There are a lot of things to take into consideration when running a crew, more than I expected really.
Like cost of ammunition. I don’t need use much 44-40 these days, so Sarah Jay makes short work of everything I had on hand. Aunty Ray keeps a stock for her own guns, and I still got plenty of 22-10 ammo, since that’s the only calibre I use besides the Blastgun shells, but we’ll have to do some serious bullet packing so Sarah Jay can keep practicing. That’s an expense I didn’t consider, because even though I said bang for buck don’t matter when Abby come’s a knocking, my wallet is already feeling the hurt. Then there’s the time spent packing the bullets themselves, which ain’t nothing. There’s always work to do around the homestead, like fences to mend, honeycomb to harvest, wallies to shear, and what have you, so it’s not like I can dedicate all my hours to packing brass. Suppose I could put Errol and Sarah Jay to task replacing what they spent, but while packing bullets is a simple enough task, I don’t know how I feel about risking my life using ammo I ain’t packed myself.
And that’s just one, simple facet of what life gonna be like when I run my own crew. Suppose I best get used to delegating, but I can’t say I like it much.
Once Sarah Jay runs out of bullets to shoot, we head back to the office to tell Rudy the lane’s free and clear before booking the speed shooting course. Would’ve preferred to run a tactical course, since my prospects ain’t gonna set no speed shooting records using their one-Bolt-per-second Squires, but the boots in Basic are using them all. Luckily they ain’t all that close together, so we mosey on over to our speed shooting course which has always been one of my favourites. It ain’t much to look at, just a bunch of clutter all in row with twenty moving targets positioned amongst it at distances varying from 15 to 40 metres. This here is the sidearm course, and there’s one with targets at longer ranges for rifles too. While it’s technically possible to shoot further than 40m with a sidearm, I wouldn’t expect even Sarah Jay to hit more than one out of ten shots at that distance, not unless she using a Precision pistol with a shoulder stock.
As for me? Anything more than 40m away gets the carbine, plain and simple.
The tricky part of the speed shooting course is the fact that the targets move. Back and forth in fixed patterns at fixed speeds, as they laid on tracks powered by a simple little Aetheric engines, but Rudy and his people change the courses up every season or two just to keep things interesting. That’s why I tell Errol and Sarah to stay in the wagon and avert their eyes from the course as we arrive. After setting Chrissy up with the music and Pictures again, as well as a cup of bapple chips, I bring my little blobby Servant out to help tack on paper targets. Part of me wanted to leave my Stetson behind again and listen in, but that’d be too obvious. I don’t much like taking my hat off once it’s on, not unless I have to, so I ain’t got no way to eavesdrop on their conversation. No doubt Errol sharing everything I told him on the other lane, but I’m curious to hear Sarah Jay’s thoughts on the subject without her knowing I can hear her.
What can I say? I got trust issues. Even if she do think highly of me, they say ‘never meet your heroes’ for good reason. Ain’t no telling how she’d react if the real Firstborn don’t match up to what she built up in her mind. Stories got a way of getting away from the truth, and while I know how good I am, I also know that I’m always one Bolt away from death. Even though I got hit in the shoulder, being hunkered down like I was means that ‘lucky’ Bolt was mere inches away from my head, and I ain’t got nothing that’ll let me walk away from that.
…Maybe I should go see Danny boy about getting some Bolt-resistant armour. Not full plate or nothing, not even a breastplate like some Templars wear, but I wouldn’t say no to a vest or shirt or something. Tina’s dressmaker works with spidersilk, which I heard is mighty strong. Strong enough to stand up to a Bolt? Maybe not, but if anyone knows something, it’d be Danny.
“Alright,” I say, peering into the wagon once the paper targets are all set up. “Which one of you is up first?” They trade looks, and Sarah Jay graciously lets Errol have at it. I suspect her intentions ain’t entirely altruistic though, as she follows him out to watch, and I shake my head with a smile. “I want to see how you both do going in blind, so Sarah Jay, you sit tight just a little bit longer. Errol, once you out, I want you to turn away from the course and walk backwards. I’ll guide you to the starting mark.”
I guessed Sarah Jay was competitive, and she proves me right by crossing her arms in a huff. Probably wanted to watch Errol go through it first so she could do better. Ain’t nothing wrong with wanting to win, so long as she knows that we all win as a team, and that while it’s okay to play dirty in real life, cheating here won’t help no one. Giving her a smile that says I know what she was thinking, I bring Errol to the starting mark and make sure his gun is loaded and he has ammo ready to reload. “Don’t worry about speed,” I say, even though I’ve got my quartz crystal lens palmed and ready to track his time. “Just make sure you hit every target. Chest or head only. Anywhere else don’t count. There are twenty targets, so you’ll have to reload three times at a minimum, but always carry more ammo than you think you’ll need. Do a full reload each time, because anything less is a bad habit to get into. Good habits are hard to make, and bad habits hard to break.” Errol nods along while looking a little tense, but I clap him on the shoulder and say, “Relax. This ain’t a test, and if it’d were, you’d do better with less tension in you. Calm and cool, stable and steady. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. You ready?” He nods, and I say, “Then go.”
