February 19, 2363 AIA

Ionu

“I’ve been looking for an analyst for you, Fenn, but it hasn’t been easy.”

Via his screen, the sheriff watched Norwood rub his eyes.

“It’d be hard enough to find one willing to go to Tombstone if I could advertise, but asking them to do it one by one?”

Fenn said, “That must be tedious, sir. I’m sorry. But at least they should give you a quick answer.”

The commissioner mockingly nodded. “Oh, yes. They all instantly tell me no.”

“I admire people who know their own mind.”

“Fenn, would you be willing to consider someone outside the peacekeepers?”

“I can’t, sir. I don’t have the license.”

“We could get you a special license.”

“Ashtell would be able to read the application.”

“Dammit.”

“Agreed.”

Norwood reached out and fidgeted with the tablet in front of him. It was a sure sign that he needed to say something he didn’t want to say. “There is one potential recruit. They’re idealistic and young, so they might be stupid enough to go.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Her, Fenn. She’s a woman.”

“Sir, would you send your daughter here?”

“I don't even want to see you there, and you're not half so pretty.” The commissioner grumbled, “That reminds me, Fenn, there's an opening on P47.”

“I politely decline.”

“At least let me tell you the climate!”

“Are you practicing for a new career as a weatherman?”

“Fenn, I know what you’re doing, and I respect you for it. That planet is lucky to have you, and they certainly don’t deserve you—”

“Sir, should I be recording this to use during my yearly evaluation?”

“Shut up, Sheriff. Look, this is the third position you’ve refused. Too many more and you’re going to get stuck there.”

For a second, Fenn’s impassive nature waned. The man looked exhausted. Norwood saw the momentary lapse and mellowed his voice.

“Jun, if you want to see this through, you know I’ll support you, but are you sure you’re willing to pay that price?”

The sheriff took a breath and drew himself up. “Yes, sir. I am.”

There was a knock at the door. Creed came in, but he stopped when he saw Fenn was on the channel. Jun motioned for him to approach. As he neared the desk, the deputy held out a thick pile of papers.

“Is there anything else, Boss?”

“No, thank you, Creed.”

He left.

Norwood waited until he heard the door close. “Was that your deputy?”

Fenn flipped through some of the pages. “At the moment he’s moonlighting as my secretary until we can get the license renewed.”

“Is he any good?”

“Yes, but he’ll need sleep someday.”

There was a short silence.

“Fenn, what do you know about him?”

“I know I didn’t hire him for his typing skills.” Fenn threw the bound pages onto his desk. The chair creaked as he leaned back. “Please keep looking, sir. We’re going to need that analyst soon. I can’t keep sending Creed out there.”

“I’ll do my best, Sheriff. Maybe I’ll find you one that can type.”

“That’s…not a bad idea, Commissioner.”

“Am I being effortlessly brilliant again? What’s my idea this time?”

“Could we get a protected warrant to change the analyst’s file?”

“Maybe. We’d have to get the right judge.”

“We could have the analyst come in undercover as my new secretary. That way Ashtell would never have to find out what their specialty is.”

“I don’t think a data analyst would be content to play secretary for more than a month, Fenn.”

“That’s fine. It’s less time Ashtell will have to buy them off.”

Norwood grimaced. “All right. I’ll try to get something in motion. What about the warehouses? Do you have what you need on them?”

Fenn shook his head.

“It’d be a shame to waste that analyst, Sheriff.”

“I’ll get the information, Commissioner.”

“How?”

“I’m working on that.”

Norwood’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be weighing the value of his own ignorance. He must have found some worth in it; when he spoke again, he changed the subject.

“Do you think they’re still watching you?”

Fenn thought of Dr. Davis and his informants. He nodded.

“Keep safe, Fenn.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fenn cut the call and stared at the pile of papers on his desk. He didn’t have the energy to deal with them. It would have to wait until tomorrow. He took them over to the black-box safe and sealed them inside.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

When he left his private office, he found the rest of the building was already dark. Creed had wasted no time in securing the place so he could go home. All Fenn had to do was lock the main door before departing. He stayed to the middle of the street and watched the shadows between the buildings as he walked.

