The Sheriff of Yrnameer

by Michael Rubens

  But what was odder still was the reaction of the rest of the two hundred people in the room.

  At first, of course, there was a good deal of confusion over why one of their classmates was standing up and screaming and bleeding and apparently trying to fend off the person next to him.

  “He bit me!” the man yowled, and then his seatmate helped validate this improbable claim by biting him again, clamping down on his shoulder. And this was the odd part: exactly half of those in the room began to behave in the fashion that one might expect of those witnessing such an act, i.e. screaming and panic and disbelief and horrified revulsion.

  The other half sat impassively, placid, nonreactive, either unaware or unmoved by what was transpiring.

  Now that’s really odd, thought Fred.

  And then there was a second scream, this time from another part of the room. One of the nonreactors had apparently decided he had an opinion after all, an opinion best expressed with his teeth on his seatmate’s nose. And then another scream, and another, and others still, the chorus growing from scattered loci throughout the lecture hall.

  Fred stood frozen, rooted in place, watching in mute horror the carnage that unfolded around him. A chair flew through the air past his head. A table flew past his head. A head flew past his head. Gunfire sprayed the walls and the ceiling.

  Fred would be the first to admit that he didn’t understand humans very well. But this, he suspected, was not normal.

  Since then, things had only gotten worse. The psychosis spread throughout the satellite as the population divided into two camps, with the members of one camp dedicating themselves to dismembering the members of the other camp. Except the line between the two groups wasn’t static—Fred had witnessed several instances of seemingly normal humans suddenly turning on their comrades, and of the cannibals cannibalizing their own.

  Which was what Fred seemed to be observing now. The three humans who had rushed past him in pursuit of the bleeding man were now fleeing back in the direction from whence they came. In a few moments Fred saw the source of their terror: the man who had been their quarry was now the hunter, armed with two sidearms, his eyes crazy.

  Again, they all ignored him, although Fred was wondering what would happen when most of the humans had been eaten and there were only the Qx”-x-’–’ left to consume.

  The other Qx”-x-’–’ didn’t seem concerned by what was happening. It simply confirmed their already dim view of humans. For them it was both grand entertainment and an opportunity to make some serious book, and a good Qx”-x-’–’ never passed up an opportunity to gamble. Fred was absolutely disgusted with them. They were dishonest and unhelpful, just there to make money. His feelings did not, however, keep him from putting some money into play, a complicated bet involving the odds on how long a fat guy named Harlin would survive.

  Fred had appealed to Charlie at the outset, but quickly suspected that despite his demeanor Charlie was more a part of the problem than the solution, a suspicion confirmed by this morning’s encounter.

  It was Fred who had finally hacked into the central computer, trying to send out a Siren signal to summon help. He wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded—the Qx”-x-’–’ approach to programming was rather different from that of most other species, and he’d spent a jittery half hour wading through code and trying to undo the damage that Charlie had done. While neither Fred nor Peter knew it, it was to Fred’s intervention that Peter owed his existence as an independent, conscious being.

  Fred was nearing his quarters, where he intended to barricade himself and hope for help to arrive. He passed the remnants of a carcass and realized he’d probably lost his bet on Harlin.

  More gunfire. He considered the situation and a phrase flitted rapidly through his mind, a complex combination of images: flaming mountains, a poisonous bird, swirling waters. Reduced to its essence, the phrase could be translated as, This is bullshit.

  “Freeze-dried orphans?!“ said Cole.

  “There was no other way to transport them,” said Nora.

  They were sitting in the spacious, well-apportioned dining room of the Benedict, fully capable of hosting twenty for a sit-down dinner at the long central table. Which was good, because they were not alone.

  Cole counted about two dozen of the children, although it was hard to be sure with the way they were darting around and climbing over and under the table and jumping off the chairs and laughing and shrieking and generally demonstrating that they had recovered quite admirably from the trauma of their de- and rehydration.

