Tova grumbles at me as I insist on piloting my new craft north to what I hope is a job interview. I reassure her that she will get time in when Marci inevitably asks her for rides during our stay and that she can pilot during errands to her heart’s content.

The shuttle I drove on Astoria might as well have been a go cart compared to this vehicle. The power and responsiveness are intense, and I feel if I had an interface to plug into the ship, the responsiveness would be even more insane. Lost in thought, the box that appears in my HUD startles me.

//Would you like to engage aerodynamic shield shaping?

Uh, yes, absolutely. The shuttle responds by showing me a representation of our vessel and a round shield, then the image’s shield snaps into a swept spade-like shape. The hull lurches as our speed surges to well over a thousand kph as the acceleration presses me into my chair. This is insane.

We even out at 2212 kph, riding just under the bow wave of Mach 2, and I marvel at the device I was gifted and the soundproofing that was likely doing some work as the people in my cargo bay do not have such robust seating arrangements. Twenty minutes later, I start decelerating our approach into Reno airspace.

“Reno Air Traffic Control, this is Shuttle Novaria, request airspace clearance and itinerary approval.”

“Copy Novaria, review airspeed limits in the metro area and follow Eastward approach vectors into the City Center traffic plan.”

“Wilco, Traffic Control.” I submit our tentative schedule and within a few minutes of aligning for an Eastward approach, I receive instructions to park in the government visitor skyrise. Once we get into the City Center pattern, I get passed over to a local controller who sends me a form on visas, itinerary, and cargo declarations.

I wonder briefly why I’m getting such an international treatment when Tova reminds me the vessel is still registered as an Astorian VIP transport. I quickly re-register Novaria to Nova Chem as a utility transport vehicle and inform the local controller of my recent purchase.

They send me two different forms, including a Nevahrado declaration of assets for businesses and an acknowledgement of the code of conduct expected while visiting City Center. The city police feature heavily in the code of conduct. Though my review of regional power structures touched on the city police, Reno is also home to the Territory Council, which the Sherrif’s office serves directly under. Not that I plan on getting in trouble, but it’s interesting to know that the Sheriff and Deputies are a higher authority than the police.

As we dock, I release the lock on the cargo area and walk through the door to find some messy looking, upset members of Marcella’s crew. Marci seems amused while strapped into a jump seat. She sees me and takes the harness off.

“This our drop point?” She asks.

“Nope, this is City Center. I figured that if I drop first, Tova can drive y’all around today. She wants some piloting experience, and you all could probably use the lift and cargo capability.”

Sister nods, “I didn’t want to ask, but if you’re offering. It will be a big help. You going to be okay?”

“I have my bike in dimensional storage. It should be enough to get around if I’m sent on errands.”

Surprising me and a few of her crew, Marcella pulls me into a fierce hug and kisses me on the head. “I’m so proud of you. Show them how amazing you are.”

The flood of emotions hits me right in the eyes. “No fair making me cry before an interview, jerk.” I whisper into her shoulder. She chuckles before stepping back and mussing my hair. UGH! What a butt-face!

I have to take out my braid now. I grump on my way back to the cockpit, brushing out the shoulder-length hair that I was gifted with during my tier-up until the hair on top is back under control. Uncomfortable with my hair down and un-styled without a hat on, I summon a grey cowboy number that matches my slacks and vest. I check the cuffed ends of my shirt, see if my shoes are appropriately boot-ish, then open the hatch in the cockpit to debark.

“Take care of her Tova.” She beams with excitement and duty in my mind.

Dawn can be seen behind the hills to the east as the elevator opens at street level. Foot and vehicle traffic are almost non-existent, but a secretary here, and a paralegal there can be seen holding a travel mug while deep in menus on their way to work. I open my waypoint program and input the Sheriff’s office as my destination.

The building my waypoints say to enter does not look like a place to detain criminals and or try them for their crimes. This place looks like a touch-point for civilians to wave at important people, and for politicians to glad hand constituents and kiss babies. It feels fake as hell.

I walk toward the back of the building, as much of a back office where they hide bodies or the dirty deeds of the elite. This makes more sense for the Sheriff’s office, the shady part of a civics building. At five after five, I knock on the door that reads “Nevahrado Sheriff: Benson Winchester.” Several heavy boot falls tell me the man is in, and when the door opens I have to look up to meet the man’s eyes. He looks me over, makes a motion to check his watch and grunts.

