Firstborn of the Frontier

Though I’ve said all I mean to say, I spend another good hour out on the porch with Aunty Ray.

Wouldn’t be right to storm off in a huff and leave her alone after opening up old wounds. My daddy was like a brother to her, and she was madder than a wet hen when that letter came in. Went off on the Marshal she did, brought it up to anyone who would listen in hopes of getting my daddy reinstated, but Ranger High Command wouldn’t budge on the issue. Said it was nothing personal, even though it couldn’t get any more personal than my daddy’s legacy. With nothing left for it, all we could do was swallow our anger and move on, except I never been any good at that. She let go, while I held on, and now I got all this anger with no one to direct it to except the man I think might’ve ordered my daddy’s death.

Not a lot to hate a man for, especially considering I ain’t ever been able to look him in the eye and ask if it was him, as I ain’t got no way to reach that particular snake in the grass. No chance the Qin’ll ever let me waltz into one of their settlements without greeting me with a Bolt, and even if they did, they wouldn’t answer any questions about one of their highest-ranking officers. Told the Marshal that the Qin got no love lost for a ‘traitorous son’ like me, and it’s true. They’d see me as a disgrace who’s gone native and forsaken the Republic and all its culture and customs. Their words, not mine, as I ain’t got nothing against the Qin in general. I ain’t got much love for them neither, I’ll say that much. It’s mostly that I don’t agree with how their commie government brainwashed my daddy and all his fellow child settlers before shipping them off to the Frontier. Thing is, most Chosen Son’s and Daughter’s of the Republic feel ‘honoured’ to have a place among the Qin Vanguard, and questioning the decisions of their glorious leaders is same as spitting in their eye.

After swapping a few stories of the good old days, me and Aunty Ray agree to talk some more about my chosen profession another time, which is polite talk for agreeing to disagree. She still wants me to take it easy and hang around New Hope, but I ain’t willing to sit around for ten months for nothing. No guarantee going through Ranger boot camp will do anything to ease her worries, and I refuse to keep sponging off her now that I’m a man grown. She got her own troubles, ones I never paid much mind to until after my daddy passed and she was left on her lonesome. Though she would never see it as such, taking care of Chrissy is a full-time job, which Aunty Ray’s gotta juggle on top of her unofficial mayoral duties. That don’t pay squat, and while wallaby wool fetches a decent enough price, our herd of twelve ain’t hardly enough to support a family of four. So at the tender age of fourteen, I figured it was long past time I started chipping in, so that’s what I did. Helped that I already had a rep for doing odd jobs around town, except now I expected to be paid. Also hunted whatever Abby I could find around the outskirts of town, though there were slim pickings thanks to constant Ranger and townie patrols. Took more than a year of saving up and big Abby windfall before I had enough to fill my daddy’s wagon with cargo, which I then drove up to the Emerald Plains to sell for a pretty profit.

From there, it pretty much snowballed to where I am now, though the margins ain’t worth it outside a few weeks after spring. Not for short trips like mine, which means either going further and taking more risks or spending months hunting Abby and honing my craft as best I can. This bounty was a big win though, and I slipped three grand into Aunty Ray’s safe which should see us through to the end of the year and most of next. That’s assuming inflation don’t get too out of hand, but even if it don’t, I can’t afford to rest on my laurels. Gotta keep earning, because like I told miss Laura, life is about more than just surviving. I want new and better gear, while Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy deserve all the nicer things in life, like dresses, salon trips, and anything else their hearts might desire.

I ain’t ever mentioned it though, because I know Aunty Ray already blames herself and thinks she’s been a poor provider on top of everything else. Was a time when she and Uncle Raleigh were set to become the wealthiest family in town, thanks to her ability to tame and train the local horses and the general high demand for them. Wasn’t joking when I said she taught Cowie his manners, because she’s got an Enchantment Spell which lets her pretty much talk to animals. Not in so many words, but she can convey her intent and emotions better than any non-verbal communication ever could, meaning her horses learned real quick and real good. Everyone this side of the Frontier wanted a horse trained by her and were willing to pay top dollar for it, right up until she gave up the whole business after Uncle Raleigh’s death.

