"Will it be another then Mr. Sidiwich?"

The barkeep asked with his back to the large man at the bar. He marked in a book noting how many whiskeys the man had ingested. It was ten shots and two beers since six this morning. He shook his shaved head. The odds would take no noticeable change until Willehm Sidiwich got to twenty shots. At that point he may miss- 'might' miss- the center of a half-gold piece thrown into the air. A lot was at stake and he needed the gunman at his best.

A weasel of a man slithered over to the bar and hissed out a question.

"Sir…I takesss your weight to be at 220 and ssssome and your tallnessss at ssssix and four."

Mr. Sidiwich turned suddenly and snarled. "Because this town only has one mortician does not give you leave to be rude or presumptuous. I would just as soon put you in the wood box you have for me. Maybe if I shot you in such a way as to have you appear dead. I know the doctor hates you as much as me. What a fun thought - you waking in the ground fighting for your retched breath."

The man whimpered and slinked away still measuring with his eyes.

"Does the graveyard rodent think it's me that will have pennies on my eyes and dirt on my face? He knows how it works. "

The barkeep turned, pulling at his long goatee absently, to watch the little man scuttle out the door.

"No, he's probably off to get the same read on Mekeal as we speak. He takes his work very seriously. It makes me rest comfortable that ethics and commitment was assured in the handling of my remains."

The big man went over to the nearest table and sat down. He shuffled the cards that were set in the middle of the table top. The bar was empty except for the two men.

"Are you a superstitious man, barkeep? What's your name? I don't like callin' a man by his vocation."

The barkeep did a quick wipe on the bar and moved to the table. Willehm motioned him to sit down and cut the deck on the table. He showed the card to the barkeep.

"That's a good card for you Five of Spades."

"My name is Franch. I own the place- 'twas me that called you in…what's the card mean?" Franch sat down looking at the card.

"It is a card of change, adventure, movement. I wondered when I'd meet the man who hired me - figured after a while it was you. Wondered why you never said anything? Didn't know for sure since I never seen your face. You think callin' me in was smart with me not even knowing you? I always figured when the time came, I'd be on the other side of town. How long you been here, Franch?"

"Since the beginning. I was one o-first to find color. Pulled enough out of my claim to set me up."

"Since the beginning…means that you keep an eye on the ways of balance." Sidiwich shuffled the deck again. "You have your place here in the north and there is the other in the south. Between you and that proprietor, Brinebarer, 'tween the two of you- you keep this controlled riot of a place at a keen balance. You both take it upon yourselves to remove irritants, nonsensical abuses, outright affronts of stupidity, rearrange agreements that are unfavorable to you, competition that neglects the politeness of due and propers, all in all you keep things running smoothly enough." The big man cut another card. It came up an eight of clubs. "This be me! Death card this is. Some call it a General card but every card I cut is a death card. I only have one talent and that is to kill without remorse. Me and Mr. Edmound Mekeal are made of the same shit pilled up with the muscle and sinew made well for the pulling of a pistol from tanned holster hide. I'm not a superstitious man, I just know there ain't no coincidence. We all end up where we are supposed. Tell me the history of this place Mr. Franch."

Franch got up and pulled a bottle and two glasses from behind the bar. He poured as he stood.

Swallowed in a gulp- blew out a breath. "I knew you …that's all I needed. Someone knowing me don't mean much in the long run. Deal us a hand and I'll tell you a tale!"

The bartender watched as the boss walked down the stairs. He nodded and took off his Apron and left out the back door leaving just the two men alone.

"I trust you slept well?" The Boss asked the man sitting at the table.

"When one is right with the Lord sleep is an easy thing …free of Demons."

"Shaleen Brinebarer is my name and I comes to this place with the first."

The Innkeeper at the south end of town walked over and stood over the glossy surface of his bartop. He admired his face in the reflection and smiled. He took a sip on a cup of coffee left by the bartender. He didn't really like the cut of the gunman he choose. There was of course no doubting the man's talents, even with lace at the cuffs and smelling of flower water .

"Luck was upon us then, more 'en we had deserved.. We found good stands of woods - hard and soft, favorable game, clean running water, well water dug down with a proper dowse within shovel digging depth, and the finding of the purest yellow. 'Twasn't even a point for any quick and greedy anger there and then, being so much of the yellow to be found - north and south mines been running steady ever since. Ten thousand souls roll through here in a year time, leaving their money and foolish blood behind."

