The Sheriff of Yrnameer

by Michael Rubens

  Just as the adrenaline was hitting his system, prepping him for a desperate sprint to safety, Cole felt a gentle yet firm squeeze around his ankle. He looked down to find a tentacle looped around his lower leg. He followed the tentacle with his eyes to the diner door, about two meters away, where it flattened and somehow passed under the narrow crevice between the door and the scuffed, coin-shaped white tiles of the entranceway. Cole couldn’t track its path beyond that, but he had little doubt that its final destination was Kenneth.

  He felt a tap on his calf. He looked down again. The tip of the tentacle was poking him like an impatient finger. Then it pointed to the interior of the diner, the import of the gesture unmistakable.

  Cole looked back up. Kenneth’s eyeballs seemed firmly focused on MaryAnn, not a single one turned in Cole’s direction.

  The tentacle prodded him again, and then repeated the pointing gesture, this time more insistently.

  “Cole!” said Kenneth when he walked in. “What a wonderful surprise! We were just talking about you!”

  “Hi, Kenneth,” said Cole. “Really good to see you.” He nodded at MaryAnn. “MaryAnn.” She returned the nod, but only after a short pause, as if she were considering her options.

  “Please, come sit with us,” said Kenneth. A tentacle patted the stool to MaryAnn’s right.

  “How could I say no,” said Cole.

  “You really couldn’t,” said Kenneth, his tone jolly.

  Cole sat. MaryAnn’s gaze followed him, her expression guarded. Cole suspected he knew why.

  “I was just telling your friend MaryAnn all sorts of stories about you,” said Kenneth.

  Yep, that was why.

  “Great,” said Cole. “You know, Kenneth’s always been a kidder. Right, Kenneth?”

  “Oh, you know me. I love a good joke.”

  “Cole’s a bit of a kidder himself,” said MaryAnn. “Right, Cole?”

  “Gosh it’s good to see you, Kenneth,” said Cole, his mouth locked into a rigid approximation of a grin.

  “And you too, Cole!”

  “You know, I think I should be going,” said MaryAnn, putting some money on the counter. “No, don’t get up,” she said to Cole as she stood.

  “MaryAnn …”

  She smiled at him, but it was the sort of smile that was a few notches worse than dashing her coffee in his face. “Kenneth, it was very nice to meet you. Very … enlightening. I’m sure we’ll get a chance to talk again?”

  “Oh, very definitely,” said Kenneth. “A real honor to meet you, too.”

  “Thanks. Well, good night, then,” she said, and left.

  Kenneth watched her go with most of his eyeballs. A few remained focused on Cole, who sat quietly, staring straight ahead. The hiccup-named owner was not in evidence. From somewhere in the back Cole could hear dishes being washed.

  When the door had closed and MaryAnn was out of sight, Kenneth said, “Oh dear. I hope I haven’t said anything untoward. I got the distinct sense that my descriptions of your exploits didn’t quite match her image of you.”

  “How’d you find me?” said Cole.

  “IPR, Cole. Been a listener for years.”

  Something rectangular and blurry blocked Cole’s view. He pulled his head back slightly and his eyes refocused. It was Kenneth’s Intergalactic Public Radio membership card.

  “Fantastic,” muttered Cole.

  “Imagine my excitement at finally meeting the host of one of my favorite programs!” said Kenneth, putting the card away somewhere squishy. “You know, forgive me for prying, but I sensed a certain something between you two, something that—”

  Cole pounded the counter. “Kenneth,” he said between gritted teeth, surprised at his own anger and intensity, “how is it that you’re even farging alive?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “That satellite went down.”

  “Oh, yes. I got out.”

  “They were all over you! Hundreds of them!”

  “I’m really quite strong.”

  “They had guns!”

  “Well, I don’t mean to sound boastful, but I’m rather skillful with firearms myself. I can hit a target with far greater accuracy and consistency than any human. For example, you could be dancing a jig several hundred meters away and I could shoot you in the nostril. Actually—and again, I simply offer this by way of explanation—I could simultaneously track and hit seventeen targets like that. Now, let me ask you something.”

