Behind the Badge

by Clayton Overstreet

I like to think of this as the Changing of the Guard...

I don't own these characters or profit from them.

Behind the Badge

By, Clayton Overstreet

Based on the Discworld Books of Terry Pratchett

Sam Vimes, Duke of Ahnk-Morpork, commander of the City Watch, knight, and father felt his world slide out from under him as he stared at the paper his secretary had just handed him.

A.E. Pessimal had been a wonder since the day Vimes had hired him. He had taken to the files and papers stacked on Vime's desk like a duck to water and now it was rare that Vimes even saw paperwork longer than it took to sign his name to it. And while A.E. certainly looked like the clerk he was and had the training, he had hidden depths that seethed with a desire to fight, not for any bloodlust or to right any wrongs, but simply because it was new and exciting and something he had always wanted to do but never done… until now. After three months of the tiny man walking the night beats criminals were beginign to check to see if it was him before they jumped out because Mr. Pessimal had a tendancy to bite first and ask questions later. Vimes had to take him off the regular rotation because the free hospital and the local Igors had complained about having to do all the reattachments.

"Is something wrong Mister Vimes?" A.E. asked.

Vimes laid the paper down. "Sorry it's just… these records for the petty cash. They add up to what is actually in the petty cash box."

"Yes," Pessimal said. "I counted it out myself. Three times. Was that wrong?"

"No… no, it's nothing." Vimes signed it and handed the paper back. Pessimal gave him one more concerned look but shuffled out.

Vimes shook his head and stared at the wall across from his desk. Things had been different the last few weeks. One night while on their usual patrol Fred Colon had a heart attack. They were found quickly, mostly because he had landed on top of Nobby who had then screamed for help… then had started offering free money to anyone who rescued him. Nobby had been saved. Fred had not.

The funeral was a copper's funeral, but Fred's headstone was rather more impressive than most. Not because Vimes had bought it, though he had offerent. Colon's wife, it had turned out, was one of the few seamstresses in town that actually fixed socks. He had six children, two boys and a girl in the watch and the other three were chefs who were considered some of the best in Morpork, Pseudopolis, and Genua. The tombstone had listed Fred's accomplishments: Father, husband, dragon hunter (the scientific name of the larger fire breathing type of dragon added in small letters under the word), and officer of the law.

Vimes had spoken and had listed out a lot of great qualities. Fred Colon had stood by him in some of the worst fights of his life. The old copper had fought in wars as a soldier, defended the city from monsters and killers, and basically done things that most coppers never dreamed of.

To his shame Vimes was surprised when he listed out thos accomplishments. To him Fred had always just been Fred Colon, the rather dim and fat man who had been there when he joined the watch and who was there now. The man who goofed up so often that it was like clockwork and the man who he sent off with Nobby to the least likely places for a criminal to go to keep them out of the way. He had seen Colon do all of these things, but watching his children and wife and friends, who Vimes had never even met before, he wondered how he could so easily forget all that time and again.

Not every copper had been sad to see Fred go. They thought Vimes did not hear them, but he did.

"Well it's about time. The things old Fatty ate… I'm surprised his heart lasted this long," a watchman was saying.

"And the man got no respect," a troll officer said. "Always called us trolls rocks when he weren't thinkin'."

"Which was most of the time," a dwarf said with a nasty sneer. "The only reason the old man was still here was cause of the commander."

"Well," the human officer admitted. "They did fight a big dragon together. That probably counts for something."

"Bah, so what?" The troll said. "It just a big lizard. Not our fault no trolls in the watch then."

Vimes had smirked evily, imagining what the dragon would have done to a troll. It had destroyed stone buildings into ceramic puddles. Even golems had a limit. The dragon's fire had not melted the rock, it had evaporated it.

"Well you know them posh bastards in charge always stick together," the dwarf said.

"Posh?" The human asked before Vimes had been able to open his mouth and say it.