Winchester steps aside, a clear signal for me to enter. I step in and make enough space for him to close the door he’s holding. He walks back to his desk and points at a chair on the other side of the desk. Before I sit, I thank the man for agreeing to see me.

“As far as first impressions go, you’re doing alright. You looked me up, found out when I worked, but weren’t so eager as to show up hours before dawn to wait for me. You’re polite enough for business, but you’re not looking to make friends. How long you had those boots.”

“Little over a day. I prefer a combat boot with more weight to them.”

“It shows. Enough about pretense and niceties. I called you here to screen you for a job.” That was an exchange of niceties to this man? Daang. I stay quiet until he continues. “You’re the only magic user that I’ve heard of with a law enforcement Track. I’m interested to see what kind of benefit magic might bring to the Territory instead of the destruction we see from those that seek that kind of power.”

The Sheriff opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out an honest to goodness file folder that he opens and peruses. “Vegas has usually been a self-patrolled area that Warram Enterprises has taken the reigns of. Since you’ve upset the balance of the area, I’m going to give you a chance to reign Vegas in, as well as some of the more lawless areas of southern Utah.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Sounds almost too good to be true, Sheriff. What’s the catch?”

He smiles for the first time, and it’s SCARY. “You fuck this up, I crucify you and magic stays out of law enforcement until I die.”

Ahh, axe to grind. Gods damned it. I school my features and smile right back. “Sounds like fun. When do I start?”

He hands me a stack of papers lining out the hoops I have to jump through in order to get my tin star. I briefly skim the stack, then get up to leave.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Seemed like a dismissal. Haven’t been handed a stack of paper and expected the process to be fast. Sorry if I’m mistaken, sir.”

“We’ve got range time and other assessments today. Just because I don’t like magic, Novarro, doesn’t mean I won’t give you a fair shake.”

I sit back down and take out my engraving pen. I spend a minute switching it out to regular ink and start working. I better get some kind of skill up for this paperwork.

***

“Novarro, that a thirty eight special?” The Sheriff asks.

“Yes and no. It’s a .38 hypervelocity pistol. It is not safe for range use. Neither of my pistols are.”

“That’s alright. Cosgrove has a variety of weapons you can qualify on. Start with the special. Standard issue 9mm after that. What’s your rifle of choice?”

“Most of my field work is with a Winchester 308 sniper. Recently switched to a fifty hypervelocity. Needs magic to use properly.”

“Alright, Cosgrove, you heard the lady. Throw in an M-16 E for good measure.”

Ugh, I dislike that assault rifle. I dislike assault rifles in general, let’s be fair. I’m nowhere near as nervous as I was when I first qualified, but new ranges are strange.

To my great fortune, it’s not a moving qualification, pure target shooting. The action on the rifle is smooth and well-worn, responding beautifully to my finger flicks to load the next round into the chamber. I like this gun better than my own, but the benefit of mine is that it’ll get here, to this beauty of movement, if I treat it right.

Pistols are inherently less stable, so I predictably do worse, bit still good.

The assault rifle drill is stupid and I hate the damned gun.

“291 on the rifle, 234 on the pistol, and a graceless 148 on the assault rifle.”

“Maybe we should give you a shotgun instead of an M-16.”

I shrug. “I can open doors with a shotgun, I can’t even open an argument with that other thing.” I get the ghost of a smirk from the serious man. I may not have gotten the best first impression, but I think I’m wearing on the leathery bastard.

Cosgrove comes over and instructs me to draw my pistols a few times so he can get used to my fit. He seems surprised that I prefer an armpit mount to a thigh mount, but he accommodates me all the same. Straight up hands me a 308 Winchester, and now I have state issued gear.

The Sheriff leads me to yet another room, has me read a stack of agreements. I have never tried to read the veracity of a document without having witnessed the agreement. This is a solid test. Everything seems muted, a haze of grey, or sepia covering the whole thing. Green and Red show up well enough, but the Oranges and Yellows, the parts where the System insinuates more information, is difficult to tell. I sort the pages and do my best.

It takes me hours to get through the stack of contracts, and I’m well into my third coffee before Winchester has someone check on me. I guess he’s a clerk or an assistant as the man takes the papers, and my notes, away while leading me to yet another room. An interrogation room.