Soon as he turns around, I activate the Timepiece Cantrip, which starts counting the seconds. Now, even though I said magic don’t speak numbers or letters, that don’t mean it can’t count. It’s just that instead of saying one, two, three and so on in so many words, it uses a different system for keeping track. The Timepiece Cantrip does it through the quartz crystal lens, which buzzes in my hand ever so slightly. That’s the Cantrip’s doing, sending pulses of energy through the crystal and keeping track of how often the crystal pulses back. It keeps doing it as I follow Errol down the line and watch him plink his targets one by one by one. The Squire makes a nice ‘clang’ that fits its oversized heft, like a hammer on metal almost, at a nice steady rate of almost exactly once every second.
Too quick, in my opinion, as Errol ain’t taking his time to line his shots up and just pulls the trigger soon as his gun is all glowy and ready to shoot. Loses him time doing that, as he misses every now and again when the target shifts, forcing him to take a second shot. By the time we get to the end, he’s shot twenty-nine times for twenty targets, and I can tell he ain’t happy. Took him seventy-eight seconds total, which the Timepiece Cantrip don’t tell me in so many numbers, but rather through tactile sensation, a faint tingle on the index finger on my right hand, followed by another tingle on the middle finger of that same hand, the fingers for seven and eight respectively. Then the Cantrip pauses a bit, and after a full second, it sends a few more tingles along select fingers to give me an exact number up to three decimal spaces, but the first two are enough.
Nothing against the Cantrip or the ingenuity that went into making it, but truth be told, I’d much rather use a mechanical pocket watch. Too bad they’re so expensive though. Can’t really justify getting one for myself. Fact is, the only people I know who have one are Mr. Kalthoff, the best gunsmith around, and the Marshal, who got his along with a medal from some paper-pusher sitting pretty at Ranger HQ.
With Errol’s turn over and done with, I get him to help me replace the paper targets so Sarah Jay can have a go. He stays to watch too, and cheers her on as she hits all her shots, but she’s in so much of a rush to get it done that she overlooks a target sitting low and peeking out from a doorway. If not for that, she’d have crushed Errol’s time by a good fifteen seconds, except she doesn’t realize she skipped a target even after she finishes. She paid enough attention during the harpy fight to track her kills and mine, which tells me she wasn’t counting here by choice. So, when she puts her gun away and stands tall and proud, I keep mum while Errol hypes her up. Takes a full half minute before she realizes there’s something wrong, and she spends another half minute trying to figure out what it is. Feeling bad as I watch her freeze like a deer in the headlights, I turn to stare directly at the target she overlooked. Ain’t ever seen someone turn so red so quickly as she hustles back to make her shot, at which point I end the Cantrip and pay no mind to her actual result. “Alright then. Got some notes for you both. Errol, I see you shooting with your right hand. I also saw you holding your rope in that same hand earlier, so you gonna have to make a choice. Give up on the rope, learn to use it with your left hand, or learn to shoot lefty. I recommend the rope go in your left hand, but it’s up to you. Sarah Jay, you a good shot, so stop paying so much attention to perfect posture and whatnot, with more mind paid to what you shootin’.”
I say my piece, then leave Errol to console a very embarrassed Sarah Jay, before they run the course a second time. Ain’t much else to do besides sit back and relax with Chrissy and Cowie. A little boring, but it is what it is. Credit where it’s due, it doesn’t take the two prospects long to memorize the course and drastically improve, but that’s why the speed shooting course ain’t as popular as the tactical one. Much easier to move targets around in a fixed environment when they ain’t on tracks, so you could change where targets are on the tactical course after every pass. Once Sarah Jay has it down pat, I tell her to beat the course using only the Bolt Cantrip, which sets her to scowling. She doesn’t like losing or feeling inadequate, which tells me she’s all too easily riled. That’ll be a problem, because if she lets her pride or temper get the better of her out there, then she won’t last long, especially if she don’t got any disguise. She’s a good-looking gal, and even the most harmless men will sometimes cat-call a pretty face, even if she less than half their age.
Not my type, I think. She got the southern drawl, but none of the mannerisms. Too direct and upfront, unlike Aunty Ray who’s perfected passive aggression into an art form.
…I really gotta stop comparing every pretty girl to family. Ain’t healthy.
“How. Wee. Zhu!”
Ah, fudge nuggets. Ain’t nothing to inspire panic like someone stretching out your full name, and I can only be thankful my daddy didn’t give me no middle one. That don’t stop Aunty Ray from hitting all the wrong notes as she come thundering up atop Dumpling, one of Cowie’s lovely gals who ain’t read the mood right and arrives all happy and bright, her mouth open and gait prancing as she spots us from afar. She’s a sweet cow she is, but I don’t dare smile, because Aunty Ray is right hopping mad and I ain’t got no idea why.