Mr. Edmound Mekeal was sitting in the shadow with his back to the wall. He appeared nervous as he listened to his employer. His right hand drummed on the tabletop one finger at a time as if he were playing a piano. A young woman came over to ask if his nerves needed a quick soothing. He shook his head and sent his blond waist long hair a-sway like a horse's tail. He shock his head and thanked her for her concern and took a long drink from a tall glass. He finger combed his handlebar mustache, took out a handkerchief and wiped the glass dry, pouring another drink from the bottle on the table. A ritual he repeated each time he poured another drink. The girl made a note on a piece of paper. The wiping of the glass meant something to her and she slyly moved to the swinging doors. He dressed like a prissy preacher but didn't make her feel wrong in asking what seemed obvious to her. Her profession gave her keen insights into the varied needs of men. She couldn't help but giggle- she found Mr. Mekeal incredibly handsome. The manner of his refusal, so very polite, made her think that she would send Thomas the Printsetter over after she got back from the Oddskeeper. Maybe Thomas could help Mr. Edmound to relax. She felt cheated somehow. It would have been nice to lay with a man who smelled that good."

"Boss, I'll think I'll take a walk, it being such a busy and pleasant day. Not going to be much for my kind of entertaining till later I would deem. I'll go help the town ladies with the decorations...go see if Mrs.. Lockspur needs any help."

"That's fine be back in an couple hours though, to check in. Don't let the heat get to you. Fair measure I always says." To the gunman he says. "You see Mr. Edmound if you treat your employees as family it makes for a happy work place. 'Tis how a town should be run as well." To the girl he says. "I may have some need for you. Oh , and I had a thought- will you see Thomas on your stroll?"

The girl smiled. "I may - I'll tell him to come by." She slid away, flashing a smile at Edmound, with the wispy sound of lace and linen.

Brinebarer leaned on the bar staring at his guest for a moment then started his monologue again.

"When I sized up who was here…that is back then when we first come here…it was plain that Philligon Franch was the man to deal with. We took it on ourselves to put order to an order-less place. I almost said society and we weren't even close to that. A place needs a philosophy and those that can see to its making- if you get my meaning. That kind o' thing comes with a lot of eliminating those with no God given grace for its capacity. Some come to make a better life of it; them thinking that what was crooked could be made straight. Some sees the right and, for reasons known only to providence, cannot but find themselves lost in a quagmire of their own disastrous choosing. Then there are those that waste no time on any thought that doesn't have them be the better in the end, no matter what means gets that end met. One could rush to judgment to name those evil ones seen beyond redemption…I hold some pride to count myself one of those men seen as  beyond redemption, for there are degrees in that standing. My saving may be lost to the next world, should there be one- my only hope for redemption, in this one, is an understanding of my nature and a faculty for successful and fluid enterprise. In that, Babel, itself, is not high enough a tower and my cleverness will overcome any barrier in misunderstandings. I believe I know what must be done, for the people, for it all to work."

"As I read it, the misunderstanding would be with those with the burden of a lesser degree of intelligence. They couldn't grasp the need for a common philosophy to live by. One could surly be at a disadvantage to estimate ones talent for enterprise being more than a mere shadow of your own and Mr. Franch's. With action and language, pure as poetry, you would expound on the necessities of a proper pecking order and homage or they would find themselves sans breath, beyond earthly motivation, past this mortal coil, huh?

"Well said. Death can be a valuable and useful thing. A properly created martyr can create a quiet peace and optimistic expectancy. Though I always search my shadowy and complex soul to determine if bone breaking isn't enough to rewire such a dull mind. I have known men and women enough with goodly amounts of intelligence and not the wit nor pail to carry it in. Fools come dumb as stone and some as bright as a star, I always says."

Mr. Edmound pulled out one pistol and aimed it at Mr. Brinebarer's head.

"Do you see a fault in your philosophy, Sir?"

Mr. Brinebarer didn't flinch. He poured himself another cup.

"I will take that action as theater and not threat. I have foolishly left out the others in my story. Ones that have a truer interest to you and that is… conversions...saved souls. Religion and philosophy, politics and theology -we will shape it for God and man."

"When more came and they did when gold was found. Reason was called for and a certain amount of necessary culling. In time- balance was achieved and a camp took on the looks of a town. Lose and roughly ordered it most certainly was and for the work …still is. But make no mistake at the number of sleepless days and nights it takes to keep proper order. I'll take two." The man took the cards dealt. "Both these emporiums, north and south, were responsible for the graveyard being such a popular destination. Almost as if there was required equal replacement for the gold taken from the mines. Who knows the weight of a soul? For as many that would work their backs in honest toil there are as many dishonest types, scheming to rid those good men of their purses. Make no mistake, again, I say! I consider this place, my Inn, and its works as entertainment. That colors the taking of their money in a different light. Less painful, hope filled, and truer but perhaps no fairer."

"I'll take one." The big man looked at his cards and laid them down. "Three Eight's and a question."

"Better than my pair of aces. What's the question?"

"How many times has this application for the position been offered."