"Oh sure. You know how it is around here. You got Nobby Nobbs who I heard is actually some kind of Earl."

"He is?" The other two said.

"Yeah," the dwarf said, though he paused for a moment. "You know how the upper class are with… relationships."

"Oh, that type," the man said.

The dwarf soldiered on, "And we all know Captain Carrot is really the king. They just keep quiet about it because they like being coppers. Same for Angua, she's a duchess from over in Uberwald."

The troll nodded. "Yep. Got family up there. Her pa- uh," he looked around. "Family are top dogs up there."

"Then you got old Vimesey,":the dwarf said. "Poshest of the lot. He's a Duke and owns most of the bloody city."

"Yeah, but he doesn't exactly act posh," the human said. "You gotta respect the man. He hasn't let wealth change him." Vimes nodded. It was true. They had tried but-

"Ha!" The dwarf said. "You kidding? I won't say he's a bad man, but have you seen that armor he wears? Dented and rusted?"

"Well you is dwarf," the troll said. "So you might not know that…"

The dwarf waved him silent. "Nah, I know it ain't good looking. But that's the point. Rich man like that wears old boots and rusted armor, when we all know he's got the good stuff at home. Them Ramkins have armor that'd stop and arrow from a seige weapon and has gold on the edges, but he wanders around in armor made from old cans same as the rest of us."

"I see what you mean," the man said. "If it were me and I'd landed in his position I'd be wearing the good armor all the time." He lowered his voice, "Me mam and wife would make me."

"Right," the troll said.

"Exactly," the dwarf went on. "And I hear he won't let his butler shave him. Likes to do it himself. Goes on patrol like the rest of us, eats nt he cafeteria. It's like… reverse posh."

Vimes was tempted to clear his throat and give them a scare bigger than the dragon would have. Reverse posh? He'd never heard anything so stupid in his life. But in the end he just wandered off and tried not to think about it.

Not even when Nobby quit. That had come as big a blow as Colon's death when the tiny… man had walked into Vime's office, helmet and badge in his hand.

"Yes Nobby?"

"Uh sir, I… I was wondering how I go about getting my retirement package."

Vimes had not understood at first. "You'd have to quit first Nobby."

"Yes sir, I know sir," Nobby had said. The look on his face had been a mixture of sadness and fear that Vimes would do something terrible to him.

Vimes sat there quietly for a moment. "So you're quitting?"

"Retiring," Nobby corrected. Carrot and Vimes had gotten the watch a great retirement package over the years that was at least as good as the money left for widows and orphans. "You see sir without Fred, well it just ain't the same any more you know? And really who am I going to partner up with now?"

Nobby had a point. Most of the officers, under Vimes and Carrot, had become officers. Real officers. Not old dinosaurs who joined the watch because they had no other options or wanted to steal things without having to worry about getting caught. Nobby and Fred had never fit in with them. Only with each other.

"You're sure about this Nobby?"

"Yes sir. At my time of life a man has to think about these things and with Fred gone…"

"What are you going to do then Nobby?" Vimes tried not to make it sound like an accusation.

Nobby smiled nervously. "I got an offer from the recreation society. They're gonna make me head of it. You know, setting up the field and deciding who goes there. It's nice pay and they say nobody does it better."

Vimes nodded. One of the inconsistencies in Nobby's character was the way he actually got along with the upper class. Somehow the twisten little man had always managed to be there at the big functions either as a watchman or more likely because he was part of the war recreation society or simply because he was invited because a rich bugger had either heard of him or had some twisted desire to see what would happen when Nobby got drunk. That was how the Earl rumor had gotten started, because the ones who had been setting Nobby up for the position had heard of him, as opposed to most other policemen. Nobby had never fit into the crowd.