I banked the stove. I washed the dishes. I locked the gun safe. Front door too. Left a note to say where we was going. Everyone took off their shoes while inside. Didn’t wipe Cowie’s hooves, but he was clean enough while stomping on my bed, so what did I miss?
Dismounting before Dumpling even slows down, much less comes to a halt, Aunty Ray stomps on over with her big blues opened wide and her sapphire crystal full of shifting hues as her pouty red lips purse in a mighty frown. “Boy,” she begins, which is even worse than using my full name, but I don’t dare even look annoyed much less let myself feel it. “You got some nerve.”
“Why? What I do?”
Which is the wrong thing to say, because if Aunty Ray was hopping mad to start, well she just upgraded to barking mad. “What you do?” Getting right up in my face and staying there even as I back away, she pokes me in the chest and repeats the question. “What you do? I dunno Howie. You do anything interesting today? Got any excitin’ news to share?”
“Um,” I say, still back peddling away, but that’s all I can get out edgewise.
Grabbing me by the lapel, Aunty Ray stops her advance and holds me in place to keep me from stepping past the firing line. Not that it matters, as Errol and Sarah Jay have got their sidearms stowed and smiles wide as they watch this all unfold. “Um?” Aunty Ray asks, so angry she can’t even look at me head on and gotta turn her head to the left, all so she can give me the side eye. “You gotta think about it? Nothin’ stands out?”
“I uh –”
“You were front and centre in a harpy attack, Howie.” Letting go of my lapel, she pulls me in for a hug, squeezing so tight I can feel my ribs creak. After several long and uncomfortable seconds and too many wet kisses to the temple, she finally lets me go, but I can’t even feel indignant about it because she’s got tears in her eyes. “You don’t think that warrants a trip home to say you okay? Even if you didn’t know where I was, you could’ve stopped off and left a note at least.” She pulls me in for another hug, this one even tighter than the last, but luckily it don’t last as long because she got a lot to get off her chest. “I had to hear third-hand about how you spearheaded the defense,” she says, back to angry once again, her furrowed brow making her forehead’s jewel bulge just a bit, “From that gossipy busybody Elise, no less. Not that she knew anything worth sayin’. All she heard was you was there, and you took part in the fight, then she went right on back to peddling her soaps.”
Double fudge nuggets. I already know where this is going, but there ain’t no stopping it now. I just stand there looking all contrite as Aunty Ray tells me how she had to go to Anita, then the Marshal, then Rudy, all in an effort to find me and make sure I’m alright. My fault really, because I didn’t think nothing of it, which I really shouldn’t say. Don’t need to though, because Aunty Ray’s got me all figured out. “Even if you fine and dandy after a harpy attack,” she says, after yet another crushing hug, “You ever stop to think about how your friends feel? Dragging them out here after an ordeal like that.” The tears in Aunty Ray’s eyes magically disappear as she turns to the giggling couple beside us with a big, bright smile. “Errol, Sarah Jay, I want to thank you both for helping our Howie out in a pinch. He had no right to ask that of you, but I’m glad you did.” Patting Errol on the shoulder, Aunty Ray gives him a worried look. “You ought to be more careful though. Them harpies ain’t the smartest or toughest Abby around, but that don’t make them safe to fight. Why my heart downright skipped a beat seeing you run out there.”
“He didn’t ask us to help, ma’am,” Errol replies, and I wince to hear it. “Told us to stay in the grocery store, but we didn’t listen. How uh… how’d you see us?”
“You call me Aunty Ray now, none of this ma’am business.” Fanning her hands as if to wave away the stink of the M word, Aunty Ray explains, “And lots of folks saw the scuffle. Otis, in the bakery one door down and across the street from Anita’s? His security camera caught the whole thing, got a perfect angle of you and Howie both, while Sarah Jay’s tucked in a corner at the back. Was right proud when he pulled the crystal and I showed him what his camera caught, especially after how so many people said he didn’t need them, on account of how he give out bread to those who need it. Even wanted to show it later tonight during the festival we planning, but I shut that down right quick. Last thing this town needs is more impressionable young folk acting all reckless like Howie.” Turning around to pat me on the cheek, Aunty Ray wants to compliment me, but she’s also worried I’ll get too big for my britches, and I get it, so I give her my best smile and open my arms for another hug.
That does it, as she wraps me up in her arms real tight. “You did good,” she reluctantly whispers, so proud but also so scared, and for the first time, I can sort of relate. I just met Errol and Sarah Jay this morning, and I’ve been twisting myself into knots worrying about their future well-being, so I can only imagine how it’s been for her. After a pause, she continues, “Been a while since we had a harpy attack without any injuries, but oh Lord, that video was almost worse than what you did in that Sherrif’s office. You know you almost walked right into the Ice Knife? Then where’d I be, Howie?”