Sometimes, I think fates got a twisted sense of humour when it comes to humanity. Uncle Raleigh was an experienced Ranger and powerful Innate Spellcaster who weathered Aberration attacks, cleared countless Proggy burrows, and survived delves deep into the Divide. Captain Raleigh Walker he was, loved by most folk and feared by outlaws, a man who smiled at adversity and laughed in the face of death, only to be done in by a rodent’s burrow hidden in the tall, bone-white grass. Horse broke its leg, Uncle Raleigh broke his neck, and the Frontier became a whole lot gloomier without his smile to brighten things up. That’s one thing my daddy could never do, make the mood as cheerful as Uncle Raleigh did, so I try to smile as much as he did to make up for the loss.

Ain’t enough, but better than nothing.

That said, I would never fault Aunty Ray for her decisions, and don’t think anyone should, but she’s harder on herself than anyone ought to be. She thinks she’s failed me and her kids, when nothing could be ever further from the truth. I ain’t out there risking my life because she’s a poor provider, or because she gave up horse training to sorta domesticate rhyzo-martens to decimate the local rodent population. I do it because it’s what I want to do, what I need to do in order to live up the man my daddy wanted me to be, but also because she’s family and she deserves better. Ain’t nothing I can do to keep her from fretting except get better at what I do so she can rest easy when I’m out and about. That’s why I spend another hour slinging Spells for practice until I can’t cast no more before heading off to bed.

Feels like I just closed my eyes when Cowie’s wet lips on my cheek startles me awake. Pushing his head away, I let out a groan telling him still too early in the day and try to go back to sleep. Undeterred by my rejection, he lifts his front legs onto the bed and I roll aside to let him up, but even that ain’t enough to buy me any peace. Rather than settle in for a snooze, he lets out frustrated huff and repeatedly presses down with his legs, bouncing me atop my mattress until the heavy haze of blissful sleep is nothing but a memory. “Alright, hold your horses,” I say, giving him my best glare, but it don’t faze him one bit, because Cowie’s accomplished the mission given to him by his favourite person in the whole wide world, who’s kneeling by the bed beside him. “Oh. Morning Princess.”

“Morning Howie.” Head titled to one side and resting on her arms folded atop my mattress, Chrissy watches me with her guileless, lilac eyes, her expression as neutral as ever and radiating a voiceless tone of discontent. Reaching out ever so gently, she brushes her long, slender finger over the dressing of my Bolt wound and asks, “Hurt?”

Ah, fudge nuggets. This is what I get for sleeping without a shirt. “Nah,” I say, giving her head a little pat. “Just a little accident is all. Ain’t nothing for you to worry about.” Can’t lie and say it was nothing, because she’d read me like a book, but I don’t want to straight up tell her I was shot either. Especially since it barely counts. Sure, I was injured, and yes, it was a gun that did it, but calling it a gunshot wound is giving it too much credit. Even though the Tec-LS is armour piercing, it don’t hit that hard to start with, which means after punching through a desk, my Shield, my duster, and my Mage Armour Spell, the mark left by the Bolt was barely more than a scrape. Didn’t even remember I’d been shot until my wagon was clear out of town, and it wasn’t because of the adrenaline neither. Been hurt worse playing around home, and that there is a fact, so ain’t no reason for anyone to worry, especially not sweet Chrissy.

Speaking of which… “Not that I don’t love you with all my heart Princess,” I begin, giving the amethyst crystal on her forehead a light little poke, mostly just to make sure it ain’t grown bigger than my fingertip, “But you got a specific reason for visiting?” She ain’t supposed to be wandering around alone, and especially not into any man’s bedroom, even mine.

“Tina told me to tell you.” Eyes locked on my bandages, Chrissy’s voice takes on a more active tone as she repeats her sister’s message verbatim, so lively it’s as if she’s become another person. “Ye got guests, lazybones, so get up and git at it. Oh, and make breakfast while you at it too. Chrissy wants you to cook.”

