Civic Obligations Part 1
"One last piece of news for you to mull over as you're eating your lunch," said the voice on the radio. "I'm sure all of you listening will be pleased to learn that last fiscal year was an excellent one for the company. According to my sources, Seefra Fuel and Iron's profits last year were up one hundred eighty eight percent from the previous year. To celebrate, company management has increased their salaries by an average of forty percent. Unfortunately, it seems that their munificence to themselves means that there will be no pay raise for the rank and file working the mines this year. This is Virgil Vox bringing you the news the company doesn't want you to hear, signing off."
"Well, that sucks," said Harper as he turned the bar's radio off.
There were shouts of agreement and a few 'eff the company's from the patrons seated at the tables and counter.
"What I'd like to know," said Trance as she placed a trio of drinks on a serving tray for Jeri to carry to one of the tables, "is how Virgil gets his information."
"I don't know," answered Jeri as she picked up the serving tray, "but he's been broadcasting ever since I was a little girl."
The conversation was interrupted by a yelp of pain and a chorus of laughter coming from one of the tables. The two women turned toward the sound to see Doyle striding away from one of the tables, and a patron nursing an injured hand while the other men at the table laughed at his discomfort.
"Trouble, Doyle?" asked Harper as Doyle approached the bar counter. He had a strict "Do Not Fondle the Waitresses" policy and gave the girls plenty of leeway to enforce it as they felt necessary. His only stipulation was that they didn't do any permanent damage to the patrons. If permanent damage was necessary, he kept a fléchette gun under the counter for just that purpose.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," said Doyle while giving the offending patron a glare. "He was just… Oh crap, here comes crazy Orlund."
"Who?" asked Jeri.
"Orlund," repeated Doyle, inclining her head toward the customer who had just entered the bar and was walking toward the women. "He's the sole survivor of the Argile cave-in. He came staggering out of the hills on the other side of the divide a week after the accident, delirious and half dead from thirst, raving about tunnels and lost races. One of the local farmers found him and nursed him back to health. He tried to show the company inspectors how he escaped but couldn't find the tunnel he says he exited from. The company decided that if he couldn't show them the tunnels, he must have hallucinated about them. Shortly after that, he quit the company and began crawling all over the hills looking for a way back into the tunnels.
"Let him have a few drinks and he'll start babbling about the cave-in, hidden tunnels, and some mysterious 'elder race.' Then someone will tell him he's lying, he'll get belligerent, and I'll have to toss him out. He's hasn't been in for a couple of months. He told Trance he was going to go back to looking for a way into the tunnels. I guess this means he didn't find one. He's nothing but trouble."
Trance rolled her eyes heavenwards at Doyle's rant. "You're just jealous because he doesn't call you 'princess' and kiss your hand when he greets you. I bet if you were nicer to him, he'd call you 'princess,' too." She walked out from behind the counter. "Come on," she said to Jeri. "I'll introduce you to him."
Deciding that Trance had a point about being nice, Jeri followed. Orlund looked normal enough. He was somewhere between Harper and Dylan in height with a medium build and a face that most people would call good-looking, but which badly needed to be reintroduced to a razor. The only unusual thing about him was his cap, which resembled a peaked leather helmet with flaps that covered his ears. When he saw the two young women approaching he removed his hat, a courtesy Jeri had rarely seen here in the bar, and with a reverent "my princess," bowed deeply in Trance's direction.
"Welcome back, Orlund," said Trance when Orlund straightened up. "I've missed you."
"And I you, my princess," replied Orlund. He looked quizzically at Jeri.
Seeing the puzzled look in Orlund's eyes, Trance gestured between Jeri and Orlund.. "Jeri, " she said, "I'd like you to meet my friend Orlund. He's been away for a while. The last time he was in here was while you were taking care of your baby. Orlund this is—"
Comprehension dawned in Orlund's eyes. Before Trance could finish the introduction, he interrupted. "Sheriff Rhade's inamorata. Your fame precedes you, my lady. I am honored to meet you." He took Jeri's hand and bent over to kiss it.
"I'm… uh… I'm pleased to meet you, too, Orlund," stammered Jeri, completely unsure as to how to react.
"Now I have two princesses to watch over," said Orlund.
From somewhere behind her Jeri heard Doyle mutter, "Oh no, not her, too."
