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City Slicker Sister
by Emily Brown
First Place
It don’t take much to get people fighting in these parts. Oh, we’re civilized about it, but one man insults another man’s mother, and all of a sudden there’s honour at stake. ‘Laser pistols at the ready,’ and all that.
Honestly, if I hadn’t given Ma my word I’d stick around here, and Da my word that I’d listen to Ma, I’d be zipping myself right back to the city states through the nearest port-ward. Especially given the trouble Jorgie’s gotten himself into now.
The other guy’s name is Cattle Jack, since he manages most of the cattle farming down t’wards the ranch. Not a very creative name, I’ll be honest, but for that his real name’s John, and Jack’s a nickname I’ll never understand. He’s a big fella, but he seems at home on a Hover, while Jorgie’s opted for an old-fashioned horseback ride. He’s on Old Grey, who seems oblivious to the various weapons and shielding systems my brother’s packed on his saddle.
Man, but if Jorgie gets Old Grey disintegrated, then I’ll be having words with the boy. Serious words, and quite possibly more than just words. We all know Old Grey was Da’s favourite.
“Shielding systems?” Cattle Jack scoffs now. “What, ye can’t take a shot like a man? Ye got te rely on them fancy shmancy tech? Like your city slicker sister?”
I raise an eyebrow at Jorgie, hoping he’ll have a good comeback. He hasn’t always been fast with words, but the opponent’s just made sure he’s insulted the entire family. Maybe Jorgie can say something about how hypocritical Jack’s being, sittin’ on a Hover himself, and throw the insult right back. That’d be good.
But, no. It’s Jorgie, and Jorgie – grown and raised here, but still not quite accustomed to the everyday codes of society – doesn’t stick to the usual script. “Don’t you bring Hazel into this!” he says.
I roll my eyes. Too late for that, little brother. Way too late.
Jack opens his mouth, probably to insult me even further, so I step in. “Come now, boys. This is a duel over honour, let’s keep it honourable, shall we?”
Cattle Jack glares his burly eyebrows over in my direction. “Says the only female sheriff in the hist’ry of this here county. Why don’t ye run back to the city, where ye belong?”
Well, now he’s just looking for trouble.
But I keep my cool, simply returning the gaze, cactus-sharp. “Careful, Jack. You don’t want two duels on your hands, now do you? I can betcha the other officers will be biased when it comes to the honour of a fellow lawkeeper. Wouldn’t you agree?”
That shuts him up right nice, though his eyebrows lower themselves a bit further.
Jorgie looks over at me, and I can see the panic on his face. He’s only just now realized what he’s in for. Jorgie’s a good shot, but Cattle Jack’s got experience on his side. And confidence. All Jorgie’s got is Da’s old laser pistol, my out-of-date dimension gun from way back when, a sand-rusted shielding system, and a whole lotta nerves.
And it’s my job to remain on neutral ground here.
That port-ward back in town’s looking more tempting than ever. I can take that satellite-guard position I was offered, maybe go into the intergalactic diplomacy business. I’d spend all my time watching the stars and searching through interplanetary baggage when courier pilots decide to stop by. It’d be fun.
I swallow my wishful thinking and remember my promises. Ma’s waiting back home for both her kids, after all.
Jorgie included, as unlikely as that seems at this point.
Cattle Jack frowns even deeper – if that’s possible – and switches his Hover to the autopilot setting. “Well, are we gonna do this, or what?”
Jorgie gulps a breath, and Old Grey stomps the ground impatiently. I signal to the horse to quiet down, pleased when he does. Honestly, I wasn’t sure he’d still listen to me. But it does answer one question I had.
“Hold up your weapons for inspection,” I say, sticking to the usual order of things.
Jorgie holds up the old laser pistol – at least, I think it’s the old laser pistol. It’s hard to tell, it’s so covered in sand. I’ll have to remind him to clean his weapons if he survives this. It looks almost as bad as his room used to, back when we were in school.
Cattle Jack holds up a Devloc 3000, a much newer, spiffier version of the laser pistol. The kind of thing us sheriffs would love to have but can’t, since we don’t get paid quite enough. The kind of thing that can shoot right through an old, battered shielding system.