The last bit is probably true too, though I wouldn’t mind it even if Tina was slacking. Girl works hard enough in boot camp, so she deserves a little break, and its not like I don’t love cooking for Chrissy. “Guests? You know who?” She shakes her head, which leaves me scratching mine, because I’ve no earthly idea why strangers would come calling so early in the morning. My brain says too early, and the clock on my wall confirms it by telling me it’s 5 to 7, which means its at least two hours before I reach my required eight hours of sleep. I ain’t no boot, and I ain’t no farmer neither, so I’ll wake when the sun is done rising up outta the North, and not a moment before. “Thank you Princess,” I say, giving her nose a little tweak and hoping there come a day when she sounds so animated all the time. “Message received. Could you please step outside and wait while I get decent? Out of the room, I mean, not the house.” Takes me a few more tries and several more assurances before she agrees to get up and get out, and I think it’s because she knows I got shot. We try to keep things quiet if it might upset her, but she’s more perceptive than most give credit, not to mention she got a way with magic that I can’t even begin to comprehend. For all I know, she can see some sort of lingering residual fingerprint from the Bolt which struck me, though that’s a little farfetched. A single Bolt don’t leave much of an imprint to a Detect Magic Spell, and certainly not one that’ll linger for a whole week.

Not wanting to be rude and keep my callers waiting, I throw on a pair of loose linen pants and a plain white tee as quick as I can. Then I throw on my gun belt and grab my Rattlesnake from the gun safe just in case before opening the door to greet my guests, only to find no one waiting outside. Leaning out for a peek, I see two strangers waiting on Aunty Ray’s porch, showing more of Tina’s poor manners. Both young, but tall, one a black man and the other a white woman, both standing with heads closer together and in a more intimate fashion than any unmarried couple should, with his arm around her waist and her hand in his back pocket. Not that I’m one to judge, just making an observation, and I duck back inside before they can catch me staring. Figure I might as well head over and talk with them there, seeing how I ain’t got anything to offer them at home, and Chrissy still needs to eat. Stuffing my bare feet into my sandals, I look around and ask, “Did you walk over here without any shoes, Princess?”

Looking up from her seat on the floor where she’s cuddling Cowie, Chrissy takes a full second to think about it before nodding emphatically. After another long moment’s thought, she raises both her arms towards me and tilts her head before very slowly asking, “Carry?”

Silly girl. Probably didn’t even notice she was barefoot on the way over, but now that I’ve pointed it out, she doesn’t want to walk back. So much so that it took her a lot of effort to ask without voicing it as a Command, so I head on over and pick her up without so much as a thought. “Happy to do it, Princess,” I say, though it takes a bit of straining to keep my smile on my face. I would never call her hefty, but Chrissy is every bit as tall and healthy as Tina, while I’m more of the lean and compact type. It ain’t difficult to carry her, but it ain’t easy either, nor is it helped by the fact that I have a perfectly able Cowie who could carry us both, except he’d rather amble alongside as a baby, fluttering his little black ears all the while.

Love ain’t easy, but nothing worth having ever is.

Thankfully Aunty Ray’s front door ain’t far and I make it up the steps before I tear a stitch. “Howdy there,” I say, and the lovely couple are so lost in their own world, the girl literally jumps at the sound of my voice, pulling away from her man like she been caught doing wrong. Pretending not to notice, I continue, “I’m Howie. I’m guessing you two are the prospects Tina told me about?” Not that she did, nor did she mention that they’d be showing up first thing in the morning. Ain’t outta malice or mischief, just typical Tina forgetfulness, which is probably why she sent Chrissy to wake me instead of doing it herself.

“That we are,” the girl replies, a tall, dark brunette built even healthier than Tina, though she got a sharper, more angular look to her face, accentuated by how she wears her long, straight hair pulled back in a high pony tail. Lovely gal, with Eastern European roots would be my guess, but she got the same American drawl as me, and looks mighty shook as she stands at full attention and smooths her clothes back in place. “Name’s Sarah Jay,” she says, before gesturing at her beau, “And this here is Errol.” Errol raises his chin a bit to greet me, but says nothing with no smile as he stands there all puffed up and tough, head held high but tilted down because he wouldn’t be able to look at me otherwise. Man must be six feet tall, or if not close to it, which on paper ain’t all that far from my five foot eight, but in practice feels worlds apart.

We all eat the same food, so why’s everyone growing so much more than I am?

So distracted by my internal voice mumbling about how I still got time to catch up, I almost reach out to shake their hands before I remember I’m still carrying Chrissy. Giving a little rueful grin and a shake of my head, I say, “Pleasure to meet you both, and sorry for making you wait. How about we head inside and talk there?” Without waiting for an answer because my biceps are starting to burn, I turn towards the door and say, “Chrissy, be a dear and get the door for me?”