  Cole had his elbows on the table, his face resting in his hands. Without moving he said, “What.”

  “Back in the alley on InVestCo Three you described a woman with whom you were deeply in love. You said that her name was Samantha. At that point I felt that your sentiments were genuine, but detected a minor discordance that I wasn’t able to elucidate. I put to you that it was not Samantha with whom you were in love, but in fact, MaryAnn who is and always has been the true object of your affection. You must tell me: is my intuition correct?”

  Into his hands Cole said, “Yes.”

  “Incredible! Fantastic! I knew it! And to think that chance should bring you here, reuniting you with—wait, was it chance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind-boggling! That chance should bring you here, reuniting you with the one woman you truly love! Ah, the romance of it all!”

  “Kenneth,” said Cole, still in the same position, “shut the farg up and lay your farging eggs in my brain already.”

  “How is the relationship progressing?”

  Cole didn’t answer.

  “I gather that you haven’t, as they say, sealed the deal yet. That the potential is there for a true, durable relationship, but—”

  Cole dropped his hands down on the counter with a thump and turned to look at Kenneth. “Kenneth. Here I am. You got me. I’ve got nowhere to run. Just end it.”

  “What? And deprive myself of the opportunity to see how this relationship develops?”

  Cole said nothing for several moments. He was sensing the smallest glimmer of hope.

  “So … you’re going to let me off the hook?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I’m highly interested in seeing if you’re able to establish the foundation for a successful, long-lasting partnership with MaryAnn—who is, I might add, a worthy object of desire. Far more so than you, to be quite frank.”

  “And then you’ll kill me,” said Cole, imagining a slight hissing sound as his glimmer of hope was extinguished.

  “I think we should stay focused on the matter at hand,” said Kenneth.

  “Kenneth, do you understand what’s happening here?”

  “You refer, I assume, to the matter with Runk?”

  “Yes,” said Cole, “I refer to the matter with Runk.”

  “He’s a terrible, loathsome being. I suspect he’ll slaughter everyone.”

  “Kenneth, I don’t care if you kill me.”

  “Really?”

  “No! Of course I care. But whatever you do to me, you could still help these people! You have a ship, right? It has cannons?”

  “Of course.”

  “You could wipe out Runk and all his men!”

  “Without a doubt. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t even need my ship. I refer, of course, to my skill with firearms and—”

  “So help them! Protect them!”

  “Hmm. I never really considered that. Not sure I see the rationale behind that.”

  “Don’t see the rationale? You were just talking about how wonderful and talented MaryAnn is, and how you’d just clap your little tentacles together with joy if we became an item! The beings in this community are good, decent people, Kenneth! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Cole, you’re familiar with the term alien sensibility? That term is applicable to me. I’m perfectly capable of drawing a vicarious romantic thrill from the thought of you finally winning MaryAnn’s heart—it would be truly thrilling—and also of leaving this community to its fate.”

&nbs
p; “She, and everyone here, could be killed.”

  “Again, it only makes the romance that much more poignant.”

  “Then at least let me live until after Runk makes his move.”

  “I’ll consider it. But I need to see some real effort. No stalling.”

  “Effort?”

  “Wooing. Romancing. Attempts to win the affections of your beloved.”

  “Kenneth, it just doesn’t work like that.”

  “Hmmm. Did I mention that my egg supply has continued to increase since our encounter on InVestCo Three? It’s actually getting rather uncomfortable.”

  “Right. Wooing, romancing …”

  “General attempts to capture her heart. Yes.”

  “Fine. Consider it done. And if I’m successful, you’ll let me live?”

  “Well, there is, of course, the matter of the money.”

  Cole closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Kenneth …,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, just long enough to bid a final farewell to his imagined future. He took a deep breath. “I …,” he said haltingly, the words hard to wring out of himself, “can … pay you off.”

