Orion's Law

Looking down the barrel of a gun was not something new for Marek, but it was certainly not a position he liked to find himself in too often. The Constipated Dalek Saloon had a varied and interesting clientele, but relationships with one particular patron had deteriorated rapidly and, as conversation took a turn for the negative, a disruptor pistol had appeared at the end of his nose.

"...and I told you I wanted another drink," continued the cyborg menacingly, his one mechanical eye shining redly with laser light as he reiterated his limited but somewhat insistent argument.

The forked end of the barman's tongue flicked out over his lips, tasting the air and betraying his nervousness as he considered his somewhat limited options.

"Alright old son, no need to get tetchy now," said Marek, recovering his poise and reaching for another bottle of spirits. He unstoppered the bottle of whisky, poured another glass and relaxed as the hulking form who stood on the other side of the bar lowered the weapon, noting as he did that the 'borg's natural eye was almost as red as his artificial one due to the effects of the amount of whisky that he'd drunk since his boss had slid regally under a nearby table.

The weapon was still clamped firmly in the metal fist of the cyborg as he drank and Marek thought it best to keep him talking rather than give his limited brain time to think. He had listened to enough conversation between the cyborg and his now unconscious boss to estimate his intelligence level at somewhere around that of dried pasta.

Even if he had not overheard the earlier conversation, Marek would have been fairly certain the 'borg's name was "Plekk" as he'd had it helpfully tattooed across his forehead in reverse, presumably so he could read it in the mirror, although he suspected that his lips would still move while he was reading it. As with many visitors to the desert moon of Anpalaar, Plekk and the unconscious drunk lord he served had headed straight to the nearest bar and gotten drunk. Plekk was still working on it, but his boss was slumped in inglorious slumber in a puddle of his own vomit nearby.

"You do know those are illegal in this colony don't you?" Marek noted, reaching for another glass and feeling more relaxed as the cyborg slid his weapon into its concealing casing embedded in his leg armour.

"You think someone is going to stop me?" he snarled belligerently.

"Ah, I take it you haven't met our local officer of the law yet then? The Sheriff usually takes a slightly sarcastic view of lawbreakers, tending toward the blunt side of law enforcement.

"For example, I happen to know your boss, the Lord Vaalk there, is wanted for killing a man in a Crask game on Vladimir 4. If the Sheriff catches him, the law here allows your boss to be executed on the spot, which I presume is why he's hired you for protection."

Plekk looked momentarily puzzled and Marek carried on conversationally.

"Ah, perhaps your employer forgot to mention that little detail. If you'd like a piece of advice, perhaps you should leave the drunk, seek out the Sheriff and hand him in for the reward. That'll put you in the clear, and give you a little more spending money. I don't mind giving you a hand to tie him up if you want me to and we can share the dosh then too."

"No." The answer was dealt in a flat monotone. "I have taken commission; I will see the job through to the end. Plekk is man of honour."

'...and three remaining brain cells' thought Marek to himself, hoping that they would manage to leave quietly before...

'Frakk!' his eye caught the movement in one of the many screens that sat to the right of him, the picture showing the Sheriff striding swiftly towards the Saloon. He pushed a button and a small cleaning bot whisked busily from a panel in the wall to clean up the vomit on the unconscious Lord Vaalk's clothes and floor around him. If the Sheriff wanted to take him in at least he'd be clean and he might act as a diversion to Marek's other somewhat shadier business practices. He tapped a couple more buttons and a holofield shimmered to life, disguising a small trapdoor in the floor by the back of the bar.

There had always been frontiers. On the fringes of explored space, the combination of scarce law, the endless dark vacuum of space and the potential for a man to make a fortune mining the asteroids brought out both the best and worst in human nature, and meant that both life and the law was harsh, swift and merciless. Marek understood his clientele and the environment in which he lived and had made a niche for himself, surviving by his wits where many others had not.

The Dalek was a regular stop off for users of the small space port that served the nearby asteroid belt, its various bodies home to the rare element Roentgenium, a stable homologue of gold, long theorised but only found in the frontier system now known as Roent after the metal discovered there. The Rush had brought many species from all over the quadrant, and fortunes and lives had been made and lost.

