Space Deputy

by Jenny Schwartz

  Harry paused. Lacking any biological imperative to breathe, drink, eat or scratch, he paused purely for the drama of the story. “Legend tells of a lone surveyor, drifting on the frontier. The engine on his spaceship had failed. Some versions of the story say he set down on a planet. Others say that it wasn’t his engine that failed, but that he was hiding from bandits. The bandit stories insist that he hid in a crater on an asteroid. Whatever the reason, he discovered a cache of over one hundred raphus geodes. They say he left the cache undisturbed, or rather, that he covered it back up because he thought that if someone rescued his stricken spaceship they might claim the raphus geodes as salvage, or just plain murder him for them.”

  “It’s an unconvincing legend,” Max said.

  “Sshh,” Lon chided him.

  Harry ignored them both with the ease of a natural storyteller, his focus on his new audience, Thelma. “The lone surveyor was rescued. He was in a bad way by then. Space crazy, they said. Imagining that specters spoke to him. His rescuers got his ship working and set him up with minimal supplies when he refused to leave it. As a farewell gift and thank you, he left them a one-time recording of his story. He was never seen again.”

  “Do you think he went back for the cache?” Thelma asked.

  Harry smiled at her. “There have been no unexplained appearances of raphus geodes on the market nor unidentified AIs. If the Eldorado Cache exists, it’s still out there.”

  “And still making people crazy,” Max said.

  Yet it was a story that Harry had said would reveal much about the Saloon Sector. Thelma needed to meditate on it. She stretched, and yawned. Tiredness ambushed her. She said “good night” and retired.

  In the privacy of her cabin, she called up a star map on her personal computer. She’d familiarized herself with the major starlanes for the Saloon Sector on the five week journey out here and the timing of their two week journey didn’t add up. Unless she was misremembering, to travel from Zephyr to beyond Chinook in a fortnight was impossible for anything short of a naval spaceship or a courier. Chinook had to be closer than she recalled.

  But when she checked, the time from Zephyr to Chinook was, indeed, two weeks for a courier. If she added in the time to the Deadstar Diner, the Lonesome had to be as fast as a courier.

  She closed her computer and sat back in the comfortable red armchair.

  Just from Lon and Harry’s presence on the Lonesome—not one, but two rare AIs—it was obvious that Max Smith was no ordinary former Star Marine or sheriff. But apparently the Lonesome wasn’t ordinary either.

  Her thinking was muddled from exhaustion. Of course the Lonesome couldn’t be ordinary. Lon was embedded in it.

  She brushed her teeth, nearly swallowing her toothbrush when she yawned uncontrollably. How had Max ended up in the company of two AIs? Did it explain why she’d been unable to find any background on him in the Galactic Justice database?

  In the mirror, her reflection regarded her blearily.

  “How did I end up here?” she asked it.

  Neither version of herself had an answer—and if Lon was monitoring her cabin, he stayed silent, too.

  Chapter 5

  The training ring on the Lonesome was a large, well-equipped space with everything from exercise equipment and a gravity isolation well to a fully immersive virtual reality set. Lon simply rearranged things according to need. For Thelma, the training ring also possessed her own personal trainer.

  Harry had decided she needed instruction. In truth, he was more than a trainer. He’d become her sensei, pushing and correcting her as he guided her into understanding both how she fought and her limits.

  “You’re not a killer,” he told her after their latest bout. “You hesitate to strike a killing blow, even with me, who can’t be taken down that way. Your instinct is to disable rather than to destroy. That’s fine in the core worlds. But out here, there are situations where there’s no back-up coming. At its heart, the frontier functions on the kill or be killed rule.”

  She concentrated on unwrapping the tape over her knuckles.

  He crouched in front of her. “You’re a deputy. You’re here to keep other people safe. This isn’t about you choosing to save your life at the cost of your attacker’s. If you die, your attacker is free to kill more, to enslave others, to destroy more lives. When you’re in a situation where you’re fighting for your life, you’re fighting for more than yourself.” He paused. “Does that help?”

