* * *
Sub-Commander Marius was a large woman, perhaps the largest woman Aaron had ever seen. Though she stood an impressive six feet eleven inches plus change tall, she was no beanpole. The muscles packing her bones were enough to match Jorrin's and more. Her voice was a deep rumble emitting from lips hidden in the thick black brush of a heavy beard, something Aaron had never had the joy of seeing on a woman before. And when she focused on him he saw eyes that were steel gray and just as hard.
Sarah deferred to her. That told Aaron a lot. A person had to be special before Sarah would defer to them.
When asked, Aaron had no trouble deciding to give in to the Sub-Commander's request. Overriding guilt demanded it of him. After talking matters over for a while they decided that distance was an important factor, followed by accuracy.
Aaron owned five, bolt action .375 rifles with scopes. Each rifle held only three cartridges at a time, which Aaron thought was good since he had a limited supply of ammunition for the things. Because the rifles would be in inexperienced hands frequent reloads meant fewer shots fired, which translated to fewer shots uselessly wasted.
He spent the rest of the day explaining the use of the powerful rifle to a group of people Marius had picked, mostly archers because they were trained to stand still when danger approached. He had no trouble explaining the importance of a steady stance or of bullet drop. Explaining how to handle recoil was a big problem. As it turned out two of the original five archers could not learn to anticipate the powerful kick. They had a serious case of the flinch. A third person was just too small to lift the heavy gun without soon tiring. She left in tears when Marius pulled her from the group.
Eventually, Aaron had a team of five marksmen with incredible potential and growing abilities. They certainly almost out-shot him after convincing him to show them what he could do. The problem, of course, was that Aaron knew the basics of shooting a rifle, but he had just never done it before. If it had not been for his minor Talent he would not have hit anything.
After holding a long conversation about the terrain they would be covering, Aaron decided to set the scopes at four hundred yards. Experimental shots showed the marksmen how much to raise or lower their aim for a few varying distances. By evening they were all exhausted and five percent of Aaron's total ammunition for the .375s was expended. While studying the remaining ammunition Aaron decided that any future practice would have to be with one of his two .22s. Since he had well over one thousand bricks of .22 ammo it was unlikely they would run him out.
He was on his way to fulfill a promise when he was stopped in the street.
"Mister Turner."
The woman approaching him wore the most powerful power suit it had ever been Aaron's privilege to see. True, he had not seen all that many of them. Still, he doubted one existed anywhere that was more powerful than the one this woman wore.
"Yes?"
"Sir, my name is Mistress Harriet Bestrow. I work for the Minister of the Interior. A letter was recently sent explaining that I would be speaking with you."
"I received the letter yesterday," Aaron admitted. "But I have not had much time to think of its contents. Yesterday was my wedding day. First marriage."
This Miss Bestrow was one serious looking woman. Tall and thin, her face looked like it could freeze a lake if she bent down to drink from it. Aaron had serious doubts that a smile had formed on her lips in the last several years.
"Yes. I heard," she said emptily. "You have my congratulations and that of the government. Would I be correct in assuming you have decided to remain in Isabella?"
"That is correct," Aaron said. "I won't cross back to the world of my birth ever again. I reached that decision several days ago, so I'm afraid the letter had no impact on my plans." He started walking down the street just to see what she would do. What she did was follow him, which told him that he was in the superior position. If she were about to give him orders he was supposed to obey, she would have ordered him to stop.
"Sir, the Minister and the most Honorable are both well aware of your unique origins. They have sent me out here to express their appreciation for your having chosen Isabella as your country of residence. I was instructed to discover whether you are happy with your new home or if you desire added benefits to induce you to keep Isabella as your home of choice."
Huh. This was not the way Aaron had pictured this particular conversation.
"Excuse me." Amanda Bivins stepped before them.
"This is a private matter, Miss," Bestrow instantly said.
"I agree. This matter is private between the government of Isabella and my client. As his advocate, it is my duty to listen to the government's offer and to interpret it for his understanding. Since my client has not been in this land for an extended length of time he is not familiar with all its laws. Before the government takes any legal action against my client which may threaten his freedom, it is legally required to give the particulars of its case to me."
Aaron gestured for her to be quiet. "They want me to stay in Isabella," he explained.
"Well, of course, they do. You are an important man and you have a great deal to contribute." Miss Bivins took a one eighty in her figurative stance without blinking an eye. "Because Isabellan law forbids them from giving you citizenship there is actually very little reason for you to remain within her borders. On the other hand, she has many lucrative reasons to wish you to remain."
Bestrow sighed unhappily. "That is basically the gist of it. I would have taken a bit longer to get it all said. Sir, simply put, we want to know your intentions toward Isabella."
Aaron did not have an opportunity to speak.
"His intentions," Amanda informed Bestrow, "are to find himself a nice comfortable country that is friendly to business. Mister Turner has expressed his desire to open a factory or three, but he has also expressed his concern to me that Isabellan taxes are exorbitantly high. One of the countries presently under considerations is Nefra. They have been in consultation with us and are in agreement that the corporate taxes of any venture Mister Turner is involved in are completely and totally rescinded for the next twenty years."