That’s a real kick in the gut, but I do what I can to console her, though it’s difficult what with Errol and Sarah Jay standing right there. “I’m right here Aunty Ray,” I whisper back, holding her close and ignoring my rising panic. “Don’t you worry. That Portent thing the Marshal told you about? That warned me not to go that way and I listened, so wasn’t luck or happenstance that saw me clear. I know it all looked mighty close, but I had everything well in hand.” For the most part, though Errol running to my rescue threw a wrench in my plans. Still, he did alright and we got out unscathed, so I say we chalk that up as a win.
Aunty Ray takes a deep breath, then exhales, because she doesn’t want to say what’s on her mind. Got a feeling I know what it is. My daddy had the same nose for trouble as me, but his gut didn’t do nothing to save him. It is what it is, as a Portent can only warn you about signs you yourself perceive, even if you don’t know you’ve perceived them. I probably subconsciously clocked the Spellcasting harpy waggling its fingers and saw where it was aiming, I just didn’t consciously process it in the moment. That’s how my rustling jimmies work after all, with almost nothing really magical about it, except that it actually all is.
Once she’s recovered, Aunty Ray breaks the hug and wipes her eyes and cheeks dry. “Okay,” she says, patting my cheek and straightening my Stetson before turning to Sarah Jay with a beaming smile. “As for you young missy, don’t think I don’t remember you. Lookit you, all grown up, strong and beautiful as can be. I remember when you was all legs and arms, a coltish young thing growing so fast that you kept tripping over your own two feet.” Now it’s my turn to hide a laugh, while Sarah Jay glares at Errol and dares him to do the same, but he ain’t as smart as he should be, grinning like a fool and unaware of the troubles he just bought himself. “How are you both doing by the by?” Aunty Ray asks, capturing Sarah Jay’s attention by cupping her cheeks. “That scuffle with the harpies didn’t shake you none, did it? I swear I taught Howie better, but he don’t got no sense sometimes.”
“No need to fret Aunty Ray. We’re both doing just fine,” Sarah Jay replies, but contrary to her words, she goes in for a hug and trembles a bit. That’ll cost me later, as I should’ve considered the fact that this was probably the first time Sarah Jay’s seen a harpy since the last ones killed her daddy. Stupid and insensitive of me not to think about her feelings, or Errol’s considering how bad he came down with the shakes. Should’ve realized they’d need to relax and decompress, given them some time alone or gone for some sweet pastries or something, but sometimes I forget that not everyone is as used to the life as I am. Most folks make an effort to insulate themselves from danger, while I’ve been running headlongs towards it for as long as I could remember. That’s how my daddy trained me after all, by showing me what’s out there so I wouldn’t be afraid. Aunty Ray never did like that, but it’s not like my daddy ever tossed me down no cliff or something silly like that. He just pointed out the darkness in the world, and made sure I saw it, so that it could never again catch me by surprise.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
It sounds bad, but it really wasn’t. I saw a lot of terrible things, but good too, and more importantly, the good one man can do if he works hard enough for it. My daddy wasn’t just a good man, but a great one, and ain’t no one ever gonna take that away from him.
While Sarah Jay wipes her tears and looks ashamed for being ‘weak’, Aunty Ray fixes me with a glare before turning back to my prospects. “Now, I heard you both been staying at the travel lodge, and that ain’t no safe place for a beautiful young lady like yourself. We got all sorts coming and going through town these days, so Sarah Jay, you gonna come stay with me and that’s that.” Ignoring Sarah Jay’s attempts to refuse, Aunty Ray reaches out to clasp Errol’s arm with a smile. “As for you Errol, Howie’s got an extra room and I’m sure he’d love for you to stay with him. In fact, he should have offered as much as soon as he heard about your situation.”
“I was working up to it, Aunty Ray.” Putting on a scandalized tone, I say, “You can’t just walk up to a man as pretty as Errol and ask him to shack up.” Meeting Errol’s eyes with a grin, I add, “You gotta least buy him dinner first.”
That gets us both laughing, though Sarah Jay and Aunty Ray roll their eyes in tandem. Don’t get why they don’t think it’s funny, but their loss.
Eager to exhibit that fine southern hospitality her people are known for, Aunty Ray rounds us all up and herds us into the wagon so she can bring us home for lunch, though she pauses briefly to chat with Chrissy who’s still all bright-eyed and bouncy from the pictures and music. Breaks my heart to see Aunty Ray sag with relief as she tries to put on a happy face, no doubt having been worried sick about us both this last hour and a half. I can tell because of how she clings to Chrissy, arms wrapped around her and rocking side to side as they have themselves a little Kiccaw kickoff, repeating the word one after the other with different intonations.
Silly, but Chrissy loves it, and Aunty Ray loves Chrissy to bits.
Even with Dumpling nuzzling Cowie the whole way, and him nuzzling her back, we make it home in good time. That’s Cowie for you though, a real professional driver, which is great because I don’t know the first thing about driving wagons. Neither did my daddy, since he brought me around on old Tux before we found Cowie and he grew large enough to pull a wagon, but it all worked out alright. As for Aunty Ray, she don’t want nothing to do with us now that she know we all safe and sound, so once we all home, she shoos us out of her house and kitchen as soon as the guns are all locked up tight.
