Space Deputy (Interstellar Sheriff Book 1)

by Jenny Schwartz

  He stood. “You can familiarize yourself with the office and spacedock, tomorrow, when you officially begin your employment. I’ll show you the Lonesome and Lon will set you up with access.” Again, he held the door open for her.

  She swayed through on the high heels that brought the crown of her head level with Max’s nose. Stupid shoes. She felt off-balance physically and mentally.

  In the reception area, she found that the trolley she’d borrowed from the starliner had returned to the Lazy Days.

  Max picked up her case and the larger of the two duffel bags. He could have carried all three pieces of luggage—Joe would have—but he conceded something to her pride and independence.

  Actually, the duffel bag was surprisingly difficult to carry while wearing high heels.

  “Thelma will be staying on the Lonesome,” Max said to Owen. “She’ll be settling in. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Okeydokey, boss. See you tomorrow, darling.” Owen gave her a little wave good-bye.

  She smiled. The yprr was inherently likeable. “Bye, Owen.” She followed Max through a back door into a bare corridor.

  Spacedock staff and Customs officers strode along it in both directions. At the sight of Thelma walking beside Max, one Customs officer smacked into a wall, unable to see where he was going since his eyes were glued to Thelma.

  “Ouch. That had to hurt,” she muttered.

  Max appeared oblivious to the curiosity they generated.

  “Sheriff.” A couple of spacedock workers touched their caps in casual salute, but their gazes were on Thelma. The younger of the two grinned at her. He had purple sideburns and a long, bony face. “Miss?”

  Max didn’t stop to make introductions.

  They reached a hatch labelled Sheriff’s Mooring. The green light indicated that a lock tunnel was attached securely to it. Without viewing glass beside the hatch, Thelma had no idea what sort of spaceship waited on the other side. In her research endeavors, the nature of Sheriff Max Smith’s spaceship had been as impossible to discover as anything else about him.

  He paused in front of the security scanner. It recognized him and the hatch opened. He walked in, obviously expecting Thelma to follow. The lock tunnel was a universal design, providing no hint of what waited at the end of the passage.

  The Lonesome’s hatch stood open. Max gestured Thelma to enter. “Lon, this is Deputy Thelma Bach.”

  “Welcome aboard the Lonesome, Deputy Bach. If you’ll put your luggage down, I’ll see that it’s brought to your cabin.”

  She’d obviously been expected. There was no surprise in the AI’s voice. “Thank you. Please, call me Thelma.” She waited for Max to set down the luggage he carried, then put her duffel bag down beside it. The entrance to the Lonesome was astonishingly large with a couple of chairs to strap into in case of an emergency, as well as lifesuits and weapons.

  She stared at the weapons before a cover snapped down, sealing them into what now appeared to be a seamless bulkhead. Huh. With an artificial intelligence embedded in the spaceship, letting her see the weapons hadn’t been accidental. Either Lon or Max wanted her to know that the Lonesome entered situations that required that sort of verging-on-illegal firepower.

  When she was dressed in more practical clothes, she’d ask to examine them. The Lonesome would be too small to hold a combat ring for training, but she could familiarize herself with the weapons available. The sister of a Star Marine should do no less. She smiled faintly.

  “I’ll leave you with Lon,” Max said abruptly.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce her to Harry?” A note of protest sounded in Lon’s tenor voice.

  “I’m sure you can handle—”

  A mech ambled into the room, making what had seemed a generously-sized space feel much more cramped. It was an older style mech. Perhaps as old as the Lazy Days starliner. You could date it by its humanoid appearance. Nearly two hundred years ago designers had decided definitively against creating further bipedal mechs. Human soldiers found them disconcerting to fight alongside of. They were both similar to and completely unlike organic beings. Mechs these days had six limbs or more and there was no attempt to give them a face.

  This mech had a face. His armored body was a dark gray that made his green eyes startlingly bright by contrast. He was a fraction shorter than Max, but equally wide. He smiled at Thelma, his face impossibly mobile. “I’m Harry.”

  She rocked on her heels. Max put out a steadying hand, which she ignored. “You smiled,” she accused Harry.