  The rehydration explained the lack of moisture in the air in the cargo hold. It also explained Nora’s comment about “better all the way than half.”

  A child shrieked. Cole grimaced. Most of the orphans appeared to be between five and ten years old. They were a mix of human and other species, including a little giggling thing—girl, guessed Cole—who was the owner of the vicious-looking claw that had startled all of them.

  “Well, what are you going to do with them?” asked Cole.

  “Do with them? Cole, if I don’t get these children to Yrnameer, they’ll be placed in some horrible corporate training orphanage. In a few years they’ll be selling insurance on InVestCo 23.”

  More shrieking. Giggling.

  “I did not sign on for this,” said Cole.

  “Neither did I,” said Bacchi. “Ow! Not the nose! Not the nose!”

  This last part was directed at the child who was attempting to swing from his proboscis.

  “You didn’t sign on for anything,” said Nora. “You stowed away, and you stole the ship.”

  At the other end of the table Philip was encircled by more children. Cole overhead him saying, “Why should I pull your finger?”

  Cole had decided to risk the delay and reconform the ship so they could have some artificial gravity. It took nearly an hour, the various components of the Benedict 80 rotating and shifting and reorienting themselves until the ship was completely transformed into a barbell shape: two separate multichamber units, identical in mass, connected by a thin central passageway, the whole thing slowly rotating along its planar axis to generate the necessary centrifugal force.

  He made the decision both from a safety standpoint—it was hard enough to keep track of the kids with their feet on the ground, much less levitating—and because there was simply too much of what Nora politely called “whoopsie” in the air. After the shock of the crate bursting open, Philip had finally waved the white flag in his battle against G sickness. This in turn set off many of the newly rehydrated children, who fortunately didn’t have that much in their stomachs to add to the fun.

  “So now what, Cole?” asked Nora.

  Now what? Now nothing. Most of the controls had perished with the cockpit. So they were dead in space, an easy target for Kenneth if he found them. When he found them. Cole knew he would.

  “Cole?”

  Cole closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He was exhausted. When was the last time he’d slept? He was fairly certain that getting knocked out in an alley didn’t count as healthy, restorative sleep. His face was in somewhat better shape, the swelling lower—he’d stuck it in the med kit, ignoring the artificial voice that said “Oh my God,” and endured as he was jabbed and swabbed and tended to.

  “Cole?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  From nearby came a rude noise followed by a profusion of giggling, suggesting that Philip had taken the bait. A child next to Cole shrieked. Cole gritted his teeth, mentally updating his view regarding children. He still felt that they were wonderful in the abstract—“the abstract” meaning those occasions when one was trying to give the impression to an attractive woman that one was a sensitive man who enjoyed the company of children. In the nonabstract, i.e. now, he detested them.

  And the worst of the children was the one who was approaching the table.

  “Everyone’s accounted for, ma’am,” said the young man to Nora. “Some of the kids say they’re s
till pretty sore, but I think we’ll all be fine.”

  It was, as far as Cole could tell, the young man who had found him napping in the alley. Jack? Gerald? Jahenda?

  Cole had spotted him earlier, when the kids were exploding out of the crates like popcorn. At first Cole was sure he was mistaken—that kid? Here? But then Cole watched him set about helping the other children with that same concentrated, serious expression from their first encounter. It was him, no doubt about it. Besides, considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, having the kid reappear on Teg’s spaceship ran toward the normal end of the spectrum.

  He definitely owed that kid something, which was one of the reasons Cole had been doing his best to avoid him. He’d caught the kid looking at him curiously a few times, clearly struggling with the balance between evidence and improbability. Cole knew they’d have to talk sooner or later. The important thing, though, was to make sure that the conversation didn’t take place in front of Nora. He could already envision her tight little smirk and arched eyebrow as the kid described finding him out cold and helpless on the alley floor.