Figuring this is a good chance to teach them how to pack brass, I bring my prospects over to my place and break out the ammo making materials. “All right,” I begin, after laying it all out on the dining table for Errol and Sarah Jay to see while keeping Chrissy from touching anything. Pointing at a jar of jagged purple pebbles to start, I name each material for them just in case they don’t know what’s what. “Crystallized Aether. Ground Sulphur. Powdered Charcoal. And lastly, quartz shavings.” Rattling off the measurements needed for a 44-40 round, I walk them through the process once and show them how to collect, mix, pour, and pack with minimal wastage and next to no chance of overpacking. Then it’s just a matter of putting the filled case into the tray, the seal onto the press, and using the lever to put the two together.
“Don’t worry about using too much force,” I say, in response to Errol’s ginger efforts with the press. “The Aether inside the cartridge is stable. No amount of force will set it off, not unless you hit it with a properly inscribed firing pin or hammer.” To show them, I give the fresh-pressed brass cartridge a hefty smack against the table, and grin when both of them flinch. Ignoring their dark looks, I continue, “Crystallized Aether is the most stable form it can take in the physical world. I could set it on fire and it won’t do much besides glow. Nothing to worry about, unless it get hit by a Spell, and even then, the explosion won’t hurt much. It’s liquid or gaseous Aether which you gotta be careful with, but we ain’t got the facilities to make any, much less the gear needed to handle it, so don’t you worry your pretty little heads. Now, the sulphur and charcoal, that can explode, but not without a proper oxidizer, like saltpeter. Even then it don’t really explode so much as burn fast and hard.”
It's always good to know as much as you can when it comes to what you working with. Never know when you might need to make an explosion or two, and if you’re counting on crystallized Aether to do it for you, then you’ll be in for a world of disappointment.
While they pack brass and wait for lunch, I bring Chrissy out to play fetch with the wallies. As for me, I add all our spent brass to the bucket which sits in the shed, where it will continue to sit until we got enough to make firing up the kiln worthwhile. While the spent casings could easily be reused, melting them down and recasting them is easier than going through them one by one to make sure they still good. Ain’t much wear and tear on a 22-10 casing, but the money saved reusing brass ain’t worth even that minimal risk. Especially if it ain’t just my neck I’m risking. Lot of responsibility when it comes to leading a crew, and I get to wracking my brain on how to keep my prospects from keeling over the first time Abby or outlaws looks at them askew.
It's a long list, and an expensive one too, but one I gotta work through. It’s one thing to kill a person, but a whole other to be responsible for his or her death.
Lunch is delicious as expected, and I keep the topics light and mood breezy throughout, because I’m not entirely sure if Aunty Ray knows I’m fixing to add Errol and Sarah Jay to my crew, nor do I want to ask her for her opinion in front of them. It’s one thing for me to admit my flaws, but another altogether to hear Aunty Ray go through them. Credit to her though, she also avoids any touchy subjects, only asking after Sarah Jay’s siblings once and never broaching the subject of Basic. Guess it’s not all sunshine and roses on the Kowalski home front, but truth be told, I ain’t all that interested in finding out. Not because I don’t care, but I feel that if Sarah Jay wants me to know about her family situation, she can tell me herself, as I ain’t ever been one for gossip.
Unfortunately, even though I’d like nothing more than to talk shop with Errol and Sarah Jay without Chrissy or Aunty Ray about, the latter ain’t gonna let me have my way. Instead, she sends me out with Chrissy to the nearby farms to spread word of the celebration and pick up some supplies. Errol and Sarah Jay get press-ganged into providing labour, and its hours before I see them again, at which point the festival is already underway and I can’t bring myself to play third wheel to their pair.
New Hope is a town that loves to celebrate. We have at least one festival a season, on top of any impromptu celebrations we might come up with, which is why we built a giant park in the main residential district of town, so everyone can laugh and make merry together. The Frontier makes for harsh living, so you take your victories where you can, and fending off a harpy incursion with no lives lost is a victory in anyone’s book. There are plenty of events to look forward to, like games of skill and chance or silly competitions like footraces to fill a cup with water using only spoons. There’s also plenty of food to go around, free to anyone who wants it, as it’s paid for by the Rangers. Course, I’ve also seen some stalls start charging for their food instead, likely because they feel they can make more than what the Rangers would pay them. Now I ain’t got nothing against people trying to make a living, but charging for something during a festival just feels like going against the grain. We all here to have fun and enjoy ourselves, which is difficult to do when all you thinking about is price margins or bills due.
That said, there’s still lots for everyone to enjoy, including performances from acrobats, animal tamers, and other circus type acts, as well as troupe of illusionists who put on reimagined episodes of popular tv shows from the old world. They’re a big hit with the older folks, but I always had trouble following along with the stories. They leave too much unexplained and focus on all the wrong things, never going into detail about the technologies they used like telephones, trackers, and the talking car that everyone loves so much.
