by John Bowers
Postings to foreign worlds can create a culture shock if you aren’t ready for it. Speech patterns and modes of dress may strike you as absurd, but often have solid reasons for existing. Try not to show your distaste, and blend in as quickly as possible.
Page 39, U.F. Marshal Handbook
“The hell you say!” Sheriff Blake dropped his arms from his chest and stood suddenly, almost in alarm. He towered four inches over Nick’s five feet ten and outweighed him by a good thirty Terra pounds. “You’re the new U.F. Marshal?”
Nick lowered the leather credential case and closed it, but said nothing. Blake stared another second in disbelief.
“Well.” He scratched the garland of stubby hair that rimmed his head, his face relaxing a little. “I guess you are or you wouldn’t be here. I wasn’t even sure if they were going to send anyone. I figured they’d wonder what happened to Gates, but…”
“Do you know who killed him?”
The directness of the question seemed to catch Blake off guard.
“Who, me? Hell, no! If I did I’d have arrested him.”
“Him?”
“Or her. What the hell, are you interrogating me?”
Nick closed his space bag again and shook his head.
“You’re the only law around these parts, so I figured you might have found out something. I was sent here to take over the marshal’s office and find out what happened to Marshal Gates. That will be my first priority. I’d appreciate it if you’d work with me.”
Blake looked uncomfortable as he screwed the end of an unfiltered cigarette into his mouth.
“Sure. Anything I can do.” He snapped a laser lighter and touched the white-hot beam to the cigarette, inhaling a cloud of smoke. “Trouble is, there wasn’t much to find. Gates was shot in the back with a class 3 laser, most likely a pistol. Just about everybody around here carries one, so that was no help.”
“What about forensics?”
“We don’t have much around here in the way of crime labs, Walker. But we did run fingerprints and DNA analyses. Nothing conclusive. Without a witness or a confession ...”
Blake stopped, suddenly realizing he was still being interrogated. His demeanor changed slightly.
“I reckon you need to get settled in. There’s plenty of time to talk shop later. You’ve prob’ly had a long trip.”
Nick grinned in surrender.
“Long enough. I was about to check into the hotel when I saw your office, so I thought I’d say hello first. I’ll stop back in tomorrow and you can orient me about Kline Corners. If that’s agreeable to you.”
“Glad to. It’s good to have a new face to talk to. Not many visitors around here. I’ve got the codes to Gates’s office. I guess you’ll be using it from now on. You want them now or later?”
“Might as well get them now.”
Blake rummaged in an open safe sitting in a corner, came back with an envelope, and handed it to Nick.
“Everything’s in there that you’ll need. The place is locked up tight and I check on it twice a day. Nothing’s been touched. All Gates’s files and equipment are still inside.”
“Where’s the office located?”
“End of the street.” Blake pointed. “The very last building.”
“Thanks.” Nick was about to leave, but turned back. “What’s the local time? I’m still on Galactic.”
“Thirteen forty-one. We have a twenty-five hour day, so set your watch for that. Today’s date is July 16, Colonial Calendar. Sirius has its own solar calendar, but that will only confuse you. Most everybody goes by Colonial.”
Nick nodded, setting his wristwatch. “It’ll take awhile to get acclimated. Thanks for your help, Sheriff.”
“Any time. Oh, you might want to get yourself some different clothes. You look like an off-worlder in those duds.”
Nick glanced at the sheriff’s clothing and grimaced. He was dressed much the same as Nathan Green, in cowboy clothes. Canvas jeans, a western style shirt, and high heeled leather boots. Blake even wore a string tie and gaudy belt buckle. Nick gulped inwardly at the idea of dressing like that.
“Does everyone dress like you?” he asked, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice.
“More or less. This is cattle country.”
Nick nodded, unimpressed. “It seems a little old fashioned. Several centuries.”
Blake laughed for the first time.