"That," said Bestrow, "is ridiculous. Nefra will be expensive for him to do business in even if he doesn't pay taxes. The services there are horrible, and the prices of basic commodities skyrocket daily. In comparison, Isabella has a better infrastructure and offers more opportunities to get his merchandise to market than Nefra does. Besides, do you think Mister Turner is willing to settle down in a country that advocates the taking and selling of slaves?"
"Cheap labor," said Miss Bivins. "However, some of your other arguments do hold true. Because of that we have also been looking at Jutland."
Bivins was young and inexperienced. Her clothing was neat and professional, but it was also of an inferior weave because the young Miss was fresh from University and had not two spare coppers to rub together. Though she was obviously a neophyte in both law and finance when compared to Harriet Bestrow, Aaron put his dime on Miss Bivins.
The preliminary negotiations went on for half an hour right there in the street while foot traffic and horses and wagons flowed around them. By the time that half-hour was finished Aaron had been turned into nothing but a spectator to a battle between two titans. Eventually, the women agreed to retire to the inn after giving Aaron their leave to go on about his business since he was not really needed.
"Well now," Mister Golard laughingly exclaimed when he saw Aaron step through his doorway, "about time you got that haircut. I was starting to think you didn't like me anymore. How do you want it?"
"Anyway you want to cut it," Aaron said. "Just get it short so it doesn't wave around in every direction."
When Mister Golard finished his floor was littered with Aaron's hair. Aaron paid him and went to the inn to see how Miss Bivins was doing. Once there he discovered that he had a tentative ten year moratorium on taxes for any business venture he became involved in so long as that venture wa
s related to the manufacture of some item not seen before his arrival to Isabella. The tax moratorium started with the first product run out the door, not from its moment of conception or from the laying of a building's first brick.
Bivins was ecstatic while Bestrow seemed resigned. They agreed that the necessary papers would be drawn up and signed within two weeks.
"This is fun," Bivins confided to Aaron once Bestrow left. "I wouldn't have got nearly so good a deal if it had not been for the books. Once she found out about those she had to make sure you stayed here. I have to go now. Got a lot of t's to cross and i's to dot."
When Aaron finally made it back to the store Sarah and Perk were arguing about where the new stock should go. Perk wanted the most expensive items placed near the counter where a better eye could be kept on them. Sarah wanted them placed where people could more readily see and touch them. This, she said, was Last Chance. The people of Last Chance were honest. The argument broke off when they saw him.
"Aaron," Sarah said, coming over to him. She ran appreciative fingers through his freshly cut hair. "Why don't you tell her I'm right?"
Aaron shook his head. "I don't know that you are right."
"See," Perk said.
"I don't know that you're wrong either," Aaron said. "Why don't you two hash it out between yourselves?"
"You're no help," Sarah complained. She turned back towards Perk. "Look. It's obvious that--"
Aaron stood back and enjoyed the show. Sarah was animate energy. In comparison, it looked like Perk's excess energy had been sucked out of her earlier in the day. She was a mess. Her clothes were scuffed and dirty. She had scrapes on her hands and elbows. From all appearances, she had been through an absolutely wonderful day.
Once the unsettled argument stopped Aaron asked her about it.
Perk grinned. "I had a bit of a disagreement with a couple of the Guard. They thought they could fight, and I thought they were posers. Actually, they weren't bad considering they've had almost no formal training, but they sort of got tired of falling down while I was explaining this to them, and then their captain arrived."
Aaron frowned. "I hope this doesn't cause you trouble."
"It's going to cause me plenty of trouble because it got me a new job. Captain Leron wants me to train her people in unarmed combat." Perk's smile faded. "I'm not really qualified to teach, but she convinced me that she has nobody better. Guess I'll give it a try."
Kit stepped into the store, Mister Turnbull in tow. She quirked an eyebrow at Aaron. "Ready?"
Cathy stood in the doorway.
"Sarah, I wanted to--"
Sarah stopped Cathy with a cold stare. "My name is Mistress Turner.
"Oh--I--" Nervous, Cathy brushed at her hair with a shaking hand. Aaron glimpsed a bruise on her cheek. "Congratulations, Mistress Turner. Mister Turner."
"Congratulate me, too," Kit said. "In a few more minutes I'll be the second Mistress Turner." She slapped her pants. Range dust broke free, creating a brief cloud that smelled strongly of horse. "Put on my best outfit for it."
"Oh." Cathy almost glared at Aaron. "Somebody else already?"
"I insisted," Sarah said dryly. "What do you want, child?"
"I wanted to talk to you in private--as the Marshal."
"I resigned my position. I no longer qualify as Marshal. In fact, I won't qualify for at least nine months."
"Um," Cathy looked embarrassed. "I guess I'll find your replacement then."
"That would be Mister Tower. He promised the council he wouldn't get pregnant anytime soon."
Nodding sadly, Cathy turned to leave. She paused, turned back, and bit her lip. "Um--congratulations. Congratulations on everything."
She left, limping. Though some part of Aaron wanted to reach out and pull her back, he did not try. He had his wife and his intended at his side. It was not his place to look after Cathy. She had a husband of her own.
Looking over to Kit, he wondered if other men had a say as to who they married or when that marriage took place.
Somehow, he doubted it.