EPISODE XC - CAPTAIN SUPER AND THE LESION OF JUSTICE
The ride to the planet surface was uneventful and Schrader set the craft down lightly, roughly a mile from the settlement.
"Do you think anyone saw us coming in?", Corporal Orwig asked with concern.
"Naw", the pilot replied, "I had the Inviso-Shields up, and I don't think they got anything that can track us."
Reed stood first and moved to the hatch, looking out the window at the stark desert around them.
"Anything on the sensors?", he asked Lt. Scott.
"Negative, sir", Number Two stated, "just some indigenous wildlife."
"Stauch, Broski, and Orwig", Reed directed, "set up a perimeter around the ship. Let us know when it's clear.
The three enlisted men moved to the door as one, antiquated weapons at the ready. Stauch hit the release mechanism and shouted, "Move!" , as the portal slid open. They rushed in different directions,
taking what cover could be had. Once in position, Stauch keyed his communicator.
"All clear, Commander", he said, studying the area with an eye of experience.
The officers began to emerge from the vessel, Reed in the front, Schrader last. When they had all assembled, Reed turned and addressed them as a group.
"Remember", he said, "we find the Mercurion, secure it, and leave. We are not here to change these people regardless of how much we think they may be in need of change. Is that clear?"
"Aye-aye, sir", they said as one.
Reed turned to Number Two. "Which direction, Lieutenant?"
"North", Number Two replied, pointing.
They began to walk, Stauch preceding the group by several hundred meters, Broski following at a similar distance. After several minutes, Stauch returned to report that they were nearly in view of the community.
Reed received the information soberly, and reminded the team of their goal. They slowed to allow Broski to catch up, then entered the town together. Eight pairs of worn boots stirring the dry, desert
soil beneath a sign that read "Death Gulch". The tedious tasks of everyday life were set aside for curious glances at the newly arrived group of men. Mothers clutched children protectively, while the men eyed
them warily. Reed was disturbed by their demeanor, but understood the dangers that a group such as his might represent to this remote outpost. He nodded at the men, and found himself tipping his hat
to the women, finding it oddly natural.
Schultz had estimated the population of the area to be approximately two hundred and fifty, which was roughly the size of a crew for the monstrous Fleet Cruisers he'd trained on, but scattered about as they were
here, the town seemed sparse.
As they passed an intersection in the middle of the community, an elderly man sauntered out of one of the wooden buildings and came toward them, fingering the ancient weapon at his hip.
"Howdy", he said evenly.
"Howdy", Reed replied, trying the word on for size.
The older man eyed him curiously. "Y'ain't from around these parts",, "is ya?'"
"Uh, no sir", Reed said, "we come from the south."
"Ah", the older man said, relaxing somewhat, "from New Mexica, eh?"
Reed nodded. "Yeah, New Mexica", he agreed.
"Who ya' chasin'?"
"Chasing?", Reed asked, confused.
"Well, yer Marshals", the older man said, "only reason we ever see Marshals is when they're huntin' a fugitive."
"Right", Reed said awkwardly, "chasing a fugitive."
"Where's yer horses?", the man queried.
"Horses?"
Broski stepped forward, noting his commander's difficulty at concocting useable lies.
"Kilt, they was", he remarked in a passable imitation to the older man's accent, "by Injuns."
"Sioux", the man asked.
"No, Broski", the corporal corrected. He jerked his head to the left, using it to point at VanTedly, "That there's Sue."
The man seemed confused momentarily, then nodded at VanTedly. "I'm John Doody", the man stated, offering his hand, "Sheriff of Dead Gulch. If I ken help ya', I'd be happy to."
Reed took the moment to regain control of the conversation. "Thank you Sheriff, my name is Reed", he said, shaking the offered hand, " and we just might need your assistance."
"Shoot", Sheriff Doody said.
Reed spun around, as Stauch and Broski hit the deck. The Sheriff looked at the two men on the ground.
"What the hell, ya' doin'?"
Reed turned back to see doubts in the Sheriff's eyes.
"They thought you were telling someone to shoot us", he offered humbly. "They're just a little jumpy, from our earlier trouble with the Indians."
Doody nodded. "I reckon I would be too. Why don't y'all come over to the saloon for a little red eye", he suggested, "and we'll see if I can help ya'."
"Certainly", Reed agreed, wondering what "having a little red eye" might entail.
The Sheriff engaged Reed in friendly conversation as they walked toward one of the ancient establishments, giving the rest of the crew time to observe their surroundings more closely. As Broski was studying
three ruddy looking, middle aged women on a balcony above, he felt a hand on his arm. He looked over to see VanTedly staring back.
"I am a Space Fleet officer", VanTedly said, fuming, "and do not appreciate your insubordination, Corporal!"
Broski removed the ensign's hand from his sleeve.
"Take it easy, Sue, I was just covering for the commander."
"My name is not Sue", VanTedly seethed, "and when I get back to the ship, I'm putting you on report."
"You mean, if you get back to the ship", Broski replied menacingly, his hand drifting to the weapon at his hip.
Catching the dark intent of the corporal's message, VanTedly began moving his hand toward his gun.
Broski smiled. "Slap leather", he challenged, "or are ya' yella'?"
VanTedly's hand brushed the holster, his eyes narrowing. "Nobody calls me 'yella'."
The tension grew, but as they seemed to be falling behind the commander, Stauch decided to put a stop to it, regardless of its entertainment value. He stepped between the men casually and snatched them both
by the kerchiefs, dragging them behind him.
"So that's what they're for", Broski croaked from behind him.