When he reached the crossroads, he hesitated. His house, with the promise of a cold drink and his bed, lay in one direction. In the other direction, the lights of the town glowed in the dusty air. He glanced at his watch. Most people on Ionu would still consider it early. With a last longing glance toward his home, he turned and headed into town.

Most people ignored him. Some tried to avoid him. Rarely, oh-so rarely, someone would nod to him. He always nodded back.

He made his way to Rick's Café.

The little bar and restaurant was Byrick’s personal business. When Fenn had learned who owned it, he’d made it a priority to look up the reference.

Byrick, he decided, was going to burn in hell.

As he approached the building, he turned aside and went up the alley. Three chefs were sitting outside, enjoying a break from the heat of the kitchen. One of them was leaning against the small railing, while the other two were sitting on the steps. Fenn walked up to them. By the time he was under the overhead light, it was too late for them to look at their watches and leave.

“I need to see Tanya,” Fenn said.

All of them went inside. No doubt they wanted to make sure the other two didn’t screw up the message or give it to the wrong girl.

Fenn leaned against the wall.

A minute later, Tanya came out the door and danced her way down the steps toward him. There was no other word for it; she didn’t walk, but it was too sedate to be skipping.

“Hey, Sheriff,” she said.

“Hey.”

She put her hands in the pockets of her uniform skirt and leaned back on the wall next to him. “Who are you looking for this time?”

“The big-time Ashtell lawyer—”

“Croft?”

“You know him?”

“Sure. He’s a regular. Comes in twice a week, same time, same days. He’s in there now, actually.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a good tipper. He doesn’t flirt, but he’s so polite it kind of gets to you.”

“What?”

“It’s a girl thing, Sheriff. Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you think? Is he a good guy?”

“He’s a lawyer. How good can he be?”

“You say that about lawmen.”

“Sure do.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Tanya. You’ll have to pick a side. Lawyers are the natural enemies of peacekeepers.”

“Only some of them. This guy’s not a defender. He’s a company man.”

“Is he?”

Tanya laid her head back on the rough surface of the wall. “You want to know if he’s one of them.”

Fenn waited.

“I don’t know. He always drinks alone, and he never talks about work.”

Jun stared at the orange dust on his boots.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Tanya said. “I wish I could help you more.”

“You help me enough.” Fenn looked over his shoulder when he heard a noise, but it was only a couple of drunks passing by. “He’s in there now, you say?”

“Yeah.”

Fenn pushed away from the wall. “Do you ever get in trouble because of me?”

“No. They know I hate you.” She grinned. “They feel bad because you keep coming around to make sure I’m staying out of trouble, but we all know it’s because you secretly think I’m pretty.”

“Are you staying out of trouble?”

Tanya let out an aggrieved sigh. “He’s at the far left of the bar, Sheriff. I’ll see you in there.”

When she left, Fenn went out to the front entrance. The man at the door recognized him.

“Is it business or pleasure, Sheriff?”

“Pleasure.”

The man frowned, but Fenn was allowed in.

The noise of the room faltered as he passed by the various tables. Only the piano player remained unaffected.

As the sheriff drew close to the instrument, he said, “Play it again, Sam.”

Without missing a beat, the man changed keys and drew out the melody of “As Time Goes By.”

Jun Fenn nodded. “Not bad.”

“It’s my orders,” the piano player said. “I hate this song. You would too if you’d worked here as long as I have.”

“Who gave the order?”

“Mr. Byrick. He thinks it’s funny.”

“Hell’s too good for him.”

The piano player smiled. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new here or visiting?”

“Neither. I’m not usually welcome here.”

One or two notes dropped off tempo. “Oh?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not welcome anywhere on this planet.” Fenn took out a coin and dropped it in the man’s cup.

When he turned to the bar, he saw Croft watching him.

Fenn walked over and sat down on the stool next to the lawyer.

“Good evening, Mr. Croft.”

“Good evening, Sheriff.”

The bartender came over to take Fenn’s order, then left.

Croft said, “I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“The prices are a little steep for me. It helps if I can write it off as a business expense.” Jun eyed the lawyer. “I don’t suppose you’d let me ask you a question or two, Mr. Croft?”

The edge of the lawyer’s lips pulled up slightly before he could master his face. “I would be honored to help you diddle the law to your advantage, Sheriff. Can you write it off if all my answers are ‘no comment?’”

