The Sheriff of Yrnameer

by Michael Rubens

  “Ticktock, ticktock.”

  “Yes, thank you, Kenneth.”

  The rejection was bad. Having Kenneth silently materialize with each humiliating defeat and chide him for his unsuccessful efforts was worse. What made it sheer torture was Nora.

  Each night he’d find her standing in her doorway, waiting for the evening’s entertainment to begin. By the third day she had set up a chair and had a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

  “Doing great, Cole,” she said, her mouth full. “She’s gonna cave any moment now.”

  He flung down the flower stems petulantly and marched across the narrow street to her. “Do you realize that Kenneth is going to kill me if I don’t get some sort of response from her? Do you realize that?”

  “Oh, c’mon, Cole, be reasonable. I think it’s touching how much he cares about you, and God only knows why. Popcorn?”

  On the fourth day he checked in with Peter about his gravitational survey.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Fantastic. I’ve already finished sections one through forty-three,” Peter said.

  “Oh, great! That sounds great! Er, how many sections are there?”

  “Only seven hundred and twenty,” said Peter.

  Cole did some quick calculations, the result of which equaled him being dead.

  “Can you pick it up a bit?”

  “Well, I need to be thorough,” said Peter, with the air of a professional whose turf was being invaded.

  “I agree completely,” said Cole. “But can I have you focus on a specific spot for now?”

  That evening he stood outside of MaryAnn’s door again, ignoring Nora’s snickers, aware that Kenneth was watching critically from somewhere, and recited the poem that he had written for her. Well, that he had commissioned for her. Fred had done more of the actual writing.

  It was a very good poem. It moved him even as he rendered it into speech, half convincing himself that he was the author. Nora stopped sniggering and fell silent, listening.

  When he finished MaryAnn opened the door and looked at him for a long moment, the significance of her sober expression unclear. Then she closed the door softly.

  “That was really, really nice,” said Nora.

  “Thank you,” said Cole.

  “There’s no way in hell you wrote it.”

  The next morning Cole watched from afar as MaryAnn walked hand in hand with Fred, engaged in what looked to be a heartfelt conversation.

  “This doesn’t look good, Cole,” said Kenneth, slipping a tentacle around his shoulders. “Perhaps your gambit has backfired. You know what they say about the Qx”-x-’–’,” he continued, getting the pronunciation perfect.

  “No,” said Cole.

  “Nor I. But I would hazard to guess that this youngster is making a play for your filly. The successful completion of which, I hardly need to add, would constitute an immediate and complete failure on your part.”

  Cole took Fred aside and established in no uncertain terms exactly where his territorial boundaries stood. Fred, insulted, responded with a short but detailed account of the gender breakdown within his species. MaryAnn, he explained indignantly, had no place whatsoever within the complex, seven-member structure of Qx”-x-’–’ romantic life, so Cole could stop worrying and go x-’x it.

  That evening Cole went to MaryAnn’s cottage empty-handed. It was raining. He was out of ideas, out of gestures, out of hope. He had one final, desperate tactic.

  When he arrived at her door he took a moment to arrange his features into what he hoped was an approximation of abject humility and internally rehearsed his speech: MaryAnn, I’m going to be completely and brutally honest with you. You see—and then she opened the door before he could knock.

  “Cole,” she said, “I need to be completely and brutally honest with you. I can’t have you coming here every night. I don’t wish to speak with you, I don’t want to interact with you, and frankly, I don’t even want to look at you. My only hope is that you have at least enough integrity that you’re actually going to help these people, and not abandon them in their time of need. Good-bye, Cole.”

  And she shut the door.

  Even Nora didn’t say anything to him as he shuffled away defeated. And somewhere, he knew, Kenneth was watching.

  The rain was pooling on the streets and running along the gutters as he trudged back to the jailhouse. When he went inside, Peter was waiting for him just as they had arranged.

  “Please tell me that you have good news,” said Cole.

