Marshal Law

by Adam D Jones

  “So, you assumed it would reach for your gun? That it wouldn't suspect a trick?”

  “No personality. No creativity. And no memories before the operation. Just undying loyalty. That's about all I know about the husks.”

  Lorai leaned back, impressed. “The Republic has not allowed us to know those things.”

  “All you had to do was ask me. What about the other Lodi?” He knew this was a difficult subject. “The ones who work in the towns, for the Republic. Don’t they talk about husks?”

  “The Chastened are not allowed to speak with us. That is one of the many costs of living under the Sovereign.”

  She rose, and Marshal understood their meeting had come to an end.

  “Thank you for your story. I will ask to hear it again, later, to see if I've forgotten any of it.”

  She turned toward her small study, another room bereft of books, but Marshal tapped her shoulder.

  “Lorai, I know it's not my business, but I have to ask—”

  “You want to know about the blood of the Gifted.”

  Lorai had kept her face so calm, she had lured Marshal into thinking she might not have noticed him listening to the last part of her ceremony.

  “I know it's not my business, but...can you blame me? You mentioned the Gifted. The Lodi who used to control the Dae stones by holding them, who used to do what our scientists can only do with years of alchemy work.”

  “And they're all dead.” Lorai crossed her arms. “I don't want to talk to you about this Marshal, I don't, but I'm going to, because the last thing I want is to have any Republic families spreading rumors about things they don't understand.” She stared at Marshal. “Rumors are dangerous.”

  “I can respect that.”

  She continued. “In the old days, the Gift ran in our blood. It skipped generations here and there, like having your grandfather’s eyes, but we knew which families were blessed. When the Republic learned this, they targeted women and children, any civilian related to a Gifted Lodi, until the Gift was completely wiped out. We haven’t seen anyone who was Gifted in too many generations to ever see it again. It’s gone.”

  “Then why the chant?”

  She looked at Marshal like this was something he should know. “I've often wondered about the husks. Why don’t they protest when they’re ordered to do awful things? I've heard of husks tearing people apart at the command of their superiors. But you told me they have no memories...don't you see? Memories. Without our past, we don't know what to do. You get lost without your history and can’t figure out where to go on your own.” She gestured toward the main door. “Thank you for the visit, Marshal.”

  ◆◆◆

  The other families didn't speak easily to Marshal at first. He tipped his hat to them, like always, during his rounds about town, but their eyes always glanced at his gun, all of them now knew his secret.

  After a week had gone by, he noticed Whitesand looking at him with friendlier faces. Each day a few more warmed up to him. Some even came around to thank him, finally, Marshal supposed, realizing he had saved them from one of the Republic's monsters. By the second week, life had returned to normal.

  And a week after that, a sandship appeared on the horizon.

  3

  No one knew who saw it first. A buzz ran through the town, spreading the sort of dark conversations that carried a deafening weight, even when whispered. By the time First Light touched Marshal's window he had already heard the murmurings outside, and he knew by some instinct that, this time, the trouble was on everyone’s doorstep.

  He parted the wooden blinds, just a hair, and saw it, hovering over the crest of a distant dune. Shouldn't have enough fuel to get here and back! They must have spare barrels crammed in every corner of the ship.

  Erianthe gripped his arm. He hadn't realized she was at his side. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Wake the girls,” he whispered. “I've got work.”

  Outside, he could hear the town muttering louder and louder while he got ready.

  ◆◆◆

  “It's not a big one,” came a sarcastic voice.

  “I beg to differ.” Rion's eye gaped into his hand-held telescope. His mouth hung open nearly as wide as the big lens at the end. “I've counted ten men so far.”

  “You can't tell that from here. Even with your fancy glass.”

  “Sure as sand. It's as big as anything you've seen on the sea.”

  “Don't panic,” said Mayor Sloane, walking through them. He'd taken the time to comb his hair and put on a nice shirt. “That's what they want. They're probably just out surveying.”

