“All right, let’s go!” he said, spurring the baiyo on, and it took off like a shot.
In the escape pod they watched him on one of the monitors as he galloped out of frame.
“He’s going the wrong way,” said MaryAnn.
A moment later the baiyo galloped back into frame and continued on in the other direction.
“That’s better,” said MaryAnn.
“To the right of the trees! This way!” Runk shouted at his men from the skimmer. “Careful with the lifter! You smash it up and we’ll eat your guts for dinner!”
There were over a hundred of them, some mounted on baiyos, some trudging along on foot, their weapons clanking dully. They walked alongside and behind the Big Red Lifter like it was a parade float, the giant flatbed hovering a meter above the uneven ground. Runk darted around on the skimmer, which listed slightly to one side due to Altung’s weight. The lifter could have easily carried the men who were walking, but early on there had been several arguments over who got to sit where, one of which ended in gunplay. After that Runk made everyone get off.
It was light enough now that Runk barely needed a flashlight to check the map that Cole had sketched for him, showing what Cole claimed was the safest route to the town. Bacchi had drawn over it, a red line indicating a detour that took them to the north before they descended on the town’s flank. Then they’d blow a hole in the fence and the fun would start.
“All right,” said Runk. “No more talking from here on out. Everyone check your weapons. We’re close.”
Cole was close, too. When he was a few hundred meters from Peter’s field he hopped off the baiyo and ran the rest of the distance, figuring he would be harder to spot that way. He got to the edge of the field just as Runk’s men were coming into view to his right. Cole dropped to the ground, hoping the grass would give him enough cover.
He wormed forward like they’d taught him in the space marines, keeping as flat as possible. In his mind he could hear the drill sergeant screaming at them: “Heads and asses down, space marines,” and then Farley saying, “Space marines? Don’t it seem weird to you that they call it …”
Cole was just a few meters away from where he’d hidden the Altex remote box, which took the signal from the ship and relayed it through the Traifo interface to the Artemis coil, and then to a series of hardwired connections to the fuel cells. He could hear Runk’s men now, the low hum of the lifter, the higher whine of the skimmer, a few scattered clacks as weapons were prepared.
He got to the spot where he’d placed the—wait, wasn’t this the spot? Where was the damn Altex box? Over there, under those branches! No. Here? No. Oh, for farg’s sake, he didn’t have time for this. …
He scrambled back and forth, going from spot to spot, yanking away matted grasses and vegetation. About half of Runk’s men were in the field, nearing the blast area, close enough that he could hear the occasional murmur and then a stern “Shh!” from Runk. The Big Red Lifter was a stone’s throw away.
Where did he put the stupid thing? He pulled himself forward. If one of Runk’s men looked this way, he would almost certainly see the grass waving about.
It wasn’t going to work. At this rate, even if he found it in time, they might be past the field, and then it would be too late.
He clawed aside a pile of dead grass. Not there. Not to the left. Not in that—wait. He could see the little blue box now, about a body length away. He started creeping toward it, then froze. One of Runk’s men had broken off from the main group and was walking directly at him, his weapon held ready at hip height, scanning back and forth for danger.
Cole tried to wiggle lower into the earth. As the man got nearer Cole could see him better. It was the Yoin. He was just steps from Cole, getting closer, slowing as he did, then stopping, one foot nearly stepping on the Altex box. Cole, facedown on the ground, could now only see as high as the Yoin’s shins. If he reached out, he could just about touch the Yoin’s toes. The Yoin had to see him. Cole held his breath.
In the escape pod they could see it all. They could see Runk’s men, moving across the field. In the lower corner they could see Cole, scuttling back and forth in the grass.
“Something’s wrong,” said Joshua. “He can’t find something!”
“He’s got to hurry,” said MaryAnn. “They’re almost all in the field.”
Then they saw the Yoin split from the main group and walk toward Cole.
“Oh, no,” said MaryAnn.