  “Oh. I’m not sure that I can,” said Peter. “For example, there’s something I can’t explain. I’ve discovered a gravitational anomaly right in the middle of the village at the address you gave me. It’s very odd: there’s something very dense inside there that—why are you kissing me? Will we have sex now?”

  Cole said to him, “What if I asked you to write a program for yourself that also included instructions to erase the memory of the program once you’ve executed it?”

  “You mean, like a game?” asked Peter.

  “Yes, a game.”

  “Sure!”

  “Okay, let’s try something,” said Cole. “I want you to take two steps to the left.”

  Peter took two steps to the left.

  “And now?”

  “I want you to erase the memory that I asked you to do that.”

  “Do what?” said Peter. “Why are you dancing around and giggling? Is it time to dance around and giggle now?”

  When Cole entered his darkened room on the Benedict, he said, “Hello, Kenneth.”

  There was a rich chuckle from the corner of the room.

  “My, my! How is it you knew I’d be here?” said Kenneth.

  Cole smiled to himself. Since leaving MaryAnn’s house, he’d been saying “Hello, Kenneth” each time he turned a corner or entered a new space, figuring that eventually he’d be right. Having won the advantage, he pressed on.

  “Let me guess, Kenneth: you’re here to gloat.” He peeled off his wet jacket and sat on his bed to take off his boots, his back to where he thought Kenneth was. “You’ve come to tell me that I’ve failed in my attempts to win MaryAnn’s heart,” he continued, grunting as he got one boot off, “and that tomorrow morning you’ll be punching a hole through my skull and so on. But guess what: there’s—”

  “No, I was thinking of doing it now.”

  Cole twisted in his seat. “Now hold on! That’s not what we agreed! The time limit isn’t up yet!”

  “Cole, I don’t see how granting you any more time would help the matter.”

  Cole stood and turned to address the darkened corner, the boot still in his hand. “That’s cheating, Kenneth. It’s not fair!” He hurled the boot to the floor.

  “Cole, she has soundly rejected you. To be honest, I think her decision was entirely—”

  “Yes, thank you, I know. I’m not good enough for her and I’m a miserable worm, and she made—”

  “No, I thought she was being too hasty.”

  “Really? That’s very nice of you.”

  “She’s a wonderful woman, and she’d be stooping low indeed if she were to decide to associate with you …”

  “I think you’ve made that point already.”

  “… but I believe your feelings for her are genuine.”

  Two tentacles and an eyestalk extended forward into the light. One tentacle was holding a monocle in front of the eyeball, which was focusing on the object in the other tentacle.

  “‘Dear MaryAnn, I don’t even deserve to have you read this letter …,’” Kenneth read.

  Cole sat heavily back down on his bed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t believe this.”

  “‘I’m every bad thing you think I am, and probably worse …’ I think you might be overplaying the humility angle.”

  Cole flopped backward and stared at the ceiling. “You picked up all those pieces and taped my card back together?”

  “‘… but you once said something
wonderful to me, many years ago—”

  “Okay, yes, I wrote it, I don’t need to hear it again.”

  “‘Something that I treasure to this day. … ‘”

  “Kenneth, I can get you the money.”

  “It’s a very nice missive, Cole. She really should have given you another chance. But seeing as she didn’t—”

  “I can get you the money.”

  “Oh, come now, Cole. Both of us know that’s an impossibility.”

  Cole sat up. “You gave me a time limit and said that if I won MaryAnn over or delivered the money—or something of equivalent value—you’d let me be.”

  “I was humoring you.”

  “Humor me some more. Give me until the time limit. I won’t disappoint you.”

  There was a silence.

  “If you try to run again, Cole, you should know that I’ll be just as happy to deposit my brood in her skull.”

  “But you like her! You said yourself you think she’s wonderful!”

  “Alien sensibility, Cole. You have until the deadline. I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with.” With barely a sound, Kenneth glided out of the room, pausing in the doorway. “Oh, and Cole: there’s no need to keep saying ‘Hello, Kenneth’ each time you enter a new room.”