Apparently Orlund heard the comment as well for he turned toward Doyle. "And the Lady Doyle, the gallant guardian of this establishment. How are you today, my lady?" He gave Doyle a bow, although not as deep as the one he had given Jeri.
Realizing that not only had she been overheard but that Orlund was answering her rudeness with politeness, Doyle had the grace to blush. She quickly recovered. "You know Harper's rules, Trance. He gets one free drink. And Orlund, if you start making trouble, Trance and Jeri's protector or not, I'll still throw you out the door."
Orlund nodded his understanding and sat down at an empty table. Trance hurried to get him his drink while Jeri went back to the tables, picking up empties and taking orders. She still had a few more hours before her shift ended.
As Doyle had predicted, after a few drinks Orlund became belligerent. He was in the process of challenging a miner nearly twice his size to a fight when Doyle intervened and escorted him out the door.
"Time's up, Jeri," said Harper a few hours later as he pointed at the clock mounted on the wall. "You're working for free now."
"Working for you is almost like working for free," retorted Jeri as she put her tray on the bar counter. It was an exaggeration, of course; Harper actually paid her relatively well. It wasn't as much as she had made before he hired her, but she could keep her clothes on and was allowed to keep everything she made.
"Yeah right," said Harper, the grin on his face matching Jeri's. "Next thing you know you'll be asking for days off. His grin changed to something more serious "Make sure you get here early tomorrow. It's going to be a busy day. I contacted Andromeda about the shipment Beka is bringing. She said Beka will be arriving tomorrow morning." He stopped talking and looked thoughtfully out one of the bar's windows. "Maybe," he said, "you should wait till the sheriff gets here, and then he can walk you home."
"You know Rhade doesn't like being called Sheriff," scolded Jeri. "He says he and the others aren't anything more than glorified security guards."
"Harper's right, though," said Doyle as she filled a glass for Trance to take to a patron. "Things have been ugly out in town ever since the company instituted those new rules on dead work. It's going to get even worse after Virgil's broadcast, and you can bet that the Black and Tans will be out in force just looking for an excuse to break some heads. Rumor has it that the Association has been trying to stir things up as well. You really should wait till Rhade or one of his deputies arrives and can escort you home."
"I can't wait," said Jeri just a touch impatiently as she reached for her shawl. "Rhade has night shift in the market tonight. I need to get home so he can have a good dinner, and I can make him something he can take with him when he goes back to work. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." She quickly walked out the door and into the street deliberately cutting off any further discussion on the subject..
The quickest way home would take her through one of the town plazas where the residents obtained their fresh water. As Jeri approached the plaza area she heard the sound of a multitude of angry voices and another amplified voice stating that the demonstration was illegal and all participants must depart the area immediately. Jeri rounded the corner that led to the plaza and stopped. Before her were a number of brown clad backs—company police, called Black and Tans by the residents of south-side because of the brown uniforms and black equipment belts they wore. A group of Black and Tans were facing a crowd of what looked to her untrained eyes like several hundred angry townspeople. One of the company policemen was holding up a bullhorn and demanding that the crowd disperse. The crowd for its part was demanding that the company change its policies on dead work and give them a share of the company profits that Virgil Vox had mentioned in his earlier broadcast.
Jeri ducked back around the corner. She certainly wasn't going to be going through the plaza to get home. She would have to cut through one of the side streets and come out behind the crowd. As she moved through the side streets she could still hear the angry voices and the bullhorn. She came out behind the crowd at the edge of the plaza. She didn't stay to watch. The crowd sounded even angrier than it did earlier. Abruptly the shouts of anger turned to ones of alarm and fear as she heard the cracking sound of bullets passing through the air. The Black and Tans were firing at the protesters.
Panic spread through the crowd like wildfire, the members scattering like a flock of frightened birds, The majority of the crowd ran towards the alleyway Jeri had just stepped out of, surging toward her like a human tidal wave. Jeri started running as well, fearing not the bullets, but the crowd of people. She entered the alleyway and began looking for an alcove or doorway she could take shelter in and let the crowd pass, but there were none.
Jeri's search for a refuge proved her undoing—she stumbled on an uneven piece of ground and fell to her knees. She started to scramble to her feet, but before she could get erect, she was knocked down again. She had just enough time to curl into a protective ball and cover her head as the first foot came down on her.