The Sheriff of Yrnameer

by Michael Rubens

  “Funny,” said Colonel Keane to his lieutenant. “Have you ever really thought about the term space marine? I mean, marine, by definition, connotes the ocean, while …”

  Next to him, his lieutenant stifled a yawn and thought, Oh, God, here we go again.

  Bendspace was as uncomfortable as always, with the impression that one was observing one’s own cells from the inside out. Cole was suffering through the particularly disagreeable experience of being a balloon intersecting another balloon wrapped in a multifaceted somethingahedron, when there was a jarring sensation, followed by the feeling of being in free fall, a free fall striped and interrupted by random bands of nothingness. And then he landed.

  He was in the cargo hold, although it was strangely distorted and off-kilter, as if the walls didn’t quite line up. It was perfectly silent and still.

  He scrunched up his eyes and shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming, but the room was still there. He looked down at his hands, his bloody knuckles, then felt for the heal patches on his side and his shoulder and his temple. His hair was still plastered stickily to his scalp, the shampoo starting to congeal. This was real. He turned to his left to survey the room and froze, feeling his heart start to thump and his skin prickle with goose bumps.

  The first coherent thought that passed through his mind was, So this is how I die.

  “Cole?”

  The voice was very quiet, almost a whisper. He turned further to his left. It was Nora. She was sitting against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Nora.”

  He went to her, kneeling next to her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “What’s happening, Cole? What is that?”

  He didn’t want to look at it again, but he did. What he was seeing was nothing—literally nothing. The Big Nothing. The purest, darkest black, growing from the upper left-hand corner of the room, as if that portion were being slowly dipped into a mirror-flat lake.

  There was something fundamentally wrong about it, repulsive, a desecration. A negation of all life, all warmth, all being, of all history and all that would come to pass. A negation of All. Even if there were a heaven, you wouldn’t go there, because this was worse than dying. This was Nothing.

  Even as he watched, hypnotized, the clean borders of the darkness crept slightly outward, consuming more of existence. And he knew that plane of nothingness would continue to grow, continue to encroach on them until it consumed him, and consumed Nora, and their bright little pocket of time and space would cease forever.

  “We’ve fallen into an anomaly,” said Cole hoarsely.

  They said that the anomalies were happening more often now, that it was linked to universal widening, that it was everyone’s fault for using too much dark-matter fuel. If they didn’t stop, they said, the universe would expand at a higher rate than was natural, faster and faster, until someday it tore itself asunder. Cole didn’t know which side he was on. He just knew that he didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

  It took an effort, but he wrenched his eyes away from the approaching doom. Nora’s gaze was still fixed on it, her expression full of dread.

  “It’s horrible,” she whispered.

  “Don’t look at it, Nora.”

  “It’s horrible.”

  “Nora. Nora! Don’t look at it!”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Nora!”

  He reached out and tried to turn her head toward him. She resisted for a moment, rigid, and then suddenly relented. When she focused on him, her eyes were wild.

  “Nora,” he said again.

  Then she grabbed him, roughly, pulling him in and clinging to him in a frantic embrace.

  He wasn’t sure how long he held her, feeling her tremble, her heartbeat, her breath coming in ragged gasps and exhalations.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after a while, releasing him. She kept her eyes fixed at the floor, one hand up like a blinder to block her view of the corner. “Is it still there?”

  Cole risked another look. It was still there, or not there, depending. It was still growing. “Yes,” he said.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Bad bend calcs, I guess,” said Cole.

  “What about the others? The children?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really know how these things are supposed to work.”

  “It’s going to keep closing in, isn’t it,” she said.

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Has anyone ever survived?”

  “They say it’s … rare.”

  “How rare?”

  “I guess … they’re not even sure if the people who say they’ve survived an anomaly are telling the truth.”

  “What do you think?”

  He glanced up again at it and immediately looked away.

  “Under the present circumstances, I’m gonna go with believing them.”

  She started to laugh.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, me, too.”

  “Maybe we should move to that far corner, that one over there.”

  “Right.”

  Cole held her hand and led her across the room, while she kept her other hand up to block her view. They sat in the corner, facing it, their backs to the Nothing.

  “You think the others are okay?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “You think it’s getting closer?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked over at him.

  “How are you, your wounds?”

  “It’s funny, I was just worrying about whether or not they were going to scar. I guess that’s not my biggest concern now.”

  She laughed again, then sighed.

  “You think it will hurt?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I don’t want to die like this,” she said.

  “I don’t want to die like anything,” he said.

  She put her hand on his back. It felt warm. “You were really brave back there. Thank you.”

  He dropped his head, smiling. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly.

  “What, are you all shy and modest now?”

  He nodded, still smiling.

  “That must be a first for you,” she said.

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  He twisted to look over his shoulder, caught his breath, then turned back quickly. Their eyes met. She nodded, understanding.

  “You know when I said that thing, about you and me, and even if you were the last man in existence?” she said.

  He glanced at her. “Yes.”

  “Well, here you are, the last man in existence. And you know what? I would.”

  He chuckled, dropping his gaze again.

  “You’re shy again!”

  “Yes.”

