by Scott Moon
“They say we do not use that term. It is bad for us. Very muchly so, they say,” an Unglok said from a seat near Thad’s side.
“I meant no disrespect, good sir. I will try my best to learn your language and your customs. You deserve that from me.” Thad had turned to face the seated alien, who was still almost as tall as the sheriff was standing. The standing Unglok kept his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder.
The alien’s hair was light brown, very humanlike in appearance, but his eyes were large and emerald green. Thad looked to the other two, whose eyes were a soft amber. He looked at the alien’s hand and then to the one who spoke the human language of English.
“I really need him to remove his hand. If you could help me with that, I would be in your debt.”
“You call me, sir,” the alien said with a smile. “Very muchly that. Yes. Him? I cannot help you. He is being a jerk. Jerky McJerkface, they say.”
Thad hoped the alien physiology was close enough to human that his hand-to-hand training could be put to good use. With his left hand, he grabbed the alien’s hand and twisted it palm upright. He joined his right to his left, pulling down on the wrist with his fingers while pushing the top of the alien’s hand as if trying to touch the alien’s palm to his forearm.
Just as a human would, the alien dropped to his knees as he tried to relieve the unbearable pain coursing up his arm and directly into his brain. Thad kept applying pressure until he was able to push the alien over backward. The Unglok on the floor scrambled back to his feet, huffed, and hurried for the exit. His friend joined him on the way out.
“You so very muchly won’t have any more problems with that one.”
“I’m Sheriff Thaddeus Fry and your English is most excellent. My compliments, good sir.”
“They say I am Mast Jotham. My job is to interpret for the humans. Yes. They say that very muchly.”
Thad laughed at the alien’s exuberance. He held out his hand, before reconsidering. “Do you shake hands?”
“Yes, but not while seated. No. Not seated.” Mast stood up and then bent back down to shake Thad’s hand.
“Wow!” Thad exclaimed, before seeing that the alien was a bone rack. He couldn’t have weighed more than fifty or sixty kilos. The sheriff nearly doubled the alien’s weight. “Will I have your help when I visit the mine or the processing facility?”
“Not at the processing facility. They say our kind are not allowed in there. The mine, yes. I work at the mine, very muchly so.”
“I look forward to it and we’re going to have to work on your English a bit. I offer my services. I hope that we can enjoy a mutual exchange as I am serious about learning your language.”
“This makes me happy. That makes exactly two of you who are willing to try it.”
“Two? I’m in elite company. Who is my fellow cunning linguist?”
“The last sheriff. He is dead now. It is just you.”
Thad blinked and looked around. The others nearby were studiously avoiding looking at him.
“I’m not the last sheriff, Mast Jotham. Meet you here, tonight, say six?”
“I will be here,” the alien said noncommittally.
***
Shaunte Plastes was up to her elbows in virtual paperwork. She was the Company’s representative and one of the youngest residents of Darklanding. She was constantly at odds with the people, trying to earn respect, all the while trying to prove herself to the Sagittarian Conglomerate, SagCon as they were called, the group that ran the Company.
She finished the last form report and started on the next. She didn’t know why she had to put the same data on four different forms, but that was the requirement. Each form required the data in a different format with scraps of additional information. The forms were tagged for a variety of departments.
She rested her head in her hand, her long blond hair cascading over her arm. She wore a lean black dress that accentuated her curves. She had kicked off her low heels and rested her stockinged feet on a padded ottoman. Shaunte threw her head back and traced a finger along the pearl necklace around her neck. Dangling from it was a small pendant, a gift from her father, one of the SagCon Board of Directors.
She rolled the pendant in her fingers. In the civilized systems, it would be worth a great deal. In Darklanding, it was worth no more than costume jewelry.
She flinched at the pounding on her door. Her heart raced at the surprise, and she waited for it to slow before shouting, “Come.”
The door opened. A middle-aged man strolled through. Short hair, a scar, and the creases in his standard-issue jumpsuit suggested he had been military. She’d seen the type before. The blaster at his belt and the star on his chest said that he was the new sheriff.
She didn’t bother standing as she wanted him to know his place. He worked for her.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Thaddeus Fry. I wanted to check in with you, as my new boss, and understand your expectations for what I’ll be doing here.” He stood easily, feet shoulder width apart. He looked relaxed but not. His expression hadn’t changed from the second he came through the door. His eyes were locked with hers.
He hadn’t gone on a visual excursion of her body, something that most men did, along with some women, too. She appreciated that he was being a professional.
“I’m Shaunte Plastes, Company Man at our little mining outpost on Ungwilook.” She watched and waited, expecting him to extoll his virtues in an effort to impress her. But he stood and waited for her to finish. “My expectations are that you will keep the peace, first and foremost. We are here for one reason only and that is to mine the exotics. If there seems to be a conflict between the law and mining, then mining wins because we are the law.”
