“Who are you men?” asked an approaching onlooker we hadn’t noticed. “Did I hear correctly you told Dayton Wilton he was no longer the marshal?”
The man was mid-thirties, average build, very ordinary looking, but there was something in his expression and eyes. What it was, I didn’t know.
“That you did,” said Millen, who turned his head and winked at me. “There’s a new marshal in town.”
I groaned inwardly while outwardly nodding, not wanting whoever this man was to think Millen and I weren’t in sync.
“Are you from Oslo, then? They’ve finally recognized what’s going on here and decided to take action?”
Millen shook his head. “If you mean ‘Are we sent here by a formal authority?’ the answer is no. Neither Oslo nor the other cities have acknowledged obligations to Justice. Every small settlement and locale is responsible for itself. The system here in Justice is the one that the citizens have allowed to be established.”
The man flushed. “No one gave Cherkoff any rights. He just took them by force!”
“Was it all by force,” asked Millen, “or was most of it by intimidation?”
“What’s the difference?”
“It’s one thing if you lose something because someone or some group overcomes your resistance; it’s something else if you don’t resist, either from fear or from hoping someone else will protect your rights.”
The man shifted his feet, and his eyes avoided meeting Millen’s. “It’s not always that easy.”
“There’s no assurance that anything in life has to be easy,” Millen said. “A trick is recognizing when easy is the worst choice. If I may ask, what’s your name?”
“I have to get back to work,” the man said and turned to leave.
I watched the man’s back as he met a woman, and they talked briefly before walking away together. Most of the other onlookers drifted off.
“His name’s Alfredo Landa, and he owns the hardware store on Winzer Street. No one wants to be seen as too closely associated with you.” The man who spoke had been standing three or four meters away and evidently listening in. He looked at us with obvious curiosity. I did the same back.
“How about you?” I asked. “You’re talking to us.”
He smiled. “If Cherkoff asks me what we were talking about, I can always claim I was trying to find out more about you, so I could pass along the information to him.”
Millen walked over to the man and held out a hand. “Then let me help with your sleuthing. I’m Edgar Millen, and my associate here is Everett Cole. We’re the new law in Justice. There you go. Two pieces of information for Cherkoff to cover your ass.”
“I don’t think it’s my ass that’s in trouble around here. I’ve a feeling you’re a couple of interesting characters, though I don’t think you’ll be above ground long enough for me to get to know you. In case I’m wrong, I’m Abdul Farr, and I own the Starliner Tavern. No offense, but please don’t patronize my establishment. I hate having to repair the damage if Cherkoff finds you there.”
I had drifted over to them, and something about Farr’s manner made me wonder.
“I have the feeling you’re not a fan of Mr. Cherkoff,” I said.
Farr grimaced. “I’ve managed to stay out of his way so far. He owns two of the other taverns in town and made a bid to become half-owner of the Starliner. I turned him down and got away with it, something others in town have not been so fortunate with. I brew the beer for all the bars, and I told Cherkoff I’d leave for my brother-in-law’s brewery in Trondheim if I wasn’t sole owner of the Starliner. So far, he hasn’t wanted to chase off the best beer maker in Justice, and he hasn’t checked that I hate my sister’s husband. Otherwise, I’d already have left Justice. My advice is for you to hustle over to the dirigible terminal and hope there’s a flight out before Cherkoff gets word about you two.”
“Oh, I think we’ll hang around,” said Millen.
Farr shook his head and walked away.
“Why do I get the feeling we can’t expect help from any of the locals?” I said.
“It’s because we’re foreigners,” said Millen. “It’ll be up to us to convince enough of them to see us differently. You can’t expect more of them at this stage. If people decline to stand up for themselves, it devolves into a habit. For now, I think if we check on the wounded, by the time we get to the marshal’s office this Wilton fellow will have had his thirty minutes to clear out his stuff.”
We re-entered the hospital and were assailed by odors we’d been too busy to notice the first time: medicines and chemicals, human bodies in all stages of health, and that undefined whiff that puts you ill at ease. The medical staff at the reception area turned into bureaucrats and initially attempted to brush off Millen checking on the three men’s condition by saying we weren’t relatives. It took Millen all of sixty seconds to convince them otherwise—using the arguments that we were the ones who’d shot them in the first place and were now the town’s only law enforcers. I doubted they bought all of what Millen said, but I contributed by glowering in the background.
It must have worked because a staffer hustled off and returned shortly, following a doctor with salt-and-pepper hair and the purposeful gait of someone in charge. How did I know he was a doctor? I deduced it from the “Dr. Gebran” label on his coat.
“Elva tells me you claim to be the new marshal.”
I expected Millen to launch into one of his anachronistic Western monologues, but he surprised me.
“Dr. Gebran, nice to meet you,” said Millen and held out his hand. “Sorry to have brought you patients, but they left us no choice when we failed to convince them that they should pursue other means of raising credits than stealing from the Starsumal Research Station staff.”
The doctor smiled. “Oh . . . no problem about new patients. That’s what we’re here for, though I was surprised to get three of Cherkoff’s men here with gunshot wounds. I assume you must know who these three work for?”