Curled up in my arms with her head resting on my shoulder, Chrissy shakes her head and clings on tight. Spoiled girl. As Sarah Jay reaches for the door, I move to get in the way and say, “Thank you, but it’s Spelled. Give you a nasty shock after a few seconds unless you’re me or one of the household.” Can’t use keys since Chrissy likes to wander in and out as she pleases, and will sit and wait for hours if the door don’t open on the first try. “Chrissy, please open the door. If you don’t, I’d have to let you down anyways so I can open it myself, and then you’d get your feet all dusty standing here on the porch.”

That does the trick, and as she begrudgingly reaches for the handle, Sarah Jay gives me a good-natured smile. Not one them knowing smiles I hate so much, or the sympathetic smiles Chrissy so often gets. Ain’t a big smile neither, but plenty sweet, and her heartfelt amusement conveys her understanding of what it means to be the older sibling. Shows in her bearing, straight as an arrow and shoulders squared, with her feet lined up perfectly underneath, and the way she presents herself, all prim and proper without a button or hair out of place. With her blue, short-sleeved tunic, dark leather vest, and tough wrangler jeans, all she’s missing is a hat, gun, and badge to mark her as the very model of the perfect boot standing at ease, fresh out of Basic and eager to please. While she don’t go so far as to put both hands behind her back, that’s only because she got one hand in Errol’s and the other holding the strap of a neatly packed shoulder bag. Usually takes more than two months of training for all that to become second nature, but she took to army life like a fish takes to water. Probably because she’s used to being the responsible one, the one her parents point at and say, “Be more like Sarah Jay.”

I already like her, so even though my initial impression of Errol ain’t all that great, it makes me think there must be something good about him if Sarah Jay likes him. Well, apart from his strikingly handsome face, which I gotta admit is mighty fetching and masculine, his strong jaw clean-shaven and rich skin smooth as a baby’s behind. He’s a good-looking man who fills out his Ranger-issue off-white army jacket well, though his ruffled plaid shirt has seen better days and could do with a touch of Mending. The matching army cap which no Ranger ever actually wears sits atop his head, angled stylishly to show off his closely trimmed curls, and his heavy boots are Ranger-issue too. The laces ain’t done up right or tight, and his lumpy shoulder bag looks like he just stuffed everything he had into it, which don’t earn him any points. There’s no gun on his belt, nor oversized knife neither, but he’s got a loop of good rope there that tells me he’s worked with livestock. Horses I bet, because he seems a little offput by baby Cowie sniffing at his wranglers, though he tries not to show it.

Most folk ain’t too comfortable around a beast that can grow eight to sixteen times its size in a pinch, and I can’t say I blame them.

“Kick them shoes off and have a seat at the table,” I say, doing just that before making a bee-line to the bathroom with Chrissy still nestled in my arms. “Y’all hungry? Because me and Chrissy ain’t had breakfast yet, and cooking for four is easy as cooking for two.”

“No need to bother.”

“I could eat.”

Sarah Jay’s polite refusal comes at the same time as Errol’s less than enthusiastic acceptance, and I save him from what I assume is an awkward glare by saying, “Great! Gimme a sec to wash my hands and I’ll cook us up some grub.” Before that though, I run a wet cloth over Chrissy’s feet, because otherwise she’d track dirt and dust all around the house. She deflates a little when I put her down to do so, but perks up after I wash my hands and carry her back to the kitchen before setting her down in her chair. That’s enough to keep her content for now, so she turns in her chair to look out the window while Cowie settles in by her feet. Not because there’s anything interesting there, but because she doesn’t like looking at strangers.

Probably because she’s shy, but can’t say for certain why. Happens with everyone really, and takes a lot of time before she’ll look someone new in the eyes.

“Before we get into why we all here,” I say, while rummaging through the Freeze-box to see what we have and waiting for the wood stove to heat up, “I was thinking we ought to get to know one another first. Now, Sarah Jay, your name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place why.” Don’t recognize her face though, and I would remember one as pretty as hers. Striking even, as her features are harsher and more distinctive than Chrissy’s round, soft features. Sarah Jay’s nose has got that prominent bridge that gives away her family history, and the lack of baby fat on her face makes her high cheekbones stick out that much more. Add in a strong jaw and piercing dark eyes, and it all comes together in a mighty fine package, one so full-figured and fit that athletic don’t even begin to cover it. Ain’t no denying she a gorgeous gal, just in an entirely different way from what I’m used to. Tina’s got a garden flower sorta beauty, like a soft and lovely dahlia, while Sarah Jay is a rugged flowering vine hanging off a rocky cliffside.