  Her hand moved to his knee.

  “It would be a good way to go out,” she said.

  He looked at her hand for a moment, then took it in his own. “How about,” he said, “if we just hold on to each other?”

  So they did. They leaned against each other, knees up, heads touching, arms around each other’s shoulders, their other hands intertwined in front of them, while behind them the Big Nothing closed in.

  “If you’re just joining us on Intergalactic Public Radio, the standoff continues here on the outskirts of Yrnameer,” said MaryAnn. She was speaking in a low but clear voice into a tiny microphone, her live broadcast going out to over a hundred worlds and nearly half as many listeners.

  Around her were the citizens of the village of Yrnameer, a tense and fearful gathering just outside the broad gate that straddled Main Street. Hanging above and behind them was the sign welcoming visitors to the community.

  Their current visitors were not at all welcome.

  The surviving six Bad Men had finally arrived.

  They rode through the center of town, shooting out lights and windows, smashing things that could be smashed, and c
lubbing those unlucky enough to be within reach.

  They killed the chicken.

  Then they grabbed Mayor Kimber and dragged him outside the gate, ordering the townspeople to assemble.

  “But if we give you all our crops,” said Mayor Kimber, “we’ll starve.”

  “If you don’t,” said Yguba, “we’ll kill you.”

  “We helped you before! We fed you, we saved your lives!”

  “Well, that was pretty stupid then, wasn’t it?” said Yguba.

  “You can’t do this!” said the mayor.

  “Really? Who’s gonna stop us? No one,” said Yguba. “We can do anything we like. Anything! For example, if I want to shoot that sign? I shoot it!”

  He shot the town sign. The bang was very loud. People screamed and ducked. The sign swung violently on its hinges, a smoking hole in it from the Firestick 4 (“a good, basic model for those who want an economical but still effective weapon for threatening their enemies”).

  “The sound you just heard was that of a gunshot. One of the bandits just shot the town sign,” whispered MaryAnn into her microphone.

  “Here,” said Yguba, “I’ll do it again.”

  He did it again. More screams.

  “He did it again,” said MaryAnn. Her heart was pounding but she held her voice steady.

  “Farg,” said Yguba. “This is fun.”

  In the end Cole and Nora were huddled together on their sides, spooning, still facing the corner. They existed in a small, inverted pyramid of somethingness, while the wall of annihilation moved implacably toward them.

  Cole opened his eyes and shut them again immediately. The black wall was just inches away. Very soon now. He hugged Nora tighter and she responded, squeezing his arms.

  “Is it close?” she said.

  “It’s close,” he said.

  “I’m keeping my eyes shut.”

  “Me, too.”

  She pressed against him, and he against her. His left hand was touching her face and he could feel the warmth of her tears.

  “It’s okay, you know,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  She kissed his hand.

  “Good-bye, Cole.”

  “Good-bye, Nora.”

  “Cole?” she said quietly. Her voice sounded different, somehow deeper.

  “Yes, Nora?” he said.

  “I didn’t say anything,” she said.

  “Uh, Cole?” she said again, in a voice that sounded exactly like Bacchi’s.

  “Nora!” It was Philip’s voice.

  Cole couldn’t believe how quickly she was out of his arms and on her feet, like someone had released a tightly compressed spring. He opened his eyes, confused, just as she was stepping over him and embracing Philip, saying, “Philip! You’re alive!”

  Cole, still facing the corner, heard Philip talking behind him. “Of course I’m alive! Where have you been! What were you doing?”

  “Oh, Philip,” Nora said reproachfully.

  Cole twisted around to flop onto his other side.

  Bacchi was grinning at him, leaning over to align himself more or less with Cole’s horizontal orientation. “All right, Cole!” said Bacchi, giving him the double thumbs-up.

  They were still in the cargo hold, but now Philip, Bacchi, Joshua, and several of the children were there.

  “Nora! Nora!” they shouted, running to her. Nora kneeled, surrounded by happy children, hugging them in relief. Philip was glaring at Cole.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said, “We’ve been searching for you for hours, and you two were in here … in here. …” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he was thinking. “You were in here!”

  Bacchi helped Cole to his feet. “You sneaky, sneaky devil!” he said.

  “What just happened?” asked Cole, dazed.

  Bacchi chuckled evilly. “That good, huh?”

  Philip marched up to Cole. “You have no sense of honor,” he spat.

  “Do I?” said Cole to Bacchi.

  “Of course not!” He thumped Cole on the back.

  “Oh, Philip, stop it! Nothing happened!” said Nora.

  “And in front of the children, no less!” Philip said, including her in the target radius of his disdain.

  “Nothing. Happened. We nearly died, Philip,” she said.

  “Is this true?” Philip said to Cole. “Nothing happened?”

  “Cole, tell him!” said Nora.

  “Nothing happened?” demanded Philip again, his face thrust in Cole’s.

  Cole paused.

  “Depends what you mean by ‘nothing,’” he said, then pushed his way past Philip.

  Who could resist, he thought.

  Bacchi explained what had occurred: they’d gone into bendspace, and then suddenly popped right out again into an anonymous stretch of universe. Cole and Nora had somehow disappeared.

