StarCraft II: Devils' Due by Christie Golden Page B

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