“It’s irrelevant who they work for,” Millen said. “They could be agents of the Ruler of the Universe or whatever, and we’d be obliged to stop them. If there’s going to be fair law enforcement, it has to apply to everyone.”
“Not a view I expect Cherkoff shares,” Gebran said. “You must know he’s going to react badly. He’s managed to frighten everyone here, and he’s a vicious enough asshole to do anything to maintain control.”
I’d been quiet so far, but this was the first time I’d heard anyone not sounding completely cowed.
“Sorry, Doctor,” I said, “but why do I get the sense you’re not afraid of Cherkoff?”
The earlier smile morphed into a grimace. “Oh, I’m scared of him, as any rational person should be, but I’m in the unusual position of being fairly indispensable. Cherkoff wants a good hospital, and I’m good at what I do. He knows my opinion of him and doesn’t care, as long as I don’t publicly oppose him. It’s a devil’s bargain, but my job is caring for people and not fighting causes I can’t win. It would make things worse for the community if I had to leave.”
I wanted to follow up on Millen’s comments to the man outside about responsibility for Cherkoff, but Millen pre-empted me.
“Not our concern, Doctor. We’re just here to check on the three men we brought in. Has the staff had time to do a preliminary evaluation?”
“Dimitrov’s leg wound is painful but not threatening. We could keep him here overnight, but after we treat him, he could go back to Cherkoff’s ranch if someone took him there. Dudov’s arm is more serious. You nicked an artery, and he’s being prepped for minor surgery. He’ll be here at least a few days. Kolev is in the worst shape. The femur was shattered more than we can treat here, and he’ll have to be sent to Oslo for some reconstructive work. I’m assuming Cherkoff will pay for it. As despicable as he is, he’s fastidious about treatments for his men if they get hurt doing whatever he tells them. If he doesn’t okay the cost, Dudov will have to pay for it himself, which
I doubt he has a chance of doing for some years—assuming he can find employment in his diminished physical condition.”
Here's where I showed my naiveté. “So, there’s no universal health care.”
Millen smirked, and a few seconds later I learned why.
“Ah, I take it you’re new to Astrild, then,” said Gebran.
Shit! I thought. Me and my mouth.
“Well, we’re new to Justice,” said Millen, probably thinking to give me a moment to get my foot out of my mouth. “But we figure on being here for a while and need to get on to the marshal’s office. Uh . . . exactly where is it, by the way?”
The doctor’s smile was back. “You passed it on the way here—assuming you came directly from Starsumal. Go back the way you came, turn right at Perry Street. It’s the third building on the right.”
“Appreciate it,” said Millen. “And one more thing. We’ve come into possession of two electric cycles I’d like to have checked out. Also, where would one get such vehicles recharged?”
“Wakefield’s Solar Cycle Rental and Repair shop three blocks from here is the only place for maintenance if you’re not doing it yourself. Wakefield will also recharge them. Several businesses scattered around town can do it, too. A few homes have chargers, especially those outside town, along with ranches and most farms.”
“Thanks again.”
The doctor glanced at me and then back at Millen. “Did you really give Wilton thirty minutes to clear out anything that was his? That’s what one of our nurses thought she heard you tell him.”
“I figured that was enough time,” Millen answered.
“You’re lucky. Not many of Cherkoff’s men are in town this time of the week. There might be two or three today, but sometimes there can be twenty or more, usually concentrated on the north side of town where most bars and the brothel are located. This way, you might have a little time before they come hunting for you.”
“Oh, I think we might have a congenial visit from Cherkoff before it gets to that point,” said Millen.
The doctor shook his head and walked off.
I was worried. “And what are we supposed to do if twenty men are waiting for us?”
“You heard the doctor. Not that many are in town today. What I suspect will happen is once Cherkoff hears the news, he’ll want to size us up for the same reason—it’s something unexpected, and he doesn’t control this area by being rash.”
I assumed my expression projected enough skepticism to preclude needing words because he looked at me and spoke to reassure. It didn’t work.
“Don’t worry so much. I’ve done this before.”
I’d have to ask him for details sometime when I wasn’t worried about the present.
“Well,” I said, “if we didn’t have Cherkoff’s attention before, I’m sure we have it now. What’s your master plan for when he sends those twenty men after us?”
I didn’t think it the appropriate time to tell Millen I was mulling options conducive to staying alive. My favorite would have been to take a dirigible, but I hadn’t been paid yet. That left me with getting myself by land to the nearest city—which was six hundred kilometers away.
“I predict Cherkoff will hold that option in reserve for the moment. Men don’t get into his position by being reflexively violent. I’m sure he doesn’t give a shit about his men, but it’s the overall image that is important. I imagine his first response will be to try to hire us.”
That wasn’t the response I had expected.
“But for now, let’s find the marshal’s office,” said Millen.
We had the cycles we’d confiscated, but Millen stopped me from heading to mine.
“We’ll walk. Gives us the chance to see the town on foot. It’s a good idea for the people to see us close up as much as possible. It won’t happen immediately, but eventually they need to feel we’re approachable.”