  “I don’t know.” She’d discovered the hard way that lessons at the academy were very different to training with Harry. He forced her out beyond the psychological safety of seeing their fights as training, something she could excel at without serious consequences to others, and into a visceral sense of being endangered; of facing how she responded to threats. “I’ll think about it.”

  He clasped her hands, as gentle now as he’d been brutal minutes before. “I would kill to save you. Max and Lon would do the same.”

  She sucked in a harsh breath. Until she was prepared to kill to save the team on the Lonesome, including herself, she was its weak link. She had to come to terms with her new reality. “I’ll get my head together for tomorrow’s training.”

  He squeezed her hands and let go.

  This was her battle, and she had to fight it, alone.

  Cooking with Lon was more fun. It was also their reward after intensive sessions in which he taught her about the non-lethal aspects of the Saloon Sector. She’d confided her personal plans to him, and Lon was an enthusiastic supporter, but that merely reinforced his determination to make her an expert on Saloon Sector current affairs.

  The only person who didn’t try to improve Thelma on their two weeks’ journey to the Deadstar Diner was Max. Although he was called in to taste test the results of her and Lon’s cookery experiments.

  She also messaged her family.

  As often as they’d warned her not to aim at a core world career and not to trust the equal opportunity nonsense President Smith and his government spouted, now that Galactic Justice had actually dumped her in the Saloon Sector, Thelma’s family were heated in support of her. They couldn’t say enough bad things about her employer, the one she was contracted to for the next seven years. They raged at Galactic Justice’s treatment of her, the class valedictorian, until she distracted them by mentioning Max.

  “One of Joe’s Star Marine buddies is a sheriff out here. He’s taken me on as a deputy as a favor to Joe and is looking out for me. Max Smith.”

  Joe was blunt. “You can trust Max.”

  “He’s a complete professional,” Thelma agreed.

  But she’d missed Joe’s point. “No, I mean that Max will do anything, go to any lengths once he’s given his loyalty. I lost contact with him, with a few of the guys. They went on secret missions after I was out. I didn’t know he’d quit and become a sheriff. But it suits him. He’s passionate about justice and intolerant of pettifogging rules. I can see how he ended up on the frontier. Now that you’re his deputy, you’re his. He never spoke about his family. He gave that bond to our unit. Now, you’ll have his loyalty. He’ll blow up the universe to keep you safe. He was our demolition expert. Don’t stress about Thelma, Mom. She’s safer in the Saloon Sector with Max than she ever was on Serene. Say hi to him for me and give him my thanks. Get him to call me.”

  Thelma passed on the message over dinner, which was meatloaf with roast vegetables and apple cobbler for dessert. “Max, Joe says hi and thanks for taking on his baby sister.” She smiled wryly.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Good. He’d like to talk to you. Well, message. I can’t get used to how far out we are and the delay in communications. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with me giving him your contact details, but I can give you his?”

  Max nodded.

  She messaged him Joe’s number.

  Her brother might be right, and Max had her back, but her new boss remained a mystery to her.

  In his rundown o
n all things Saloon Sector, the only thing Lon wouldn’t discuss was Max’s open cases. She’d asked Max about them a couple of times, to no avail. He hadn’t given her the details of his cases nor assigned her any cases of her own. But he let Lon and Harry train her. Perhaps he was waiting till her two instructors passed her as competent? Four years at the Galactic Justice academy counted for little out here. She was the dudette.

  No, Lon had taught her better than that. Her colleagues on the Lonesome respected her. It was the rest of the Saloon Sector that she had to impress with the new version of herself that she’d spent the five weeks on the Lazy Days starliner inventing.

  The Deadstar Diner, both the station and the asteroid it was parked on, became visible on the viewscreen in the lounge courtesy of Lon’s external camera feed as he maneuvered the Lonesome in to dock. Thelma watched it alone. She had no idea where Max and Harry lurked. Nor had Max given her any instructions beyond asking her if she intended to visit the diner?