"This is our first time! You see it's the way of things to decay, fall apart- entropy- I guess is the word. No matter how much attention we put toward a thing- north and south we can't ever manage it perfectly when the universe is trying to make it turn back into shit. Then there is the seasons when he, Mr. Brinebarer and I think that only one should rule the workings of this would be town-nation. We don't always involve the Consortium and we have at each other like mad spurred fighting cocks. We fail…many die…then we talk…hang our advisors …go back to business as usual. That's politics, when you get right down to it. The act of choosing things for the people to do, to worry on and about official edicts give the appearance that shit is not happening and all is well in the world. When you finally achieve that place where the center might hold, for awhile, but no one here is naive enough to not know that disaster will most certainly be heaped upon us all. We come to where we cannot bear the waiting of it. We've no strength, north and south, left to hold the middle. That’s when we call on the Consortium, seek a Sheriff, a singular Governor and the makings of a nation- a world. Even if it may spell our own personal disaster. The Ceremony doesn't guarantee our longevity but it's a start."

The big man stood and went to the pisser. Franch scratched on a pad and called an invisible man from the shadows to take the chit and run out of the bar. Mr. Sidiwich walked over to the bar and rubbed his week old beard.

"Could you have a man come in and spruce me up a bit? A shave and a bath, I think…some clean unions, a dust off on my suit and a bootblack. I might as well be a dazzle and look the part of that shiny safe place you so eloquently describe that will come into being. Will you allow then the people a freedom to thrive, to work and gain, and will we, you and I, take our small share and make the governing great? "

The smile that broke out on Franch's face was liken to a child at Christmas.

"Yes and yes. Jim you hairlipped yellow bastard get down here." Franch yelled.

A young man came down the stairs tripping and landing hard on the floor. He gathered himself and stood at attention.

"Can you see to getting Mr. Stevens to come and attend to Mr. Sidiwich."

Just as he turned Sidiwich stopped him and called him over.

"How old are you boy? You have the eyes of a killer. Will you shot me in the back when I take to the street?"

"No sir, no honor in that. If we had an issue it would be hand on hand or what ever weapon called by gentle agreement afore the storm. I came to be here cause I had enough of the wars. Sergeant was I, lost my squad and I took one …crazed my upper lip. That’s why they call me hairlip. And I be twenty and nine but look young and come here on my own. Not just dropped like so much refuse. But Mr. Franch treats me well enough and I have a place to sleep. Girls, when I have a need and get fed well enough. I heard of you…I most assuredly have. You be an outlander, roadman and poet."

"Go get that barber and there will be an Eagle in it. Before you stop breathing…the gold will be for a few more favors before the five o'clock hour." Sidiwich turned to Franch." Do you mind if the boy and I keep a secret or two just until five o'clock? After that should I live I will reveal everything. Fair enough?"

Franch nodded. And the young man ran off after receiving his thirty-buck piece.

"Do you have a stew hot in the pot and some crusty bread? You have an asset there that you take as a wash boy."

"What does that mean?"

"You take yourself grand for the knowing what you think you know. Some of us come here from places and the arriving in ways you don't know. You have been unkind to that young man. He is only playing the fool. He plans to kill you slowly and take over in time. Had you taken him as a true underling this ritual we are about to undertake would not be needed."

"Should I kill him?"

Franch smiled and went behind a wall and came out with two plates with stew and bread.

"You couldn't. He's too good. His being here is no accident. The only two men who could do something about him are otherwise occupied."

***

Six men rode into town; they had no bed rolls and grub bags. All were over-armed with automatics and vests lined with poppers. The man in front was Ogden Seepler. An official, known to the camp as the Consortium's agent. It was best to give him wide birth for Mr. Seepler was a sanctioned killer and easily riled. But he was known as a righteous man, often bent to rant scripture. He gave fair measure for gold weight and always posted ahead of Assay-Day the new prices for true weight. Having an agent being an honest man was a morale builder for the camp and was partly responsible for the quick time it took to get to territory status. Politics was better than truth especially as concerns the men that now rode into camp. Three split off and hitched in front, dismounted and entered into the South Inn while the others moved to the north. They were here to make sure all went as was prescribed under Consortium Statute.

Brinebarer looked out the front door. He had one arm hooked over the swing doors and the other end with a wipe towel that did quick work on the sweat accumulating on his brow.

"I have good reason this day to carry, in the manner of my actions, the appearance of one distressed. Here a-riding down the street is one Ogden Seepler. He is the consummate hypocrite he will not stay under the roof of my worthy establishment because he considers it unsavory. That is to say, His Worship finds me unsavory. He will however lay his oversized head down on a pillow still owned by me. He will stay at my café across the street. It does have ten rooms for dignitaries. They usually pay - he will not, he never does. The swine will eat my food, reject all overtures of outright, but fair, bribes and in true fashion not give an honest man the slightest hint as to his final say. His other hire's, his goons, will split and settle down in the Nort Ende Inn sure enough. The man doesn't approve of me, just doing it to rub it in my face."

