The Sheriff of Yrnameer (32 page)

A few minutes later they were outside of Geldar’s prefab mansion. The lights were off, the streets quiet.

“Well?” whispered Cole.

“I’m not sure,” responded Peter in the same whisper. “The gravitometer doesn’t seem to show the same reading as before. But it could be still in there.”

“Yes or no?”

“Could be.

Cole checked his watch. Four hours.

“Could be?”

“Could be.”

The citizens had apparently taken Cole’s lecture to heart and reacted much faster the second time he rang the alarm bell. It took them less than half the time to organize themselves into lines and rows that, if not exactly neat, at least qualified as lines and rows. It filled Cole with a certain sense of pride—as well as a certain sense of panic when he realized how much more time he had to stall them for.

“All right,” he announced, “I think it’s time we learned a few marching songs.”

Halfway through the third rendition of “Proudly into Shrapnel,” Peter reappeared.

“Good! We’re done! Go home and get some rest!”

“It’s not in there?”

“I don’t think so.”

Cole checked his watch. Two hours.

“Does your head still hurt?” asked Peter.

“Peter, you have to think. Where did you put the diamond?”

“The diamond. The diamond. Think. Thinking. Ah!”

“What?”

“I know why I can’t remember—I erased that memory! Or did I tell you that already?”

“Peter, we have to find that thing, and we only have a few hours to do it.”

“Right! We should split up!”

“Peter, I don’t have a gravitometer.”

“No, but both of me does!”

There were a few soft clicking noises, and suddenly the complex, shrimplike part of Peter separated from the simple, blocky Peter.

“Wait a second—didn’t you tell me half your brain is in each robot?” said Cole, alarmed.

“Did I say that?” said the shrimp. Then a moth flew by. “Oo, pretty!” said little Peter, and he was off, scurrying erratically into the night in pursuit of the insect.

“Peter!” hissed Cole. “Peter, come back!! Dammit!”

Cole turned to big Peter, who actually contained only twenty-seven percent of Peter’s already nondevastating intellect.

“Duh … durrrh … duhuh …,” said big Peter.

“Oh, no,” said Cole.

Cole ran alongside big Peter, saying, “What about here? Measure here!”

“Uh … I dunno …,” big Peter would say. The other thing he kept saying was “MaryAnn … MaryAnn …”

Finally Cole said, “Are you saying you put the diamond in MaryAnn’s house?”

“MaryAnn,” said big Peter.

Another check of the watch.

This time Cole didn’t stick around, leaping off the porch of the jail-house and skedaddling the instant he rang the alarm bell. Tomorrow, if he were still alive, he’d tell the mayor that it must have been a practical joke—blame it on that youngster Joshua, for example, full of high spirits and lacking judgment.

It was 3:57 in the morning, less than an hour before his rendezvous with Kenneth. Cole made a wide berth to avoid Main Street, where the citizens were already gathering, big Peter clomping behind him. They got to MaryAnn’s cottage in about seven minutes.

The door was open, the lights off.

Cole went in, followed by big Peter, who could barely fit through the door frame. The front door opened into a small living room, the kitchen through another door in the rear. There was a stairway to the right, going up to the bedroom, Cole figured. Cole held a small flashlight in his mouth as he searched the living room, gingerly at first and then with increasing determination. Nothing.

“MaryAnn,” big Peter said. “MaryAnn.”

“Yes, I know,” said Cole.

She had a small writing desk against the wall to the left. He opened and shut all the drawers, knowing as he did so that it wouldn’t be in there, because a neutron star diamond would tear a hole through the wood. He jerked open the last drawer. It was stuffed with what looked like personal correspondence. He shut it.

And opened it again. The first letter on top was in a masculine hand, starting, “Dear MaryAnn. I miss you a great deal. …”

“MaryAnn …,” said Peter.

Cole scanned down the text until he reached “Love always,” but whatever name was written below that was beyond the crease where the paper was folded back on itself.

“MaryAnn …,” said Peter again.

“Yeah, yeah, MaryAnn, MaryAnn,” said Cole, reaching to flip the letter over.

“What are you doing in here!” demanded MaryAnn from the doorway. Cole jumped, sending letters flying.

“I’m not reading them!” he shouted, as sensitive personal information gently settled around the room.

“Get out of here!”

“MaryAnn—” said Cole.

“MaryAnn,” echoed big Peter.

“Get out!”

“Let me explain! I’m not here to go through your drawers—I mean, I’m not here to read your letters, I’m here to steal …”

He paused. They stared at each other. He gave up.

“Okay, I’ll go,” he said.

˙  ˙  ˙

He walked back to the ship, big Peter padding after him, saying, “MaryAnn …” Cole didn’t have the energy to tell him to shut up and go away.

He didn’t bother looking at his watch. The sky was starting to brighten on the horizon. He knew what time it was, and what would be waiting for him.

He could ring the alarm bell for the fourth time, and maybe the citizens of Yrnameer would respond yet again, this time to defend their sheriff against Kenneth.

Kenneth would wipe them out.

He could run again.

Kenneth would find him.

He wondered what would happen when the bandits came. He wondered if MaryAnn would be all right. He wondered if what was about to happen would hurt.

Kenneth was waiting for him outside the ship. Little Peter was darting around at his feet like a lapdog. His voice grew in volume as Cole got closer.

“And then he flew this way, and I was like, hold on, whoa, and then he flew that way. …”

“Mmm-hmm … mmm-hmmm …,” Kenneth was saying in response.