“To you, maybe. To us it’s practical. You stay here very long you’ll find out for yourself. There’s a dry goods store down at the corner next to the Vega. They can outfit you.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow then.”
Blake watched him leave, the steamer on his shoulder, and moved to the window, peering through the shutters as the youthful lawman crossed the empty street toward the hotel. As he disappeared from sight the aging sheriff shook his head slowly.
“Welcome to hell, kid,” he muttered.
* * *
The hotel apparently had no name, just a weathered sign that said HOTEL. Nick stepped into the lobby and looked around. He had stayed in some fancy places before, including the Orbital Hilton that circled Terra and the famed Luna Marriott, as well as dozens of less exotic inns. Nothing in his memory compared to the hotel in Kline Corners. It was plain as dirt and pretty much the same color. A faded woolen rug that looked vaguely Persian covered most of the floor and the lobby furniture was mostly wood. The desk was also wood, and more than ever Nick felt he’d stepped into a backward time machine.
“New in town, eh?” The elderly man behind the counter eyed him curiously as he lowered the trunk to the floor. “Welcome to Kline Corners. Staying long?”
“That depends,” Nick replied easily. “First thing I need is a room.”
“Well, we got four. Only three available, though, two facing the street. You got your choice of view, either east or west. Which’ll it be?”
“Which do you recommend?”
“Hm, well, let’s see…The one facing east has a hoverbed and the one facing west has a mattress and springs, the old fashioned kind. Take your pick.”
“Let’s take the hoverbed. I’m not quite used to the frontier life yet.”
The clerk grunted and spun the keyboard around.
“Good choice. Just fill in the form we’ll get you set up in no time.”
Nick quickly filled in the blanks on the screen, amazed at how backward this place was. Usually his thumbprint was all it took to access the Federation databank and complete his registration. But, he reminded himself, he was no longer in the Federation. Not exactly, anyway.
He spun the keyboard back around and the clerk scanned the screen briefly.
“Nick Walker, huh?” He extended his hand. “My name’s Sam.” They shook hands. “The room is fifty sirios a day, three hundred a week, or a thousand a month. How long did you plan to stay?”
“Put me down for a year. I’ll pay the first month in advance.”
Sam looked startled, but nodded quickly.
“And how did you want to –”
“Is cash all right?”
“Uh, sure. Yeah, cash is fine. Just fine!”
Nick pulled out his wallet, peeled off ten bills, and handed them to Sam. Sam printed him a receipt, then gave him a key.
“You’re in Room 2, Mr. Walker. Up the stairs and turn left.” He dipped his head briefly. “Enjoy your stay.”
Nick nodded. “I intend to.”
Naturally, there was no elevator. With the steamer on his shoulder Nick would have appreciated an antigrav lift, but instead trudged up the stairs, turning at the landing halfway to the top and climbing the rest of the way. The upstairs hallway was dim and he saw a broken electric light panel in the ceiling. Maintenance must be low priority here. Turning left, he found his room ten paces away and pressed the key against the sonic plate. The door slid open and he stepped through, relieving himself of the trunk for, hopefully, the last time.
The room was about as plain as the rest of Kline Corners. The on
ly convenience that came close to being modern was the hoverbed, which looked heavenly. The rest of the furniture included a wooden writing desk and matching chair, two lamps with electric coils, and a bureau for storage. Instead of a holovid, an antique 3DV sat in the corner. The bathroom was pretty standard, though the fixtures were from another generation. At least the shower was water, a luxury compared to the sonic shower on the starship.
Nick stored the trunk in the closet. The air was stuffy and warm and he found the A/C controls. Refrigerated air came from somewhere near the ceiling, and as he closed his eyes in pleasure he decided this place wasn’t all bad.
He was tempted to take a nap; his starship had arrived in orbit nearly twenty hours ago, and he’d been awake ever since. But it was the middle of the day local time, and if he wanted to get acclimated he’d better start now. So he locked the room and walked down the stairs again, waved at Sam and turned down the sidewalk toward the clothing store.
