~~~~~
The marshal and I made our trek alone. I knew where Walsh was holed up, and we didn’t have far to go. There were no threats to be expected along the way, but we both knew Walsh wasn’t likely to come easy. I couldn’t help but second-guess my judgment of the marshal’s boldness given how reckless our two-man posse seemed. Still, I had to trust him since he seemed to trust me in leading him through the safe pockets of atmosphere held down by our artificial sky.
Around us the land was thoroughly worked over, leaving gruesome trenches between the littered husks of remaining buildings. We passed a few active farms and excavations, but they were only hopeless latecomers, unfunded townsfolk hoping to find anything the paid workers and Earth’s machines might have missed or left behind.
Under the sky and sometimes past it, where no man could survive, were endlessly toiling figures. Workers that looked human but stuttered like the automatons they were. The marshal and I stopped close to some and the nearest few quit their work at once. Their shuddering movements halted so their heads could turn, as if they could only conduct one motion at a time. The figures stared at us, registering our presence before they made a series of movements that brought them back to their work.
We didn’t have to go much further before reaching a small cluster of buildings less flimsy than those we’d passed so far. The structures were grouped close enough together to pass for a small town.
As we reached the outskirts, two men approached us slowly. A third sat behind them on a red barrel lined with rust. He seemed to be dozing under his hat, but I knew better by the way he cradled his old rifle.
Our two greeters didn’t offer much of a welcome. They stepped around us carefully, sizing us up before stopping outside our flanks. Their hands rested easily beneath their coats on what I could only assume were weapons.
“We’re here for Walsh.” I stated.
The two men looked between us. The one nearest me smiled and broke off some sort of stick he had been chewing on. They let their coats float open, and I saw their guns had been trained on me all along.
That wasn’t anything too unfamiliar for me. A standoff like this was usually won by whoever had their weapons out first, so I was content to leave mine where it was. I never liked to hold it much, anyway; I always considered it to be much more comfortable at my side. Besides, words were more useful in situations like these.
I flicked away my burned-out cig.
“He’s a marshal,” I said, turning my thumb to my companion. The guns shifted to the marshal, but he seemed to mind it even less than I had.
“The space man’s law come to try for Steel Walsh at last, eh?” the man said, still chewing on the end of his twig.
“God fearing folk such as yourselves should show a little more respect,” the marshal replied.
“God ain’t made his way out here yet, marshal. Our old preacher of a sheriff here could have told you that.”
“I’m here to bring Walsh to justice. Quietly, if possible. I’ve got no mind to trifle with you but I have no qualms about it, either.” He gazed at each man in turn before going on. “Earth means to resolve this affair, gentlemen. One way or another.” The shadow of the marshal’s massive ship still orbiting our moon seemed to loom even more dauntingly behind him.
The two traded glances, and the man with the rifle had perked up, but none of them made any move.
“Step aside,” the marshal said as he strode between them.
They did, dropping their guns back where they belonged. It wasn’t the marshal’s words, or even the way he growled them that seemed to quell the men; though his first remarks had sufficient reason, and those after had a particular ferocity that should have sufficed. More particular to his success, I saw, was the way he had simply walked between his challengers as if they were no longer present. The marshal moved in a way that asserted his belief that these men wouldn’t dare shoot at him. He knew they wouldn’t shoot with such certainty that the men themselves adopted his knowledge.
Once inside Walsh’s small town, the marshal picked up his speed and pulled out a gun that I at first mistook for a massive white glove.
“That’s quite the cannon you’ve got there, Marshal,” I said.
The marshal didn’t reply, and I tried to figure out how his weapon worked. It was flecked with bits of metal that twisted over more contraptions than seemed necessary, but the business end was quite clear. It seemed like enough of a gun for the both of us, so I didn’t feel too bad about leaving mine right where it belonged.
The marshal seemed to know where he was going, so I followed him to the largest building around and up its steps. He smashed the door open without a word. Inside, Walsh’s men were waiting for us. I counted about seven men in the open, guns held ready.
As I stepped up beside the marshal a noise roared out that I imagined has only been heard before in hell. The banshee’s scream tore through the room as the marshal swept it with his weapon. Metal and plastics splintered off and exploded to dust while men caught in the stream of gunfire toppled quickly. Even after the blazing weapon stopped it left a ringing in my ears. I figured our opponents got in a few shots in return, but they were nothing compared to the marshal’s one-man firestorm.
The marshal stopped in the middle of the room and looked around cautiously. I had already picked out the survivors and could see them peeking out from the spots they had dove behind. I wasn’t sure if the marshal saw them, and my gut twisted with apprehension.
I bit down on the end of my cig as my fingers twitched near my gun. I spotted the first survivor as he shuffled out from under a shattered metal table. I swiped my weapon out and pulled the hammer back with my thumb. It was an unnecessary habit, but not my worst.