The sheriff pursed his lips and then loudly exhaled. “I can live with that. The last sheriff got blown up? I wasn’t told about that. For the record, I would have still come. I’ll look into the circumstances around the blast, unless you tell me not to, and then I’ll still probably look into it because we can’t have people wondering if they are going to get blown up or not, least of all me.”
“I can’t blame you, Sheriff. Look into it, but take it easy. These people frighten easily. Maybe get to know them first.”
“Yes, ma’am. On my contract, it says I can hire a deputy. Is there one already hired? I’d like to interview him or her.”
“It’s just you. That’s why you’re staying here. I figured it would be safer that way. Maybe you’ll last longer than your predecessor.”
“Ominous words, Miss Plastes. How many sheriffs have served out their gig in Darklanding?”
“One, but he was carried off on a stretcher. It seems that the planet did not agree with him. You’ll only be the fourth sheriff. We didn’t really need one until recently,” she added.
“I think I’ll stop asking questions, because the answers aren’t making me feel any better.” Thad looked at the floor and noticed that his boot was scuffed. He looked up quickly to see if the Company Man had noticed. Then he shook his head. No one cared about that stuff here and he would never be in a place where they did. He wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. “If you can point me in the direction of my office, I would appreciate it.”
“Didn’t you check in to your room yet?” she asked, jumping on her computer and quickly bringing up the sheriff’s record file.
“Yes. Don’t tell me…” the sheriff’s thoughts drifted away.
“That will have to do for your office. The last one was destroyed in the explosion and more building materials are not scheduled in until…” She scrolled down her screen. “One year and two months from now.”
“While you’re in the system, can you requisition me a new chair? The one in my room is less than accommodating.”
She punched a few buttons. “Eighteen months unless I expedite the order, and then it will be eighteen months.”
“Sounds like I’ll get six months of use out of it. Thank you, ma’am.”
“I like your att
itude, Sheriff. You can call me Shaunte. Keep me informed of what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here at oh-seven hundred sharp for a daily in-brief and at eighteen hundred for an out-brief.”
“What?” she asked as her lip curled. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw seven in the morning. “You can simply stop by any time during the day, when normal people are up and about. Where did you serve, Sheriff?”
Shaunte knew the man was former military. No one in the private sector called people ma’am anymore. It had fallen out of fashion.
“Kontouring Nebula for a while. I left after Centauri Prime,” he replied in a soft voice.
“I heard the fighting was bad.”
Captain Thaddeus Fry didn’t answer. He simply nodded and walked out.
CHAPTER THREE
The dusty streets of Darklanding were busy. People going to and fro, some with a sense of urgency, most not.
Thad watched them as he casually strolled along. He wondered why the streets were that crowded. Most people should have been at work. In the mines or in the processing plant.
Everyone else supported them, just like the sheriff.
Mining first. Law second. Right, he thought. He heard a commotion coming from between two of the buildings. He leaned around the corner and was treated to a bare-knuckle brawl. Two men in worn working-class jumpsuits were in the midst of a major throw-down. Both were bleeding from being punched in the face.
Probably more than once.
“Break it up,” Thad said conversationally, leaning against the building.
“Blow me, jag-off!” one of the pugilists spewed while giving the sheriff the finger. The second man saw the opening and blasted the first with a right cross. He went down and the second man went after him.
Thaddeus Fry was there in an instant and caught the second man’s hand as he wound up to deliver a heavy blow to his stunned opponent. He tried to turn, but the sheriff pulled the man’s fist over his head and down, throwing the man to the ground, where he grabbed the man by the throat.
“I think I told you to break it up,” Thad said softly and slowly, enunciating each word.
The man hocked up a ball of snot and prepared to spit. Thad increased the pressure on his throat. No breath. No spitball.
The first man cleared his head enough to see his opponent subdued. He rolled over and elbowed the man in the face.
“That’s it. I’m done playing with you idiots.” Thad vaulted over both men, grabbing the first on his way over. He dragged him from the ground, pivoted, and slammed the man face-first into the wall. The man slid down and fell over backward, unconscious.
The second man was struggling to his knees. Thad took two steps and kicked him in the face. His head seemed to extend away from his neck, threatening to leave his body, before the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled to the ground. The sheriff grabbed him by the collar and dragged him from the alley. He continued down the street until the next gap between buildings. He dumped the man in the open space before continuing on.
He stopped after a few steps, thought about logging the incident into his pad, and decided not to. The pad had a reader. All he had to do was wave it over the men’s left arms and it would register who they were. He didn’t want to know. As long as they weren’t damaging Company property, as in, each other, they weren’t a problem. If they didn’t show up to work because of their self-inflicted injuries? Then the Company would deal with them far more harshly than the law could.
Up to and including the random disappearance. Thad didn’t want that in Darklanding. He didn’t need a competing branch of discipline enforcement.
And they’d be working for the Company, too, but would be answerable to no one.
“I think you and I need to have a little chat about that, Shaunte,” the sheriff said to the empty area around him. Those on the street saw the badge and the gun and were avoiding him.