  A few of the Lodi murmured an agreement.

  “That's all,” said Sloane. “We can ignore it.”

  “Surveyors take carriages, Mayor.” Marshal walked through his front door. He fastened his gun belt as he walked. “The fuel it takes to get out here costs more than most Republic families see in ten years. And they're just sittin' still out there, burning the Sovereign's money.”

  “Don't let our lawman talk you into a frenzy,” snarled Sloane.

  “What do you think they're doing, Marshal?” asked Rion, ignoring the mayor.

  Marshal turned back to the silent, distant ship. It had no reason to wait. He remembered back to his own days in the Republic military, when he'd been asked to find and destroy a Lodi settlement. That one had been nowhere near as remote as Whitesand.

  “Marshal?”

  “Maybe they're giving us a chance.” He turned to face the others. “You know, letting us run off so they don't have to do anything they'd regret.”

  Their eyes turned to Sloane.

  “Should we?” someone asked. “Can we just leave?”

  “We've been building this place for eight years,” said Sloane, “and I like to think we've just gotten started.” He frowned at Marshal. “I'm not budging.”

  Most of the others nodded and took a stronger stance in the sand, as if the sandship would see their resolve.

  The mayor looked around, satisfied. “Since most of you seem to agree with me, I say it's time we had a meeting.” He glared at Marshal. “Just us.”

  Marshal opened his mouth, but the front door to his house was thrown open and his wife emerged with their daughters in hand.

  “No, you don't, Mayor,” said Erianthe. “Our family's in trouble, too. You can bar that door if you want, but you're not keeping us out.”

  “Erianthe, lovely Erianthe.” Sloane held up his palms in a friendly gesture. “You're a part of this settlement, but you're not—”

  “Don't you 'lovely Erianthe' me. You know my family could just walk over to that sandship and ask for a ride. Whitesand is our home, and you’re not having any more meetings without me and my daughters.”

  With that, she marched the girls to the Bookhouse while Marshal hid his smile.

  ◆◆◆

  Marshal waited for the others to crowd into the Bookhouse before entering. He headed for a chair near the back before noticing his wife and daughters sitting in the front row.

  Guess it's not a day for meekness. He walked past the Lodi families and took his seat. Keeper Lorai sat against the back wall, facing them all and watching the meeting carefully. Sloane walked to the front and raised his hands to get everyone’s attention.

  “If anyone wants to leave Whitesand, that's fine,” Sloane announced. “You'll not be called a coward, not while I'm around. That's your choice. All I ask is that you go ahead and do it.”

  There was shuffling of feet, and a lot of looking around, but no one left. After about a minute, all eyes returned to Sloane.

  “That doesn't leave us with much choice. We can wait 'em out, but if they want to come here, they'll come here.”

  “And we'll fight!” came a voice from the back.

  Marshal’s hand clenched, but he kept his mouth shut. It's their town. Let them talk it out as much as possible. I can't be the only person here who thinks that's a terrible idea.

  It was Lorai who
spoke up. “We have no records of Lodi settlements successfully fending off the Republic.”

  “The Keeper is only a moderator,” said a woman behind Marshal, “you're not supposed to have an opinion.”

  “Just the facts,” replied Lorai. “It's never happened. And we are not fighters.”

  “Let's ask Marshal.”

  Every face turned to Marshal. Sloane glared and tapped his foot.

  Marshal rose. “The hull of that ship is stronger than any walls we ever built. They can just glide over here and roll over the whole settlement if they want. Of course, a ship that large travels with weapons, too. I'm sorry, but it's not a fight we can win.”

  He sat back down and waited.

  A few whispers grew into fully voiced fears, and soon the room was too loud for Sloane to keep order. Marshal and Erianthe squeezed their daughters' hands and smiled at them while they waited for the room to quiet down.