  And now here he was, catching Cole unawares. As Nora and the young man talked, Cole casually rose from his seat, hoping to slide out of the room unnoticed. But even as he was pivoting to go, the young man turned to him. “Hello, sir,” he said.

  There’s that sir again, thought Cole. “How you doing, kid?” said Cole into his shoulder, burying his chin like a boxer so that only half his face was visible. He started to walk away.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said the kid. James. Jasper. Jackie? Cole stopped again.

  “Sir, this may seem strange, but was that you in the alley?”

  “Uhh …,” said Cole. “I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  Nora was observing the exchange with great interest.

  “Oh. I guess I was mistaken, sir.”

  Jean? Jesus? Jessica?

  “Joshua,” said Nora, “have you two met before?”

  Joshua! That was it!

  “Well, the thing is,” said Joshua, and then recounted the story of finding Cole in the alley, a description that far surpassed anything Cole had feared in terms of unflattering details.

  “Reeeally,” said Nora, glancing at Cole. “So, was the drooling before or after the man called you ‘mother’?”

  “Both, ma’am. But I must have made a mistake. It was dark in the alley The one thing I remember is that I asked the man if he’d had an accident, and he said he’d had a ‘Kenneth.’”

  “Reeeeally. A ‘Kenneth.’ How odd.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, whoever it was, you did the right thing,” said Nora. “We work very hard to teach all our children to be helpful and responsible,” she said to Cole. “And, above all, honest.” She smiled sweetly.

  “Well, that’s wonderful,” said Cole. Why not just tape large hams to their torsos and throw them into a tank filled with hungry vactans?

  “Anyways,” said Joshua, “it’s really an honor to meet you, Mr. Teg,” he said.

  “That’s not Teg!” objected Philip from across the room.

  “Name’s Cole,” said Cole.

  “Well, thank you very much for helping to save us, Mr. Cole,” said Joshua.

  “He’s not helping!” said Philip.

  “Well, thanks,” repeated Joshua.

  “Don’t thank him!”

  “Uh …,” said Joshua.

  “You’re welcome,” said Cole.

  Cole watched him as he went off to check on the other children. He felt a tug on his sleeve. One of the orphans was standing at his side, peering up at him. He was holding an empty bowl.

  “Please, sir. Some more?”

  Cole gave him his roll. The orphan smiled at him. Cole caught himself smiling back.

  “Nice to take in interest in someone other than yourself for once, right?” said Nora.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Cole said, and abruptly turned and left the room.

  He was halfway down the corridor when he heard her behind him. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I figured out what to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is, I’m leaving.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m taking the escape pod. Just trigger the emergency beacon and someone will be along to help you.”

  “And where are you going to go, Cole?” she asked.

  “I’ll figure that out. That’s what I’m good at, remember? Looking out for me.”

  He turned and bashed his head on a low-hanging light fixture. “Arrgh!” he screamed. Swearing, he turned the corner and headed for the ladder at the end of the hallway, the ladder leading up to the escape pod. As he was climbing it she rounded the corner.

  “Cole, you can’t just—”

  “Yes, I can just.”

  He was about to start climbing again when he noticed the child, standing at the base of the ladder. Where did he come from? It was the one from before, the one who had asked him for his roll. The orphan was looking up at him with soulful, imploring eyes.

  “Don’t do that,” said Cole. “Do not look at me with soulful, imploring eyes.”

  But the child merely blinked once and said, “Please, sir, please help us.”

  Oh, you little turd, thought Cole.

  “That little turd. That little, miserable …”

  Cole was worming his way along a narrow crawl space, the only light coming from the small headlamp he was wearing. As he inched along he shoved a small box of tools in front of him, stopping often to switch on the holo-generator and consult the 3-D image of the Benedict 80’s internal circuitry. The image was highly concise and detailed, letting him zoom from an external view of the ship all the way down to the smallest chip-set. Unfortunately it was also completely inaccurate, providing a diagram of the ship that seemed entirely fictive.