Jorgie pales, but since it’s not against the law to have an up-to-date shooter, there’s not much I can do about it.
I mean, it’s technically against the law to hold duels like this, but the law works a little different in places like this. And it’s preferable to needing to break up barfights every other day, as long as the people involved don’t do anything stupid.
“Are we all clear on the rules?” I ask the necessary questions. “One shot only? And from here onwards, any injury, misfire, or property damage is the consequence of the duel and the choice of the duelers, and no one can be held liable?”
Both nod their agreement.
“And no one wants to admit fault and withdraw?” Part of hopes Jorgie will, but I know he won’t. He’s been raised too good for that.
When they’ve both opted to stay and shoot at each other, I walk the distance between the duelers – double-checking that it’s 40 paces, as per the standard – and make sure there’s no foul play up with Jack’s Hover. Then I take my stand off to the side and try to think how to keep both these idiots alive.
“Ready your weapons,” I call.
Cattle Jack flicks the safety off his Devloc and aims.
Jorgie, white as a tanned sheet and hands shaking, does the same for his gun. Some of the sand dusts itself off in the movement, and I can see the weapon a little better.
I raise my hand for the signal.
It’s not until I’ve already given the order to shoot that I realize he’s not holding the laser pistol at all – he’s got the dimension gun.
Oh, trouble. This could be interesting.
Everything from here on happens faster than the eye can see.
First off, Old Grey, that faithful old horse, calmly takes a step sideways.
Jack’s Devloc fires, nicking the side of Jorgie’s shielding system and shredding it to bits, missing Jorgie by a hair.
Jorgie, stunned by the sudden movement, begins to fall off the saddle – but not before pulling his own trigger. The dimensional blast hits Jack’s Hover, and the thing disappears with a flash of abstracted light.
The next thing I know, both duelers are lying on the ground on their backsides.
Well, if it ain’t poetic justice.
Old Grey looks at me knowingly, and I pat the old horse gratefully. Da’d be proud. I know I am. And both the troublemakers are still alive, somehow.
Cattle Jack gets up, infuriated. “He cheated! My Hover – I’ll be suing –“
“No one can be held liable, remember?” I interrupt, as my little brother hauls himself to his feet. “Now, one shot only, duel’s over, you’ve both made fools of yourselves, and you can both go home to your families and have a nice steak dinner. Got it?”
Jack looks about ready to take action, so I place a hand on my lasso – state of the art, electromagnetic. “Got it?” I repeat.
He grumbles something under his breath, but settles. Then adds, “Hey, can I hitch a ride back to the ranch?”
I stifle a smile. “Sorry, pal. We’re headed in the opposite direction. But if you make it to the station, Sheriff Anson might let you borrow a sand-scooter.”
Anson’d probably love the chance to hear ‘bout all of this. The poor guy was a little upset when he got lumped with filing reports. And he don’t like Jack very much, so I know for a fact he’ll find the whole thing downright funny.
I help Jorgie back into the saddle, and with nary a look back, we ride into the sunset.
We’re about halfway back home when Jorgie decides to speak. “So when’d you signal Old Grey to move?”
I don’t bother looking at him; just a sideways glance’ll do. “Who says I did?”
But his pointed silence prompts a smile, and I can’t deny it any longer. “Well, maybe I did. But the rascal can’t just insult our family and get away with it. After all, she’s my Ma too. And I’d like to see a real ‘city slicker’ even know how to do that.”
Jorgie grins; I know him well enough to know that without seeing his face. “Thanks, sis,” he says.
Da’d be proud. We both think it; neither of us say it.
And when we get home, I give Ma a hug, feed Old Grey an extra carrot, hang up my uniform, and kick off my boots.
Tomorrow’s another day, but for now, I’m glad to be home.
Winning pieces are published as received.
Fiction Potluck
July 2024
First Place Winner:
Emily Brown
Emily Brown, in the words of her brother, "likes playing piano, pacing up and down, and then disappearing into her room for hours on end where no one really knows what she does."
She also has a singer/songwriter YouTube channel under the stage name Emmi Byrd.