Finally ready for his incoming visitor, Marek looked over at the long window that ran the length of the bar. The clear plexiglass gave a view over the busy little port that lay in the valley below, a massive transport ship currently docking as the clouds of another sandstorm gathered on the horizon.

The saloon had its regulars of course; the various crews who popped in to catch up on the news, pick up a quick drink or trade a few things, but it also occasionally proved inviting to some of the rougher characters in the quadrant and on occasion the Sheriff who was less than tolerant of those who openly flouted the colony laws. As he watched, the hat and coat clad figure of the law strode past the window and he pasted his best smile on his reptilian features in readiness.

Plekk whirled, drink in hand, as the forcefield that formed the door momentarily dissolved to allow the Sheriff and a few staggering dust devils to enter the bar. The anonymous figure in its long coat moved forward a couple of paces to allow the forcefield to re-establish, the wide brim of the hat drawn low to shield its eyes from the harsh light of the white dwarf that formed the system's sun, the light from behind casting a darkened shadow that stretched toward the bar. As the dust devils died, a slender gloved hand dropped a plasma rifle onto a nearby table then the newest entrant to the bar turned to face the cyborg.

The 'borg's natural eye widened as the hat was removed to allow long flowing locks of blond hair to cascade free, then his jaw dropped as the blonde removed her long dark coat to reveal clothing and a figure that men across the quadrant would pay to see.

"Hello gorgeous, fancy a tumble?" rumbled Plekk, his eyes drinking in the curves of the scantily clad girl in front of him, a matrix of laser light playing across her figure.

"Marek, switch on the Moodwall," commanded the girl softly. "I think I'd like my new friend here to see how sexy I'm feeling."

As Plekk watched admiringly, the girl replaced her hat on her head, picked up her rifle and swayed over to the holopanel, posing coyly in front of it as Marek flicked the sensors on. After a few seconds the panel glowed a seductive pink and Plekk growled approvingly. Then, as the sensors picked up on the woman's mood the wall changed and darkened to a roiling scene of violence, flames licking the burnt-out wrecks of several destroyed vehicles, carrion crows circling the wreckage.

"Doesn't look like you're feeling too amorous Sheriff," muttered Marek taking in the scenes of death and destruction that cascaded across the Moodwall as she put her rifle down on a nearby table.

"Sheriff?" Plekk rumbled and dropped his drink to reach for his concealed weapon. As he did, the Sheriff darted across the bar with inhuman speed, coming face to face with Plekk who found himself looking into dark eyes, a laser pistol pressing into his solar plexus, her other hand clenched grimly in his crotch.

"Hello big boy, I believe you have a weapon concealed that I might be interested in."

Plekk blinked slowly at the honeyed silk tones and moved his hand away from the gun concealed in his leg, raising both metal and flesh arms above his head.

"Good boy," said the Sheriff. "Now sit!" she said firmly and gestured toward a chair next to his slumped employer keeping the pistol trained on him as he sat down.

"Remove your weapon, and the plasma knife you have concealed in your arm cavity and place them on the table in front of you. Very slowly please, I'm feeling a little tense for some reason and we don't want anyone losing any limbs now do we?"

Plekk nodded carefully and moments later his gun and knife were placed on the table in front of him.

"Still feeling horny big fella? Now then, Marek, would you mind cleaning the gentleman's table please?"

"Yes ma'am, Sheriff ma'am."

The barman hurriedly bustled over and removed the hardware, placing Plekk's weapons out of reach on the bar behind him, watching warily as the woman moved to stand at the bar next to a drink that Marek had already poured for her.

"Now, er, Sheriff, you're not going to make a mess in here like last time are you? It took me ages to remove the blast shadows from the walls after your last visit. It's just not natural seeing your ex-customers plastered on the walls ya know. Couldn't you just..."