  He found another access panel and popped it open. “Oh, help us, help us,” he mimicked bitterly, poking around on the circuit board with a Kremler probe. “Please, sir, help us! Bleh bleh bleh!” There was a fizzling pop, and he dropped the probe in pain. “Ow! Farg!”

  He slammed shut the access panel and started squirming his way forward again, sucking on his burnt finger. He added a further refinement to his increasingly negative view of children: they were worst when they looked at you with needy, pathetic expressions.

  Not that he was doing this for them. It was the money, which Nora helpfully pointed out he wouldn’t be getting unless he stuck around. Plus, he had to admit—grudgingly—that she was right: where would he go with the escape craft? It didn’t have a bendbox. He’d be stuck putt-putting around standard space, hoping to get picked up by a passing freighter. That or return to InVestCo 3, which didn’t seem like a choice at all.

  So: find the access panel with the Omnium override unit, and figure out some way to rejigger everything so he could pilot the ship from the cockpit of the escape pod. If he could do that, he could get the Benedict 80 up to a speed where it was charging the bendbox, and then they could get the hell out of this system once and for all.

  He’d been crawling around in the bowels of the ship for hours now, hot and sweaty and uncomfortable, searching for the Omnium. He remembered now what Tangy had read to him from that review of the Benedict 80 in SpaceCruiser Monthly, which had a title like “Check Out Teg’s New Ship!” Something about it being luxurious and spacious in both launch and cruising configurations, but with surprisingly little thought given to maintenance issues. You got that right, thought Cole.

  He started thinking about Nora, not for the first time since he’d gotten on the ship. He wondered why. He enumerated the reasons that he wasn’t attracted to her: when she wasn’t being hard and flinty she was being spiky and prickly, and vice versa. She clearly derived a great deal of pleasure from seeing him humiliated. They had absolutely nothing in common. She was self-righteous and superior and bossy and might be dating Philip, which would suggest she h
ad some sort of hidden lesion in the judgment centers of her brain. Finally, she had nearly shot him once accidentally and several times on purpose.

  And yet.

  He shook his head, trying to jiggle the thought loose and maybe out of one of his ears. He reviewed the rather extensive catalog he’d accumulated over the years of angry slaps, drinks thrown in his face, and one instance of a very upset, sharp-toothed woodland creature tossed in his lap, all the result of pursuing women like Nora. Plus the fact that he was in a terrible fix right now and couldn’t afford that sort of behavior, because it was exactly that sort of behavior that often landed him in terrible fixes.

  So why was he thinking about her? Stop it.

  He yawned hugely, and briefly rested his head on his arms. He felt his eyes closing. “Wake up, Cole,” he mumbled to himself. He lifted his head up and wriggled forward some more.

  She certainly had spirit. At one point Bacchi had insinuated himself next to her on the bench in the dining area. Cole did the best he could to watch inconspicuously, knowing what was coming next as Bacchi leaned in close to her. “You know,” said Bacchi, “this nose ain’t just for smellingyeowwww!!!!”

  Cole wasn’t exactly sure what she’d done—as far as he could tell she was completely focused on eating her food, but her left hand was under the table and out of sight. Whatever it was, Bacchi rose hurriedly from his seat and left the room, limping slightly.

  Cole caught himself grinning as he thought about it. He shook his head again.

  He reached the last access panel in the crawl space. Rewiring the controls was a good plan, he thought. The only plan, really. It could work. That is, if he could find the override circuitry. Meaning this had better be the correct panel, because there weren’t any left. If it wasn’t, he might as well just take the escape pod and chance it that he could find another way out of the system. At least if he left the Benedict and Kenneth showed up looking for him, Kenneth might spare the ship and the children. Not that he was doing this for the children.

  He took a deep breath and popped open the panel and looked inside, then cross-checked it with the holo chart of what he should be seeing. Oh, hallelujah.