So we walked. The few lingering onlookers moved aside as if we had a plague, but by the time we were two blocks from the hospital, we were passing citizens who only gave us curious looks, some of which morphed into caution when they spied the guns. By the end of the first block, I had a question.
“More little stores and shops than I’d expect, and up ahead, it looks like more of the same. Why so many and why not larger ones?”
“Although Justice itself is about twelve hundred population, it’s the only place for direct shopping for a hundred kilometers in all directions. That means it serves another two to three thousand people. Most outsiders are within fifty kilometers, but people farther out might come to shop once every few months. The town is also small and isolated enough that there hasn’t been competition yet from larger businesses moving in from elsewhere on Astrild.”
“What happens to those living so far out?” I asked. “Treatment for a medical emergency is a long way away, and it sounds like getting here isn’t easy for any of them.”
“That’s part of the price they pay if they want isolation or take the chance to build a life they otherwise couldn’t afford to try. It’s one of the peculiarities of these worlds. There’s not enough centralized government to require its citizens to live close to basic services, as happens on many more settled worlds, but this allows them to take chances.”
“Still not smart if they have families,” I said.
“Agreed, but that’s not our concern. If people want to take chances, that’s on them.”
We turned onto Perry Street. The doctor’s directions were right on—three buildings later, we came to one of the newer and best-maintained structures we’d seen so far. A large, red LED sign proclaimed the location—Justice Marshal. I thought the label ironic because the current marshal likely had little interest in justice.
We could see solar panels on the roof, and a side driveway led to a two-vehicle garage. Through two open doors, we saw a sibling of the car Wilton had been driving.
“I think we just inherited an official vehicle,” I said, “assuming we have time to drive it before we’re killed by Cherkoff’s men.”
“You’ve got to work on your pessimism,” Millen answered. “I’ll let you know when it’s time to be worried.”
“Don’t be offended if I choose to worry on my own,” I said and touched my pistol handle and the sling of my rifle. I noticed Millen did the same, but I didn’t nag him on it. I had come to believe the man might act nonchalant, but professional caution was ingrained in anyone who had lived a dangerous life—which I didn’t doubt was true of Millen.
We had no need to caution each other about opening the marshal’s office door. Wilton didn’t seem like the dangerous sort, but you never knew. We stood flanking the entrance, and Millen turned the handle and pushed hard. When no bullets, railgun slugs, or energy discharges flew or crackled through the open door, Millen relaxed and walked in. I wouldn’t have been so confident, but when nothing happened to Millen, I figured it was safe and followed.
The building was deserted.
The layout was simple: an office area with four desks, two computers and peripherals, storage shelves and lockers, a minibar, and a gun cabinet with an assortment of weapons, none of which appeared well cared for. A door led to a single restroom and three iron-barred cells with metal key locks. I raised an eyebrow at the last.
“It’s simple, and it works,” said Millen. “Electronic locks have advantages, but for the level of activity I imagine these cells have had, there’s no reason to get fancy.”
We went back into the office room.
“I see the previous marshal didn’t take his things with him,” I said, pointing to a jacket with “Marshal” lettering that hung on the back of a chair. His desk was larger and more ornate than the other three desks. Scattered around the same desk were several varieties of footwear. A half-eaten roll and a partially consumed bottle of a drink sat on the desktop. “Looks like Wilton got word of our arrival in the middle of eating and didn’t return afterward.”
“No, I imagine he went straight to C
herkoff with the news or to someone who would relay it to the boss. We have some time until our first visitors. Let’s tidy up the office and put Wilton’s stuff in the trash receptacle on the side of the building.”
“Visitors?” I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Probably not trouble, but there’s got to be people curious what’s going on. I don’t imagine Wilton spread the word, and my sense of the doctor was that he’d keep his eye on the hospital and patients, rather than be involved in local goings-on more than necessary. Nevertheless, enough people saw us on the way in and at the hospital. News spreads fast in small towns. I expect a lot more citizens have heard something by now. Some of the more prominent ones should be coming. My first guess would be the mayor—Bossev, according to Johnson. One of us can clean up the place, while the other keeps an eye out. Your choice.”
“I’ll watch,” I said, not as confident as Millen that multiple men wouldn’t come after us. I knew I’d be more nervous collecting Wilton’s personal items.
Twenty minutes later, Millen declared the office sanitized of previous occupants about the same time that I spotted the first move in our direction.
“Someone’s coming. Looks not all that enthused and has stopped and started a couple times—like he’s still unsure. Dressed well.”
“Probably the mayor or some prominent citizen.”
“Not a representative of Cherkoff?” I asked.
“Possible, but four to one it’s not.”
The man didn’t look dangerous, but I stood against a side wall, while Millen sat in the marshal’s chair. The man who walked in the door appeared about fifty years old, by Earth standards. I didn’t know the level of medical technology on colony worlds. I’d been to places on Earth where longevity treatments weren’t available or were refused for personal or religious reasons. Thus, I couldn’t tell whether he was really fifty without the treatments or around seventy with the treatments.
“Uh . . . ,” uttered the man, staring at Millen, then glancing to me and back to Millen. “I’m, uh . . . .”
Millen jumped in. “Are you the mayor?”
A Tangled Road to Justice Page 10