"Marek, shut the frakk up please." The clipped tone of the Sheriff's words betrayed her frustration and Marek quickly moved back behind the bar and busied himself polishing glasses in the time honoured tradition of all barman trying not to listen to a nearby conversation that was about to happen.

The Sheriff looked warily around the Saloon taking in the rest of the patrons. Apart from the unconscious lord, the cyborg and Marek, there were two others. One was asleep and snoring gently in a corner by the door, a collection of empty glasses on the table in front of him. The other was wired up to a trickle of electric current via a head socket, his eyes wide and staring as he meandered quietly through his own internal world of ecstasy and colour. The storm was gathering force outside as she glanced out of the window at the now powered down transport, and she turned her attention back to the Dalek's owner.

"Still pulling in the high-class punters I see Marek," she said with a grim smile before addressing the seated 'borg.

"Now then big boy, what you're going to do is quietly and slowly get up from your chair. Next, you're going to pick up the drunk and then we're going to walk nicely down the street to the jail. Once there, we can have a chat and sort things out. Or, I could kill you now, dispose of your boss and I can have a drink with my friend Marek here. Which option would you like to choose?"

Marek looked over at Plekk; the cyborg actually seemed to be very carefully considering his options, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he opened his mouth to answer however, he was interrupted by a blast that shook the building, knocking Plekk to the floor and making Marek stagger like a drunkard. Only the Sheriff seemed able to cope with the shaking, immediately asking Marek to ascertain the cause of the explosion.

The barman slapped a large red button behind the bar, throwing up various additional forcefields and locking down the saloon, then rapidly tapped one of the screens, his eyes widening as he looked back at the Sheriff.

"Dalton clan," he whispered hoarsely.

"I seem to remember we had a slight falling out with them recently," said the Sheriff mildly.

"Well you killed four of 'em, yeah,"

"In your saloon," she reminded.

"You think they blame me too?"

"They're idiots, of course they blame you, besides you refused to serve them last time they came in, to a Dalton that's worse than you stealing their haul of Roent."

"Oh frakk," muttered Marek.

There was another building shaking explosion and Marek looked worried.

"The shields won't hold too much longer," he said. "I think we've got time to drop into the emergency blast cellar, but that'll leave us totally trapped. Do you think they'll try and blow the building or come in and get us?"

"They'll come in, blowing us up is no fun. They'll want to torture us and parade my head down the street on a pole. As I said, they're idiots. We'll have to deal with them."

She looked at Plekk who had sat quietly back down next to the unconscious man. "Plekk if those men get in here, they'll kill you. Are you willing to fight with us?"

"They kill boss too?"

The Sheriff directed an incredulous look at Marek who shrugged his shoulders and lifted a rifle from behind the bar, priming the energy charge and slipping a couple of spare cartridges into his belt.

"Yes Plekk, they probably would."

"Then I fight. My job is to protect boss."

"And I have your word that you won't try and harm me or Marek?"

"Yes, ma'am, sheriff ma'am," rumbled the 'borg.

"Right, er, good lad. Here's your knife and gun, I suggest you take up a good position and shoot anyone who isn't me or Marek."

"Ok."

"A man of few words it seems," she muttered to Marek, joining him behind the bar.

"And fewer brain cells," he agreed. "Honest though in an odd sorta way."

Dust rained from the ceiling as a third blast hit the building.

"Shields holding for the moment."

As Marek turned to check the status of the shields, the patron who had been apparently dozing by the door launched himself to his feet and whipped two pistols from his hips, blasting rounds at the others. As the three of them threw themselves behind the bar, glass and debris raining down around them, the man jammed one pistol back in its holster and slapped the forcefield override on the door to allow entry. Immediately the shield was down he lifted his second gun again and recommenced a barrage of fire as four darkened forms swept into the bar with the sandstorm hot on their heels.

"Put down your weapons and surrender!" shouted the Sheriff over the ghastly cacophony of sandstorm and weapons fire.

"You're going to die," gloated one man seconds before the Sheriff took off his jaw with a well placed shot, leaving him screaming on the floor and clutching at his ruined face.

"Oh shut up," she muttered irritably, putting another round through the fallen man's head and abruptly silencing his agony.