And, as Vimes knew, the rumor had never actually been dispoved. A lot of paperwork had gone into faking Nobby's royal ancestry and several copies, made to look extremely real, were still floating around because not every rich person who had been told the rumor had actually been in on the plan. So one day down the road one of Nobby's descendants (and wasn't that an interesting image?) was probably going to get a big surprise.

Vimes had nodded and paid out the retirement package. But until he had seenthe paperwork that showed Nobby was no longer stealing from the petty cash box it had not sunk in. But now it seemed to Vimes like the ground was moving under him and he was not moving with it.

Without thinking about it Vimes opened his hand and something clinked on the table. He got up and walked towards the door to his office.

Carrot was just coming in. "Sir, there's a robbery at…"

"Handle it Captain," Vimes said. He did not even look at the boy… man? "How old are you Carrot?"

"Thirty sir," Carrot answered. "Remember we had a party last…"

"Right," Vimes said. "Anyway handle it."

"Sir? Are you sure? Usually you…"

I said handle it!" Vimes said sharply. "That's an order." And he walked on.

Carrot watched him walk off into the building, not heading towards the door at all. Instead Vimes went to get coffee and just stood staring at the pot.

Still he had an emergency and needed to take care of it. He started to leave, closing the door behind him. Then Carrot stopped as he saw something gleaming on Vimes's desk. Without all the paperwork piled on it the thing was very visible. It was a copper badge.

"Sir-" Carrot started to call out, but was interrupted as Cheery Littlebottom, the head of forensics came running up saying the same thing. "Sir, there's a chase going down Park Street."

"Are we in it?"

"Yes,": she said. "Several officers are in hot pursuit. Only…"

"Only what?"

"So are several dozen other people. Uh, some of the gold fell out of the suspect's cart."

Carrot closed his eyes and groaned. He loved the city, like it was family. But every family had those members that nobody could trust with a penny and unfortunately in this case that family member's name was Ahnk-Morpork. He opened his eyes and gave Vimes one last look before turning away. "Let's get going then."

Vimes left work at quitting time. Seeing the coffee pot had reminded Vimes of the older coppers, the ones that never retired because they had nothing else. The job had been everything and they stuck around as much as possible, even if it meant they just made everyone's coffee. They were too good to get killed on the street so instead they just got… old.

Vimes found himself walking into the Temple of the Small Gods. He looked around the pews and took a seat. Nobody else was there except a young priest at the front who was snoring softly. Probably worshipped one of the gods that only came out at night, Sam figured.

As the day had worn on Vimes had spoken to some of the other officers. Each time he had asked them the same question he had of Carrot. "How old are you?"

"Six hundred and twelve," Salacia the vampire had answered.

"A hundred and ten," one of the dwarves said.

Detritus had taken a while to count on his fingers before saying, "Many…many…many…lots of many….many….many…lots…." He scrunched up his face and turned up the fan on his helmet, his skull starting to smoke. "I tink… two thousand… four hundred… and seven… next month."

Vimes had not said anything to any of them afterwards and just walked away to ask someone else.

Now he was staring at the roof of the temple. It was a painting by Leonard of Quirm and showed the entire disc, the turtle, and even the elephants so lifelike that you could almost see the clouds and birds move. It was a scene Carrot had described a few times from the time he, Leonard, the librarian, and the wizard Rincewind had been to the moon.

Carrot had been to the moon. Carrot had come from Lancre and was the son of the king of the dwarves over there. He knew the king in Uberwald and had been along for most of Vime's greatest adventures. And Carrot... was only thirty.

Vimes did not like ot admit it, but he was not sure how old he actually was. His mother had never learned to count that well and Vimes had only learned later in life. Mostly when people asked his age he just guessed. And while he remembered (the some help) all of his anniversaries, he was not sure how old his wife was either.

Sybil had always been… if not beautiful then just awesome. Tall, rich, a virgin, rich, classy, rich, confident and well bred. Everything that Vimes had not ever imagined he would be able to achieve. If it had not been for that dragon he would have not been able to approach her house without being stopped ten yards from the door and told to leave by the butler. And now he was married to her and spent his mornings talking to that butler and refusing to let the man serve him however possible.