He saw one other person on the street, a man in dirty work clothes lounging in front of the dry goods store sipping a cold drink. As he drew closer he could see that the man was about forty, dark complexioned and dusty. To Nick’s California orientation he looked Mexican, but he could as easily have been Hindu or Mediterranean. As Nick approached, the man pushed off from the side of the building and stood facing him, nodding almost in deference. Nick nodded in turn and said hello, then turned inside the store.
It was a good thing Nick had decided to purchase western wear; except for work clothing like the man outside was wearing, that was all the store carried. Nick moved through the aisles of hanging vests, belts, and hats as if in a curio shop. He’d seen such garments in vids, but rarely had seen real people wearing them. He knew that in places such as Wyoming and Texas, men still dressed this way, but had never expected to find such garb among the stars.
As Nick looked over a wide array of leather boots, he saw customers in the store, a woman and two children who appeared to be the same race as the man outside. The woman was shabbily dressed, and when Nick caught her eye she looked away quickly. Her son looked about ten and stared at Nick with open curiosity. The other child was a girl of about fourteen, slender and quite pretty, with long black hair. To Nick’s amazement, she appeared to be about five months pregnant.
Nick expected the salesman to ignore him until he was finished with the woman and her children, but as soon as he saw Nick he rushed right over. He was middle-aged, lined and lean, but pale as a ghost. Probably never went outside during the day.
“A new customer!” the salesman boomed with a smile. “I haven’t seen you before. New in town?”
“Nick Walker. Came in on the shuttle a little while ago.”
“I heard it pass over. Wondered if someone was coming. My name is Jenkins. How can I help you?”
“I guess I need a few outfits, but I’m not in a hurry. You can finish with the lady while I look around if you like.”
Jenkins glanced back in surprise, then shook his head and grinned.
“She’s a serf, she can wait.”
Nick frowned slightly.
“Actually, I’d like to look around. Go ahead and finish with her. I’ll be here.”
Jenkins shrugged and returned to the woman. Ten minutes later he came back.
“See anything you like?”
“Actually I’m kind of new at this. Maybe you can show me what’s practical.”
“Oh, sure. You planning on being here awhile?”
“Most likely. I should get about five complete outfits for starters. I can always come back for more.”
Nick could almost see the sirio-signs in Jenkins’s eyes as he anticipated a large sale. They went through shirts and pants, hats and vests, belts and boots. The stack of purchases grew.
“Now these boots are the best you can get. Scorpion snake. Deadly little critter, but tough as nails. They cost a little more, but the good news is if you run into a real snake, their stinger can’t penetrate. We also have cowhide, but these could save your life.”
Nick was certain he was being taken, but nodded.
“Okay.”
“Will you be carrying a sidearm?”
Nick frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I didn’t know if you were gonna be working for Mr. Kline, but if you are, then you might need a gunbelt. Most of the cowboys wear them.”
He showed Nick a nice selection of gunbelts and a variety of holsters.
“These holsters are separate modules,” Jenkins explained. “And they’re reversible. If you want to buy another belt later on, you can just transfer the holster without buying a new one.”
Some of the leather work was truly beautiful, but Nick was sure that such artisanship would be expensive, so he settled for one without the extra artwork. Since he had brought two weapons, he bought two holsters as well.
Nearly an hour after entering the store, he walked out again with a bundle of new clothing, twelve hundred sirios lighter.
Returning to the hotel, he stored everything and then changed into one of the new outfits. Everything felt scratchy and awkward, but the worst was when he looked at himself in the faded mirror on the bathroom door. He looked nothing short of ridiculous, and almost burst out laughing. As a finishing touch he retrieved his U.F. Marshal’s badge from his space bag and attached it to his shirt.
“Damn! Just like Yancy West!”