Marek was by now calmly placing covering fire, keeping many of the attackers cowering behind the armoured furniture of the bar. Plekk had positioned himself well, having already picked off one bandit and injured another, and was methodically choosing his targets and helping Marek lay down a steady patter of fire.

"He's good isn't he?" shouted the Sheriff over the din to Marek, who nodded quickly, intent on keeping the heads of the attackers down behind upturned tables they had sought cover behind.

"That was my friend!" roared a massive form, the shaggy white mane of the cybernetically enhanced horseman standing up and sending a table flying towards Plekk who ducked hurriedly. Well over eight feet tall, the glowering figure held a massive energy cannon in his hands. As he leveled it at the bar, Marek stood quickly and placed a single shot through the creature's forehead, ducking back again as the horse hit the deck with a thud and several plasma bolts responded to his shot.

"He's not using that bloody thing in here," he muttered darkly. "I've only just re-plastered that wall.

"Good shot," said the Sheriff, smiling faintly at him. "Ready?"

"Yup, I'll cover you."

As Marek increased his rate of fire the Sheriff leapt smoothly over the bar, covering the distance to the first of the still shooting Daltons and drilled a hole through his skull from short range. She looked quickly over her shoulder and was stunned to see Plekk charge into the fray in support, his cyborg arm lifting the table thrown at him by the horseman like it was a toy, throwing it towards the next man who scrambled out from cover only to be taken out by Marek's rifle. As Plekk drew alongside, the Sheriff flashed him a rare smile and then froze as his giant club of a right hand swept towards her head. Unusually stunned into immobility by the action, she watched as the hand stopped directly in front of her face, the built-in shield in the arm deflecting the incoming plasma bolt from the remaining bandit.

Her reactions kicking back in, she whipped her pistol up and shot him, taking his leg off below the knee to leave him screaming in pain on the floor.

"Thank you," she said to Plekk who grinned back metallically and went to look at his still unconscious boss who lay under the table.

Wandering over to the bandit on the floor, the Sheriff looked at him coldly and then carefully put a shot through his head.

Plekk in the meantime had lifted an eyelid on his slumped employer and shook his head sorrowfully. "Still zonked," he muttered.

"You're a good man to have around in a fight," the Sheriff said as she moved back to the bar. "Have you ever considered perhaps working in law enforcement?"

"Got a job," muttered Plekk grumpily. "Him boss until he decide otherwise. Plekk has given oath."

"Has he paid you yet?"

"No, he said he'd pay me when I delivered him to his father."

"You know the man you're serving is a murderer don't you?"

"That's what he said," said Plekk, pointing to Marek who had swiftly re-wired the door forcefield, once more securing the bar.

"He's right, and I don't think you should be mixed up with him. You seem like a good man Plekk, albeit perhaps slightly stubborn."

"I have taken the job, I will see it through."

"See what I mean? Stubborn. I think there's a way out of this though."

"Oh come on Sheriff, isn't there enough mess already?" moaned Marek.

"Huh?" said Plekk.

As the woman raised her pistol to shoot the comatose lordling on the floor, his eyes flicked open and his hand twitched to a blaster in its holster on his hip. The mixture of energy fire from the two weapons met in a glorious rainbow of reflected energies that rendered both weapons useless and sent Plekk diving for cover once more. As the Sheriff moved swiftly toward the man on the floor, her hands reaching hungrily for his throat, he pulled an old fashioned projectile weapon from his belt and shot her in the chest at close range, sending her sprawling to the floor in an unmoving tangle of limbs.

Plekk stood up, open-mouthed at the lightning fast exchange of fire as Marek ducked back behind the bar. He slapped a button, and the cleaning bot swept out from its alcove. The now fully awake lord leapt to his feet, spun on his heel in reaction to the movement behind him and fanned the trigger of his weapon sending slug after slug into the bot which spun crazily on its wheels for a second before hitting the floor and beeping terminally.

Spinning his pistol in his hand, he laughed maniacally and slapped the gun back into the vacant holster.

