was currently lowering to their floor. She shook her head. Nielson had di
scovered a third option she hadn’t anticipated and it made her want to laugh at how absurd the idea of it was. Seriously? Yer callin’ fer a lift?

  Asta steadied the iron in her left hand, ready for any act on his part. It could still simply be a diversion, after all. She didn’t have long to wait for which it was as the lift doors slid open and Nielson flung himself out of cover and raced towards the waiting interior, his guns in hand preparing to fire at her. Asta grinned and shot his leg out from under him. He pitched forward landing face first into the marbled floor, guns dropping from his hands as he gripped his thigh and gritted his teeth. The assassin flopped over onto his back as the lift doors re-shut with a very pleasant ‘ding’. No words came from his mouth, but a guttural groan was making its way out of his throat despite his obvious attempt to the otherwise.

  Asta walked until she was within six-feet of him, gun aimed right at his head, then stopped. “Got yer mark now, don’ ah? Only prey ya like’re what looks ripe fer the takin’. Any serious threat’n ya dart off like a gulley hare. Yes, sir. Ya done showed me true. Always doin’ yer killin’ skulkin’ ‘round the shadows. Well, son, ah do mah killin’ face-ter-face. Any last words?”

  Nielson lurched for his gun and she fired a round into his shoulder sending him sliding back a foot and out of reach of his weapons. Spittle flew forth from his mouth as blood pooled out of the fresh wound. Damn shame, she thought. Helluva day ta fergit yer body armor. Her eyes narrowed savagely as a cursing insult flew her way.

  “Sorry. Ah din’t git that. Care ta repeat it where ah ken hear ya?”

  So focused on punishing Nielson, she almost didn’t hear the footsteps coming up from behind in a slow, patient cadence. Asta pulled her right iron and pointed it to her side and behind, her eyes trailing towards the newcomer, her left iron never leaving the scowling Nielson rocking on the floor. A young woman she was quite familiar with came to a halt. Both met eyes and, for a moment, neither said anything. Asta broke the silence as she swallowed hard.

  “Aidele.”

  “Asta.” Aidele walked towards Nielson in a slow, deliberate manner, one of those lethal hand cannons in her gloved right fist hanging loosely, ready to be wielded. “Met Drevan on the way in. Said ya might need help. Looks like ya gots things under control. Still, ah ain’ here fer fuedin’ wit’ you. No, ma’am. Been tol’ this here’s Berricks’ hound. Guessin’ he’s got some singin’ ta do. Bet his howl is divine.”

  Asta cautiously holstered her revolvers as Aidele stopped before Nielson, raised her own Iron towards the assassin, her eyes narrowed and an angry, dark gaze holding his own. Somehow, incredibly, the assassin managed a smile and a chuckle.

  “Hate to break it to you, Ms. Wilson, but I was never one for song.”

  “Might explain what yer doin’ on the floor right now bleedin’ out,” Aidele didn’t move a muscle save for her right thumb triggering slightly some disc on the inner pistol grip. “Ah know you. Gave me advice about how ta fit inta find mah man. Funny you should be workin’ fer the guy who’s actually in charge o’all this carnage. Responsible fer mah father’s death. Allow me ta return the favor’n offer up mah own advice. An observation o’you people, really. Mah weapons are mah voice. An extension o’mah body. Actin’ in concert wit’ every thought, every move. Not jus’ weapons, limbs. As natural to use as a finger, a toe, or mah sight. Yet, to you people, they ain’ nothin’ more’n a tool. Jus’ an instrument ta point’n shoot. Ya don’ respect ‘em. They’re easily tossed aside. That’s why you will always lose. That’s why yer layin’ there, pretendin’ ya ain’ afraid when ah ken smell the fear wafting offa yer flesh like the stench from a rotting carcass. Now, were your guns yer limb, yer life, yer voice, ya might not be here right now. So, my advice to you, if’n ya manage ta live through this night, consider lissenin’ ta yer voice a little harder. Now, onto our business, where’s Berricks?”

  Nielson burst out laughing. “Nice little lecture. Charming to the core. I’ll consider it when I get out of here. However, to your query, do you really expect to hold your own against the general?”

  Asta bristled. All Aidele had just said was sage advice. The very core to learning to survive in the Wastelands. Yet, Nielson dismissed it as if he’d just discovered a rotten core in one apple in a batch and lazily tossed it aside. She really wanted to shoot him now. And expected Aidele to call him out on his dismissal. But she seemed to be more focused on other matters than the man’s slight to their way of life. So Asta held her tongue.

  “Took his arm off, din’t ah? Seem ta recall ah was pretty done in too when ah did it,” Aidele cocked her revolver. “Ya ken either tell me where he is an’ ah put ya down quick, or say nothin’ an’ ah stand aside’n watch Ms. Lynch deal wit’ ya her way.”

  The laugh in Nielson’s throat faded and his grin disappeared as he stared at Asta, her arms crossed, waiting. “You can’t get to Berricks. You have my apologies. He’s back on board our dreadnought. In orbit. It’s the Invicta if you want to try your luck boarding it. Course, you have to have special permissions and an access code to lower the defensive network. Meaning you’d need one of our shuttles. Somehow, I doubt you have one in your possession.”