Whereas Aunty Ray is a rose, lovely and sweet as can be while hiding sharp thorns underneath.

…I really ought to stop comparing every pretty girl I see to Tina and Aunty Ray. Even if I ain’t actually related to them, it still can’t be healthy now, can it?

“You know her name cause she took first place in the long-range shooting competition. Beat out a bunch of old-timers to do it.”

Proud and supportive. That’s what I get from Errol’s tone and gaze as Sarah Jay squirms in her seat, too self-conscious to toot her own horn but happy to hear him say it. Slapping down a bundle of chives on the cutting board, I give Sarah Jay appraising look that ain’t got nothing to do with her beauty. “Oh? How far the finals get this year?”

Typically, the long-range shooting competition starts with targets at half a klick and move out a hundred meters with each round. Usually gets settled within three or four but Errol gives a big, toothy grin without taking his eyes off of Sarah Jay. “A full kilometre. She hit three targets at that range, each one no bigger than a fist. Other shooter missed all his shots.”

Now that is impressive, and I let out a whistle while dicing up the chives. “That’s some mighty fine shooting. I usually don’t bother trying for anything over half a klick away, and even then it’s a tricky thing.” A lot to account for at longer ranges, not just Bolt drop and wind speed, but also temperature, humidity, and curvature of the planet. “You hit that with a 22?”

“Yea. My daddy’s Taz98.”

There’s a hint of melancholy in Sarah Jay’s voice though, one I know all too well, and the pieces fall into place. Looking up from the bowl of flour, chives, water and oil I been mixing up with my Mage Hands, I say, “The Tasslehoff 98, a classic. Good gun and good shooting, but that ain’t where I know you from.” I don’t pay much attention to the yearly festival no more, especially not the long-range shooting competition. My daddy won twice before they stopped letting him compete, but to be fair, he only won after they stopped letting Ranger Sharpshooters take part.

Feeling confident in my guess, I declare, “You’re James’ girl, James Kowalski.” Sarah Jay’s sad but proud nod confirms my guess, and I meet her eyes with the utmost sincerity. “He was a good man. We worked on the church together, the Episcopalian one by the lake. I must’ve been ten or eleven at most, so I wasn’t much more than a gopher, but he took me under his wing and showed me what’s what.” Instead of treating me like a nuisance like many others did, or yelling at me for getting things wrong. It don’t seem like much, but that stuck with me. “Your name sounds familiar because he used to go on and on about you while we was working, saying how he thought she was the oldest kid on the Frontier till he came to New Hope and I dashed all them hopes and dreams. You a January baby, right?”

“Twenty-seventh,” she confirms, and there’s a familiar surge of pride in her demeanour as she beams with joy, so happy to hear about how much her father loved her. “Lived here in New Hope for three years, but after he passed, Mama moved us across the lake to Riverrun.” Not my first choice of places to live, seeing how it’s pretty much New Hope’s manufacturing district and full of smoke, sawdust, and noise, but can’t say I blame Sarah Jay’s mama for wanting out. Ain’t easy losing a loved one, and harder still when they’re lost to violence right here in town. The way I remember it, James went down fighting to keep his family safe. No point saying it though, because it don’t matter as much as you’d think.

Especially considering how Sarah Jay probably watched him die.

With the fire burning bright, I grease the griddle and wait for it to get sizzling hot. “How ‘bout you Errol? You from round these parts?”

“Nah.” Errol’s got a real soothing voice, deep and buttery while hitting all his consonants in a slow, laid-back tone. “Come from a little place north of Ketchafeesh. Town doesn’t even have a name, just a waystation along the river for boats headed to the lake or bay.”

“Long ways from New Hope. What you do there? Wrangle horses?”

“…Yea.”