Edmound looked at himself in a hand held mirror and set it down to stare into the light filled foyer.

"It doesn't matter whether he likes you or not. When I kill Sidiwich and become the Sheriff - your place in the new order is assured and prescribed. You shall be a dictator, your word will be law and I will back your word."

"I feel some relief in that. But a lot can go wrong." He walked over to the door opening and wiped his face again." It would appear that the women's league is fixing to set up the noon picnic. Cool barrels of beer comin' out. Should be good. Mellons, pone and fresh salt butter can make a man forget his duties. They have been roasting pork over Cederem wood since early this morning. Man there ain't nothing better than slow roasted pork and cool beer."

"What do you know of the Abstracted?" The gunman delicately sliced a pear and ate at it with small bites savoring each morsel.

"Well…" Brimbarer moved over and sat at the table spearing a pear with a knife sheathed at his ankle and devoured the whole fruit in seconds. " Small communities always spring up, here and there, with some success. It is inevitable. Religions are born, new societal experiments rise up and go off and give it a go. Some do all right but most die in the first snow and turn to dust by the end of summer. The inhabitants that survive ending up back here somewhat desolate and forlorn. Why?"

"I come from one of those places… religious, in a manner of speaking. I don't eat pork and I don't dance or sing."

"But you do kill without a so much as by your leave and if you don't mind me pointing it out.  Seems, To me, you do little to hide it…you fancy the fancy. And here in these parts that’s pretty rare. Alone a lot on Saturday nights are you?"

"You would be surprised who's 'fancy' and who's not…and if you don't want me as your champion because of sexual prejudices you can now go across the street to one Ogdon Seepler and petition for a new fighter. I assure you- you wont find one better and my feelings will not be hurt."

"Oh, let it go… I knew of you - what tweeks your pink headed mushroom ain't no business of mine. I find that the goings on the first time a man pops his cork is what makes a man's kettle whistle the rest of his life. Same with a woman if she is given the choice." Brinebarrer stands and walks over to the swinging doors doing a jig to the fiddle music that just started up outside." In the whole of my tale did I mention 'Women' as important in all of this?

"You didn't!"

"Mrs. Lockspur, our Doctor, is the head of the Woman's League. She runs a kind of union organization so it's called. Means that what ever a woman does, from whore to wife, she manages it. She is as ruthless a woman as has ever been born. No woman need fear any abuse or wrong action here. Some say she has killer women dressed in black. They fight like banshees, sword and hand fighting, and make right all wrongs, permanent, done to a woman. She is a comely thing, a widow, and all we have as a Doctor." Brinebarer sits back down and stares at the gunman's face. "Don't mind my appearing rude to you, forgive me, I'm feeling the nerves. A lot is riding on this …a whole future in which I have big ideas.. You know it's bigger than me. If you die in the street, I'm dressed and pulled up by the neck. It is a spectacle - a drama - I signed on to it, willing enough. It will be played out right out there in the middle of town. It is an ancient rite, the loser is wrong and bad and the winner is good and just. What I dreamed of, for this place, dies with me if you lose. It will be Franch's dream that goes on."

Music streamed in from the street and the sound of happy people. People who believed in the system and had every reason to believe that by sundown their world would be a much better place. The feast had started. A boy and a girl came running in with two platters of food covered with a clean napkin. They went up to each man and laid the offering in front of them. Brinebarer gave them each a coin.

The men each lifted the napkins. Brinebarer smiled knowingly at a red faced Edmound.

"You know my faith and my private inclinations and you mocked me?" Edmound did not hide his displeasure. "Yet look… this food is wonderful. I don't think I understand you."

"Of course I did, you gruesome fop. You and I are going to be such good friends I had to do something to get you to drop the deadly 'ghoul from hell' demeanor. I had them prepare…" Brinebarer pointed to the different foods on the mans plate."…as many delicacies of the faithful as we were able to provide from our meager larder. I understand these sweet pancakes are very special. Now eat. You look too thin and waifish to even hold up your gun. I want you to appear the vexed scoundrel, dark Priest you see? That will start things in the right direction. The rest, with a bit of pomp and spectacle will gain us the future we desire. "

Edmound looked at the sweet cream covered pancakes and took one on his fork and stuffed it in his mouth saying…"Blessed be all I call friend." He chewed with obvious relish. Then he started to laugh. " Fear nothing…especially whether or not my righteous strength should leave me. Delicious…my Lord do you know how long it has been since I have eaten such good and wholesome food. Oh dear, I'm going to succumb to weeping and that is not in your script …are these schlempets?" He popped a small bundle of stuffed grape leaf into his mouth and sat back savoring every bite." Friend Shaleen Brinebarer you honor me and I cannot thank you enough. Once we get this business out of the way the Lord will heap such favor on you and this town that it will be a beacon unto the stars."