  “That's enough!” shouted Sloane. “Enough! You want to do something or not? We need a decision. For all we know that thing's on its way to tear this building down while we jabber.”

  “Maybe we should leave!” came a voice.

  “There's nowhere to go,” said another. “We made sure of that.”

  That's the truth. We wanted to get away. Never thought we'd be running from a place this far out.

  “Then I say we stand our ground.” Sloane gave the room his most confident look. “We stand in front of our houses and wait.”

  This put some confidence in the crowd. Marshal and Sloane didn't see eye to eye on much, but Marshal couldn't see many options, and at least Sloane would personally lead his people into the danger.

  But there was one more idea worth bringing up.

  Marshal raised his hand. “Mr. Mayor, we could try talking to them.”

  People leaned to their neighbors and muttered.

  “I'll go.” Marshal stood up. “We earned this paradise with every shovel scrape and every long day’s heat. Let them see the miracle we’ve built here. Let them know they could live here, that they, too, could spend each afternoon watching their daughters play under the twin suns. Who could say no to that?”

  The room sat still, considering Marshal’s idea.

  “No arguments?” Marshal donned his hat. “Then I'll go right now.”

  And I'm not bringing my gun.

  ◆◆◆

  After he secured his wheel-lock pistol in the closet, Marshal saddled one of Keld's horses and rode slowly toward the sandship.

  He took his time. Even though the suns were high and hot, covering Marshal in uncomfortable sweat, Marshal rode slow, making sure no one on the sandship saw him as a threat. As it came into view, Marshal could see the men on board walking to and fro, carrying out duties while stealing glances at Marshal and the settlement behind him. A few technicians were working on the thrusters, which, if Marshal understood correctly, had to be carefully maintained to keep the ship still while floating. Sandships didn’t like being kept hovering in one place. Which made it all the more curious that this one had stood still for so long.

  When he rode close enough to see the soldier’s faces, Marshal got down and led the horse by the reins the rest of the way. In front of the ship, staring past Marshal toward Whitesand, stood a young, ruddy-faced officer.

  “Good day to you.” Marshal held up his hands to show he wasn’t carrying anything. The officer gave him a quick glance and then looked back to the city. “Name's Marshal. That's my rank, too.”

  The man didn't respond. Marshal might as well have been a grain of sand blowing by.

  “Civilians shouldn't be here,” he finally offered.

  “Marshal. My rank.”

  The officer finally raised an eyebrow as understanding dawned on him. “Deserter?”

  “That's right. Marshal, the deserter.”

  Marshal waited, but nothing else registered on the man's face. There goes the chance he came here looking to bring a wayward officer back for trial. It was worth a shot.

  Marshal stood next to the officer and looked at the town. From where they stood, the buildings appeared small, and the good folk of Whitesand could be seen scurrying from house to house.

  “The house with the white door is mine. Ugly, I know, but my wife told the girls to pick the color. Have to clean it a few times a week, but those girls are sure proud of it.”

  The officer didn’t smile.

  “Over there,” Marshal pointed, “is where Mayor Sloane lives. His wife's smart. Real smart. Some kind of architect. And she designed the Bookhouse, the big building over there. The suns take turns casting shadows shaped like old runes through the skylights. And certain times of the year the two suns are just in the right spot to make a different rune with their combined shadows. Stuns me every time.”

  Marshal moved back in front of the man, who still avoided eye contact. “Lots of kids and families, officer. Just honest folk like you and me. You got any kids?”

  At this, the officer clenched his jaw. “One boy.” He paused. “All trouble.”

  “Ha! You just think girls are less trouble. Let me tell you, those two little devils run me ragged. But look, officer, look. See our girls by the well over there? See that Lodi boy trying to keep up on his crutch? They don't care if they don’t look alike. They don't care at all.”

  The officer straightened up a little more but returned nothing.

  “I don't want to get in your way, but this is a fine place. You and your men can just settle right in. Forget the Republic. It'll be fine with—”

  “Do you believe in God, Mr. Marshal?” came his cold interruption.