  “We reconformed and did a search, chamber by chamber. The cargo hold was the last place we looked.”

  “We were stuck in an anomaly, Bacchi.”

  “I bet you were, I bet you were,” said Bacchi, thumping him on the back again.

  A check of their coordinates showed them to be several tens of light-years from the nearest inhabited system. They had to bend again, or slowly starve to death in the middle of nowhere.

  “Let’s just do it,” said Cole. “What else could possibly go wrong?”

  They bent. Things went wrong.

  Reg, the tumbleweeg, was fervently wishing that the wind would pick up again.

  It had blown him to a spot right between the townspeople and the Bad Men. It then died away, blowing a few gentle gusts and eddies back and forth indecisively.

  Yguba fired again. Reg flinched internally.

  The village sign, looking somewhat the worse for wear, took yet another bullet. It creaked in protest.

  “It’s been two hours now. The bandit has now shot the town sign a total of fifteen times,” whispered MaryAnn.

  “See?” said Yguba. “That’s, like, forty times! I can do this all day!”

  He seemed intent on proving the point. He unloaded another round at the sign, neatly severing one of the two chains that secured it to the gate. The sign swung free, spinning and jerking in a chaotic pendulum movement.

  “That’s sixteen,” said MaryAnn into her microphone.

  “Forty-five!” announced Yguba triumphantly.

  The villagers were still cringing with each gunshot, but by the fifth or sixth repetition the screaming had stopped. Now they were standing in an awkward silence, trading glances, unsure whether or not their presence was required for what looked to become a rather extended demonstration of Yguba’s marksmanship.

  “Um,” said Mayor Kimber.

  “Shut up!” said Yguba. “Watch this.” He cocked the gun again and turned three-quarters away from the sign, aiming the gun over his shoulder, then changed his mind and tucked it under his arm, then went back to the over-the-shoulder position. He hesitated again, then changed his grip so that his thumb—second thumb, really—was on the trigger.

  “Do you have a mirror?” he asked one of the other Bad Men. The Bad Man waggled his antenna.

  “Is that a no?” asked Yguba. “No?”

  The Bad Man waggled his antenna in a different direction. Yguba sighed. “All right, forget it.”

  He switched back to a more standard shooting stance. “Here comes number fifty!” he said.

  “Stop shooting our sign!” said a voice out of the crowd.

  Yguba spun around. “Who said that?!”

  “I did,” said the voice, and Daras Katim stepped forward. She ran a small greenhouse and grew exotic flowers there, and looked rather plantlike herself. A humanoid plant, proud, wizened, her eyes very clear and penetrating. She was just a meter or so from MaryAnn, and MaryAnn realized that she smelled good, like healthy dirt after a thunderstorm.

  “You’ve made your point. Leave our sign alone.”

  “Daras, please,” said the mayor.

  �
��Shut up!” repeated Yguba. He began striding toward her aggressively, the mayor trailing tentatively behind. Reg, directly in Yguba’s path, steeled himself for what he knew was next. Just as he expected, Yguba kicked him out of the way, sending him flying.

  Daras caught him. “You poor thing,” she said, “you didn’t deserve that.” Then she put him on the ground and the wind picked up again, scooting and tumbling him away from the scene. His last thought before he forgot all about it was that she smelled nice.

  Yguba and Daras faced each other. It was quiet except for the wind.

  “So,” said Yguba, “you don’t like me shooting your sign, huh?”

  “I think I’ve made that clear,” said Daras.

  MaryAnn watched her, entranced, her microphone forgotten. She could see no sign of fear or anxiety on Daras’s face. Then again, her face seemed to be composed mostly of wood.

  “You don’t like it, then.”

  “Is everyone in your species this perceptive?” asked Daras.

  “Daras …,” said the mayor.

  “Shut up!” Yguba said, and clubbed him across the face with the gun, sending him sprawling. An angry sound ran through the crowd, and some of the villagers moved forward, the first hesitant wave in what could become a surge. But then Yguba turned the gun on them and fired a shot that tore through the air just over their heads, and they cowered back again.

  Except for Daras.

  “I think you should leave now,” she said.

  “Is that what you think?” said Yguba.

  “You’re going to repeat everything I say as a question, aren’t you,” she said.

  “I’m going to repeat everything?” said Yguba. Next to him one of the Bad Men giggled, then shut up quickly when Yguba glared at him.

  “Well, I won’t be repeating what you say if you ain’t saying anything,” he said, “like, after I kill you.” And he pointed the Firestick square in the middle of her green chest and cocked the gun and MaryAnn heard herself screaming and everyone else screaming and then the huge explosive sound and then came the shock wave and spray of debris and thudding impact that knocked them all down, and when they all climbed back to their feet and the dust settled there was a battered Benedict 80 lying on the ground where the Bad Men once stood.

  All that was visible of Yguba was his arm, sticking out from under the wreckage, still clutching the Firestick 4. With a spasmodic jerk, the hand squeezed off a final shot, and the village sign crashed to the ground, hitting at the same time that Yguba’s lifeless hand dropped onto the dirt.