suspect rather like an excited rookie, calling out, too loudly for politeness, "Hey, Harrison, I'm so glad I found you. There's been a death at your house, and your wife and kids need you home. Now."
That brought activity to a halt, and got the focus on Mercury Harrison, deadbeat husband and father. It also got the woman hanging on his arm to recoil. Mercury grabbed her arm, and patted it. He spoke to Joel through a pained grin. "Oh, you must have me confused with someone else," he said. He threw in a wink, just in case Joel might have missed the point that he was being asked to play along.
"Aren't you even going to ask who died?" Joel asked.
That threw the deadbeat into turmoil, but after a look at the woman on his arm, he again maintained that Joel must have the wrong man.
"Mercury Harrison, right?" Joel said.
"There must be two of us," the man said, as if Mercury was a common name, when it was anything but that.
"All right, I gave you your chance. Mercury Harrison, under the authority invested in me by the Pacific Northwest Subterran Alliance, I arrest you for desertion and dereliction of duty in regards of your wife and children," Joel said.
"He has a family? Are you serious?" the woman asked.
"Yes, ma'am. He's deserted his family."
The woman burst into tears and pulled back. When Mercury kept hold of her, she screamed, pounding on him with her fist. That failing, she tried to claw his face. Bystanders pulled her off and away.
"You're ruining everything!" Mercury yelled at Joel.
"You might have thought of that before you left home," Joel said. He reached for his handcuffs. Mercury reached for his gun. Shots rang out from around the square. Mercury fell, dead. Smoke swirled into the air from half a dozen handguns, which were put smoothly back into holsters.
Joel went to check on Mercury, and confirmed that he was dead. Seeing that the woman was about to throw herself on the corpse, he got out of the way. He had no idea what to do next. He wanted to thank people for saving his life, but he didn't want to look like he was condoning vigilante action.
"I bet this sets your career back a bit, huh?" someone tossed out at him. People laughed.
"I hardly think that my career is the most important consideration at the moment," he said.
"Yeah, right!" someone said, generating more laughs.
"Some kids just lost their dad," he said, trying to get the civilized among them to at least consider the gravity of the situation.
"Aw. Now their mom's free to marry somebody more worth marrying. Count it a favor," someone called out. There seemed general, perhaps universal, approval of that attitude.
Joel steered Renzo out of the area, back to the lieutenant's office. The lieutenant didn't seem shocked by what had happened, although he bemoaned the bother. After making them wait while he fiddled around with other work, he had Joel sign some papers, including a receipt for the shirt he was wearing, and told him to go to the medical facility and wait there until he could spare him a minute. He assigned a security guard as escort, "Just to make sure you two get where you're supposed to go," as he put it.
En route, Joel fought with his imagination, which pictured Trevin dead of odd complications. When he was ushered into the area off the emergency room, and saw Trevin sitting in a reclining chair, his feet propped up, resting, he was almost angry with him. He knew it was irrational, but there it was. He'd brought the man along for backup, and he hadn't been there when needed. Never mind the reason. He batted the bad feelings down, and tried to be professional; just an expedition leader checking on one of his men.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
"Surprisingly well, actually. They have one of those newfangled bone fusers here. You should see the before and after scans. Amazing. My leg is still goofy, but I'm weeks along in healing already, so to speak. They put a really nice cast on, too. And they had painkillers I could use, that only have me a little dizzy. They were outdated, but they seem to be working just fine. How are you? You look like it didn't go well?"
"You are now officially in contention for having uttered the understatement of the year," Joel said.
The doctor laughed. "Idiot almost got himself killed," he volunteered.
"When I was getting my handcuffs, Harrison went for a gun," Joel explained.
"You had to shoot him?" Trevin asked.
The doctor thought that was funny, too. "The town took care of it for him. Everybody with a clear shot hit him, from what I heard. I have reason to believe it, too. The body was riddled, from different angles. Served the jerk right, coming over and mixing himself up in our business."
Trevin sat up, fear showing in his drugged face. Joel correctly translated the look as 'What sort of town is this?'
"Oh, come on. You can't tell me you guys care about what happens to some crook?" the doctor said.
