THE BELTERS’ WAR

by

Christopher Stasheff

Copyright 2010

 

CHAPTER 7

 

Appalled, Kit saw Pepper swell as he approached, and suddenly wondered how she could possibly kill a man in cold blood.  In the heat of a fight, sure—but in ambush?

“Now,” Charlie’s voice said in her helmet.

The word echoed, but she heard it in Pepper’s voice, and memory showed her: Spindrift’s burro-boat shooting in circles, then the blood-streaked cloud of plasma, her one true love dead before he could touch her, and she found herself rising up from her seat and out the door, leveling her laser.  As the other five spat beams of green light, so did hers, impaling Pepper at the center of a jade web.

He screamed, his radio was on the public channel and he screamed, raw and hoarse.  Something inside Kit wailed and shriveled, but something else crowed in delight.  She held the firing stud down.

Pepper turned, then turned again, trying to find a way off the green spikes, and in her mind’s eye, Kit saw Spindrift’s burro-boat racing around and around in a circle.  Someone howled like a hungry wolf as she held the stud down, following Pepper as he folded, down to the ground, rolling, rolling…

Then she realized that her ray was the only one still showing, that everyone else had stopped, and that the howl was her voice.  She looked up and saw her friends staring at her.

“Lord, Kit,” Agatha said, “you really hated him.”

“He killed our boss.”  Kit holstered her laser.  “If we couldn’t protect Mr. Spindrift, we can at least take revenge for him.”

            “Revenge feels good.”  Charlie nodded, holstering his laser.  “Mostly, though, I wanted to stop him from killing any more of us.”

“Oh, he’ll stop,” Skurly said, “now.  But what about the rest of Flanagan’s drovers?”

Charlie scowled.  “They won’t stop.  Flanagan will just appoint another lieutenant for them and send them out again.  He wants power, not justice.”

“I heard Flanagan’s off to Ceres,” Agatha said.

“Probably trying to head off Trail,” Jessie added.

“He can name another foreman by radio,” Charlie said.

“He wants Spindrift’s sector, too,” Skurly grated.

“He can’t have it,” Kit snapped, “not while we’re still alive.”

The drovers were quiet for a minute, glancing at each other.  Then Skurly said, “They can do something about that.”

“Then we’ll just have to do something about them.”  Charlie put out a foot and pushed the proctor’s body over onto its back.  "Shoulda died slower, Pepper—a lot slower."

 

*           *           *

 

They went back to First Base to find Swayne waiting for them, pacing and fretting.

Kit took her helmet off and tossed it onto her bunk.  “We did it, Squire!  We got justice for Mr. Spindrift!”

Swayne swung about, staring at her with dread.  “Justice?  Or revenge?”

“Call it what you like.”  Charlie’s helmet landed next to Kit’s.  “Pepper’s dead.  When they get a new proctor, they can get a real one.”

“They may not need to.”  Swayne stood stiff and straight with a tone to match.  “There’s news from Trail.”

“Mr. Trail?” Agatha asked; and, “Hallelujah!” Skurly caroled.  “They let him out?”

“That, I don’t know,” Swayne said, “but it seems he knows the sector’s attorney general.”

Jessie let out a hoot of delight, but Agatha asked, “How well?”

“Well enough so the man came out to visit him in jail,” Swayne said.  “Mr. Trail persuaded him to arrange a meeting with the governor.”

Charlie grinned.  “They can’t let him show up in prison stripes, can they?”

“I’d say not,” Swayne said.  “He persuaded the governor to appoint a sector marshal charged with keeping the peace.”

Charlie turned serious.  “Yesterday, that would have been good news.”

“You have a lawyer,” Swayne reminded him, “but heed the lesson, Charles.  Never take the law into your own hands again.”

“Who’s this new marshal?” Kit demanded.

“A man named Caleb,” Swayne said, “just retired from the Space Marines.”

Kit frowned.  “Marines are navy, like Flanagan.  This Caleb will side with him.”

“Perhaps not,” Swayne said.  “The Marines don’t always agree with the Navy—and Caleb spent the last five years of his service as an SP.”

“SP?”  Jessie frowned.

“Shore Patrol,” Charlie explained with a frown.  “They’re the Navy’s police—break up fights, bring drunken sailors home, that sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t make him a lot of friends,” Skurly said.

