Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

The shooter, who lay sprawled against a downed tree trunk, moaned and looked up with glazed eyes. He tried to recover his gun, which had fallen a few feet away. Chaka kicked it clear and showed him her own weapon. “Wouldn’t take much,” she said.

He grunted, said something she couldn’t understand. Blood was welling out of a shoulder wound. His face was distorted with pain.

Two men rode out of the woods, rifles cradled in their arms. They wore dark blue livery, closely enough matched that Chaka knew they were troopers or militia men.

They were both big, one dark-skinned, one light. The light one stopped to look at Red and shrugged. His partner came the rest of the way in to the house. He stared down mournfully at the man on the ground. “Sorry, Lottie,” he said. “My god, I’m sorry.”

The girl knelt beside the body, sobbing hysterically. They let it go on for a while. The partner tied the hands of the wounded man, and secured him to a hitching post. Then they all stood in a circle around the body, and finally Chaka eased Lottie away.

She took her inside and waited for her to calm down. She told her it was all right, that her friends were here and would take care of her, and that Chaka and her fellow-travelers would do whatever they could for her. She got a damp cloth so Lottie could wipe the dust and tears from her face.

The others brought the body in and placed it in a bedroom. “Best you come with us, darlin’,” said the dark trooper.

“No.” She shook her head. “This is my home.”

“You’ll be back. But we can’t leave you here alone now. Why don’t you come along, stay with the Judge tonight? Till we can get things straightened out.”

Lottie was attractive in the way of all young women. She was blonde, with expressive eyes (although they were now bloodshot), graceful limbs, and a smile that almost broke through her grief.

“No,” she said. “Please.”

“You have to, Lottie,” the dark trooper said. “It’s all right. We’ll have somebody come over. Meantime, Blayk’ll stay with him.”

He glanced at his partner. Blayk nodded.

“You’re sure, Blayk?” she asked, between sobs.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s okay. You get out of here for now.”

She held her hands to her lips for a long time. “Yes, all right. I’ll go. Thanks, Blayk.”

Blayk was tall, lean, quiet. There was a palpable weariness in his features, as if he’d stayed in too many houses under these circumstances. “It’s okay, Lottie. Least I can do.”

She looked around the room, suddenly at a loss again. “I’ve got a jacket here somewhere.”

Chaka got up and took her in hand. She found a liquor of unknown type in a kitchen cabinet, poured her a drink, and poured herself one. She left the bottle for anyone else who wanted any, and looked at Blayk’s partner. “I’ll ask you to wait a little bit, Trooper.”

“We’re rangers, ma’am,” he said.

“Forgive me,” Lonnie said. “This is Sak. And that is Blayk.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Chaka introduced herself and her partners. Then she escorted Lottie out of the room. When they came back, twenty minutes later, Lottie was cleaned up and in fresh clothes.

Chaka walked her out onto the porch. Sak held the door for her and for the Illyrians. “I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if you folks would come along too. I think the Judge’d like to meet you.”

“Of course,” said Quait. “Who’s the Judge?”

“Local law and order.” He told Blayk when he could expect to be relieved, and collected the prisoner. They mounted their horses and rode out east along the canal.

“Where you from?” asked Sak.

“Illyria,” said Flojian.

Sak frowned. “Never heard of it.” He looked about thirty-five, but Chaka sensed he was considerably younger. He had weatherbeaten skin and a thick black mustache.

The prisoner rode beside Quait. “In the old days,” said Sak, “we’d have just shot him here.”

“I wish we could have got here a little sooner,” said Chaka. “What was it about?”

“Slavers,” said Sak. “We’re gradually getting rid of them.

Aren’t we, crowbait?” He poked the wounded man with his rifle.

The prisoner was leaking blood from his right shoulder. Eventually they stopped and Chaka tore up an old shirt to stanch the flow.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he groaned. “But I thought he was reaching for a gun.”

Sak’s expression was cold. “You might want to think up a better story,” he said.

The Judge lived in a fortress just off the highway, a sprawling complex of military barracks, parade grounds, flagged courtyards, and stables, surrounded by a tough wooden stockade. The stockade bristled with gunports and sally ports. Blue and white banners fluttered from a dozen poles. The fort stood on a low eminence, overlooking fields that were close-cropped for a thousand yards in all directions.

They deposited the prisoner at the front gate and rode in.

The first thing that caught Chaka’s eye was an elaborate manor house. It was built entirely of logs, three stories high, with extra rooms tacked on like afterthoughts. A long front deck was screened and supplied with reed furniture. There were a lot of windows, and the roof supported a cupola which would have been just high enough to see over the wall.

“That’s the Judge’s house,” said Sak. They left Lottie with a matronly woman at a side entrance. She thanked her rescuers again and Sak assured her he would return to look after her. Then he led them past a hay yard, crossed a stream on a wooden bridge, and reined up in front of a drab, two-story building overlooking the parade ground. “This used to be the commandant’s quarters,” he said. “We’ll put you up here as long as you care to stay.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Chaka.

“Our pleasure, ma’am. We appreciate what you folks did out there. We could’ve lost Lottie, too.” He dismounted and opened the front door. “Nobody stays here now,” he said.

“except guests.” The door opened onto an inner wall. A community room was set off on one side, a stairway on the other. The wall was just wide enough to block off the door. Flojian asked about it.

“It’s called a rindle,” Sak explained. “It’s supposed to keep out evil spirits.”

“In what way?” Chaka asked.

“The story is, unless they’re invited into the house, spirits can only cross at the threshold and they can only travel in a straight line.” He helped Chaka with her bags. “I suspect the rindle has really survived because it helps block off cold air.”

Flojian commented dryly that there were things out there that might change Sak’s mind.

Behind the rindle, a passageway lined with doors ran to the rear of the building. Sak watched them choose rooms and promised to send over fresh linen and whatever else they might require. “I expect,” he added, “the Judge will want to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go too far.”

Chaka was impressed. She had two rooms and a private bath. While she surveyed her quarters, a young woman arrived to put down fresh bedding. Autumn-colored curtains framed the windows, which were open and screened. The fresh, blos-somy fragrance of late spring filled the air. The sitting room had a worktable and two comfortable chairs. One wall was covered with a bearskin.

The bathroom exceeded anything she could have expected. It was dominated by a large wooden tub. There was nothing exceptional about that, of course. But the tub was equipped with faucets, and when she turned one, water came out. It quickly grew warm.

Chaka had seen indoor plumbing before, but never running hot water. She decided they had stumbled into the most advanced nation on Earth.