"You are gonna convert me aren't you?" Brinebarer chewed slowly with a frown on his face.

"Yes, you are surprisingly deserving of my most fervent and tireless zeal. Thanks be to the Lord." The smile didn't leave the gunfighter's face, as each new forkful proved better than the last.

Sidiwich looked in the hand mirror and smiled.

"Wonderful from the beast into the prince. You are an artist. Mr. Stevens I positively look the hero.

"That you do Sir!" Stevens swept the hair cover off and gave it a slight shake. The Sergeant swept up the cuttings. Sidiwich slipped out of his union suit showing a body replete with scars, horrible wounds that dressed him better than any garb. There was no embarrassing nudity here- just untold stories of pain and survival. He walked over to the steaming tub and climbed in.

"Sergeant what's your name?"

"Jim Simms…I'll stand watch lest some one choose to make the process more difficult than it already is."

"Thank you…it's been months since I've had a proper bath. I have been mostly trapping and keeping to the mountains away from things. Now people think that my dead carcass is worth something."

"It is… a large ten-o-gold a-for the ceremony is called. Thought about going after you myself…"

"What stopped you? Seems to be good business."

"I see they put that Consortium implant in you." Simms brushed off the question pointing to the small button like object on Sidiwich's chest.

"Part of the Consortiums rules. Once the Supplicant Ceremony starts the Sponsor and Activator must be outfitted with these." He tapped the device on his chest. Franch has one as well. Should we turn from the course these gadgets explode and the other wins the day by forfeit. In this game the ones who stand to gain the most, risk the most. If I kill that Lord loving albino, - Brinebarer dies in a loud bang and a pink cloud or, if the town wishes, he could be dressed in a gold and red sateen suit, paraded through town and hung to the sound of happy fiddle music. You see it's all very civilized."

Simms laid out a suit of new clothes. All hand made and of a black surge…new black boots sat at the foot of the chair the suit hung on.

"Case you are wondering or superstitious, these ain't burying togs. I bought these for you. I have money … I don't want the boss to know. Tell him you bought them."

"Why? And answer the first question." Sidiwich soaped himself down smiling. "You could shoot me right now. It's within the rules …assassination on the same morning is acceptable if it is perceived and proven that an impropriety is present. Surly you could come up with something."

"It would better my lot to partner up with you than kill you. Odds are better with you alive. If you win do they remove the device?"

"That’s not what the odds makers are touting. Got me down ten points against and three bullets to take me down." He climbed out and dried off "I guess they are holding my age against me." The full mirror showed a great muscled bear of a man, graying, a bit saggy around the middle and in the downhill run of his years. 

Franch walked in the room smiling and moved to help Sidiwich dress.

It was Franch who commented.

"The other gunman is a religious and twisted full of thoughts that when added up, don't add up. You know…run a bunch of half - facts and colorfully creative ideas and see if they connect on some point. His mind is twisted up with celestial concerns, thall shall and thall shalt nots -all meant to screw him up… to have him come out that no matter what path- what choice - or what thing he does …he is in the right of it. He sees this as a way to further his faith. If he wins, Cathedrals will be built to assuage his ponderous and monstrous guilt. In that way all those he shot, now six feet under the ground, are forgiven then graciously sent on to his special idea of heaven. He will make himself a Priest/Sheriff. He is no less a grievous killer and dangerous for that kind of thinking, just, perhaps if you are lucky - hesitant. His boss, Brinebarer, knows that a religion for the masses is a powerful tool. His government will be a Church with an army. You on the other hand, Mr. Sidiwich, just want him dead as a way to relieve yourself of an inconvenience to an intended outcome. 'Let business have its way.' That is your motto. See, I know something of your thoughts. Each person can exploit the resources of this place with their hearts content. The simpler the motive generally the more successful."

Franch helped dress his man and admired what he saw." You sir, look the Sheriff. Nice suit."

"To nice a nice suit to be cremated in." Said Sidiwich adjusting himself here and there." I bought it so as to look right taking my new office. A simple conservative suit, just like me. It is about business isn't it Mr. Franch? Right Mr. Simms? Smooth running…ever-growing… profit-gathering business. And with it a grand government dipping its beak in each and every endeavor. The simpler the motive the better. Controlled and properly levied greed and avarice is the core credo for any consuming and working society.

The explosion knocked the men to the floor.

"What the hell…" Brinebarer ran to the front doors after hearing the explosion.