  Slightly after midnight Cole rang the alarm bell.

  The citizens of Yrnameer came tumbling out into the streets, groggy, disoriented, some half-dressed.

  “Everyone assemble!” shouted Cole, standing on the porch of the jailhouse as they milled about. “Hurry up! Let’s go! Vern, where’s your weapon? Glorf, you’re going into battle like that?”

  They were a sorry sight, panicked, confused, stumbling about, desperate to know what was going on.

  “Fall in! Count off! Let’s go! Go go go!”

  “Cole, what is this?” demanded Nora, shouting to be heard over the clamor. “Are the bandits coming?”

  “This is a drill.”

  “Now? In the middle of the night?”

  “You want to complain, or you want to help?”

  She grimaced, but then went about her duties, herding and corralling bewildered townsfolk into their ranks. “Sheriff,” said Mayor Kimber, still in his pajamas, “is this really necessary?”

  “Is it necessary?” said Cole. “Is it necessary?” You’re damn right it’s necessary, he thought, it’s life or death.

  “Sorry. Right. Eh …” Mayor Kimber looked about, muddled, then wandered into the commotion, waving his arms ineffectually. Cole saw Joshua, alert as always, darting about and helping to organize. Orwa was trying to calm people. There was MaryAnn, ignoring Cole, whispering into her microphone.

  And there was Geldar.

  It took them nearly twenty minutes to fully assemble and count off. When they did, Cole harangued them for another twenty for their sluggish, chaotic response, while they shuffled their feet guiltily and tried to hide their yawns.

  Then, finally, he saw Peter arrive at the back of the ranks.

  “All right,” said Cole, “I’ve had enough of this. Go home. Dismissed!”

  Grumbling and muttering, they dispersed.

  Nora approached, hands on hips. Cole didn’t wait for her.

  Cole paced in circles outside the Benedict, gnawing on his nails until Peter arrived. When Cole saw him he jogged to meet him halfway.

  “Did you find it?” Cole.

  “I found it!”

  Cole clapped his hands together.

  “Great! Where is it? Show it to me!”

  “Show what?”

  “The diamond! Where is it?”

  “Diamond … diamond … oh, right. What did I do with it?”

  “What do you mean what did you do with it?!”

  “Let’s see. … I went into Geldar’s house during the drill and used the gravitometer to locate it … then I picked it up, and then … what did I do with it then?”

  “Oh, no. Oh, no no no. Peter, how come you can’t remember what happened?”

  “I got a head start on erasing my memory registers, like you said.”

  “So you half forgot what happened?!”

  “Well, I’ve been sort of savoring the memories before I discard them. It was all so exciting—like a big caper! What’s wrong? Why are you doing that? Does your head hurt?”

  A few minutes later they were outside of Geldar’s prefab mansion. The lights were off, the streets quiet.

  “Well?” whispered Cole.

  “I’m not sure,” responded Peter in the same whisper. “The gravitometer doesn’t seem to show the same reading as before. But it could be still in there.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Could be.

  Cole checked his watch. Four hours.

  “Could be?”

  “Could be.”

  The citizens had apparently taken Cole’s lecture to heart and reacted much faster the second time he rang the alarm bell. It took them less than half the time to organize themselves into lines and rows that, if not exactly neat, at least qualified as lines and rows. It filled Cole with a certain sense of pride—as well as a certain sense of panic when he realized how much more time he had to stall them for.

  “All right,” he announced, “I think it’s time we learned a few marching songs.”

  Halfway through the third rendition of “Proudly into Shrapnel,” Peter reappeared.

  “Good! We’re done! Go home and get some rest!”

  “It’s not in there?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Cole checked his watch. Two hours.

  “Does your head still hurt?” asked Peter.

  “Peter, you have to think. Where did you put the diamond?”

  “The diamond. The diamond. Think. Thinking. Ah!”

  “What?”

  “I know why I can’t remember—I erased that memory! Or did I tell you that already?”