“It does, however, qualify him for the position of marshal,” Swayne said.  “He should arrive in the next few days.”

“Next few?”  Jessie raised an eyebrow.  “Not very punctual, is he?”

“How quickly he can come will depend on how many problems he encounters on the way,” Swayne said.  “He is, after all, the marshal for the whole sector, not for Port Alice alone.”

Even so, Caleb arrived the next day—with Trail aboard his burro-boat.  As they came out the air lock in Port Alice, Kit was shocked at Trail’s paleness, the stoop to his shoulders, the redness in his eyes.  He clearly was not well yet.

Sick or well, his lanky form dwarfed the marshal, even though Caleb was half a head taller than Kit—she knew by measuring herself against Trail for all these months; she stood to his shoulder, but Caleb’s head topped at the boss’s ear.  He was stocky, though, as much as she could tell through his space suit, and from the look of him, it was all muscle.  Kit felt herself soften, just gazing at him—then was scandalized with herself.  Didn’t she have any loyalty to her dead lover Spindrift?  What kind of woman was she to warm up at the sight of any man with a good build?  Why, he must have been over thirty!

She was a young woman, that’s what—full of juices and fire.  A young woman who was on the rebound.

No excuse in that, though.  She’d be loyal to her love, keep her distance.

Still, she had to admit Caleb was good-looking.

You can look, she told herself.  No harm in that.  It’s not like you’re planning to seduce him or anything.

That was true—he wasn’t raising her temperature, the way Spindrift had.  Just something nice to look at.  She wasn’t being disloyal—only healthy.  She reached out a hand to shake his—but Skurly touched her arm in caution.  “We haven’t had the best luck with law officers lately, Mr. Caleb.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Charlie stared at Caleb, daring him.  “We just had pretty good luck shooting the proctor.”

The room was quiet for a moment.  Then Trail said, “You didn’t!”

“He led the gang that shot Spindrift,” Skurly said.  “Nobody else was looking for justice, ’cept us.”  He turned to Caleb with a belligerent stare.  “So what’re you going to do for your first official action?  Arrest us all?”

“Second official action,” Trail said.  “His first one was freeing me.”

The Regulators stared. 

Caleb nodded.  “They were holding him because the registration on his burro-boat had expired.” 

“Holding him?” Skurly bleated.  “That only calls for a fine, maybe a night in jail at the worst!”

“They claimed they had to hold him until his lawyer came to argue his case.”  Anger simmered under Caleb’s words.

“But he had his lawyer with him!”

“ ’Fraid not,” said Caleb.  “They claimed that they had to let Mr. Swayne come back here to gather evidence.”

“So how’d you get him out?” Charlie asked, narrow-eyed.

“He pulled jurisdiction on them,” Trail said.

Caleb nodded.  “They have a town marshal on Hephestus—but I’m the marshal for the whole sector.  Now.”

“Thank you.”  Kit flashed him a look of gratitude, but let her eyes widen as she did.  “We’ll take him back to Sunview and put him to bed.”

“Do that,” Caleb said.  “Then come back to Port Alice and check

into the jail.” 

All the drovers spun to stare at him.  Charlie demanded, “Why the hell should we go to jail?”

“Because you killed a man.” Caleb’s voice was level.  “Right or wrong, you have to stand trial.”

“But he tried to kill us!” Kit stormed.

“He would have gone on trying if he’d lived,” Jessie said.

“You’re saying it was self-defense, then?”

“Self-defense,” Charlie asserted, “and justice.”

“Leave justice to me and the judge,” Caleb said.  “If it was self-defense, you’ll be free and clear.”

“Do it.”  Sick or not, Trail’s voice rang with authority, and zeal lit his eyes and straightened his shoulders for a minute.  “We have to obey the law.  Without it, we’re all dead.”

“Looks to me like even with it, we’re dead,” Charlie returned.

“Just like Mr. Spindrift,” Kit added.

“If that’s so,” said Caleb, “I’ll make sure he has his day in court.  It’s not your place to do it.  Leave the arresting to me.”

 “Even if you’re honest,” Charlie said, “what about the judge?”

“Yeah!” shouted Lucky.  “Clovis is Flanagan’s boy, everybody knows that.”