  Kenneth chuckled—a rich, layered sound.

  “Cole, at this point that’s immaterial. And considering the lateness of your payment and the attendant interest charges, I find your assertion dubious at best.”

  “How much do I owe?”

  Kenneth told him the number. The decimal point had inched over several places since Cole had incurred the original debt. Cole didn’t blink.

  “If I pay it, you’ll let me live?”

  “Hmm,” said Kenneth, drumming the countertop with a tentacle. “That would be quite irregular. Unprecedented, really. As you know, you were already given a last chance, and Karg is very strict about these matters.”

  “Kenneth, do you really do all this for Karg?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Cole stood. “You’ll get your money,” he said.

  “And …?”

  “And efforts will be made.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you until the periquartenate realignment of Epios Two and Orvon Seven.” Cole waited. “That’s five days from today, about 4:53 in the morning.”

  It took Cole close to an hour to find Peter the next morning. There had been another near tragedy when the robot had mistaken one of the village’s odder life forms for a sandbag and tried to add him to a wall, and Nora suggested that perhaps Peter could go dig some defensive ditches. Where? asked Peter. Wherever you see fit, suggested Nora, as long as it was far away from anyone else.

  Cole tracked him down about a kilometer outside of the village in the midst of what had once been a meadow. It now had the appearance of an artillery range, pockmarked with deep craters ringed with irregular mounds of torn-up soil.

  Cole wove his way amid the holes, smelling the fresh earth, heading toward a depression at the far side of the field. From it he could see big shovelfuls of dirt issuing forth in rhythmic pulses.

  “Hi, Peter,” he said when he got to the edge, sidestepping another load of soil that was tossed up from the bottom of the hole. The piles of dirt were interlaced with shredded grass and flowers.

  “Oh hi, Cole!” said Peter, about three meters below Cole.

  “Wow,” said Cole. “Really been doing some digging, huh.”

  “Yes sir, Sheriff!” said Peter. “Just trying to do my part.”

  “Yes. Well,” said Cole, surveying the moonscape around him, “The bandits will never cross this patch of land, that’s for sure.” Not unless they took a several-kilometer detour, he continued silently.

  “No, sir,” said Peter. “Phew!” he added, and then wiped what Cole assumed was supposed to be his brow.

  “Sweaty work, huh?”

  “Yes sir, Sheriff.”

  Somewhere nearby a bird chirped. Cole watched some sort of insect crawl over his boot, no doubt wondering what just happened to its cozy underground home.

  “Peter, are you by any chance equipped with a gravitometer?”

  “Oh yes, sir. I can measure gravitational anomalies accurate to one part in forty million.”

  I highly doubt that, Cole thought, but continued, “Great. I have a new assignment for you.”

  It was, he explained as Peter climbed out of the hole, top secret. He needed a full, detailed gravitational survey of the village, highlighting any areas that seemed unusually dense.

  “Can you do that for me?”

  “Absolutely, Sheriff!” said Peter.

  “No need to whisper, Peter.”

  “Gotcha!”

  Off he scurried.

  When Cole got back to the village, Kenneth was cheerfully pitching in with the construction of the fence, easily lifting bundles of logs as if they were twigs, chatting breezily with the townspeople as they worked. For their part, the townspeople seemed content to welcome his assistance, no one asking questions about his unannounced and unexpected arrival. Kenneth, spotting Cole, raised a tentacle in greeting. Cole stared back, blank-faced.

  “Mighty fine fellow, that Kenneth,” commented Mayor Kimber, coming up behind Cole. “Mighty fine. He is a fellow, correct?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Cole. He spat in the dirt. “Wouldn’t be too certain about the mighty fine, part, either,” he added, walking off.

  Cole didn’t begrudge the warm reception the townspeople offered to Kenneth—he didn’t expect anything less from them. What surprised him was Nora’s attitude. He saw the two of them talking animatedly, Nora laughing and patting him on the tentacle, and Cole pulled her aside as soon as he got a chance.