  She’d replied in the affirmative. “Lon says the diner is famous for its milkshakes. I’m going to try an orange sherbet one.”

  She was dressed for the visit. A utility suit would have been the safe, boring and completely wrong choice. Thelma had discarded the idea as soon as it presented itself. Dressed in one of those, she’d be seen as the dudette deputy dumped on Max.

  This was her debut in the Saloon Sector. This was where she had to make an impression and stake out her place in the frontier. She chose her costume from the Parisian section of her wardrobe.

  Lon approved it. “Cute, fashionable, someone to be dismissed, until they see the red shoes. A woman of confidence and in control.”

  “All that from the clothes?” Thelma questioned.

  “I’ve been researching human appearance, social cues and body language.” He didn’t say why.

  She didn’t ask. She finished winding a pink ribbon around her ponytail. Her peach shirt was fitted, making the most of the results of a push-up bra; but even tighter were her blue jeans, the cuffs rolled to highlight her muscled calves and emphasize the red shoes.

  Max walked into the lounge, looking the same as ever in his gray utility suit, and stopped at the sight of her.

  She eyed him uncertainly. “You didn’t say I’d be on duty.” And she was positive he didn’t need her assistance to transfer Wild Blaster Bill to the protection of the Lonesome’s holding cells—which she still hadn’t seen. Despite hints, no one had invited her to wander either up or down the ladder to the other decks.

  “No. You’re fine.” Max frowned. He turned toward the door, but Harry was there, blocking the exit.

  “The little lady is more than fine,” Harry said. The AI looked like normal, as Max did.

  Thelma was the only one to have dressed up for the Deadstar Diner. She refused to feel embarrassed. She had a plan, one approved by Lon who was a master strategist. Her idea of how to punish Galactic Justice for sending her out here had a very real chance of success now that the AI was involved. “Thanks, Harry.”

  “Just remember, outside the Lonesome, I’m a mech. You need to treat me as such. Don’t interact with me at all. I’m a weapon that Max commands.”

  “If there’s any trouble, hide behind him,” Lon added, fussy as a mother hen.

  She nodded. “Will do.”

  They exited the Lonesome. Max went first with Thelma behind him and Harry being menacing as the rearguard. It was odd, and a bit scary, to see Harry’s mech face stripped of emotion and his bearing just as robotic. He gave the accurate impression of being ready to kill, instantly.

  Still, knowing that he literally had her back enabled her to strut into the Deadstar Diner without regard for the stares she collected. It was like being back at the Zephyr spacedock—people were fascinated to see her with Max—except that now Navy personnel were added to the busybody crowd of Customs officers, ordinary spacers, miners and drifters.

  “Darlene.” Max greeted the diner’s owner with a tip of his hat.

  Thelma peeped around his broad shoulders to glimpse the powerful woman who owned the famous refueling station. Thelma blinked.

  Darlene was short; something that she seemed to be compensating for by piling her brassy blonde hair high and bouffant. She had a wide mouth and freckles unconcealed by makeup. She looked to be a healthy, active fifty, which, given that Thelma had checked her record and knew her to be ninety seven, spoke well of her rejuvenation treatments. Her eyes gave away her age, though. They were shrewd and assessing. A survivor’s eyes. She greeted Max briskly. “Bill is in my second storage room. Tomas will show you the way.”

  The saurelle who stepped forward was presumably Tomas. He wore an apron over his six foot reptilian body. That was quite a concession from a saurelle. They preferred to be naked and most Federation citizens accepted it. Darlene evidently had higher standards for her diner.

  Max nodded once, didn’t turn to introduce Thelma or give her any instructions, and followed Tomas to the back of the diner and out of sight through a doorway.

  Harry stayed behind Thelma.

  Darlene glanced at the mech’s position and her mouth pursed thoughtfully before her gaze returned to Thelma. “Welcome to the Deadstar Diner. I’m Darlene.”