  Mechs didn’t smile. Mechs were highly efficient killing machines. Some were modified to ask questions first, but all were robotic weapons. Why would Harry smile? And what programming aberration allowed himself to introduce himself by name rather than by serial number?

  “Who wouldn’t smile at such a charming young lady as yourself?” Harry responded.

  Thelma stared at the mech, who continued to smile, before transferring her stunned, questioning gaze to Max.

  The sheriff squared his shoulders. “Thelma, this is Harry. Harry, Thelma. Harry is unique. He’s a mech with an AI inside. Harry is a person.”

  “That’s impossible,” Thelma whispered. AI were embedded in large and important things, like spaceships. And not personal spaceships, like Max’s, which meant that Lon’s existence was another puzzle. AI belonged in big ships and similar colossal concerns. An AI couldn’t possibly fit its processing unit inside a comparatively small mech body.

  But there was no reason for Max to lie to her. Nor did he seem the kind of man to believe in hazing a new recruit. She stared at him and at the tight line of his mouth. “You have two AIs on the Lonesome?”

  “The Lonesome is Lon. The spaceship is registered in my name rather than his because Lon prefers to be anonymous. As for Harry, he hitched a ride one day and never left.”

  Harry snorted at that. “In truth, Max and I met on Tornado. I needed work and he needed back-up.”

  “Max said he didn’t have a deputy.”

  Max widened his stance and folded his arms, presenting the appearance of a man beleaguered.

  Harry’s smile widened into a grin. “I work off the books. Everything I need is on the Lonesome, or else I trade for it. No pay, no records.”

  “Harry prefers anonymity same as me,” Lon said. “He’s just less open about admitting it. Flying under the radar is a survival strategy for independent artificial intelligences.”

  Thelma frowned down at the floor.

  Everyone was silent, giving her time to get her thoughts in order. No, that wasn’t right. They were waiting for her response. They needed to know if their secrets were safe with her.

  “I won’t tell anyone about your existence,” she promised. “It’s the Saloon Sector. Keeping your nose out of other people’s business is the rule, right?” She swallowed as she glanced at Max. In accepting her as his deputy he’d risked his AI friends; seemingly with their agreement, but still, she owed him more than she’d thought. Even if he’d accepted her as his deputy, he could have left her planetside, working in the office with Owen and living in a cheap boarding house. “Thank you for inviting me aboard the Lonesome.”

  Max nodded. “Lon or Harry will show you around.”

  “I’d be honored to be your escort, Miss Thelma.” Harry crooked his elbow.

  Slightly disbelieving, rather as if she was Alice who’d fallen down a drunken wormhole, Thelma took his arm; while Max departed in the opposite direction, leaving the Lonesome, presumably to return to the Sheriff’s Department.

  The mech led her into a corridor and turned to the right. “The bridge, kitchen and lounge are to the left, but you’ll want to see your cabin. This is Max’s. You’re next door, just here. Beyond that is my space.” There was a massive double door set at the end of the passage. “I’m afraid that’s by invitation only, but we’ll respect your cabin in the same way.”

  “I don’t monitor people’s cabins,” Lon said. “Unless you’re sick and request
a medbot.”

  “Opposite us is the training ring,” Harry said. “Essential for physical and mental health. I can reduce my lethality to train with you, if you like?” He escorted her like a gentleman, and offered to beat her up like a gentlemanly thug.

  Thelma appreciated both aspects of the mech. No, of Harry. She had to think of both Lon and Harry as people, which they were. Just inorganic, nearly indestructible people.

  The door to her cabin opened.

  Inside, size-wise, it put a luxury cabin on the Lazy Days starliner to shame. But it was far more homelike than a starliner could ever hope to be. The floor had the look of terracotta tiles worn and scuffed from decades of use. The walls were a rich cream, dappled in an effect that resembled a rough, textured finish. The covering on the wide bed was teal-blue satin, shiny and luxurious. A comfortable armchair in ruby-red invited Thelma to relax and while away hours. There was also a dresser with a mirror above it, and presumably, the bulkheads hid cupboards, as they did in the entry to the spaceship.