I mean is it a piece of Arcana-tech? A Conjured summon? Some sort of Machine-spirit, like a manufactured elemental, but one of Car instead of Fire or Earth?
Truth is, I stopped enjoying these sorts of festivals years ago, and would’ve stopped coming altogether if not for Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy. Today is even worse than usual, as there are far too many people looking to shake my hand. They all heard about them harpies and want to see the man whodunnit. Means I gotta sit through all their knowing looks because of how Chrissy holds fast to my arm, all shy and scared by so many strangers pressing in around us. I answer the same boring questions again and again while glad-handing a bunch of strangers, and my smile grows strained within the hour. I ain’t talking to anyone I care much to talk to, as most these looky-loos are folk who’ve moved here in recent years and only heard about me in passing. Was a time when most everyone knew my face, even if I didn’t know theirs, because everyone knew my daddy and wanted him to know them. “There goes Ming,” people used to say, “The finest Scout in these here parts, and father of the Firstborn don’t you know. A real stand-up fellow he is, always happy to help however he can.”
Which is why I stopped coming to the festivals in the first place. Because people started saying, “There goes the Firstborn. Ming’s boy, don’t you know.” Almost the same thing, but so very different, and heartbreaking at the same time, even if you ignore all the hurtful things folks started whispering about after he passed.
Far as I can tell though, Errol and Sarah Jay are having a ball, playing games and enjoying the festive foods while strolling about hand in hand. Makes me envious a bit, because I want to know what that’s like, to be head over heels in love with someone. Instead, all I know is what it’s like to get butterflies in my belly, which don’t mean much considering I mostly get them for Tina and Aunty Ray. Cute Bow Girl too, who I now know as Kacey, but that ain’t ever going to go nowhere. My fault really, for having a hair-trigger of a temper, but in my defense, her giant little brother ought to share some of the blame, mean mugging me like that with a face like his. That’s just asking for a beating.
After standing in place for far too long while strangers crowd around me, someone finally comes along to save me. “Howie,” Tim says as he swaggers up with a ghost of a smile, which for him means he ain’t scowling, but just barely. “The high muckity muck wants a word.”
Grabbing the lifeline like a man half-drowned, I make my excuses and bring Chrissy away with me to follow in Tim’s wake. Me, I’d have to push my way through the crowd, but they part before him like a flock of birds scattering before a lion. Don’t blame them one bit, nor is it really his fault either. He looks the part of trustworthy Ranger veteran, what with his neat-but-tousled appearance combined with his rugged good looks. An athletic man with a full head of thick, chestnut curls that almost runs down to his shoulders, and more youthful vigour than a man of thirty-seven-years ought to have. He’s also got a focused gaze and air of dark intensity about him, a casual, easygoing vigilance that screams a readiness to do violence. It ain’t the same as mine, or with Ron and his boys, as ours is an atmosphere cultivated by our familiarity with savagery and our willingness to embrace it. With Tim, brutality is a way of life, one he cannot be separated from, whether he strolling through a festive celebration or knee deep in Abby innards. Me, I do what’s needed when I have to; Tim, he volunteers.
Not because he enjoys it. He plum just don’t know any other way to live.
Least that’s what Aunty Ray says, and she probably right. Me, I like Tim. He got a real dark humour and stopped treating me with kid gloves after my daddy passed. Stepped up big time, not in a paternal way, but like a busy older brother. Looked out for me when trouble came looking, and showed up for the big moments like my first taste of moonshine and laughing when I choked on it. Likes to joke about shooting folk a bit too freely, but Aunty Ray says that’s his way of dealing with his PTSD, vocalizing his darker thoughts so he hears how absurd they sound and don’t actually act on it. Course, she also thinks most folks on the Frontier got the PTSD, but with Captain Tim Hayes, she’s most definitely right.
Once we’re free of the press and around the outskirts of the park, I let out the breath I been holding and all the tension along with it. “So,” I ask, after making sure Chrissy is doing fine, “What’s the word, oh high muckity muck? You want I should bow, or take a knee?”
Finding himself a streetlamp to lean on, Tim rests his hand on his sidearm out of habit, the same semi-automatic 1911 Tina carries. “Well, if we’re being formal,” he begins, still flashing that same ghost of a smile, “I believe protocol demands you owe me a curtsy.” I chuckle, but Chrissy curtsies on cue, which throws Tim for a loop, though he recovers right quick. “Thank you Princess,” he says with a courtly bow. Chrissy is right proper happy to be away from the crowd, only holding my hand out of habit as she makes the most of her free space, taking long, slow steps all about with arms spread and head held high. Giving her a little half-smile, which on anyone else would be a full-blown grin, Tim gets back on track. “So imagine my surprise this morning,” he begins in his slow and lazy drawl while fixing me with his hawk-eyed stare, “When I got up in my nest, lined up my shot, and watched my target drop right out of the sky. Had to do a double take, make sure I didn’t pull the trigger myself. By the time I looked back, the fight was in full swing. You stole my valour Howie, you and that prospect I was eyeing.”