Without thinking, Trevin moved his injured leg away from the now-known-to-be-evil doctor.
Joel looked the doctor in the eye. "Yes, sir. I can tell you that, because it's true. The man deserved jail time. What he did isn't a capital offense. Even if it were, there should have been a trial. This was a barbarous mess, front to finish. I'm sorry it went this way. I'm sorry he's dead."
The doctor snorted. "You guys must spend too much time around Christians," he said. "They'll rot your brain, you know, just being in the same room with you."
"I'm a Christian," Joel said.
"Me, too," Trevin said.
"In that case it's no use talking to you," the doctor said. He smirked, radiating his idea of superiority. "And the sooner you guys get out of here, the better. We don't want your type around here. Wouldn't want our brains to rot, you know." He chortled, and left.
"I'm hallucinating, right?" Trevin said.
"I wish," Joel said.
Renzo leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, looking like he'd given up any hope of survival.
Trevin got serious. "I'm going to pray. Care to join me?" he said to Joel.
Joel felt the guard's eyes boring into him. He glanced at Renzo, who looked miserable, but not likely to die during the few minutes he might spend praying with a brother. He went and knelt next to Trevin's chair.
"I hate Christians," the guard said. He rubbed one boot against the other, managing to imply that he'd gladly kick the stuffing out of anyone in the room, given an excuse.
-
Renzo lifted his head to see how his companions were taking the threats. They had their heads bowed, and were talking so quietly that it was impossible to make out what they were saying. They were earnest, but calm, and strong.
He wearily turned his head to look at the guard. He had the strangest feeling that the guard couldn't see what he saw. He suddenly remembered the picture of the man in the strange garb, facing the firing squad. The men who had brought him here looked like that, somehow. The look on their faces. Their composure. Their wholeness. In his mind, the contraband note from the hidden niche paired itself with the photo, which paired itself with the scene before him. "Soli Deo Gloria," he said, with wonder, without realizing he said it. Trevin and Joel looked over at him, their eyes smoldering with questions.
"What did you say, you little creep?" the guard asked.
"Leave him alone," Joel said. He stood, and flashed his credentials. The guard made an ugly face to be obnoxious, but didn't say anything more.
Joel got between Renzo and the guard. He looked across at Trevin. "Try to get some sleep," he said.
Even drugged, Trevin got the message: "This could get worse, and I need you as rested and strong as we can get you." He nodded, adjusted his chair back so he was nearly flat, and went right off to sleep.
"Renzo, you too," Joel said. "Take that bed over there, and get some rest, so we're ready to roll again soon."
"I'd rather sleep on the floor," Renzo said, eyeing the corner farthest away from the guard and his metal-toed boots.
"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But work with me on this. I can explain later, when we don't have a hostil
e guard watching our every move. Up you go," Joel said, quietly. He reached a hand down. Renzo took his hand and was hauled to his feet. Joel patted him on the shoulder and walked him to the bed, helped him off with his boots, and told him to get some sleep.
Joel went to another bed, took his boots off and lay down, with no intention of sleeping. Resting, yes. Sleeping, out of the question.
"It feels good to deload my feet. Thank you," Renzo said.
Joel smiled. "You're welcome. Now, sleep."
The Nyssatun lieutenant didn't find time to see them until the next morning. He didn't offer them breakfast, instead chiding them for leaving their packs behind. He brought with him a strapping young man, who was introduced as Robert, who was going to drive them home in a powered buggy that Nyssatun kept on hand for just such contingencies as having an injured man who needed to be sent back to his home base.
"I wonder if you have any personal effects of Mr. Harrison's that you'd like to send back with us to his family?" Trevin asked.
"Already gave it away or burned it. We're efficient around here," the lieutenant said.
"It didn't belong to you," Trevin said.
"It did after he got shot for being a criminal," the lieutenant said.
Joel gave Trevin a warning look, and he dropped the subject.
They left by the porthole they'd come in. Trevin had difficulty managing the stairs, but made it with a little help and a moderate amount of patience.
After the hatch was closed, and they'd heard the lock slide into place from below, Robert looked around in open