“Hi, Sheriff Cole!” said little Peter when Cole was close. “I saw the coolest bug!”

Cole smiled wanly.

“I don’t suppose you have the money,” said Kenneth.

“No.”

Kenneth sighed. “Unfortunate. I was almost rooting for you.” He held a tentacle up to an eye. The tentacle had a wristwatch on it.

“Well, then …,” said Kenneth.

“Yep,” said Cole.

“Quite a journey since our meeting in the alley.”

“Sure was.”

“Any preference?”

“Left eye, please.”

“Fine.”

“Sheriff Cole?” said Peter. Cole turned. Big Peter and little Peter were one once more.

“Yes, Peter,” said Cole.

“I just remembered something,” he said.

“You did?!”

“Yes. MaryAnn said I shouldn’t trust you.”

“Oh. That’s why you kept saying …”

“MaryAnn. Yes. Just couldn’t quite remember it.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me that.”

Cole turned back to Kenneth.

“Left, was it?”

“Right,” said Cole. “Or, correct. You know what I mean.”

He and Kenneth shared the sort of wry chuckle that might be shared when one party was about to lay his eggs in the other’s skull.

“Okay, then,” Kenneth said, and drew back his ovipositor to strike.

“Sheriff Cole?” said Peter behind him.

“Yes, Peter.”

“I remembered something else.”

Cole heard the steamy, hissing noise of an air-locked compartment opening.

“Goodness, what would that be?” said Kenneth. Cole turned. From the middle of Peter’s blocky body extended a small, drawerlike compartment that Cole hadn’t noticed before. In it was what looked to be a Lucite cube, and at the very center of the cube was a tiny, brilliant point of light.

“I remembered where I put the diamond,” said Peter. “Why are you kissing me again? Should we have sex?”

It took Kenneth two tentacles to lift the cube, which was no larger than an apple.

“It certainly has the appropriate mass,” he said. Then he produced a jeweler’s loupe from somewhere and examined the glimmering gem in the center. “Hmmm,” he said, “standard brilliant cut, well executed … okay, thanks.”

And then he glided away and was gone.

The next morning Geldar came to the jailhouse, fidgety and discomfited.

“Can I help you with something?” said Cole.

“Uh … well, yes. You see … I’m missing something. Something of great value.”

“Huh,” said Cole. “Can you describe it?”

“It’s … well … you know, I’d really like to make sure this stays private. …”

“Of course. What’s the item?”

“It’s …” He paused, his three eyes observing Cole searchingly. “Sheriff Cole, Cole, be honest with me. Have I met you before? I feel like I might have. Before. Do I know you?”

Yes, Stirling, you farging well do, you bastard, and I know you and what you’ve done and I took your diamond and you deserved it.

Is what Cole thought. What he did was shake his head and say with deep sincerity, “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Ah,” said Stirling who was Geldar. Cole waited patiently. “Perhaps I just misplaced it,” said Stirling.

“I see. If you can’t find it, come on back, and we can file some sort of report.” “Yes.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” “Yes.” Stirling/Geldar left.

It was like any Terday evening, with Orwa, a white shawl draped over his various gas bladders, delivering the ecumenical sermon from the podium at the front of the town hall. But everything was different. Tonight the pews, usually sparsely populated, were overflowing. Townspeople stood against the wall, filling every available space. The mood, if not somber, was solemn. This, everyone knew, might be the last Terday sermon, because in eight days the bandits would come.

“Yrnameer is about the dream of peace, the ideal of compassion,” Orwa was saying. “But in a few short days our oppressors look to shatter that peace.”

Cole, standing against the back wall, scanned the crowd. He felt a sudden and unexpected upwelling of affection for these people, his fellow citizens of Yrnameer.

“In this time of strife,” continued Orwa, “we need to join together, and look to whatever god—”

“Or gods,” someone suggested.

“Or gods—” said Orwa.

“Or no gods,” said someone else.

“Or no gods, as the case may be—”

“The universal mother!” said a third.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Orwa. “The point is, we look to a higher power for the strength and wisdom—”

Cole sighed and slipped out the door. He stood on the porch, rocking on his heels, gazing up at the three moons.

“Beautiful evening,” said Mayor Kimber.

Cole turned. The mayor had stepped outside onto the porch and was filling his pipe.

“That it is,” said Cole.

Cole listened to the sound of the match being struck and Kimber drawing on the pipe. From inside the hall came the opening notes of a hymn. After a few moments, Kimber said, “Now, I’ve asked you this before, Cole, so forgive me for asking it again. But how do you fancy our odds?”

Cole took in a deep breath, smelling the rich aroma of the brrweed. He exhaled.

“Someone recently advised me I should give up gambling, Mayor.”

Behind him he could hear the mayor take a few even pulls. He turned to look at him. The mayor returned his gaze, waiting.

“Well, Mayor, we’re outnumbered and outgunned, and so far there’s been twelve self-sustained injuries during training. …”

The mayor, puffing on his pipe, furrowed his brow.

“I’d say the odds are good, Mayor. My money’s on the good folks of Yrnameer.”

The mayor slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear!”

As the mayor turned to reenter the hall, Cole remembered something. “Mayor?”

Kimber turned. “Yes?”

“Just out of curiosity, when the bandits came here before, when you helped them, how did they carry the crops they took with them?”

“Hmm,” said the mayor, chewing on his pipe stem as he thought back. “I guess they had some sort of levitating transport to lift it. Something big and red. What? That surprises you? You look like you stepped on a fire migi.”