Half Cocked - a Backwoods Station Sci Fi adventure

 

 

HALF COCKED – BACKWOODS STATION

 

 

“Sterling, you want to come on in here?”

Shit, he wondered. What the hell did I do now?

He ignored Madge from the desk by the door, her sniff of disdain and displeasure bouncing off the only wooden walls in Backwoods Station.

His worn boots made clip clopping sounds as he marched along the plank flooring like a man headed to an ass chewing.

“Know what I did?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth to Dominique at her simple board desk.

She pursed her beautiful full lips and shook her head, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.

“I have no idea,” she practically purred.

“You’re taking too much pleasure in this,” he kept walking.

“Don’t I know it,” she kept her voice low as she called after him.

In a normal Galactic Marshal office, the Chief Marshal has a separate office partitioned off by soundproof glass, so that during said ass chewing’s, others in the office could watch but not hear.

In Pete’s case, the continued burning of the Fenix office in Backwoods Station had rendered such novelties excessive.

Pete had a desk of four boards across two sawhorses instead of the two planks the Deputy Marshals were forced to use. But the excess stopped there.

His cloth chair was second hand and reconditioned, the boards weighed under a half ton of printed paper, a novelty on Mars since everyone else used tablets. The powers that be didn’t want to invest in more electronic devices that could get burned down once more after the forth station went up in revenge fueled flames.

His desk was at the back of the same long open room the other three Marshal’s used, almost a straight line from Madge who was part receptionist, part guard dog placed in front of the door to the street to keep bad people away.

Sterling removed his hat and rested it on his leg as he looked for a place to lean. He settled for cocking his hip to one side and waited.

“You know I don’t go in for all this favoritism bullshit,” Pete started.

“I believe you have let your feelings on the subject be known,” Sterling answered.

Pete held a piece of paper in his hand, but waved it back and forth. All Sterling could make out was faded ink that let him know the decommissioned and requisitioned printers needed a cartridge exchange. He wondered where on Mars they would find it, since Fenix was the only Marshal station who used it.

“And yet here you are going over my head for special consideration.”

Sterling crinkled up his face in confusion.

“Pete,” he said. “I know you love a good rant, but let me get this out there before you get a full head of steam going.”

“I don’t love a rant,” Pete answered. “I’m damn good at them. Maybe I’d date a rant, take it to dinner, try to feel it up, but love?”

He blew a sigh between his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sterling told him.

“Dating a rant, Sterling. I’m being facetious.”

“I meant the paper,” Sterling pointed. “If that’s what you’re referring to when you say special favors. Or are you just using it for effect.”

“This?” Pete waved the paper back and forth. “This is the bullshit I’m talking about, and yes, I am doing it for effect.”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“You didn’t ask for a special assignment?”

Sterling shook his head.

“I’m in exile, remember. Even if I made a request, who the hell would approve it.”

Pete turned the paper over to examine the print again.

“And yet here it is, in hand. Signed. Sealed and delivered.”

“Who delivered it?”

“Madge, straight from the printer.”

“I was the one being facetious that time.”

“Don’t do that,” Pete scowled. “You’re not that good at it.”

He held the paper still and in Sterling’s general direction. He took that as a sign to accept the paper and grabbed it from Pete.

“There’s not much here,” he said.

“You know I thought you’d move your lips more when you read,” said Pete.

“I grew out of that after high school,” said Sterling.

He dropped the printed orders on the desk and leaned across it.

“All this says is I’m to take the train to a docking station and await transport.”

“Yes,” agreed Pete. “It’s bare.”

“You heard of the guy who signed it?”

“He’s the one who signs our bosses boss’ paycheck.”

“Shit,” Sterling sighed.

“Yeah, you’re up to your neck in it,” Pete grinned. “Again.”

“I promise you Pete, I didn’t ask for this shit. I’m out here, doing my time and trying to keep my head down.”

“Yeah, your head down has got you called up to the majors. I just hope while you’re gone I can get my body count back to zero.”

Sterling waved him off.

“You had murders out here before me. These miners would kill each other over a cross look even before I showed up.”

“Alright, half the body count. Hell, so long as my numbers go down, I’m gonna consider it a win.”

Sterling reached down and spun the paper around.

“When does it say I go?” his eyes searched the page.

“Today,” said Pete. “Now.”

“The morning train leaves in five minutes,” Sterling huffed.

“Then you better run,” Pete called after him.

He wasn’t sure if the Marshal heard him or not over the sound of his boots pounding across the wooden floor out onto the poured plastic concrete boardwalk beyond.