The man stood up, right where I had my gun ready for him. It cracked and snapped back. My single shot seemed louder and more forceful than the marshal’s weapon, and I decided I liked it better that way.
One.
I turned to where I’d already staked the next man to pop out. He snapped one panicked shot off, but I took my time, wanting to make mine count. I fired again.
Two.
Up above I scanned the rafters with the point of my gun. My heart leapt as I realized the gunman had seen me first, but I didn’t flinch. My hand followed him as he took his shot, and I made mine.
Three?
The man screamed out and toppled over. A stream of pained curses came from above.
I moved up the stairs and found him quickly. He was sprawled out on the floor and grasping at his leg. His gun had tumbled away, and he seemed to have lost interest in it. I hesitated with my own pistol, pointing it down at his chest.
“Stop,” the marshal said just as I decided to pull my gun back. He pulled out some sort of thick bracelet that he clamped over the wounded man’s thigh. The gunman screamed out as the device whirred and tightened into place. Despite the man’s groans of pain the marshal pulled off the bracelet, which in turn dropped out a bloodied bullet.
The marshal stood up and turned back to me. He checked my gun and waited for my full attention while I reloaded.
“I have to warn you, Sheriff. This is no matter of redress or recompense, it is one of justice,” he said.
I nodded back to him, understanding. I had my gun out, and I had already used it. Had he not seen that? He didn’t have to explain to me what we were about.
Behind the rafters was another set of stairs and I followed the marshal upward. We went down the hall and checked a few rooms as we went by but found nothing. One last door waited for us, and the marshal wasted no time breaking it down.
I heard the marshal’s weapon shriek out again in three quick bursts as he swept it around quickly and mechanically, but I didn’t follow his motions. I had my own pistol up as soon as I entered the room and was staring down the barrel of Walsh’s own.
“Sheriff.” Walsh smiled at me and held his gun steady.
The marshal had his own gun on Walsh now, but we were both igno
ring him. Sweat stung my eyes as my finger pressed the trigger slowly, expertly, so that only a hair’s more pressure would have sent a bullet tumbling at Walsh.
“Stand down, my friends,” Walsh said. I noticed there was more than one gun on me. Apparently the marshal had not gotten everyone. “Stand down,” Walsh said again, dropping his pistol. “This is a matter best sorted out as gentlemen.”
I kept my gun up, as did the marshal, but Walsh tossed his aside. His companions looked at each other warily but kept their guns up. Walsh took a step toward me, and I took one back. He laughed and undid his holster and tossed it at my feet.
“Well, Sheriff?” His eyes gleamed.
I glanced over at the marshal. He was holding his gun steady, and it seemed like he was only waiting for something. I realized it was for me.
Walsh rolled his steel-plated shoulder as he stared me down. It seemed like so long ago that the mayor had let him go. And me too, I supposed, only after I had shot him once, where his artificial shoulder now shrugged. I could forgive Mayor Escle, as the bond between siblings ran deep, but Walsh had only been a friend to me; his sin should have dissolved that. I could have stopped him, should have put a bullet in his back. That might have given the mayor one more reason to spite me, the marshal with no reason to be here, and me only another reason to tip the bottle, but I couldn’t keep my hand steady. I had let Walsh leave town with his life and a broken bit of metal torn through muscle and bone as his only repentance.
“Under the laws of Earth and its global foundation, in keeping with the treaties of the provinces of Mars, to which the universal colonial moon charters, their charterees, and their inhabitants are subject …” the marshal started to speak boldly and theatrically, but I only half listened as he went on, “… for the conversion of, dismantling of, and trade of government machinery …”
Walsh stepped forward again, but this time I held my ground. He wasn’t listening to the marshal any more than I was. I tried to figure out what was going on behind his eyes, his smile. There was no reason to be so unnerved by his demeanor, and I couldn’t place why I was. I had stared down and shot plenty of men before, including Walsh. I knew him, knew him too well, and my hand shook, just like before.
“… and the murder of government officials and others sponsored by Earth contracts, I hereby sentence —”
My shot rang out, cutting off the Marshal’s execution order. Walsh was on the ground, and I knew I hadn’t missed this time.
The marshal seemed undisturbed by the sudden interruption. He kneeled before Walsh and felt at his wrist. After a moment he pulled out a needle that he stuck in the dead man’s neck. After pulling the needle away he paired it with a small data slate and stood up, content.
The marshal looked around at each remaining gunman, but they didn’t return his gaze; they were all staring at me. Taking note of this to his apparent satisfaction, the marshal glanced at my badge, acknowledging it for the first time. He tipped his hat and nodded to me before taking his leave.