for ’em.
You’l get it too.”
Raynor wasn’t so sure.
“Wel , that’s mighty fine, Tychus, but the fact that it’s
the damned Horley Barton Space Station would kinda
indicate that it’s in space . And you and I don’t have a
ship to get into space.”
“Not yet we don’t. But I know where to find two little
planet-hoppers just begging to be liberated.”
“Planet-hopper” was the term for a short-range
spacecraft. That would work wel enough, Jim thought.
“Oh?” he asked Tychus. “Who is keeping them
prisoner?”
“Marshal Wilkes Butler and his buddies.”
Jim stared, then threw back his dark head and
laughed. “You embarrassed poor old Butler pretty
good just a few days ago,” he said. “This is real y
gonna ruffle his feathers.”
Tychus grinned. “But ain’t that fun?”
Jim pretended to consider, then drawled, “Wel , I
reckon it is.”
CHAPTER SIX
RED MESA, NEW SYDNEY
RED MESA COUNTY MUNICIPAL
ENFORCEMENT DEPARTMENT
It had not been the best of weeks for Marshal
Wilkes Butler.
New Sydney was, if not exactly a hive of criminal
activity, certainly a fringe world that was known to be
friendly to those who were not necessarily on the right
side of the law. Butler and his men were therefore
kept busy. He had been offered a transfer to Tarsonis
two years ago and had turned it down on the belief
that he could make more of a difference here. Crime
in a place like Tarsonis was much different than here
on a fringe world, on the outer edge of the reach of
government and politics. There were fewer …
entanglements. Butler was a man who liked things as
clear as possible. He preferred to be unencumbered
by shades of gray. He did what he did, and did it wel ,
and, while having no trouble reporting to the sector’s
magistrate as was his duty, preferred to have no
master other than the law itself in his day-to-day
activities. In Tarsonis, nearly everyone had his fingers
in someone else’s pie. There were deals, and
payoffs, and looking the other way.
Butler never looked the other way. There was
keeping to the law, and there was breaking it, and
heaven help any lawbreakers who happened to take
their activities within his jurisdiction.
The wal in the entryway to the Red Mesa County
Municipal Enforcement Department had been
plastered with wanted posters when Butler first
arrived. Now large patches of the wal were bare,
save for pushpins trapping smal bits of paper. He
paused and glanced briefly at the faces. He knew
them al : names, ages, criminal records, contacts,
bounty fees. His eyes narrowed as they fel on two in
particular.
The blunt, ugly mug of Tychus Findlay stared out at
him with squinty eyes. The same eyes that had
squinted at Butler while Findlay had deliberately shot
at an injured man. Beside Tychus was Jim Raynor.
This man did not look like a criminal, but his record
gave the lie to his otherwise genial appearance.
Butler did not know which one was the brains of the
outfit, though obviously Findlay was the brawn. He
imagined Raynor, but Tychus Findlay was no
stereotypical stupid thug, either. Butler suspected
both of them were highly intel igent, even if they
tended to take outrageous risks. That made his job al
the harder.
He thought back to the chase Findlay had led him
on a few days ago. They had been seven against two
at the outset, then Findlay had too neatly gotten them
going after him alone. Seven. One by one they had
fal en, victims of the chase through the treacherous
badlands. Three of the men were stil in the hospital;
one of them had just come out of a brief coma. The
rest were in various stages of being walking
wounded, and only two had come back to even
shortened shifts. He was grateful Findlay and Raynor
had not added murder to their already-existing
charges of theft and manslaughter. It was a lucky
break—for them.
Butler passed a hand over his face, his spirits
briefly lifted as he rubbed his thick
You’l get it too.”
Raynor wasn’t so sure.
“Wel , that’s mighty fine, Tychus, but the fact that it’s
the damned Horley Barton Space Station would kinda
indicate that it’s in space . And you and I don’t have a
ship to get into space.”
“Not yet we don’t. But I know where to find two little
planet-hoppers just begging to be liberated.”
“Planet-hopper” was the term for a short-range
spacecraft. That would work wel enough, Jim thought.
“Oh?” he asked Tychus. “Who is keeping them
prisoner?”
“Marshal Wilkes Butler and his buddies.”
Jim stared, then threw back his dark head and
laughed. “You embarrassed poor old Butler pretty
good just a few days ago,” he said. “This is real y
gonna ruffle his feathers.”
Tychus grinned. “But ain’t that fun?”
Jim pretended to consider, then drawled, “Wel , I
reckon it is.”
CHAPTER SIX
RED MESA, NEW SYDNEY
RED MESA COUNTY MUNICIPAL
ENFORCEMENT DEPARTMENT
It had not been the best of weeks for Marshal
Wilkes Butler.
New Sydney was, if not exactly a hive of criminal
activity, certainly a fringe world that was known to be
friendly to those who were not necessarily on the right
side of the law. Butler and his men were therefore
kept busy. He had been offered a transfer to Tarsonis
two years ago and had turned it down on the belief
that he could make more of a difference here. Crime
in a place like Tarsonis was much different than here
on a fringe world, on the outer edge of the reach of
government and politics. There were fewer …
entanglements. Butler was a man who liked things as
clear as possible. He preferred to be unencumbered
by shades of gray. He did what he did, and did it wel ,
and, while having no trouble reporting to the sector’s
magistrate as was his duty, preferred to have no
master other than the law itself in his day-to-day
activities. In Tarsonis, nearly everyone had his fingers
in someone else’s pie. There were deals, and
payoffs, and looking the other way.
Butler never looked the other way. There was
keeping to the law, and there was breaking it, and
heaven help any lawbreakers who happened to take
their activities within his jurisdiction.
The wal in the entryway to the Red Mesa County
Municipal Enforcement Department had been
plastered with wanted posters when Butler first
arrived. Now large patches of the wal were bare,
save for pushpins trapping smal bits of paper. He
paused and glanced briefly at the faces. He knew
them al : names, ages, criminal records, contacts,
bounty fees. His eyes narrowed as they fel on two in
particular.
The blunt, ugly mug of Tychus Findlay stared out at
him with squinty eyes. The same eyes that had
squinted at Butler while Findlay had deliberately shot
at an injured man. Beside Tychus was Jim Raynor.
This man did not look like a criminal, but his record
gave the lie to his otherwise genial appearance.
Butler did not know which one was the brains of the
outfit, though obviously Findlay was the brawn. He
imagined Raynor, but Tychus Findlay was no
stereotypical stupid thug, either. Butler suspected
both of them were highly intel igent, even if they
tended to take outrageous risks. That made his job al
the harder.
He thought back to the chase Findlay had led him
on a few days ago. They had been seven against two
at the outset, then Findlay had too neatly gotten them
going after him alone. Seven. One by one they had
fal en, victims of the chase through the treacherous
badlands. Three of the men were stil in the hospital;
one of them had just come out of a brief coma. The
rest were in various stages of being walking
wounded, and only two had come back to even
shortened shifts. He was grateful Findlay and Raynor
had not added murder to their already-existing
charges of theft and manslaughter. It was a lucky
break—for them.
Butler passed a hand over his face, his spirits
briefly lifted as he rubbed his thick
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