“Sarah Jay?” Knew she had potential, as Tim fakes a scowl and nods. “Yea, she’s a real go getter. Wouldn’t take two years in the Rangers before she’d be running the Marksman division for you.”
“Don’t I know it. Was looking forward to having someone handle my paperwork. Marshal would’ve been thrilled too, because then he wouldn’t have to deal with all my mistakes.” Heaving a sigh, Tim runs a hand over his smooth, white chin, which is part of what gives him his boyish good looks. That and his lack of wife and kids is the secret to his youth, according to him at least, which got a ring of truth to it. Yea, he’s a handsome man, but he don’t got no family on account of being a real hot mess. That’s saying something too, because a Captain in the Rangers and the best sharpshooter round these here parts makes for a mighty fine prize to any woman looking for a man, but ain’t nothing to be done when Tim Hayes keeps joking about how easy it’d be to shoot random distant strangers on the streets.
To be fair, if he was really gonna shoot someone, I doubt we’d ever pin it on him. Man can clip a target from two klicks away, then turn invisible and reposition for another shot, all while maintaining an illusion of himself doing something elsewhere, like sitting on a fishing boat in plain sight of everyone working around the lake. Least that’s usually how he says he’d do it, which I feel is him giving everyone a semi-serious warning, because in seventeen years on the Frontier, I ain’t ever known him to go fishing, not even once.
Issues aside, Tim’s the real deal, a top Ranger and a decent fellow overall. Got great battlefield control too, knows how to use the terrain and Spells to funnel Abby and outlaws where he wants them. Terrible Captain though. Couldn’t lead a horse to water much less Rangers in the field, which is why he could really use someone of Sarah Jay’s calibre.
“If you want her back,” I say, giving him a shrug, “Then you gotta convince the Rangers to take Errol back too. And him to join of course. I ain’t got the whole story, but what I have heard don’t sound good, so you mind if I ask what it’s all about?”
Spitting into the bushes, Tim scowls something fierce. “Richard Aultman,” he begins, his tone just dripping with scorn, “Is all hat and no cattle. Showed up thinking we owed him a star just because his daddy is some hotshot politico downriver. An ‘ideological leader’ who speaks for a bunch of backwater peckerwoods gathered along some tributary of the Wayfarer. American, tax-paying peckerwoods though, and they pay lots of it. More than they owe even, to certain like-minded individuals, so when everything went to…” Glancing at Chrissy who’s still making her rounds, Tim changes what he was about to say. “After Errol beat the tar out of Richard, word came down the wire to come down hard on ‘the coloured boy’. Exact words, I shit you not.” Looking at Chrissy again, Tim grimaces and tips an imaginary hat, even though she ain’t paying him no mind. “Pardon my French, Princess. Anywho, the Marshal wasn’t happy about it, but wasn’t much he could do given the facts. Two boots got to brawling with no cameras or Rangers around. Most cadets were saying Richard threw the first punch, but he had enough lapdogs to turn it all into he said she said.”
Bribery and corruption over a little dustup between boots. Wish I could say I was surprised, but most men, even Rangers, ain’t as principled as the Marshal. Unfortunately, those same principles keep him from acting against orders, even orders he know ain’t just. That’s the sort of man Theodore Ellis is, and it’s why so many respect him, fight for him, and would die for him too, but it’s also why he’ll never move up the chain of command. A thousand-man commander ain’t small potates, but moving any higher up would require he play politics, and the current system is anathema to a good man like him. It’s a shame, as the Rangers are supposed to be impartial, and Marshal Ellis would sooner resign than compromise his ethics, which would make him the perfect man to head the whole operation. “What about the things Richard said? About race traitors and hangings? That don’t hold no water?”
“Fraid not.” Tim shrugs apologetically. “Freedom of speech means all speech is protected, even hate speech. Richard saying certain folk ought to be hung isn’t the same as Errol saying he will hang Richard. The first is a statement, and the second a direct threat. Best we can do is give Richard a slap on the wrist and leave the Drill Sergeants to sort him out. If it were up to me, I’d grab that racist little sh –” Catching himself in time, Tim sighs and says, “I’d show him what’s what is all I’ll say.” Now, Tim ain’t dumb, but he don’t much like using his head neither, so it’s obvious when a thought strikes him. He gets a real peculiar look on his face, confused and almost constipated even as he eyes me up and down. “Why you so interested all of a sudden Howie? They ask you to pull some strings or put in a good word? You shouldn’t. The Marshal would have to burn a lot of goodwill to make things right if that little peckerwood kicks up a fuss, and harsh as it might sound, those two boots aren’t worth it.”
“Well…” Suppose I gotta tell someone sometime, so I tell Tim the whole kit and kaboodle. “So yea,” I conclude, feeling a little concerned by how Tim’s had the same deadpan look on his face this entire time, “What you think about me starting a crew?”