"Reverse posh," he muttered. The men were right. A man from the Shades becomes the richest man in the city and he doesn't start acting like it? Vimes knew his mother, had he been in this position when he was twenty, would have had him learning to be a real gentleman in a week, slapping him upside the head and making him stand there while Willikins shaved him.

So how old was Sybil? He was pretty sure she was older than him. It was hard to tell because she did not have her own hair. She wore beautifully made chestnut wigs because she had all of her real hair singed off by swamp dragons. So the only signs of age were, he realized, rapidly spreading wrinkles that he never really seemed to see when he looked at her.

Nobby was retired and he was about ten years younger than Vimes. Fred was dead. Carrot was playing at being a copper because even if he did not admit it, destiny danced for the boy like a bear at the circus. Angua, the next in charge, was only really there because of Carrot.

Vimes looked up at the ceiling again. He could almost see the turtle swimming. "It's not fair."

A voice next to him said, "What isn't?"

Vimes almost jumped. Turning he saw a golden man sitting next to him. For a second he wondered if the man was a golem of some kind. But no, golems did not glow all over. This was a god. "Uh… hello… sir. Didn't mean to bother you."

"This is a temple," the god said. "I think you're supposed to bother me here."

Vimes smiled a little. Whoever he was, this god seemed okay somehow. Vimes was still suspicious, but since gods were outside his jurisdiction he decided to just wait to see what happened. Living in a world where athiests were routinely struck by lightning meant that he believed, if in his own way.

"Don't worry about your lack of faith in the gods, Mister Vimes." He bent forward and looked up at the ceiling himself. "I'm not all that important anyway. What was it you were saying wasn't fair?"

"You don't know?" The god just smiled. "I guess… just how little time I got. You're immortal, right?" The god smiled and shrugged. "Yeah well here I am, just a human. I have watchmen who're dwarves and gnomes who get to live for hundreds of year. I got a vampire now and she could live forever. I have troll officers… you know Detritus?"

"I know of him," the god said.

"Right well I always think of him as 'Old Detritus' cause he's always been around. I think he was one of the first to come down off of the mountain to live in the city. He's married to Ruby who I think sings in troll bars. And he told me today that he's something like five thousand years old." He shook his head. "But then I realized that to a troll that's nothing. He's young for a troll. He's like a I was when I first joined the watch. A dwarf doesn't even hit puberty until they are over thirty!"

"And then there's you," the god said.

"Yeah, me." He shook his head. "Do you know how many years I spent in bars just trying to drink away my past and pain? But then comes this boy from the mountains and suddenly we aren't just the old Nightwatch, four losers who commit more crimes than they stop and only know when a crime is being commited by someone else so we can be far away when it does."

"The same thing happens with gods," the god said. "We build up our systems. Put people in place to enforce our laws. And then you look away for a moment and suddenly the system doesn't need you any more and you're just a little god in a big impersonal system."

"And the next thing you know you're sitting by the coffee pot while everyone else is doing things," Vimes said.

"Coffee pot… bar… seeing a pattern yet?" Vimes snorted. "You know there is a way to change it."

"How's that?"

The god smiled. "By changing it."

Vimes let that sink in. Slowly he nodded. "I think I see what you mean." He asked, "So what's your name? I think after a personal visit I owe you a tithing, right?"

"If you like," the god said. "Most people call me Om."

Vime's eyes widened in shock and he turned to look at the seat next to him. It was empty. After a moment he started to laugh. Up front the priest woke up and grumbled loudly, "Do you mind? This is a holy place!" Vimes laughed louder, got up, and headed for the door. He stopped by the door where the donations were made and dropped in his whole wallet, which landed with a loud thump. "For Om… and the rest of you poor bastards." He glanced up at the ceiling again. Looking at the only permanent thing to ever exist.