“Get out of there, Cole!” hissed Nora. “Get out of there!”
They watched, barely daring to breathe, as the Yoin stopped in front of Cole.
Cole heard the Yoin shifting his weight, and then adjusting his weapon. Farg it. If he was going to die, he might as well go out swinging. He got ready. One, two, ttthhhr—or maybe if he begged, the Yoin would spare him long enough to … no, just go for it. One, two—
The Yoin began to urinate.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Joshua, squinting at the image of the Yoin.
“I’m not sure,” said Nora. “I think he’s—”
Oh, they all said at the same time.
About two minutes later, when the Yoin was still at it, Joshua said, Wow.
Cole knew that his perception of time was probably somewhat askew. But even so, it did not seem physically possible that the Yoin could have so much of his internal real estate devoted to bladder. Nor did it seem possible that he couldn’t see Cole, lying nearly at his feet.
There was another saying in the Yoin language. It went, “Big bladder, bad night vision.” It rhymed better in Yoin.
The Yoin was humming something and, from the sound of it, was now drawing designs or signing his name. A thick, dark rivulet began to meander toward Cole’s face. Cole tried to shrink back without making a noise.
After what seemed several hours, the Yoin sighed contentedly. The rivulet had turned into a small pool four inches from Cole’s nose. Cole heard various adjustments and then squishy splashing noises as the Yoin turned to walk away. Cole released his breath. Then the Yoin grunted and stopped.
“Why is he stopping? Did he spot Cole?” said Nora.
“He’s picking something up,” said MaryAnn.
The Yoin’s hand entered Cole’s field of vision. It reached down, prodded the Altex box, grasped it, turned it over, then lifted it up and out of sight.
Cole closed his eyes. It was over.
He heard the Yoin grunt again. “Hmm,” said the Yoin.
Then there was a mucky splash and some warm droplets splattered Cole’s face. The Yoin walked off.
Cole opened his eyes. The Altex box was lying in the mud in front of his face.
“He’s leaving again! He’s going!” said Joshua. “What’s Sheriff Cole doing?”
“That box—it must be connected to the fuel cells,” said MaryAnn.
“Wait,” said Joshua, “when we push the button, won’t Cole …?”
Cole grabbed the box, trying to ignore the wetness. Now he had to find the Traifo interface plug. He got into a crouching position and scuttled forward, detouring around the small lake that blocked his path. Runk’s men were in the field, and in a few moments they’d be beyond it, and all this effort would be for naught. There it was. He stooped to grab the Traifo plug and tried to insert it into the 89-pin connector in the Altex box, his hand shaking. That’s when the Yoin heard him and turned.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s the poet!”
“Hey!” said Cole, giving him a little jock nod with his chin while he kept trying to insert the plug. “How are ya?”
“I’m okay,” said the Yoin. “What are you doing here?”
“Just,” said Cole, twisting the plug and trying to get the thing aligned, “you know …” He smiled.
“Huh,” said the Yoin. “Maybe I should shoot you.”
“Uh … can you hold on a minute?” said Cole, jabbing the plug desperately at the socket.
“Hmm. I don’t know. …”
The plug clicked into place.
Cole sighed.
“Okay,” he said, “I guess you might as well shoot me.”
In the cockpit of the escape pod the button went red and lit up.
“No,” said Joshua, shaking his head, his eyes tearful.
“Don’t look,” said MaryAnn, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Nora placed her fingers on the button. Her hand was shaking.
MaryAnn closed her eyes.
Then opened them. Nora’s hand was still poised on the button. MaryAnn realized Nora was crying, too.
“I can’t,” Nora whispered. “I can’t do it.” She pulled her hand away.
“We have to,” said MaryAnn, and she pounded the button.
Nothing happened.
MaryAnn pounded the button again.
Nothing.
The Yoin calmly took the safety off his gun and racked the slide.
“Uh …,” said Cole, “can you wait a little bit longer?” With his other hand he jiggled the connection, then slapped the box.