  “You realize he tried to kill us all before—several times.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Cole, he explained everything. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

  “It was not a misunderstanding, he was trying to—”

  “Well, it was all your fault, really. And you never told me how he saved everyone on the satellite, and you just abandoned him there!”

  Cole clapped a hand over his eyes.

  “Really, Cole, that just seems heartless.”

  “Arrgh,” choked Cole.

  “And look at him, he’s being so helpful!”

  About fifty meters away Kenneth was planting fence posts, holding four of the stout logs in his tentacles.

  “I hope he doesn’t strain himself,” she said.

  “Nora, if he was being helpful, he’d go wipe out the bandits!”

  “Cole!” said Nora, shocked. “You know about his religious beliefs!”

  Cole made more helpless choking noises.

  “Hello, Nora! Hello, Cole!” called Kenneth merrily. He waved with one of the logs.

  “And you know how I know he’s a good person, or good whatever he is?”

  Cole had both hands over his eyes now. “Because he has such a nice voice.”

  “Such a nice voice. A bad guy could never have a voice like that.”

  MaryAnn did her best to avoid Cole the entire day. When they did cross paths she ignored him. A little after noon everyone retreated to the shade for a lunch break, settling along the half-built wall or under the scattered trees that stood near the village entrance. Cole sought her out, finding her sitting alone just inside the main gate, moodily chewing on a sandwich.

  “Hi,” he said, taking a seat next to her. “I just wanted to—”

  That was as far as he got before she stood up and marched off.

  “Ho ho ho. You’ll have to do better than that, Cole.”

  Cole twisted around, looking for Kenneth, and finally looked straight up to see an eye peering down at him, dangling from an eye-stalk that arched up and over the wall.

  “This is your fault,” said Cole.

  “Oh, tsk The path of true love, and et cetera et cetera. Onward, young man, onward!”

  ˙ ˙ ˙

  And so things finally began to acquire the montagelike nature that Cole had desired. But it was instead a nightmarish montage, a string
of failed advances and spurned overtures.

  MaryAnn continued to refuse to speak with him during the day stomping off as soon as he got close. Cole didn’t press it, fearing a scene in front of the townspeople.

  He penned her a humble, apologetic card, agonizing over every word, writing and rewriting it several times before slipping it under her door in the evening. He made the mistake of lingering, allowing him to overhear the violent and extended shredding noises that immediately followed the delivery. Then the door opened just enough for MaryAnn’s hand to emerge and toss the pieces in the air. They snowed gently down upon him like cherry blossom petals.

  As he was walking away, picking small scraps of paper out of his hair, Kenneth’s voice came floating to him.

  “A worthy effort! Next!”

  The following evening he arrived at her door bearing a carefully selected assortment of chocolates. This got her to open the door a bit wider, if only to tear the box from his hands and fling it into the street, bonbons scattering everywhere.

  “Mmm,” said Kenneth from somewhere behind him as Cole once again retreated from her door in defeat. “Espresso! Ooo, and nougat! Let’s see, what’s this? What, no caramel?” Cole kept walking, not looking back. “Hmm. Melon. Not sure I like that.”

  As Cole reached the end of the street and turned the corner, Kenneth called after him. “Clock is running, Cole!”

  The third night a brief ray of light shone down upon the otherwise hopeless, wretched landscape of his existence. He had spent the day in the field, picking wildflowers, trying his best to approximate the bouquet that Daras Katim had given him. It was no match, but even Cole knew it was good. This time MaryAnn opened the door nearly halfway, and regarded the flowers in silence. Then, wordlessly, she took them from him, not ungently, and closed the door without slamming it.

  Progress.

  He cleared his throat. “MaryAnn?” he ventured cautiously after about a minute. “Hello?”

  He was answered by a faint snipping sound, repeated about a dozen times.

  The door reopened. She thrust a handful of stems at him and slammed the door.

  “Oh, come on,” he protested, “that doesn’t even make sense!”