My badge meant little in town, where its authority was implied at best. Out here, near the scorched landing fields, it meant nothing.
I heard spacers and vagabonds muttering around me in that patchwork language they thought I couldn’t understand. A few of them gave me challenging glances so I tugged at my coat, just enough to reveal the holstered pistol at my waist. That was usually enough to allow me my way around anyone not carrying one.
The air was better out here, or worse, depending on how you looked at it. It was a little harder to breathe but each step was easier and took you a little further. That and the moisture was down to nothing but a thin fog.
I didn’t know much about the electromagnetic atmosphere the town had, but it was certainly weaker the further out you got. I knew our artificial sky didn’t reach forever. Walk off too far and there wasn’t anything to breathe or hold you down.
Along the horizon I could see the distant, crumbling ruins of abandoned structures. Between that failed homestead and the town I came from was the rest of spaceport and Earth’s shuttle.
Near the shuttle I could see a group of thick-suited workers dragging around an intricate set of equipment. From the way they were meticulously swiping tube-like devices around their shuttle I guessed it was some sort of static vacuum.
I saw an automaton carrying a crate much larger than itself away from the workers. It moved its feet in a belabored series of motions that made it seem like it might fall over at any moment. Its jerky movement wasn’t a reassuring sight, but the machine was lifting cargo that would have otherwise required a truck.
I spent a moment trying to pick the marshal out from the crowd of spacers, government officials, and other off-worlders before turning toward the nearby tavern. It was the most prominent building near the field, and the marshal would likely be making his way there at some point. He could find me there, since I wasn’t about to give him the impression I was eager to greet his arrival.
Inside, townsfolk were bartering with the spacers. They traded trinkets and stories, trying to supplement their meager credit accounts. I took a flimsy metal stool at the bar and pressed my thumb to the rusted old reader, keying in my own account that was maintained by bankers somewhere off world. After I had a quick word with the bartender, he brought me a drink, and I began my wait for the marshal.
Three and a half glasses later, the whole room and probably the entire tavern went quiet as everyone shifted to watch the man enter. Except me, I kept to my drink. The marshal had to know who he was here for, after all.
When the marshal found me the tavern resumed its normal course but with an air of caution. I turned to face him so he could see my badge. His coat was far nicer than mine, embossed and embellished, but still worn. I couldn’t help but respect a man with a coat as worn as that.
His face was even more weathered and older than his coat but lacked the weariness or the impatience I had expected. His marshal’s emblem shined, making my own tin star look like a trinket I should have been trading with the other townsfolk. When he finally spoke I was surprised by the lack of weight his voice carried, he sounded just like any other man.
“Liquor and gunpowder don’t make a fine mix. How’d you come to bring them together?” he asked.
“Before I took up man’s law, after I lost interest in my old calling, I developed a skill with one and a taste for the other. Now, they pay each other’s debts.” I pat my gun and finished my drink.
The marshal took a seat, and without so much as a glance the bartender brought him a tall glass of what I imagined was his finest. The marshal took it and slid it to me. I wasn’t sure if he meant the offering to be friendly or if it was supposed to be a kind of test. I didn’t give it a second thought, though, not being one to turn down such a kind gesture.
“Fine establishment. Fine town,” the marshal said, looking around. I almost asked him what other places he’d been to that let him evaluate our little moon so warmly, but I contented myself by starting on his drink instead.
“I’d like to ask for your hospitality in helping me with a displeasing but necessary matter.” He went on, “Our craft, The Worldbridge, has been in the deep maws of space for some time and we have not gone without facing the hardships that come with such travels. If your town could accommodate for the burial of our dead it would put one of our many burdens at ease.”
I paused to reconsider my first response before I voiced it, which was to tell the marshal he could bury his dead wherever he pleased. He probably expected a little more respect than that.
“We have a humble cemetery just outside town, if that will do.” I said. I wasn’t able to manage any solemnity in my voice, but I did keep from slurring.
“That will do.” He leaned forward in appreciation. “My crew should be able to find it.”
The marshal let me finish my drink in silence and even allowed a little stillness after before he began with the business he had come for.
“I’m here to bring Walsh Slovaris to Earth’s justice.”
I palmed the tall glass, already forgetting it was empty. With a little reluctance I set it back, deciding it would be impolite to ask for another. I waited for the marshal to go on.
“It’s my understanding that there have been quite a few unsanctioned attempts at founding town steads in the surrounding area. Might I find Mr. Slovaris hiding amongst one of these warrens?”
“No need to worry about the hunt, Marshal. The Mayor’s asked me to take you straight to Walsh himself.”
The marshal laid his hands open at the bar. “Gracious of her, gracious indeed. And quite honorable.”
“The town can take care of its own,” I quoted Escle. Too late I realized how it sounded to the marshal.
“It seems there was an incompetency on the part of the town in that regard. Had your own been dealt with properly in the first instance perhaps I wouldn’t need to be here.” The marshal looked me in the eye and waited for me to return his gaze. “I would have expected to see more pride in maintaining this place given the risk your Mayor’s forefathers took when they obtained a colonization grant. Now their legacy sustains murderers and thieves.” That last bit seemed unnecessary, and I could tell it even irked a few folk nearby.
I made sure to keep silent after that, and it seemed to mark the end of our dealings with words. The marshal made to leave, and I realized I was to follow him. Outside the tavern I noticed two sturdy guards on either side of the entrance holding high-powered rifles at their shoulders. Their weapons and clothing alike were intimidating, being of a quality never seen on our world.
The presence of the guards made me scoff over boldness in the marshal’s remarks. Yet my disdain faded quickly as I saw he had no regard for their presence. The way he held himself indicated one who would always speak as he pleased, possibly even with a gun at his back. His air of confidence was clearly not maintained as a comfort granted by the security of others.