No one wanted to get too close.
Thaddeus Fry was good with that. He didn’t need a lot of friends, just one or two. He expected he would find them over time.
Easy on the eyes, he told himself as he thought about the Company Man, but don’t get caught trying to seduce the boss.
His military background placed Shaunte Plastes in the off-limits category. She’s too young, anyway, he argued within the confines of his mind, justifying how he’d have to let her down when she inevitably threw herself at him.
He stopped walking and started to laugh, until the first person saw him, made a face, and turned around to go the other way.
The people were convinced the sheriff was halfway to the nut house after less than a day in Darklanding.
Maybe he was crazy before he got there.
He stood in the middle of the street for a moment before stepping briskly away. He saw the scorch marks up ahead where the sheriff’s office used to be. It was time to take a look.
Thad walked quickly. Even though he’d only arrived that day, he was on Company time and needed to get to work. Walking was a means of getting from one place to another. For him, it wasn’t about the journey, but the destination.
Maybe someday he’d slow down to take in the sights, but that wasn’t this day. He saw the space where a small building had been and he headed for it, slowing as if checking it for snipers and booby traps. Once assured there were no people, he started to assess things.
As sheriff, he was chief investigator, parking ticket writer, customer service, report compiler, head knocker, and all things dealing with frontier law.
Which meant that the mine came first. That was the only law that mattered. They were paying the bills, but if people were removing explosives from the mine and blowing up buildings that the Company had paid for, then it fell to him to resolve it.
Most of the salvageable materials had already been removed, but there was enough debris remaining to paint a picture.
Thad recreated the explosion in his mind. He could see the scorch marks, more pronounced on one wall over the other, closer to where the front of the building used to be. Shattered glass still covered the sidewalk. Glass was also inside the building. The sheriff’s initial impression was that someone threw a bomb through a glass window.
Most remote sites set up a small facility to produce their own glass. The quality didn’t matter much, only that it kept out the weather. It was easier to do that than send the latest plexiglass. It was the frontier. People out there didn’t need the best construction materials. They were getting paid to rough it.
That was the Company’s perspective. They were getting paid better than grunt labor within the civilized systems, but everything was more expensive farther out. It balanced, usually in the Company’s favor, but the jobs out there were easier to get. Less competition, especially for those with a black mark on their records.
The people of Darklanding, the outcasts of civilization.
“What in the hell have I gotten myself into?” Thad asked his destroyed office. He shook his head before picking his way into the building. The dried blood smear where they dragged his predecessor’s body into the street was still there. “Classy.”
There was no paper files and no evidence repository. All evidence was gathered and stored digitally.
Not that they’d need evidence this far out. Investigations were low on the priority list of his duties, so low that he never received any training in doing one. He understood why the Company had hired a new sheriff like him, one with combat experience but no investigative knowledge.
His mission on Ungwilook was about keeping the exotics flowing. Nothing else mattered. Which meant that he wanted to catch the bombers to prevent a repeat, for his own health.
He dug through the wreckage in the back as he tried to piece together the former sheriff’s life. What were you up to? Thad asked.
The answers weren’t in the wreckage. But the old Sheriff’s chair was. Thad used a fallen cross-beam to lever a wall from the remains of the desk. The cha
ir was dirty and the fabric on one arm was torn, but it was still better than what he had in his room.
He couldn’t move the wall out of the way. All he could do was lift it straight up, expose the chair, and then let the wall settle back on it. Thad lifted the wall one more time, backed under it, and one centimeter at a time, kicked and nudged the chair out.
When he had moved it far enough, he stepped away and let the wall crash down. Passersby looked at him. He touched his brow with a couple fingers in a saluting gesture. “Sir. Ma’am,” he said cordially. They hurried away without responding.
The sheriff brushed off the chair and set it upright. He sat on it, slowly, seeing how it would take his weight, and then he relaxed fully into it. A smile crossed his face. He spun the chair until he could kick his feet on top of the fallen wall. He laced his fingers behind his head and watched the street. People passed by, not noticing the man sitting still in the dusty cold of the ruined building.
He finally rose and picked up the chair, balancing the seat on the top of his head while he held the arms and stepped off on his way back to his official office. He walked down the center of the street until a trolley came along with workers heading to the mine. He nodded to them, stiffly, since he had a chair sitting on his head.
Thaddeus Fry, sheriff and self-help specialist.
CHAPTER FOUR
“What?!?” Shaunte screamed at the face on her monitor. “Say that again, and slowly this time.”
Foreman P.C. Dickles was a lifelong miner. He was born into a mining family, became a miner at an early age, and with a nose for mining, worked his way up. In an industry where people died young, respect the oldsters. P.C. wasn’t old, but he was the oldest of the human miners.
“A weak roof, an unsanctioned coring operation, and raking the loose rock off the walls brought it down. We have some miners trapped—us and a few Gloks. We’re moving equipment now, but I’m not sure.”
Shaunte blew out a long breath. “What do you need from me?” she asked.