“But August isn’t,” Caleb said.  “Mr. Trail told me that on the way down.”

“August is just the town magistrate.  Clovis ranks him!”

“See how it tangles?” Trail said.  “The law may be there, but the people who are supposed to make it work are twisting it instead.  We have to see it enforced, not help tear it apart.”

“But what’s going to keep the law from twisting us?”

“I will,” Caleb said, quietly but with absolute certainty.  “I’ll see your case goes before August, and I’ll make sure the jury’s fair, too.”

“And I’ll be standing right behind him,” Trail said.

“You will not!”  Jessie turned on him.  “You’ll go straight back to Sunview and get into bed!”

“And you’ll stay there until you’re well.”  Agatha came up beside her.  “We’ll be with you to make sure of it.”

Kit came over with them, glaring at her old boss.

Trail smiled fondly.  “Bless you for caring—but I have drovers there to do the nursing.  Just get me there and turn me over to them.”

“See?”  Kit turned to Caleb.  “He knows better than to ride out alone!”

“As a man ought to, when he’s as sick as Mr. Trail is,” Caleb agreed.  “Take him home, and remember you’re on parole.  I ought to take you in right now, but getting Mr. Trail back in shape is more important.”

“Well at least you’re not Flanagan’s man,” Charlie said, “but we’re taking a Jupiter-sized chance surrendering to you.”

“Yes, you are,” Caleb said, “and you can trust me, but I haven’t proved that yet.  All I can tell you is that we have to start rebuilding the law on Port Alice, and you six are the first ones up for it.”

“Why us?” Lucky demanded.

“Because you all committed the last murder,” Caleb said, “and I intend to see to it that it really is the last.  Take your boss home and come back with your lawyer.”

 

They did.  Two days later, they filed into the proctor's office with Swayne right behind them.

“I knew I could trust you,” Caleb said.  “We’ll scan your retinas and house you in cells, but I won’t embarrass you by making you wear prison clothes.”

“You would if you had any,” Kit said.

“I might at that,” Caleb admitted, “but since I don’t have any, I’ll just ask you to shuck your space suits and make yourselves at home.”

Charlie lifted his head, understanding.  “We can’t go out without them.”

Caleb nodded.  “Better than chains—and a lot better than LED coveralls.  You’ll feel better in your own outfits, too.”

They did.  They could see through the bars to one another, and after Caleb handed Skurly a music keyboard, the songfest started and developed a party atmosphere.  Toward evening, some of the citizens filed in holding hot dishes, and the Regulators dined like royalty.  When they’d gone, Charlie called out, “You run a really great jail, Marshal.”

“Why, thank you, folks.” Caleb put his hand on the switch.  “Lights out, now.”

The cells plunged into darkness.  Kit glanced out a port and contemplated the stars.  “Yeah, a real nice jail,” she said to herself, “but how do we get out of it?”

 

*                       *                       *

 

Judge August was only a magistrate—but he used that to bump out Clovis, who was a proper sector judge.  “Magistrate first,” August said.  “You don’t get ’em till I’m done with ’em—and then only if they appeal.”

 “No, they have to be tried by the highest possible court,” Clovis contradicted.  “After all, the law says we can’t try ’em twice.  How do I get a crack at ’em if you try ’em first?”

“On appeal,” August said, “but if you want to go for the highest court available, let’s try ’em on Ceres.”

Clovis turned away, simmering with anger.  He knew the Quadrant Court on Ceres couldn’t be counted on to rule in Flanagan’s favor.  Rumor was they even hated the Navy for encroaching on their territory.  He would have to leave the trial to August—but he would find a way to take his own juridical revenge.  It was hard to have a man disbarred this far from Earth, or even Mars, but he’d find a way.

So they were tried in Port Alice, in the front room of the assay office, a big chamber made of stacked slabs of slag with benches for people to wait on—a lot of miners came in to file claims.  August used the counter as his bench and appointed Buckley, a grizzled old miner, as his bailiff.  Kit and her mates sat at a long folding table, clustered around Swayne.  She frowned at the lone stranger sitting at the card table on the other side of the courtroom, studying notes on a long yellow tablet computer.  She nudged Charlie and asked, “Who’s that—the sector attorney?”