Errol’s surprised by the guess so that’s all he’s got to say, but Sarah Jay jumps in to pick up the slack. “He got a way with them he does, real gentle like. Seen him sweet talk a bucking bronco and get him eating out the palm of his hands in twenty minutes flat.”

“Spell?”

“Nah.” Errol shakes his head. “Just know how to read ‘em.”

Not much of a conversationalist, but I don’t suppose I can hold that against him. Unwilling to pull any teeth, I have a bit of chit chat with Sarah Jay while cooking breakfast, asking about stuff they’d done and seen. Interesting thing is that they both staying in the travellers’ lodge, which is odd considering Sarah Jay’s family is just across the lake. Don’t take much to hitch a ride back over to Riverrun considering how often ships make the trip, but I don’t want to pry into her family situation. Errol is a bit standoffish, and also feels slightly threatened by how Sarah Jay seems a touch awestruck by me, but it ain’t anything romantic. I remember that harpy attack just as much as she did, though I didn’t lose anyone close. Was the first time they attacked, and I made a big mess of things by stepping out to help fight. I bagged me a few harpies, but then I almost got myself and Anita killed by drawing their attention before running into her grocery store. Luckily, our Prussian grocer is a formidable woman who keeps her Blastgun loaded and close to hand while working, but my daddy got real steamed about what I did. Made me help fix up the store and replaced all her windows with tinted, Aberrtin-reinforced glass, which cost him a pretty penny too.

Started the trend of reinforced glass along the main thoroughfare though, one which persists to this day. Anita don’t hold no grudges either, or at least I don’t think she do. A good, dependable woman she is. I remember it like yesterday, her standing over me while reloading and telling my daddy to go on about his business, like it was just another day in the store instead of the most devasting attack to ever hit New Hope to date.

As we settle in for a breakfast of savoury chive pancakes, hoggidilla sausages and bacon, plus leftover biscuits and fresh gravy, I say, “Boneappletea.” My butchered French earns me a strange look from Errol and a smile from Sarah Jay, but as I move to tuck in, I stop short when they bow their heads to say grace. Ain’t a fan of religion, but I ain’t got nothing against it either, so I bow my head wait until they’re done before I sip my chicory coffee and tell the story of how Sarah Jay’s daddy tricked me into carving my name onto the church’s central beam. Said it was a tradition for workers to put their name there, which got the priest right barking mad when he sees ‘Howie’ in big block letters, and the story gets a good chuckle out of all of us. Well, not Chrissy, but she feeling a bit blue this morning and snuggles up against my shoulder, so I feed her with my chopsticks and hope my cheeks don’t turn too red from embarrassment. Love her to bits, but she usually behaves better in front of new company. Might be on account of the gunshot wound, but who knows. Errol don’t win himself any points neither with all his nonverbal questions, ones I read off his face. Nothing I ain’t used to seeing, such as, “What’s wrong with the Innate”, “Is she dangerous”, and my least favourite of all, “These two a couple?” Which I don’t like for many reasons, but mostly because it’s always asked with the implication that there’s something wrong with me, or worse, there’s something wrong with Chrissy.

Ain’t nothing wrong with her. She just different is all. Special.

Though the dishes I’ve cooked raises an eyebrow or two, Errol and Sarah Jay were born soon after the Advent and ain’t all that fussed about what they eat. Likely both remember all too well how it is to do without, so they eat every last scrap with a hunger, even polite Sarah Jay. Once all the food is done and coffee finished, I settle in for some serious talk. Having Chrissy’s head resting on my shoulder don’t help sell the severity of the situation, but Sarah Jay picks up on it well enough, straightening up in her seat and elbowing Errol to cue him in on it too. “Alright then,” I begin, meeting both their eyes and reading excitement in hers and suspicion in his. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. As Tina might’ve mentioned, I’m fixin’ to put together a crew, and I figured I might as well start with people my age. You two the first prospects I’ve talked to, so it’s gonna be a learning experience for all of us, but there’s one question I need answered before we can move on. Why’d you washed out?” Errol scoffs and looks away, while Sarah Jay hesitates, which tells me I’ll learn more hearing about it from him. “Errol?”

“Got in a fight with a white boy and was drummed out the next day.” Curling his lip in a sneer, he meets my eyes in challenge as if daring me to argue against his next statement. “Hardly surprising coming from a country founded by racist, slave-owning hillbillies.”