  “Deputy Thelma Bach.” Thelma offered her hand and found it gripped firmly. She hadn’t anticipated Harry staying with her. Securing Wild Blaster Bill was surely more dangerous. Max was sending a message: she was under his protection, and any attack on her would be met with overwhelming force; that is, by Harry.

  “So, you’re Max’s new deputy. I had heard rumors, but I didn’t believe them. Sit down, order something.” Darlene pushed her into an empty booth. That it was both empty and immaculate in the busy diner suggested that it was the owner’s booth.

  Thelma sat.

  Harry loomed.

  A waitress hurried up to take Thelma’s order.

  “I’m not sure what Max would like, but I’ll have an orange sherbet milkshake, please.”

  Darlene didn’t look at her waitress. “Coffee.” She stared at Thelma.

  The high backs of the booth and its position near the rear of the diner meant that Thelma couldn’t see many of the patrons and they couldn’t see her. Since Harry had her back, she didn’t worry that she was vulnerable. At least she faced the right way to see Max when he returned with their prisoner.

  Darlene sat where she could see the entrance to the kitchen and most of the dining space.

  Thelma smiled at the diner’s owner. She and Lon had brainstormed numerous ways for Thelma to get a chance to speak with Darlene, and now, here was Darlene making that happen—as Lon had predicted.

  “She’s going to be curious about you. Information is currency, as you well know, and you’re an anomaly. A woman Max trusts.”

  That might have been an exaggeration, except that Max had trusted her with the secret of Lon and Harry’s existence. Her brother Joe must have quite a reputation for trustworthiness. Then again, if there was one thing Rock Sector’s independent asteroid miners were famous for, it was their ability to keep secrets. Max would have confirmed that she lived up to her background before he accepted her as his deputy.

  Diplomatic lessons and interrogation techniques learned at the academy came in handy now as Thelma smoothed her hand along the gleaming chrome edge of the table. She kept in mind her overall goal for today: to establish her reputation with Darlene as someone worth the diner manager’s time. The first step was to offer a little information.

  “I gather Max hasn’t had a deputy before me.”

  “No, he hasn’t.” Darlene showed a hint of amusement. She was curious and willing to be entertained.

  Thelma hoped to offer something beyond that. “Max served with my brother Joe in the Star Marines.” Lon had assured her that Max’s time as a Marine was known, if not common knowledge.

  “Ah.” Darlene leaned back fractionally as the waitress carefully put a white coffee cup in front of her.

  A brimming
milkshake of pale orange froth was placed in front of Thelma, complete with a striped red and white straw.

  The man under discussion appeared in her field of view. Max marched a skinny, gray-haired man along with him.

  The noise of the diner rose sharply.

  Harry moved into a ready stance. It was such a slight movement.

  The diner fell silent. Well, not completely silent. Max and his prisoner’s footsteps were audible, fading away. Gradually the noise of the diner returned.

  “Old fool.” Darlene watched Wild Blaster Bill’s journey out the door. Her tone might have been angry, but her expression held regret and worry.

  Rather than intrude with unwanted sympathy, Thelma occupied herself with her milkshake. The orange sherbet flavor was a tingly contrast to the smooth quality of the milk base.

  Darlene’s hands curled around her cup. She drank some of the coffee in tiny sips. When she replaced the cup on its saucer, her attention was determinedly on Thelma. “How did a nice girl like you end up in the Saloon Sector?”

  Thelma smiled. The effort was forced, but she’d practiced in front of her dresser mirror. She hoped it looked natural, if a tad rueful. “I spent four years at the Galactic Justice academy, graduating top of my class, but you’ve heard my accent?”

  “Rock Sector,” Darlene said instantly.

  People interested in such things claimed that the Rock Sector accent resembled the Australian twang from Old Earth. It was instantly recognizable and while Thelma had worked hard to lose it, Lon recommended she reclaim her heritage. On the frontier, a Rocker would get more respect than a core worlder.

  “They dumped you out here for daring to match them.” Darlene understood.

  “I didn’t match them.” Thelma bared her teeth. The “them” in these sort of conversations was always core worlders. “I beat them.”