  “Peter, we have to find that thing, and we only have a few hours to do it.”

  “Right! We should split up!”

  “Peter, I don’t have a gravitometer.”

  “No, but both of me does!”

  There were a few soft clicking noises, and suddenly the complex, shrimplike part of Peter separated from the simple, blocky Peter.

  “Wait a second—didn’t you tell me half your brain is in each robot?” said Cole, alarmed.

  “Did I say that?” said the shrimp. Then a moth flew by. “Oo, pretty!” said little Peter, and he was off, scurrying erratically into the night in pursuit of the insect.

  “Peter!” hissed Cole. “Peter, come back!! Dammit!”

  Cole turned to big Peter, who actually contained only twenty-seven percent of Peter’s already nondevastating intellect.

  “Duh … durrrh … duhuh …,” said big Peter.

  “Oh, no,” said Cole.

  Cole ran alongside big Peter, saying, “What about here? Measure here!”

  “Uh … I dunno …,” big Peter would say. The other thing he kept saying was “MaryAnn … MaryAnn …”

  Finally Cole said, “Are you saying you put the diamond in MaryAnn’s house?”

  “MaryAnn,” said big Peter.

  Another check of the watch.

  This time Cole didn’t stick around, leaping off the porch of the jail-house and skedaddling the instant he rang the alarm bell. Tomorrow, if he were still alive, he’d tell the mayor that it must have been a practical joke—blame it on that youngster Joshua, for example, full of high spirits and lacking judgment.

  It was 3:57 in the morning, less than an hour before his rendezvous with Kenneth. Cole made a wide berth to avoid Main Street, where the citizens were already gathering, big Peter clomping behind him. They got to MaryAnn’s cottage in about seven minutes.

  The door was open, the lights off.

  Cole went in, followed by big Peter, who could barely fit through the door frame. The front door opened into a small living room, the kitchen through another door in the rear. There was a stairway to the right, g
oing up to the bedroom, Cole figured. Cole held a small flashlight in his mouth as he searched the living room, gingerly at first and then with increasing determination. Nothing.

  “MaryAnn,” big Peter said. “MaryAnn.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Cole.

  She had a small writing desk against the wall to the left. He opened and shut all the drawers, knowing as he did so that it wouldn’t be in there, because a neutron star diamond would tear a hole through the wood. He jerked open the last drawer. It was stuffed with what looked like personal correspondence. He shut it.

  And opened it again. The first letter on top was in a masculine hand, starting, “Dear MaryAnn. I miss you a great deal. …”

  “MaryAnn …,” said Peter.

  Cole scanned down the text until he reached “Love always,” but whatever name was written below that was beyond the crease where the paper was folded back on itself.

  “MaryAnn …,” said Peter again.

  “Yeah, yeah, MaryAnn, MaryAnn,” said Cole, reaching to flip the letter over.

  “What are you doing in here!” demanded MaryAnn from the doorway. Cole jumped, sending letters flying.

  “I’m not reading them!” he shouted, as sensitive personal information gently settled around the room.

  “Get out of here!”

  “MaryAnn—” said Cole.

  “MaryAnn,” echoed big Peter.

  “Get out!”

  “Let me explain! I’m not here to go through your drawers—I mean, I’m not here to read your letters, I’m here to steal …”

  He paused. They stared at each other. He gave up.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” he said.

  ˙ ˙ ˙

  He walked back to the ship, big Peter padding after him, saying, “MaryAnn …” Cole didn’t have the energy to tell him to shut up and go away.

  He didn’t bother looking at his watch. The sky was starting to brighten on the horizon. He knew what time it was, and what would be waiting for him.

  He could ring the alarm bell for the fourth time, and maybe the citizens of Yrnameer would respond yet again, this time to defend their sheriff against Kenneth.

  Kenneth would wipe them out.

  He could run again.

  Kenneth would find him.

  He wondered what would happen when the bandits came. He wondered if MaryAnn would be all right. He wondered if what was about to happen would hurt.