“Sort of in a rush,” the Yoin said, then took aim and fired.
The bullet plowed into Cole, knocking him backward and spinning him around, the Altex box flying from his hand, and as he fell and all went dark his final thought was that he had failed.
The impact of the bullet carried his body backward, landing on a thick mat of vegetation that gave way under his weight, allowing him to fall through to the deeper hole hidden underneath, the one hole in the meadow that Peter had failed to fill. The Altex splashed down into the puddle of urine, inert.
Then, with a small pop and a few sparks, it shorted out.
The explosion was huge.
Only two bandits survived the blast.
Runk and Altung were beyond the field when the fuel cells went off, the shock wave nearly knocking the skimmer from the sky.
Runk didn’t wait to check to see who was wounded and who was dead. His mind was filled with rage, the desire for vengeance blotting out all other thoughts.
The skimmer screamed through the sky above the village, the townspeople stumbling about in confusion and fear, roused from sleep by the violent concussion of the explosion. Runk fired down on them, overwhelmed by bloodlust, simply hoping to kill as many as possible.
Neither he nor Altung saw the projectile that struck the rear intake vent of the skimmer, knocking out one of the two engines and destroying the lateral stabilizer. The burning skimmer slashed a thick charcoal line of smoke against the pale blue of the dawn, disappearing from view to the west of the village. Somewhere over the horizon there was an explosion, followed by a black column that rose lazily upward.
Even by gralleth standards, it was an incredible shot.
There was a well-attended memorial service, with much sniffling and crying. Orwa spoke eloquently about the heavy toll of violence and hatred. Afterward the townsfolk lingered in and around the town hall, talking quietly in small groups, exchanging hugs and comforting one another.
The bandits might have been the enemy, but they deserved mourning just the same.
Cole was dreaming.
Once again, he was dreaming of the woman he loved, the only woman he had ever loved, and she smiled her radiant smile and all was poetry and songs and spring and wonder, and she spoke to him again:
Cole.
MaryAnn, he whispered.
Yes, Cole, it’s MaryAnn.
And once again he felt the serene warmth filling him and bringing him back to life, and even though a tiny warning bell was going off somewhere he still tried to reach out to her, except someone was holding one of his arms down, so he extended the other toward her dreamy dream breasts—
“Cole!”
“Wha?!” he said, just before another pitcherful of water shlapped into his face.
Oh, God, no, he thought.
He apprehensively opened his eyes a crack.
MaryAnn was standing at his bedside, one hand on her hip, the other holding a now-empty pitcher. Next to her were Nora and Joshua.
The band kicked in.
Flashbulbs popped.
Cole closed his eyes again.
There was another party, almost as good as the first, except this time Cole had his arm in a sling and his singed eyebrows hadn’t grown back yet. He also drank much less at this party, and the pats on the back made him wince.
He found himself once again searching for MaryAnn, then spotted her across the floor. As he made his way across, Mayor Kimber got ahold of his arm, pulling him into a small circle with Orwa and the purple rug thing.
“So tell us again,” said the mayor, who looked and smelled tipsy. “Bacchi was part of it from the beginning?”
“Uh, yes, yes he was,” said Cole, looking around for MaryAnn without success. “All part of the plan.”
“How’d you figure that all out?” asked the purple guy.
Cole gave up on MaryAnn for the moment.
“Well, I knew that Runk wouldn’t trust me, no matter what, so if I told him to do something he’d know it was a trap. But someone with a grudge double-crossing me? Runk understands that idea. He trusts it. To him, that person is reliable. You see, you have to understand how the criminal mind functions.”
Ahh, they all said.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, catching sight of MaryAnn again.
He’d gone about a step before Nora grabbed his good elbow.
“‘Understand how the criminal mind functions’—I wonder how you manage that.” She hiccupped and grinned. She seemed a bit tipsy herself. “I guess congratulations are in order,” she said.