Tim stands there with his casual lean, and I can see the gears turning in his head. “Well,” he eventually says with a begrudging tilt of his head. “Not the worst idea you’ve ever come up with.”
…Hang on. If Tim thinks it’s a good idea, then I might’ve made a huge mistake.
Catching the look on my face, Tim chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright look, I don’t know about this crew of yours, so I’ll just say what I came here to say.” Ducking down so he can look me in the eyes, he takes me by the shoulders and says, “Lot of people been giving you flak, saying you too young to be living this life, and that’s true. I would know. I was definitely too young when I signed on to the army at seventeen. Spent my first year of service popping heads off Iranian soldiers, and that was the light work.” Tim ain’t looking for sympathy, only spitting facts, and he gives me a stoic shrug to go along with his dead-pan expression. “But that’s what I signed on to do. To kill. Problem is, before I could get back stateside with weapons and the skills to use them, my scumbag of a daddy had the audacity to up and die on his own. Drunk driving accident.”
Nothing in Tim’s expression changes, but I can see that he knows, and he knows I know because he just told me he knows. Not in so many words, but some things don’t need saying. Giving my shoulder a little squeeze, he nods and says, “I was too young then, just as you’re too young now, but you’re smarter than I ever was and know more about the life than I did. Saw how you handled yourself in that Sherrif’s office and again this morning with the harpies. You’re doing good Howie, and while your daddy wouldn’t want this life for you, you’ve made your choice, so all I have to say is… well, he’d be proud of you. Your skills at least, if not your goals.”
Well ain’t that something. Means a lot coming from Tim, because he was there from day one, when my daddy carried me into Marshal Ellis’ camp and handed me over to Aunty Ray. Followed my daddy into more than one burrow and dragged him out alive at least twice, favours my daddy repaid in kind. I don’t call Tim uncle, mostly because he’d string me up naked in the streets and leave me hanging there, but he’s family all the same. “Thanks Tim.”
We stand there looking at one another for long seconds, before he breaks the silence to ask, “So you want a hug or something?”
“Not unless you do.”
“God no.” Straightening up and patting me on the back, he smiles and says, “Let me know if you need anything. Unless it’s money, because I got none. Or advice. Same reason.”
“Will do Tim.”
Tim turns around to leave and is a good three paces away before he stops, circles around, and says, “Oh, right. Also, you should probably stay away from Pleasant Dunes.”
“The Marshal put you up to this, did he?” Waving aside his feeble denial, I say, “I wasn’t planning on going back anyways. Just don’t seem smart, especially if I’m taking on two green prospects.”
“Good.” Clapping his hand on my shoulder, Tim says, “See that’s what I’m talking about. You smarter than I ever was. I would’ve gone back just to see the look on Ron’s face. Then I’d have shot him.” Giving me two thumbs up and a strained, mechanical smile, Tim backs away and adds, “Don’t you worry though. I’ll keep an eye on Tina. Even if Abby tear those pretty walls down, I’ll get her out of Pleasant Dunes safe and sound.”
Which ain’t as reassuring as it sounds. Not because Tim’s unreliable. No, once he’s given his word, he will die to keep it, and that there is ironclad fact. The worrying part is how he thinks there’s a chance that things in Pleasant Dunes will go to hell in a handbasket. See, Tim doesn’t worry. He ain’t one to fret, so if he’s talking about it, then he doesn’t see it as a ‘worst-case’ scenario, but a very feasible possibility, meaning he has no confidence in whichever Scout the Marshal tapped to find the Proggy. He’s expecting it to come down to fighting on the walls, and that’s a fact.
A thought I mull over for the next little bit as I bring Chrissy around for a stroll, then over to the stage to catch Tina perform ‘Take My Breath Away’. Now I know I said I wasn’t planning on going back to Pleasant Dunes, and I really wasn’t, but now… now I’m not so sure. I’m thinking maybe I ought to sneak in and see what I can do about finding that Proggy. Not for the money, or pride, or what have you. Feels like it’s what I gotta do. As Tina sings her heart out in front of the crowd, I watch and wonder what I would do if she were to die or get hurt in Pleasant Dunes. It wouldn’t technically be my fault, but I’ll have to live on knowing I could’ve saved her, either by finding that Proggy before its army makes it to Pleasant Dunes, or standing alongside her during the fight.
Or, if I look at it another way, if I go and succeed, then I could save a lot of lives, Tina’s included. If I fail, then nothing changes, and maybe I die, but at least I’ll go knowing I tried to keep my sister safe. I could live with Errol and Sarah Jay’s blood on my hands, but I most certainly can’t say the same about Tina, especially not if there’s something I could’ve done about it. So I guess my choice is made, the path ahead set. All I can do is give it my all, and hope I make it out alive in one piece so Aunty Ray and Uncle Teddy can tear me a new one when I get back.
…Ain’t much of a reward for a job well done, but so long as Tina gets out okay, then I’ll take it.