Instead of a criminal to question, he brings in one of his Deputies, which I assume is to get both sides of the truth story from the one spinning tales to the one trying to unravel them. I get all the shades of truth this time, seeing a gamut of yellows, some profuse with red, others with a hint of green. I’m going to nail this one. I convince Tova to take a break from canoodling with my shuttle to thought dictate for me, obviously taking out the swearing and the mental mincing, but Tova seems in a mood with me right now, so who knows what she’s actually writing.

My final test before lunch seems to be my contract skill.

“So you’re saying, if I do this one last thing, manifest a contract, You’ll get me a Deputy badge.”

“I’m saying that this is the last test I have for you, whether you get the badge or not is based on your performance today.”

Little bit of yellow in that statement, curious. “All right, who and what is the contract for?”

“It’s for you. Do you, Kimber Navarro, swear to uphold the law of Nevahrado as the Territory government as it is proscribed to you by me?”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with Imperial Law, yes.”

“No, no. None of that. That’s not what I said.

“Are slavery and sexual assault legal in the Territory?”

“Slavery is not explicitly illegal in unincorporated Territory land. Is that going to be a problem?”

I quirk my head at the man. “Well, yes, it is, Sheriff. If you tell me to overlook certain matters of slavery for a politician’s pride, I’d have some sharp, unprofessional words for you.”

“You accuse me of pandering to politicians!?” He gets large, angry and emits a prelude to violence. Ah, something he cares about more than the law. Disappointing.

“No, no. None of that. That’s not what I said. I was merely bringing to light that if the differences of what I said, and what you said are merely academic, then what’s the issue of throwing a nod at the Empire’s laws?”

He growls, “You are walking a fine line. I’m not sure if I want a lawyer in my department.”

I snort at that. “Are you a Citizen, Sheriff?”

He quirks his head sideways, “Yes. Most people that know about the benefits are.”

“I’m a Citizen as well, Sheriff. As long as you get what that means, I’ll sign your contract.” The man looks confused but hands me the papers. As soon as he sees me reading through the pages and initialing each page, his smirk grows.

I pick up the stack and lean back into the chair to finish up the work. I of course edit the portions that would be illegal for a Citizen to fully execute, since handing me the contract was implicit agreement that he knew that a Citizen could not execute all portions of this contract as written. With a little bit of system bullshittery, I get a golden scroll as I finish the final date and signature on the document.

“You get a contract for signing a contract?”

“Yes sir. Backed and enforced by the System. It holds the powers that be responsible for the promises they made to me as well as the promises I made to them. It’s alarming how often those offering a deal break it.”

He growls again. “Time for you to leave. One of my deputies will send you a location to report to tomorrow.” I put my hat back on and tip it at him. He appreciates the gesture by the nod he gives me, but he apparently also has a notification filter, or he would have chased me out of the office with his side arm. Heh.

I don’t love fleecing honest people, it feels dirty; and I would have said the same about the Sheriff until he balked about by Imperial clause, and went irate about the political pocket comment. I suspect that he is in someone’s pocket and it chafes intolerably.

Despite the fact that he shuts the door behind me, giving me nothing involved with the contract that I signed; the System is lovely and sends them to my mail storage, which I transfer to my girlfriend’s ring.

The first item I take out is the tin star. Winchester said I would get one after producing a contract—which I did—so the proof of said agreement is now sitting in my hand. The upper wreath says Deputy Sheriff. The bottom wreath says Southern Nevahrado. The middle says Sevitium populum, iustitiam, veritas.

I smile as Tova translates the Latin. It’s an Americanism of people, justice, and truth. It says nothing about being loyal or serving the government. This is an oath I can get behind.

I pin the star to my vest and keep walking my way out of the building. While I walk, I peruse the limitations of a deputy sheriff, and I see a suped up version of a police officer that can operate outside of city limits. Fuck yeah.

Tova alerts me to a ‘police scanner’ or the multi-jurisdiction response network, which could be interesting, but when I realize how few local issues are actually responded to, I kick out my bike briefcase and wait until it is ready to kick as much ass as I am.

I wait after the first call I hear, until it turns into a ‘possible’ murder on 29th. Time to see what the city is like, Kimber baby. I tick some new priorities to Tova and ask if she’s willing to support on some newly official crime-fighting. She responds with a cowboy enthusiasm call. Alright Reno, lets fight some fucking crime.