  “It’s wonderful, Lon. Thank you.”

  “I enjoyed preparing the cabin. We have few guests. If there’s anything you’d like changed or that I’ve overlooked, I have a fabricator onboard.”

  She touched the arm of the chair, feeling the rough weave of the upholstery and discovering that the chair spun, allowing her to angle it how she wished. “This is so much more than…” than I’ve had for years. There was comfort here and an implicit welcome and desire for her to be happy. She’d been away from home for long enough, studying in the hostile-to-Rockers planet of Serene, that not having to make-do and tolerate barren student accommodation had her near to tears. Which was unlike her.

  She glanced up to find Harry watching her closely.

  The mech said nothing.

  Lon filled the silence. He opened a door to Thelma’s private bathroom, which was small but perfect, elaborating on its features. Then he informed her that this wasn’t all. “Your office is next door.”

  “I have an office as well?”

  For the first time, Lon sounded uncertain. “Did you not want one?”

  “I…” Thelma had to clear a frog from her throat. “I didn’t expect one, but private space to work in would be amazing.”

  “Private?” Lon hesitated. “Max wanted me to monitor your office. He thought I could help with your work as deputy.”

  “Oh. That’s fine. Perfect.” It wasn’t. But she couldn’t expect that her private business wouldn’t be known to the AI while she lived on the Lonesome. She’d have to adjust her plans accordingly. “I could use some help learning my way around the Saloon Sector and how things operate, here. I don’t want to impose on you, though.”

  “Not at all. Not at all,” Lon said cheerfully. “I haven’t had a mentoring role in decades. Ask me anything, but first, your office.”

  Harry stepped back into the passage so that Thelma could exit her cabin and enter the office next door.

  She smiled at him uncertainly.

  Her office proved to be a narrow room with little more than a desk, chair and cupboards.

  “Weapons locker.” Harry tapped a section of the bulkhead near the door and it opened to reveal a cabinet designed to hold guns and knives securely.

  Thelma had a few things that would fit in there. And Lon would note them as she stowed them away. She accepted that. In a very real way she was inside Lon, since he was embedded in the Lonesome. He deserved to know of any dangers she’d brought with her.

  She and Harry retraced their steps. Through the open door to her cabin she glimpsed a robot delivering her luggage. Then they were past her cabin and Max’s and the training ring on the opposite side, which was something she’d explore later. There was a ladder beside it, tucked away near the entrance to the Lonesome. A ladder meant there was more than one level to the spaceship, which was already larger than she’d anticipated. Plus the ladder didn’t just descend, likely to a cargo hold or engine room, but also went up.

  She bit back her curiosity as Lon continued to act as a disembodied tour guide, telling her of what she was permitted to know.

  “On your left is Max’s office. Opposite is the bridge.” Both doors remained closed. The bridge couldn’t be very large, but then, with an AI embedded in the spaceship, the bridge was only a failsafe in case Lon was incapacitated.

  “And here is the communal living space. The kitchen is on your left. Not much used, I’ll admit. Max simply requests things from the food dispenser. But there is a full range of cooking equipment if you like to cook?” Lon sounded hopeful, which was odd. It wasn’t as if an AI could eat.

  “I do,” Thelma admitted. “Or I used to. I haven’t had access to a kitchen in so long. But back home…” A wave of homesickness overcame her. She fought it back. “Mom and I would cook together. She’s a fabulous cook, and my dad and brothers are always hungry. Did Max tell you he was in the same Star Marine unit as my oldest brother, Joe?”

  “He did,” Lon said.

  Harry sat on a stool at the kitchen island. “Joseph Bach was awarded the Medal of Sacrifice.”

  Thelma flinched. Her brother had saved his unit and a dozen civilians via his brave actions in urban combat. He’d lost his right leg and two of the fingers on his right hand. He had prosthetics, and he was home and working his own mining claim, married, and thinking about children. “We all love Joe and are proud of him.” It had taken Joe a year to recover. He still had his demons.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” Harry asked.