Shaking his head, he planted his new hat over his wavy brown hair and strapped on the gunbelt, attaching only one holster. He unwrapped his laser pistol from his space bag and pushed it gently into the holster, amazed that it seemed to fit snugly. He attached a strobe torch and a pair of E-cuffs to his belt, then put the space bag away and glanced at his wristwatch. Almost fifteen thirty. Time to move out and get acquainted.
Kline Corners was waiting to meet its new marshal.
Chapter 3
Frontier worlds are often colorful, exciting places. Local culture can be eccentric, yet charming. You will meet a variety of people with exotic backgrounds. Some of them may try to kill you.
Page 44, U.F. Marshal handbook
The only watering hole in town was sandwiched between Green’s Garage and the dry goods store. A gaudy neon sign above the door proclaimed it as The VEGA. To Nick Walker it seemed as good a place as any to start meeting people, so he pushed open the double doors and stepped into a dim, smoky interior. Based on everything else he’d seen in Kline Corners he already thought of this place as the saloon, but it was more than that. It was also a restaurant and nightclub. Music emanated from somewhere, but it wasn’t the rollicking frontier piano he’d half expected. Instead it was something he hadn’t heard before, earthy and throbbing. The beat was subtle and erotic, the singers hoarse and suggestive. Since there was no band on the stage, the music apparently came from a laser chip unit.
It was too early in the day for much of a crowd, but two men in large hats nursed drinks at a table by the window. The rest of the place was empty.
The establishment wasn’t large, but mirrors on the walls gave the illusion of depth. The bar was a curving counter with real hover stools and a brass foot rail. The only touch of culture Nick could see, other than the odd music, was a small multi-colored fountain in one corner that watered exotic plants he didn’t recognize...and next to that, a small shrine sporting a four foot statue of some pagan deity.
Nick had been a U.F. Marshal long enough not to feel conspicuous in public, but in his new clothes he felt more than a little foolish. Even so, the two men at the table didn’t even glance in his direction. But the girl behind the bar did.
She was about fifteen, he was surprised to see, slender and stunning, with long blonde hair that flowed down over her shoulders in the sexiest style he’d seen in years. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl of any age he’d ever seen in his life. For just a moment he stared in disbelief, then remembered hearing somewhere that the most beautiful women in the galaxy lived on Vega 3. So the owner of this club m
ust be Vegan, hence the name and the exquisite beauty of the girl behind the bar.
Nick approached her and slid easily onto a hover stool, looking at her appraisingly.
“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?”
She stared back at him with cool, appraising green eyes, taking in his badge at a glance.
“Why? There’s no law against it!”
“How old are you?”
“S—eighteen.”
He smiled. “Try again.”
“Sixteen.”
“How about fifteen?”
“Sixteen!” The green eyes flashed. “So what?”
“Aren’t there any age of accountability laws on this planet?”
“You’re wearing the badge. You tell me.”
“Okay. United Federation law forbids the purchase or sale of alcoholic beverages by anyone under the age of eighteen. And unless I’m mistaken, this part of Sirius is still under the jurisdiction of the U.F.”
The girl stared at him uncertainly.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“I don’t know. Are you serving drinks, or just standing there?”
She smiled slowly. “I guess I won’t offer to sell you a drink then.”
Nick also grinned. “I would like a pitcher of cold water, if you don’t mind.”
The girl reached into a nitro-cooler and produced a frosty glass, and moments later set the pitcher before him.
“On the house,” she announced.
“Thanks.” He poured and drank three glasses, sighing contentedly. “What’s your name?”
“Kristina Norgaard. What’s yours?”
“Nick Walker.”
“You’re the new Marshal?”
“Yep. Is it always this hot around here?”
“No. Sometimes it’s hotter. Sirian Summer is coming up in another week.”
“I thought this was Sirian Summer.”
Kristina laughed. “Not even close.”
“Christ! How hot does it get?”
“One-thirty-five Fahrenheit, on the average. Some years it’s worse. It never gets dark, because one of the binaries is always in the sky, and when one of them sets the wind goes crazy.”