Seepler was out the door across the street and on a run toward the north end of town. The tinny snap sound of several gunshots filled the air. Men were yelling although from Brinebarer position he could see nothing and could not make out a word.

One of Ogden's men was dragging a man down the street. The unfortunate had a bag over his head and a rope tied around his. He was hog tied from shoulder, wrists to ankles.. The consortium officer pulled him along in the dirt as if he were a bag of potatoes and would periodically stop and kick him for good measure.

"This isn't good. Damn. Too long have we worked on this day to have it go awry at the hands of uncivilized madmen…Too long." Brinebarer's voice was highly pitched on the verge of hysterics. He composed himself and sat again, resisting the urge to go up street and seeing, first hand, the cause of the commotion.. Ogden Seepler would activate the explosive devices if he saw Brinebarer or Edmound on the street before proper time. All they could do now was wait.

Seepler's loud voice was heard in the street.

"Gather ye around and take notice this day the 15 of March. On this day, prescribed as the Day of Petition, this man Jeriman Klee did in an unauthorized method attempt to subvert, by means of malicious mayhem, the due and proper process toward legal nation certification. He has been asked to present clear evidence to support his actions and the actions of his three now deceased partners. There was no good evidence presented. Subsequently, this very day at 1:13 o'clock, the accused and lawfully judged, Mr. Jeriman Klee, formally employed as a dowser and drillman of wells, shall be hung by his neck until dead. I will report that damage was done to the lobby of the Nort Ende Inn but the principles were unhurt and do not ask for a formal call as to the possibility of Sout Ende complicity."

He stood a moment in silence waiting to see the crowds reaction.

"Please!" He continued. "Upon the implementation of my duty I ask that the booths and food tables be moved under cover as I have been told a weather front will pass through in about thirty minutes. Thank you for your attention."

People stood in a crowd in front of the Smithy's as the rope was strung through a block and tackle attached to a swing arm over the loft door. The consortium Guard fashioned a noose quickly, put it around the man's neck and taking the loose end of the rope yanked the man up with ease.

Jeriman Klee anarchist and driller of wells took ten minutes to die as Edmound walked solemnly toward the door. He watched the hanging and prayed for the man's soul. He crossed himself and turned away. The bustle of movement outside was accented around the distant sounds of thunder.

"Do you think he was guilty?" Edmound returned to his food, popping a fried fritter in his mouth.

"Yes and No, they killed the guilty men right away. Those unnatural watchdogs of Seepler's can read minds. The driller was a quiet malcontent who wanted to stop the whole thing but didn't know how. He was only guilty of not approving of the choices he was given…Me or Franch…or you and the big man. Hanging him was to calm down the crowd. A way of showing the masses the system works. Hanging him where you and I could see was telling us that Seepler thinks I had a hand in the bombing."

The Lobby was in shambles as the men slowly stood and dusted themselves off. Franch barked in pain and Simms ran to him through the dust. A large shard of mirror that once hung elegantly over the bar was now buried in Franch's left thigh. Simms took a quick look and ran to the back room. He returned with a bag.

"How is he?" Sidiwich asked dusting off  his new suit. "Ain't any use trying to stay nice. The whole universe finds it impossible to let me be tidy for long. Like the stars theyselves would explode if I was to be neat for too long."

Through his pain Franch laughed. Simms injected Franch with morphine. Several gun shots were heard and several men ran into the lobby including Ogdon Seepler. Simms yelled at Seepler to get Mrs. Lockspur but she was already walking through the gapping hole that was once the front facade of the Inn. Men and women were already working frantically to shore up timbers keeping the second floor in place and making, what was left, of the interior lobby safe. The dust cleared rapidly. Once Seepler saw that all was in hand he turned and left. Simms backed off as Mrs. Lockspur took over.

"Nice to see you Ma'am. I seem to have a piece of glass extruding from my leg." Franch grimaced.

Mrs. Lockspur ordered a section of the bar washed down and dried. It was done in a blink.

One of Seepler's men who stood over Franch leaned down and effortlessly lifted him and laid him on the bar. Franch winced as Mrs. Lockspur ripped off his pant leg and began to examine the shard. She pinched and prodded for a few minutes then deftly pulled the glass fragment from his leg.

"No arterial damage…damned if it didn't slide between the muscles. You are a lucky man."

Franch didn't hear - he had fallen asleep.

"Simms how much morphine did you give him?"

"Enough to where your turkey stitching  wouldn't bother him." Simms answered.

"What if it had been worse? Never mind …you knew when you saw the wound. Come see me

tomorrow you have a new job." She grinned at the young man." Please go tend any others who may have been hurt."

Simms didn't answer. He turned and yelled after the other injured that may need his attention. The good Doctor finished stitching up the now snoring Mr. Franch.

***

The rain came.

The food was brought under shelter.