“Technically true,” I say, and because I ain’t ever one to back down from a challenge, I add, “Though to be fair, most every nation in existence at the time of the U.F.A’s founding made use of slaves, and were probably also racist too.” Honestly, I think almost everyone’s at least a little bit racist inside, though some obviously more than others. It don’t make them bad people necessarily, like how it was with Carl and Vicente. Everyone scared of the unknown, so strangers who look and act different ticks all the right boxes for fear. “That said,” I continue, wanting to needle Errol a bit to see how he’ll react, “Captain Jung certainly ain’t no hillbilly, which ought to be obvious what with her being Goryeon-American and all.” Though I wouldn’t go as far as to say she ain’t got no prejudice, what with the island nation of Goryeo having been enslaved by the Qin right up until their Immortal Monarch kicked the bucket in 1945. A terrifying Evoker and stone-cold killer, she does not like me one bit, which is unsettling because most folk usually likes me a least a little, and I can usually deal with those who don’t. “Not to mention the fact that Marshal Ellis would never stand for a boot being discriminated against because of his race. Combined with the fact that I been in plenty of scraps myself and ain’t never heard much about it, I gotta wonder if you ain’t being just the slightest bit disingenuous about why you was washed out.” Errol looks away again, as if he expected my doubts, but I wait till he look me in the eyes again before I ask, “How badly you beat this white boy?”

Blink and I’d have missed it, but a flash of guilt crosses Errol’s face, which tells me the answer is ‘real bad’. “Broke his arm and jaw. Knocked a few teeth loose.” Errol sniffs and runs his thumb quickly across his chin, a nervous tic of sorts. “Threatened to do worse too.”

Threat will do it. Shouldn’t go around talking about how you gonna kill someone. You either do it or you don’t. “You pull a weapon on him? Gun, knife, bat, anything?”

Errol shakes his head. “No sir.”

“Sir? Don’t call me sir. I ain’t no officer. I work for a living.” Giving Errol a smile to lighten the mood a touch, I ask, “I’m guessing the fight had something to do with Sarah Jay?”

“…Yea.” Reaching out to take her hand, they share a sad little moment before he turns back to me. “Won’t repeat what he said, but wasn’t the first time he said it, so I figure Richard got what’s coming.”

Errol don’t really believe it, but that’s what he tells himself to feel better about it, and Sarah Jay don’t argue any different. I only got one more question to ask, and I do it without softening the blow. “So how come you ain’t been arrested? Sounds like aggravated assault to me.”

Errol’s eyes go hard as his fist slams on the kitchen table, but neither I nor Chrissy so much as flinch. “Because he started the fight. I just ended it.”

“Fair enough.” Seems Errol’s reached his limit, which was a lot higher than I expected. Thing’s ain’t adding up though, so I’ll need to ask around for more details myself before coming to a decision, which means it’s time to move on to Sarah Jay. “And you?”

“Didn’t. Wash out, that is.” Squeezing Errol’s hand to reassuring him, Sarah Jay shrugs and says, “I dropped out in protest.”

Which is silly, since ain’t no one gonna care much, but I know better than to say so. “Okay. I can work with that.” Assuming that’s all there is, but I gotta focus on coming up with a plan because I haven’t exactly thought this through. “So here’s how it is. I’m looking for people I can trust to watch my back while we out and about on the Frontier. I mostly do trading and whatever odd jobs might crop up. Deliveries, scouting, guard duty, whatever pays the bills, but I ain’t against chasing bounties or hunting Abby if there’s actionable intel to go on.”

“What’s our pay?”