  Marshal’s eyes widened. “What kind of question is that?”

  The officer turned toward Marshal, his face a mask. “The Almighty doesn't make life easy, does He?”

  Marshal opened his mouth, but no words came.

  “This is no place for a civilian.” The officer turned toward the sandship.

  A steel staircase led up to the ship’s deck. Marshal looked past the officer and peered up the stairs, where soldiers went about their jobs with an odd, quiet efficiency. Marshal cocked an eyebrow at the inhuman precision of their work.

  Husks. An entire crew of husks. This just keeps getting better.

  The officer stopped on the first stair and looked back at Marshal. “I have enough fuel to wait a day and a half.” He disappeared into the ship.

  Less than two days.

  The Almighty doesn't make life easy, does He?

  “No,” whispered Marshal, “He certainly doesn’t.”

  4

  Marshal returned to a waiting crowd standing in front of his house. They leaned forward as he began to speak. Sloane stood amidst them, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

  “Tomorrow night,” said Marshal. “We have until then.”

  He’d thought about explaining it differently, or being gentle, but the time for being careful was over. Whitesand was doomed.

  “Did you tell him?” asked Keld. “About our families and theirs?”

  “They don’t care.” Marshal pointed back at the sandship. “Those aren’t men on that ship. I’ve never seen it done before, but, believe it or not, that whole crew is made up of husks.”

  Marshal let them whisper about that for a moment. He hadn’t come to grips with it himself. When he’d lived in Republic towns, husks were not a common sight, even though everyone knew about them. The Sovereign was using one of his more expensive resources just to wipe out a tiny settlement.

  “They won’t listen.” Marshal hushed their whispers. “They don’t care what they’re taking or who they’re hurting. They’re not human. Just machines. And tomorrow night they’ll be in our city.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Sloane.

  “The officer told me they could stay a day and a half. Gives us ‘till tomorrow evening, at best. He’s hoping we’ll run away so he doesn’t have to follow his orders.”

  “There’s nowhere to go,” insisted Sloane.
“We’ve been through this. It’s just sand in every direction. Blast it, Marshal, that’s why we chose this place!”

  “I know that, Mayor. If he can’t get us to leave, he’s going to wait until night. I don’t think he wants to watch it happen. He’ll sit back there in the dark and send those husks this way to do his dirty work.”

  That sent a shudder through them.

  “How will they do it?” someone asked. “With guns?”

  “They’ve got guns, but I don’t think they’ll start out that way. The husks will be ordered to do something simple, like go house to house and...well, take care of us. One house at a time.”

  The Lodi put their arms around their family members as they imagined the horror of it. Marshal waited and let the image sit with them, knowing their fear might help when it was time to act. They would need a little steel in their spines.

  One by one, every face turned to Sloane. Marshal was the lawman, but Sloane was in charge. Ever since he rode in the previous year with letters of recommendation from a few other Lodi towns, Sloane had been the boss when decisions had to be made, and now that Marshal’s plan had fallen through everyone was looking to their mayor.

  “Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.” Sloane turned his face to Marshal. “I sure don’t know what to do. Marshal, you’re the military man here.”

  “I’ve been thinking.” Marshal hunkered down and began drawing in the dirt. “Don’t act excited. They’re watching us.” He drew a few shapes. “There’s our houses. Now, they’ll go house to house and, as quietly as possible, take us one family at a time. It won’t be pretty. But they can’t see us from where they are. Not well enough to know if we’re actually in our homes.”

  “So, we leave our lights on!” said Rion. “And then go somewhere else?”

  “Right,” answered Marshal. “The Bookhouse. We filled the walls with stone, so they won’t be able to set it on fire. It’s the best place to board up. It’ll take them a while to realize we’re not in our houses. Remember, husks can’t work things out. They might check every single house before getting to the Bookhouse.”