  Choking emotion gripped Thelma. She gave herself some time by exploring the kitchen, opening the oven door, locating knives. She’d known that starting a new life in the Saloon Sector would be difficult, but hadn’t anticipated this sort of torture. The torture of people seeming to care. She’d been braced for indifference, exploitation, at worst, pity for her exile. Instead, emotional hurts she’d buried were being raked up.

  “I haven’t been home in seven years. And Joe’s last visit was a year before that. So eight years.”

  And with the cost in both time and money to travel from the Saloon Sector to the Rock Sector, it would be another seven years before she saw her family; she wouldn’t be free to visit them until she’d finished her contracted term of service to Galactic Justice.

  Harry stood and headed back toward his private quarters. “The Lonesome is filled with lonely souls.”

  Thelma wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, remembering too late the make-up she wore. And no one had managed to make truly tear-proof mascara. Not that she was crying. Not her. “I need to unpack,” she said aloud for Lon’s benefit.

  Lon and Harry were lonely. That was why the two incredibly intelligent and powerful AIs had hung around, giving her a tour of the Lonesome. But what could she provide that Max couldn’t? She’d screwed up her life so badly, been so stubborn about breaking through the barriers that kept out-worlders from positions of power and influence in the Federation, that she’d been exiled here. Her belongings were two duffel bags of work-related uniforms and tools, and a case of costume clothing.

  In her private bathroom, she removed her make-up, carefully dissolving the glue that stuck on her false eyelashes. She brushed her hair out before coiling it in a tight knot. When she checked her image in the dresser mirror she looked normal. Pain no longer leaked out of her eyes. Her utility suit was a crisp, light gray and her face bare of cosmetics. She would consider herself on duty with the first order of business being to unpack.

  She crouched on the fake terracotta tiled floor and laced her boots.

  Her door chimed.

  Thelma opened it, but no one was there.

  Correction, Lon was there. His disembodied voice was quiet, almost cautious. “Max is heading back to the Lonesome. An emergency is calling us away. Was there anything that you need urgently that you’d planned to buy on Zephyr?”

  “No, I’m fine. What kind of emergency? Can I help with anything?” She frowned. She neede
d to work out where to look when she addressed Lon. She glanced back at her open duffel bag. She should put it away till they’d launched. “Lon, can you talk to me while I’m in my cabin? I need to stow my gear for departure.”

  The AI had an attractive laugh. “It’s not that kind of emergency. No dramatics. You won’t even notice the Lonesome moving. You can continue unpacking. Max will fill you in on the details. We have two weeks till we reach the Deadstar Diner.”

  “All right,” she said slowly, filing the name of their destination in her mind. The Deadstar Diner?

  It would be interesting to learn how emergencies were handled in interstellar space. To have to travel two weeks before they arrived where they were needed meant a long gap between alert and response. The emergency could resolve itself in that time or else become exponentially worse.

  She put away her weapons first, then her gizmos and gadgets, followed by her utility suits and casual clothes. Only then did she unpack the suitcase of Parisian clothing that she’d bought to make her mark on Zephyr. But they weren’t needed on the Lonesome. Lon and Harry weren’t going to be impressed by a fashionable appearance and Max…by the short time she’d spent with him, and judging by her brother Joe, a woman who wanted to be accepted as a colleague needed to present herself as such.

  “Utility suits it is.” She folded her empty duffel bags inside the case and carried it into her narrow office. The storage options in her cabin were too full to fit it, but it packed away neatly in the office’s largest cupboard.

  After that, she had no more reason to hide away in her cabin. On the other hand, no one had come to find her. The sheriff certainly hadn’t turned up to brief her.

  So she went in search of her shipmates.

  Chapter 4

  “It’s an orange.” Thelma’s mouth watered. Orange drinks were tasty. She enjoyed the ascorbic acid in them, knowing it was good for her. But a fresh orange? And there were four of them in the fruit bowl, along with furry, brown things that Lon identified as kiwi fruits. She’d learn more about them, later. “I used to have orange and mint salad as a special treat whenever I accompanied my parents planetside as a kid.”