“Just pretending to do my job, ma’am,” said Cole.
“You did good, Cole,” she said, and patted his cheek. “You’re a really rotten guy, but you’ve got hongos.”
She gulped some more beer. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what the plan was?”
“Really? You have to ask?” he said. “You know if I told them the real plan, they would have been accidentally shooting each other in the flippers and tripping on one another’s eyestalks. That, or someone would have gone out to the field and planted a warning sign, to make sure none of the bandits got hurt.”
“Why didn’t you at least tell me?”
“Would you have gone along with a plan like that?”
She smiled. “You did good, Cole,” she repeated. “Good kisser, too,” she added. Then she gestured toward the other side of the room. He followed her gaze, spotting MaryAnn.
“I think your girlfriend is waiting for you,” Nora said, then patted him on the cheek again and walked away, glancing back to grin at him in a manner that could only be construed as saucy.
Cole edged through the crowd toward MaryAnn’s most recent location, accepting handshakes and more painful back-pats along the way. He passed Peter, who was describing his contribution to the plan: “Then I went to work on hole number fourteen. I went scoop, scoop, scoop scoop scoop—or was it, scoop scoop, scoop? No, hang on. …”
Cole finally caught MaryAnn’s eye and waved, redoubling his efforts to swim his way to her: “Pardon me. ‘Scuse me. Pardon. Sorry. Thank you, that’s very kind. Ow—arms’s still a bit sore. Thanks. Pardon me. …”
When he reached her he was visited by a sense of déjà vu, as the old awkward feeling welled up again. He slowed, shuffled, hemming and hawing for the last few feet of his approach, casting about for the right words.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said.
“Sorry about the—”
“Forget it.”
He smiled, did some more shuffling.
“We’ve had this conversation before, huh,” he said.
“Cole, I wanted to tell you this: I’ve never seen anything so brave before. You were prepared to sacrifice yourself for everyone, and I can’t tell you how admirable that is.”
It was nothing, Cole nearly said, or, There was no choice, or, A man has to do what a man has to do. … Instead he said, “A
ctually, I didn’t think the explosion would be that big. I thought I had a pretty good chance of surviving.”
She smiled again.
“You’re being honest.”
“I’m a little drunk.”
She laughed. “Cole …,” she began.
“Sheriff! Sheriff!”
Joshua came running up, face flushed, excited.
“Hi, MaryAnn! Sorry! Sheriff! Sheriff!”
“Do you perhaps have something to tell me?”
“They found the skimmer! It was in a ravine beyond the foothills, all crashed and burnt up!”
“Ah. Remains?”
“They’re not sure. It looked like a bad fire.”
“Ah.”
“What if Runk survived, Sheriff?”
Cole thought about it.
“He’s right,” said MaryAnn. “What if he did?”
“He might come after you, Sheriff!” said Joshua.
Cole chuckled and put a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “No. You don’t know Runk. If he’s alive, he’s gone for good.”
“Okay,” said Joshua uncertainly. “If you say so, Sheriff.”
“Joshua!” boomed the mayor. “Come here, young man!”
Cole and MaryAnn watched as the mayor dragged Joshua off to receive his own share of adulation. Cole turned back to MaryAnn, suddenly feeling very tired.
“You know, I think I’m going to head out,” he said.
“You want me to walk you home? It might be dangerous out there. Bandits, you know.”
He smiled. “Sure.”
As they turned to walk out, she said, “You really think Runk is gone?”
“Long gone,” he said.
They walked at an aimless, leisurely pace for a few minutes, the lively sounds of the party slowly fading behind them.
There was a lull in the conversation, but a pleasant lull, the expectant pause before something important and meaningful is said. MaryAnn took a deep breath.
“Cole,” she said, “what I’ve been wanting to say is this: I erk!”
Cole kept going for a few steps before he realized MaryAnn was no longer walking next to him.
The Sheriff of Yrnameer Page 26