            Charlie looked and nodded.  “An assistant, anyway.  They wouldn’t send the real one, not this far from Ceres.”

            The man wore a business complet and combed his hair straight back—old-fashioned but respectable.  He was lean, and his eyes glittered with electron lenses—another one for whom prosthetic eyes wouldn’t work, which reminded her of Spindrift, twisting her heart.  Any other time, Kit would have passed the stranger in the street without a glance, thinking him a gutless wonder.  Today, he seemed menacing.

Caleb went out into the street and notified the first twelve citizens he could find that they’d been appointed for jury duty.

            Buckley set out a dozen chairs for the jury and a dozen more for spectators, six on the prosecution’s side of the room and six on the defense’s.  Five minutes later, Flanagan walked in with five of his drovers behind him and took the six seats behind the prosecutor.  Five minutes after that, six of Trail’s drovers walked in and took the rest.

            “Order!”  August rapped the bench with a homemade gavel and explained to the jury what they were doing there.  When they heard Flanagan’s name, they all became nervous.  One raised a hand and said, “Your Honor, I can feel a bout of flu coming on.”

            “I’m sure you can,” August said, “but you’ll stay right there until you’ve heard the case and rendered a verdict.”  And, as an afterthought, “You’ve already infected the rest of us anyway.”  He turned to the stranger sitting at the prosecution’s table.  “Assistant Sector Attorney Deter, you may present your case.”

            Kit glared at the lean middle-aged man.  He looked like a dressed-up prospector, not a lawyer, but he stood up and tilted his head toward the judge.  “Thank you, Your Honor.”  He turned to face the jury.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I will prove today that the accused did willfully murder an officer of the law.”  He went on to state the evidence he would exhibit, then turned to thank the judge and sat down.

            ”We will now hear the attorney for the defense,”  August said.

            Swayne stood.  “I thank Your Honor.”  He turned to the jury.  “Fellow citizens, you have just heard a series of calumnies and lies stated against my clients.  Any actions they have taken against any other human beings have been solely in self-defense.  To imply anything else would be to do them a severe injustice.”  He went on to describe Charlie and his fellow drovers in such glowing terms that Kit had to stop herself from looking around the courtroom to find these paragons he was talking about.  The people he was describing were too good to be true.

            That’s right—they were.  Jolted back to reality, Kit realized Swayne was describing herself and her fellow drovers, and that they really had shot Pepper down in cold blood.  How could Swayne talk their way out of that?  She sat back to listen.

He did it.  He brought in witnesses who were just as angry at Flanagan’s bunch as the Regulators were—Kit blinked in surprise when Oleandra Beechnut, the lady who swept and scrubbed the tavern, testified that she had seen two of the Regulators in place as she was coming to work, and had realized there was going to be a fight.  She had hurried on into the tavern and stayed away from the windows.

“So you didn’t actually see the fight?” Swayne asked.

“No,” Oleandra said.  “Laser rays can go right through windows, so I stayed away from ’em.”

Deter was on his feet in an instant.  “Redirect, Your Honor?”

“Go ahead.” August’s voice was carefully toneless.

The prosecutor redirected his question.  “Your husband had a grievance against Mr. Flanagan, didn’t he?”

“Objection!”  Swayne stood.  “Relevance?”

“Oh, tie it down, Counselor,” August said.  “Everybody knows folks have been choosing up sides here, and that could contaminate their testimony.  Denied.”

Swayne sat down, frowning, but Kit had to hide a grin.  August was making it clear that he was unbiased, even if he was.

“Shall I repeat the question?” the Sector Attorney asked.

“Might as well,” August answered.

The prosecutor turned back to Oleandra.  “Did your husband have a grievance against Mr. Flanagan?”

“Yes.”  Oleandra glowered with anger.  “He invested all our savings in one of Flanagan’s sectors, and when he found it was mined out, he shot himself.  Left me without even the fare to get back to Mars.”

“So you’d get even with Flanagan if you could?”

“What does that matter?  I can’t.”

The prosecutor frowned at her, pursing his lips.  “You’re not afraid of the Flanagan boys?”

“With no one left to love me, no way to get off this burned-out rock, and scarcely enough pay to get through the day?” Oleandra asked.  “Let them kill me.  No point in going on.”