“If it came down to it. But why would you do that?”

“No comment.”

“I can see Ashtell spared no expense on their law team.”

“They’re the two most expensive words in the galaxy, and they’re worth every cent.”

“May I ask what you’re doing here on Ionu?”

Croft’s smile twisted up on one side. “It’s the money, Sheriff. Ashtell pays well, and they pay more if you’re willing to put up with the heat.”

“You don’t mind?”

“My air conditioner works fine and the dress code is lenient.”

“Is the work hard?”

Mason shrugged. “About average for a lawyer, but since I’m the end-all, one-man show when it comes to my department, I can choose my hours and my pace.” He took a drink from the glass in front of him and went on, “I learned when I was young that there are always trade-offs when you’re picking professions or planets, so you pick carefully.”

The sheriff watched as the lawyer sipped his drink.

Whatever Jun’s thoughts were, they were interrupted when the bartender returned with his drink. Fenn waited for the man to leave again before he spoke.

“Would it be illegal for me to ask a favor from Ashtell?”

“That depends entirely on the favor, Sheriff.”

“I want some information about an employee.”

“No warrant, I presume?”

Fenn felt ill as he said, “That’s correct.”

He could have gotten a warrant. No judge in the galaxy could’ve refused him a warrant without twisting the law so far it’d be obvious they were crooked, but this wasn’t about finding the employee. The sheriff already knew where he was.

“We have some information that’s noted as public,” Croft said. “We could give you that, and probably would. For anything else, I think you’d do better to get a warrant. Only Byrick has the authority to ignore the privacy clause.”

“Byrick.” Fenn repeated the name automatically. It always felt strange in his mouth. “So you’re saying I should go to him?”

“I’m only telling you a fact, Sheriff. What you do with that fact is your business.”

“I’d hate to bother him when I’m only looking for a shortcut. Hunting down a person on this planet isn’t always easy. Could you tell me where he’s working, or is that covered by the privacy clause?”

Croft braced his elbow on the counter and put a hand over his mouth. He stared at the sheriff with narrowed eyes.

The sheriff stared back, impassive.

At last the lawyer said, “That’s not considered private information.”

Fenn picked up his drink. “Maybe I should go to Byrick. He’s always jumping to offer me help, but you seem a less enthusiastic about it.”

“I’m more cautious. Lawyers often are.” Croft glanced around. When he spoke next, his voice was mellow. “I think it’d be ridiculous to pretend we’re both ignorant of the situation, so let me get this out in the open—I’m willing to bet there are a lot of our employees who wouldn’t like the idea that you’re looking for them.”

“You’re right, Mr. Croft, but I’m still looking for him.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“No comment.”

Croft smiled. “All right, Sheriff. Give me their name. On behalf of Ashtell, I’d be happy to help our local law enforcement with their inquiries.”

The lawyer pulled out his phone. Without an open network, it’d be useless for making calls, but the rest of the programs worked fine.

“The name is Yamen Okoth,” Fenn said.

The sheriff watched carefully, but Croft only raised an eyebrow.

“That name should be rare enough.” The lawyer typed it in to his own phone. “I’ll have someone get back to you with his building and hours.”

“You don’t know him?”

“Sorry, Sheriff. I’m a like you—the only time I know people’s names are when they’re in trouble.” The lawyer stood up from his stool and finished off his drink. “Have a good evening.”

Fenn nodded to him as he left. The sheriff didn’t linger over his drink, and he didn’t order another when he finished the first. He stood up and returned to the piano.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Five years. Started at Ashtell, but I was happy to give it up when they advertised for a piano player.” His smile was broad enough it showed his teeth. “God bless you, Grandma. How I hated those lessons.”

“You know that man I was drinking with? Mason Croft?”

“I know him. He’s a regular.”

“How long has he been coming?”

“I don’t know. He was here before my time.”

Fenn could feel the alcohol starting to affect him. He must have forgotten to eat dinner again. Or maybe he’d promised himself he’d eat when he got home.

“I hear you’re the sheriff around here,” the piano player said.

“They already warned you, did they?”

The man shrugged. “It’s not much to me. I only play the piano.”

“You’re a lucky man.”