Sarah Jay doesn’t shy away from the question, and I don’t got a straight answer for her. “Depends on how good you two are. I suppose. Figure a trip to the range ought to come next, assuming you both interested. If that works out, then a test run would come next, a trip out which I’m fixing to make fairly soon. Pay you a monthly rate while I see how you handle yourselves out there, something tied to Ranger wages, but less because you two ain’t Rangers. A third probably, so eighty bucks a month. It’s better than what most make guarding caravans, and I’ll give you a cut of anything extra we get from bounties or Abby along the way. A small cut, like 10% for the both of you, because I’m assuming I’ll be paying for guns, ammo, gear, room, and board?” They both nod, which ain’t surprising. If they had guns of their own, they’d be carrying them, as it ain’t safe to leave anything behind at the travellers’ lodge. “I’d also be showing you the ropes, insofar as I can, as I’m guessing neither of you have travelled all that much, aside from your trip here?” Again, they nod, and I take a moment to consider my next words carefully. “This ain’t just about hiring guards though. If that’s all I wanted, I’d pick out some mercs or contract up with the Rangers. I’m thinking further ahead. Like I said, I want a crew to work with for years to come, to go hunting Abby in the badlands and maybe eventually even delve into burrows alongside me.” No maybe about it, but I don’t wanna advertise my Proggy tracking abilities just yet. Let them think it’s something I’m working up to. “You’d start off as employees, but what I’m really looking for are partners, with equal shares split between us at the end of the day, minus overhead. It ain’t an easy life, nor is it safe, and there’s no guarantee of fame or riches waiting for us down the road. Truth is, I can’t even guarantee I can keep you alive through the test run, but I will do everything I can. That said, that’s what I’m fixin’ to do, so that sound like something you two interested in?”

Because if they ain’t, then there’s no sense going any further.

They share a look, and just as I hold up my hands to tell them to think it over and discuss it, they both turn back and nod. “Yea,” Sarah Jay says, and Errol looks every bit as eager. “Being a Ranger would be great and all, but striking out on our own sounds better. Especially if it’s with you; I know you could teach us a fair bit.” Which Errol don’t like all that much, but that’s because he don’t know how good I really am.

We talk about the details a bit more, but there ain’t no real discussion to be had without knowing what they can do at the range, which is where we’re headed next. Sending Chrissy upstairs to pick out a dress and new ribbons along with Sarah Jay to help her put them on, I turn to Errol as soon as the girls are out of earshot and say, “I’mma be straight with you, because I think that’s the sort of man you are.” The sour look on his face says he’s already got the wrong idea about me, but I forge ahead all the same. “If you truly care about Sarah Jay’s well being and know that she is dead set on a life outside towns, then you best join me in persuading her to go back to Basic and becoming a Ranger.”

“And why’s that?” Errol asks, looking me up and down to show he ain’t impressed by what he sees. “Because you think she’s dumb for giving it up for me?”

“Yea, pretty much.” He looks away again, his lips set in a scowl, so I stick my hand out and snap to get his eyes back on me, which really gets his hackles up. “Listen. Like she said, I can teach you both a fair bit, but it ain’t nothing compared to what she’d learn in boot camp, or the safety and security she’d get as a Ranger. You washed out, so for now, your best option is me, but that ain’t true for her.” Seeing he still doesn’t believe me, I open up a bit and explain, “Look, the sorta life she’d have riding in my crew? It ain’t no proper life for a woman. Don’t matter how tough or talented Sarah Jay is, because my concerns ain’t about skills, but gender. If it wasn’t, I’d be having this talk with her and saying she’s better off parking you somewhere safe in town.” Errol still doesn’t get it, so I spell it right out for him. “Most outlaws will think twice before targeting a woman wearing a Ranger badge, especially if she ain’t alone. Don’t mean they won’t do it, but they’ll think twice. Conversely, most won’t even hesitate to draw on you and me if they fixing to lay hands on her. Understand?”

He doesn’t, not really, I can see that much, but he sees how concerned I am and that’s concerning, because he’s head over heels in love with Sarah Jay and already feeling guilty for what she’s given up for him. They a lovely pair, and probably only known each other for the two months since the start of boot camp. Puppy love is what it is, though I’m guessing they’ve already gone through the wringer once or twice. Forward thinking as I like to believe New Hope might be, there are still plenty of folk who don’t like mixed race couples, especially when its one of ‘their’ women getting taken by a ‘coloured’ man. That’s usually how it is, as a man is celebrated for ‘conquering’ a woman, while the woman is seen as having been ‘stolen’ away, which is just silly.

It is what it is though, and ain’t nothing anyone can do much about it. We live in a society after all, and we’re supposed to act in a civilized fashion, though far as I can tell, it’s mostly fear of repercussions that keep people in line rather than outright moralistic integrity. That’s why I carry the Big Stick after all, though I’ll probably need something more to keep Errol and Sarah Jay alive.

Yanno, it occurs to me that I might’ve bitten of more than I can chew…