A long dry canvas covered ramp was hastily built in the street for the fighters to stand on.

The people danced, joked, ate, drank and sang.

The front of The Nort Ende Inn was temporarily repaired and it was getting close to time.

Thunder and lightening only brought cheers and joyful screams as if the very heavens knew the importance of this day. The hard rain did not dampened a single persons spirits. Everyone was covered in red mud. 

The day had turned shadowy dark three hours before sunset. Rain now fell in an uncommitted way, just a mist that further dampened everything. But wet was still wet. It was ten minutes till five and everyone had rolled up the tables and tents an hour before at Seepler's orders. All was deadly still except for the sound of thousands of drips that fell from every roof and deck. It was as if all the voices of the dead were talking in whispers warning off the events about to take place. 

Brinebarer read the notice again and handed it to Edmound.

"Well! Isn't this ironic. Is this a binding document?" Edmound grinned at Brinebarer who held his head in both hands.

"Yes. It has precedence. Mrs. Lockspur is allowed to keep power. I missed it. She had petitioned for legal position years ago and won a peerage. I forgot. Damn! Damn! I need some medicine …my head is splitting."

"She will have to marry you. I have to remain unmarried in order to create our church." Edmound could hardly contain a grin.

"How convenient for you! It could be worse, I guess."

"She is a good looking woman and she could well be an asset." Edmound checked his watch for the time and stood up. "It is time!"

                                                           ***

A loud horn blew and the amplified voice of Ogdon Seepler was heard above everything. It was from a portable audio device placed in the open window of his room. Ogdon himself was dressed in a slicker and standing with his men on the long sheltered ramp built on the street.

The voice was majestic with just the right amount of reverb.

"For three centuries mankind has had the stars in our grasp, yet, Every colony sent out with all the greatest intentions ended in disaster. Not one viable earth colony was established. We have met no other race strong enough to hamper our growth. It was always ourselves that kept us from owning the stars, our destiny. And so it was that Emperor Stevon Bushmeyer the Great, having undertaking the excavations of several Pre-apocalyptic cities discovered the truth. All colonies of the Empires on the prehistoric Earth were created by convicts, by the worst of the worst. Dump your worst on distant shores and a miracle will happen. Understanding 'The Divine Bushmeyer Law' was the key to the Universe. 'The worst in us creates the best in us. 'Was it not the very continent Australica, the seat of the Earth Prime, that was founded in just this very manner?

You scum and sacred seed of scum in less than twenty years, a record in the Empire, have petitioned and been granted Ceremony. I Supreme Marshall to the Apliun Dre System now call forth the fighters."

Edmound walked out the door to Brinebarer's voice offering him a blessing in the ritual fashion of Edmound's faith. The gesture was not lost on Edmound, he straightened noticeably as he walked out into the damp evening air. He slogged through the street mud and up the small steps and on to the ramp. A chair was brought out and Edmound sat as one of Ogdons men cleaned off the mud from Edmound's boots.

"Aren't you afraid they will rust or short circuit in this rain ?" Edmound whispered to Seepler.

Seepler pulled out the detonation device as a threat.

"You are not to speak." He smiled at Edmound then whispered back. " Why, Priest, do you wish to own some for your Church? If you survive the day we will make a deal. The Imperial Cyborgs have all been improved. Moisture is no longer a problem.

***

Franch was awake and looking at Sidiwich. He had been given a stimulant to wake him for the Ceremony. Simms and Mrs. Lockspur had left. The booming voice of Seepler just started calling the fighters forth.

"Seems like cruel and unusual punishment to wake you up, Franch, just to blow you up or hang you if I lose out there." Sidiwich smiled and shook The Inn Keepers hand.

Sidiwich walked out in the now worsening rain and on to planks laid down that formed a path to the fight deck. Two cyborgs met him and made sure he had what he needed and was prepared to continue. Once Sidiwich begged them off they stepped out into the rain on the side of the long deck, joining the other cyborgs that acted as security.

"Gentlemen…" Small speakers set up in the canopy above the head of both men whispered. "You will set yourselves to draw and shoot. You know what is at stake. Good luck to you both. To the winner the Emperor's  blessings. To the loser His Honor. On the count of three draw and fire."

Both men coldly set their eyes upon the other and stood ready to kill.

"One…" Barely heard above a thunder clap. Sidiwich squeezed his cold hands tight then opened them.

"Two…" Edmound shifted his weight slightly to his right foot.

"Three!" Both men fired.

A loud crash of thunder blotted out the pistol cracks. The watchers on saw the muzzle flash and the spray of pink plume out the backs of both men. Each snapping forward then back off the deck and into the mud with a sloppy splash. The cyborgs drew their weapons and turned towards the crowd menacingly as they poured out of every opening to see the outcome and the making of their fate.