"Time to go Plekk, I think we've outstayed our welcome," he said grinning broadly at his bodyguard.

"I'll say."

The honeyed tones brought the man up short and he froze as the slender figure rose from the floor. Before he could react, the Sheriff was close, too close. Silver flashed over her eyes and a cloud of grey spun crazily around the hole in her chest. A knife pressed very firmly to the man's groin, the Sheriff backed the man to the wall, his eyes wide with horror as he watched the skin, muscle and bone of the woman's chest reconstruct in front of his eyes.

"What the hell are you?" he whispered.

"An experiment, but perhaps more importantly the last thing you'll ever see," whispered the Sheriff into his ear. "My nanites are hungry now."

She stepped back a pace, still holding the knife close. "Plekk, say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" said the confused 'borg slowly.

"That'll do."

A grey fog swarmed from the Sheriff's skin to envelope the impotent lordling. His mouth opened in a soundless scream and as Marek and Plekk watched in horror, the lord dissolved in front of their eyes leaving the Sheriff standing with slumped shoulders before them and a small pile of clothes on the floor, the nanite cloud whispering soundlessly back into her body.

"Both of you turn around." The two men complied without question and after a few seconds of rustling, a smooth baritone split the silence.

"You can turn back again now."

A new and taller figure stood before them. Dressed in the clothes of the man who mere moments before had disassembled before their eyes, his features were an odd asexual agglomeration of the blond woman and the deceased lordling.

"Er... Sheriff?" questioned Marek.

"Aye. My apologies gentlemen, you shouldn't have seen that, but I lost control briefly. It won't happen again, but it was time for a change."

"Him dead?"

"Yes Plekk, he's dead," said the Sheriff. "Your job is complete; you now don't need to protect him anymore."

"I failed."

"Yes, but to be honest if he'd drunk any more of Marek's whisky it would've killed him anyway."

"Oh come on, that was unnecessary," muttered Marek darkly.

"Him dead, you killed him."

"Yes. I executed him for the crimes he committed on Vladimir 4. So, theoretically, you're a free man and able to take another job."

"True," said Plekk brightening suddenly. "You know anyone looking for help?"

The Sheriff glared at Marek who was trying desperately not to laugh, and failing miserably, and then spoke to Plekk again.

"I need a hand Plekk, a deputy if you like. You can keep your gun, you get fed every day and Marek will give you an occasional free drink. You get to shoot bad guys and save my arse when I get things wrong like I did just now. What do you think?"

"Ok, I'll go get my stuff."

Plekk ambled from the saloon, his bulk quickly lost in the storm and blowing sand outside, worried faces of the other townsfolk already peering in through the window to try and see the aftermath of the battle, the attacking ship having already sped off into the upper atmosphere.

"Hell's bells Orion, you really want him on your side?" Marek spoke softly laying a gentle hand on his friend's arm as he leaned wearily on the bar to chug back his miraculously untouched drink, noting the change in musculature now that the Sheriff had changed form as he did so.

"He fights well Marek, and intelligently, possibly the only thing he does do with any intelligence. Besides, I'd rather have him on my side than not. Make sure you give him the non-alcoholic whisky though please when he drops in for a drink, put it on my tab. Right, I'd better go find him and show him where the jail is."

The Sheriff looked at the current-head who sat unmoved in his chair twitching gently in internal ecstasy and utterly oblivious to the fracas and mess around him, and shook his head before moving to the door and lifting the long heavy brown coat from its hook by the door.

"Have fun cleaning up."

"Aw, come on Sheriff, you can't expect me to clean all this up on my own. Who's gonna pay for all this?"

"You: that contraband you have hidden in the cellar under the bar there should pay for it. Don't try and muck me about there's a good bar steward, you're not quick enough. Besides, your holo-field switched off when the first blast hit the bar."

The Sheriff picked up his hat and paused, flashing an old smile on a new face at the dejected Marek.

"I'll buy you a new dust bot for your birthday old son. Night, night."

~~~~ The End ~~~~

Orion's Law First posted on Wattpad in 2011.