Another witness had hidden, too, because he had seen Pepper coming with his hand on his laser.  “So he was ready for trouble,” Swayne interpreted.

“Objection!” cried the prosecutor.  “Calls for a speculation.”

“Sustained,” said August.

A third witness had heard Pepper bragging over his drinks that he had killed Spindrift and was going to get the rest of them.  The prosecution could only bring up witnesses who had seen the Regulators hiding and waiting.  Nobody had actually seen the “fight”—they’d all stayed inside, away from the windows.  No one could say who had fired first.

Summing up before the jury, Swayne said, “We don’t know who shot the first ray or who was defending themselves against a laser beam.  We do know that Pepper was out to kill all the drovers who had worked for Spindrift, so they had reason to think him dangerous when they saw him coming with his hand on his weapon.  Remember—if you let a corrupt law-enforcement officer kill a citizen, none of us are safe.  There is absolutely no evidence that my clients committed murder.  Please find them not guilty.”

The prosecutor talked for fifteen minutes about the importance of enforcing the law, doing a very good job of making it sound as though Pepper had been all that stood between the miners and outright anarchy.  Then August summoned both attorneys to his “chambers”—the small office behind the main public room—and let the jury deliberate.

It took them about fifteen minutes.  They returned a verdict of “Not guilty.”

Charlie gave a whoop of joy and leaped out of his seat.  The others joined him in an impromptu dance in the middle of the “courtroom.”  August and Swayne looked on, the first amused, the second grinning with second-hand delight.  Flanagan and his drovers stalked out, fuming.

Under cover of the noise, August called, “Marshal,” and beckoned Caleb over. 

Caleb stepped up, eyebrows raised in polite inquiry.

“The Flanagan gang hasn’t gotten too far yet,” August said.  “Find them a place to stay for the night—in your jail.”

Caleb smiled and nodded, then turned and went after the Regulators. 

Kit couldn’t hear that, of course, but she saw Caleb heading their way and, as they came out into the street, she poked Charlie in the ribs.  “Get moving!  Here comes Caleb.”

Charlie looked up, frowning.  “Good.  I want my laser back.”

The other drovers heard and looked up as Caleb came out into the street.  Hands went to lasers but slapped empty leather.  Charlie turned to face the marshal, hands on his hips.  As Caleb came up, Charlie asked, “Need something, Marshal?”

“Yeah—somebody to help me round up Flanagan’s boys.  Raise your right hand.”

Charlie was too astonished to disagree.  He raised his hand.

“Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the Asteroid Belt and all old Earth’s laws pertaining thereto?”

“Sure,” Charlie said.

“Then by the power invested in me, I hereby declare you to be a deputy marshal.”  Caleb slapped an official-looking patch over Charlie’s heart, then turned to Kit.  “Raise your right hand.”

“This mean I can’t shoot the bastards?”

“Only if they shoot at you first.”

Kit grinned.  “You know they will.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Caleb retorted.  “I could guess, but what’s the point in that?  You going to raise your right hand or not?”

Still grinning, Kit brought her hand up.

“Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the Asteroid Belt and all old Earth’s laws pertaining thereto?”

“Sure,” Kit said.

“Then by the power invested in me, I hereby declare you to be a deputy marshal.”  Caleb turned to the other four to find they’d already raised their hands.  He swore them in, then said, “You hold your lasers on them, but you don’t shoot until they do—or until I tell you.  Understood?”

There was a chorus of “Yeah, Marshal,” “Sure, Marshal,” and such.

“Good.”  Caleb turned away toward the jail.  “Follow me.”

In his office, he went to a locker, pressed his thumb to the plate to unlock it, opened the door, and took out their work lasers, handing them around.  “All right.  Let’s go to the hotel’s lunchroom.”

“Lunchroom?” Kit said in surprise.  “They’ll be at the park!”

“Not their kind,” Caleb said.  “They’ll be in the saloon bar, drinking themselves into a rage because they lost.  I mean to arrest them before they start shooting up the place.”

He started toward the door.  Kit ran to catch up and said, “What do you think they’d have done if they’d won?”

“Same thing,” Caleb said, “be getting drunk to celebrate, then shooting up the town.  Let’s go.”

He stepped into the air lock.  Kit followed, grinning.  She decided he really was a good-looking man.

 

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