Brinebarer and Franch sat still holding their breaths and waited their fate as well.

Ogdon walked over to the prone figure of Edmound. He still lived. Seepler kneeled and threw open Edmound's coat. Two bullets had hit him just below centerline at the sternum. It was a mortal wound and even as Edmound starred up at Ogdon he shuddered and loosely exhaled his last breath.

"May your God forgive you, Edmound Mekeal." Ogdon whispered to the rain.

Ogdon made no indication of Edmound's status as he walked through the mud and hard rain to the fallen Sidiwich. Ogdon stopped and looked down at the severed arm, nearly buried in the mud and water, at his feet. He nudged it with his foot deeper in the mud and walked over to Sidiwich. He kneeled over the unconscious form. He leaned over and put his head to the gunman's chest. He waved two of the cyborg over to pick the man up and get him out of the rain.

To another he said. "Go get Mrs. Lockspur. She has some work to do and a decision to make." Then he whispered to the closest cyborg." Don't worry about the arm I'll handle that."

Seepler climbed up on the covered deck and addressed the town through a small microphone at his wrists connected to the main PA system. While everyone's attention was on him no one noticed the lone figure leaning over and picking the arm from the mud and scurrying away into the shadows.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Although at this time there is no clear winner there is a clear loser. Edmound is dead, with two clean center shots with sanctioned 45-cal. bullets. Mr. Sidiwich was hit in the left low shoulder and a craze to the left side. Mr. Edmound used un-sanctioned exploding targeting missiles disguised as bullets. We of the Emperor are embarrassed that we missed the ruse. We will tend to Mr. Sidiwich and let you know as to his condition."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the detonation device and pressed a button.

A defeated Mr. Brinebarer, who was about to sip a whiskey, popped, like a soap bubble, into a fine mist. The cloud settled to the floor in a large red circle, which emanated equal distance from the red-wet chair, he was sitting in.

"That was for Mr. Brinebarer, as sanctioned under Penal sec.12340 Ceremony Code. All claims to Mr. Brinebarer's property properly tendered will be heard twenty-four hours after a winner has been announced."

Mrs. Lockspur and two of the cyborgs were working on Sidiwich as fast as they could. It was all about the timing now.

The rain had stopped and the sunset cast a beautiful golden hue across everything. This was a planet of hope. Fifty years without a viable planet colony was taxing the credibility of the Empire. Civil war was coming unless hope could be put back in the equation. The people of the Empire and these people of Refuse needed this and now they had to wait.

"How is he?" Ogdon asked as he walked in."I have to give these people an answer. You can imagine how ole Franch is doing over there. If his man dies he goes poof. He is likely to have a heart attack before that happens."

It was one of the cyborgs that spoke. "He's fine. I switched him off so that the reattachment won't cause any notable trauma. Mrs. Lockspur tells me all his bio-aspects are mendable."

"Nice work Josh and you too Ma'am. Just unlucky that the bullet hit where it hit."

Josh reached under his shirt and began to squirm. Ogdon went over to help; he turned and had Josh's arm in his hands.

"I'm awake…did I get the albino?" Sidiwich threw his legs over the side of the table.

"Yes…well done for such an old model." Josh smiled.

"Josh, I remember you when you first came off the line...you weren't much."

The door opened and Simms walked in. Everyone in the room bowed their heads and said in unison. "Your Highness."

"OK none of that. Ogdon go let the people know all is well. Show them the arm. Explain the wild shot from Edmound. Josh play dead for a while till we can get off planet. Sidiwich, I'm sorry that we couldn't get the Ceremony done any sooner. You have been left alone on this planet, as ordered by my father, for a long time. I know it was a hardship, even for your honorable and sturdy kind but you are now the Sheriff." 

The Emperor nodded to Ogdon. Josh laid down on a stretcher and turned himself off. Mrs. Lockspur pulled out a blood pack and attached it to a tube opening. Two cyborgs lifted the stretcher and walked out the door with Ogdon. His voice was soon heard declaring a winner.

The Emperor turned to speak to the towns Doctor." Thank you, Mrs. Lockspur for your unfailing service to the Empire and to me. You will marry Mr. Franch and keep him in line as his First Lady. Speaking of that, my Secret Ambassador, here…" The Emperor Bushmeyer the Tenth otherwise known to a select few as the Sword of Heaven handed Mrs. Lockspur a small inter-star communication device. "...you will contact me whenever you need me. This planet must be a model for all new colonies, even if theatrics must be implemented."

***

The 'Sword of Heaven' reigned seventy-three more years. Refuse grew, prospered and was renamed and is known, now, as New Eden... 'The Jewel of the Empire'. More colonies were founded and thrived under his reign than any other space ruling Emperor. It is said that he was the fastest draw with a six-gun in known space.

end