  Aidele frowned, uncocking her Iron. If Berricks was now off world, that complicated matters significantly. Her mind raced looking for a solution. Could she somehow convince him to return to the surface? Could she just grab another shuttle, figure out a way to gain security access? The Council wasn’t going to help, that was for sure. What could she do? Use her revolvers and shoot her way in on board the waverider? She lowered her revolver and was quiet. Asta watched all of this saying nothing. She could tell Aidele was weighing her options of dealing with Berricks. And, secretly, wanted to help. But after all their years of conflict, would the young woman accept it? There was also a growing emotion in her heart. Aidele was so much like her mother it was sending a tremble through her body. She tried to push it to the side as she spoke.

  “Not gonna finish him off quick like?” Asta’s voice brought Aidele out of her thoughts.

  Aidele shook her head. “Naw. Ah’m thinkin’ we jus’ leave ‘im fer the law ta deal wit’. Hell, Berricks’ golden boy being incarcerated might actually convince the Council they gots a Union problem.”

  She glared down at Nielson, who had gone pale and was keeping silent. The tremble in Asta’s body became a tremor and before she knew it, a flood of emotion had overcome her. A sob echoed out. Aidele turned to see Asta with a hand held to her lips as if trying to hold in the sick. A tear found its way down Asta’s cheek and Aidele furrowed her brows.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Asta dropped to her knees, crying. Aidele’s mouth fell open as she came rushing to her side and knelt down beside Asta. A hand reached up and gripped Asta’s shoulder.

  The two women remained there a moment, Asta sobbing, Aidele not knowing what to do.

  Then Asta let loose, “Ya remind me… so much… o’yer mother. Ah ken see her in you in so many ways! An’ ah’m… jus’ more sorry fer what ah did than ah ken ever say. She was mah best friend, Aidele! Practically a sister… No, she was mah sister. We rode tagetha fer decades. Ah always had a quick temper… never could hol’ mah tongue when ah felt betrayed. But… ah wasn’t betrayed. Ah betrayed her! Ah forced her into that horrible standoff! Ah couldn’t unnerstan’ why she took off… Couldn’t unnerstan’ why she did what she did’n tol’ me nothin’! But, instead o’jus’ askin’, ah blew up! This li’l voice in mah head jus’ kept screamin’, ‘Kill me, then! Kill me now! Ah’m already dyin’ cuz mah sista hurt me!’ An’, when ah fired, ah fully expected Mirra ta put me down… She was always faster’n me, y’know? But, she din’t… ah… She never even reached!”

  Asta drove both of her palms into her eyes and tears streamed between her fingers. Aidele stared at the floor seeing their dim reflections in its sheen. It felt as if someone had her in a choke hold and her face flushed a deeper red. Hot and angry looking. Yeah, she was still angry. Still
wanted to put Asta down. Swore she would if she ever saw her again. Swore it in their last, bitter conflict. But that had been two years ago. When she had first decided to track Asta down. She could see the smile on her mother’s face clearly. And could remember her dying words as she lay there on the ground bleeding to death.

  Aidele exhaled a slow, deliberate breath and gathered herself. No. She couldn’t disrespect her mother. Not now. Not ever. She brought her up better than that.

  “I… hate you…” Aidele said looking Asta straight in the eyes. Asta dropped her hands to meet that gaze. “I hate that you… took so much away from me. It’s a pain that will never go away.”

  “Ah know. An’ ah deserve that hate. Ever ounce o’vit.” The tears continued to flow, but the sobbing had stopped. “Ah ain’ lookin’ fer yer forgiveness. Ah… kent even fergive mahself.”

  Aidele shook her head. “Well… ya weren’t fully ta blame neither. Ma used ya too. Ta track down those really responsible fer our misery. Men like that bleedin’ cuss right there,” she pointed to Nielson who was trying to stealthily reach his gun an arm’s length away. “An’ ah ain’ gonna let ‘em git away wit’ it. Ah’m gonna bring true ‘Justice’ ta these men. Hol’ ‘em accountable. An… an ah am gonna fergive ya. Cuz… what ah’ve come ta unnerstan’ lately, is that was all business between you’n mah mom. An’ the way ah figure it, our business is done. That cloud hangin’ over yer head, ya jus’ wave it away. Y’know, jus’ before mah mom died, ah remember her sayin’ somethin’. She said—”

  They saw Nielson grab his gun and force himself to his feet in a raging howl. Aidele and Asta both pulled their revolvers and came to their feet in practically the same motion. Nielson had no chance to pull the trigger on his own gun as all four revolvers unloaded into his torso. His body went flying backwards and, by the time it had hit the ground, was little more than a splattering heap of pulpy wet mash. There were several squishy sounding thumps, thwamping fwumps, and crunchy bumps before the corpse came to rest. Blood and viscera were pooled all over the floor and the lift walls. Somehow brain matter was crawling down a lift door. Though most of the body was still intact, it was barely recognizable for the man it once was.