Vetinari looked up as Carrot entered the room with Angua. It only took him a moment to say, "I believe I told the guards I wanted to speak with the commander."

"That's me sir," Carrot said.

Vetinari… blinked. "I don't remember giving Mr. Vimes another promotion."

"No sir," Carrot said.

Vetinari set the papers he had been going over down. "Are you saying that Sam Vimes is dead?"

"No sir," Carrot and Angua said in unison.

Vetinari went through the likely options. "He was kidnapped by elves? Transformed into a small cheese log? He's very ill?"

"He quit sir," Carrot said.

"You are telling me… that Sam Vimes… has tendered his resignation?"

"Not exactly," Angua said. "He put his badge on his desk, walked out, and never came back."

"You're sure he's…"

"Found a note at his house sir," Carrot said. "Said he was leaving the city. Took his son out of Miss Susan's School and they were last scene driving out of town."

"Do you have any idea where he's gone?" Vetinari asked.

"Not to Uberwald," the both said.

"No, I suppose not." Vetinari steepled his fingers in front of him. Then he nodded and said, "Very well. It seems that we are having a small problem. The war recreation society's leader was in here complaining because his people have been trying to dig fox holes, but keep landing in the underground."

"Uh, aren't we on loam here?" Angua said. "If you dig more than a few feet down the holes tend to fill in with water and mud."

"Which is historically accurate," Vetinari said. "However we now have a group of well armed men attempting to recreate a war who are landing on passing carters who do not take kindly to crushed produce and have responded in the typical way."

Carrot sighed. "How big is the blockage?"

Vetinari grinned as Angua looked confused. Carrot had really learned to think like a local. "So far several of the tunnels are being blocked off in both directions and we have a stabd off. I just wonder if it will end when someone shouts 'Charge' or when a weapon pokes a hole in the wall and let's the river in."

"We'll take care of it sir." Carrot saluted smartly and then the two watmen turned and walked out.

Vetinari still had his fingers sticking up in front of him when Drumknott walked in and handed him some papers to sign. Vetinari asked, "Drumknott, how old are you?"

Sam Vimes smiled as the well packed coach drove down the road. He had hired a young man to drive it. It turned out the Willikins was married to one of the maids and bringing him along would not have worked. Vimes was alright with this and that they had left the other servants behind too. They would have the house until they came back. If they did. It was possible that young Sam would be the only one to ever return home again.

"Where are we going daddy?" The boy had asked several times.

"I don't know," Vimes answered again.

"Then how do we know when we're there?" Sam just smiled and looked at his wife.

Sybil smiled back at him. The coach was heading through Borogravia to parts unknown and had been for several days. They had gone as a slow but steady pace. She had asked him the usual questions. "Are we chasing someone? Is someone chasing us? Is something nasty happening somewhere that you have to deal with?" And Sam had said no to all of them.

"So we're just leaving?"

Sam nodded. "Yes dear. We're going travelling. We're going to see the world."

"Why?"

He said, "Because I never have. Because I can. And because I'm so old that everyone else seems young, even when they're older than me."

"Oh." She reached out and took her husband's hand, leaning into him and pinning their squirming and complaining son between them. "That's alright then."

Author's Note

Immortality is a funny thing, especially if you do not have it but other people do. Sam Vimes started off as a human in a magical world that was mostly populated by humans. He usually ignores the magic parts. It was predictable. In fact he predicted he would die drunk in a gutter when someone knifed him and then realized he had no money. But now he's an old man who works with dwarves and trolls and a vampire. Since he clearly will never ask for immortality in any form that means that Vimes is getting old. In fact he has gotten old. Old in a world where witches and wizards and dwarves live for hundreds of years. Trolls don't really die of old age, they just get so big that they either fall apart or fall off the disc and into space, which means Detritus is young for a troll. He's not even two stories tall. (I don't know how gargoyles age in the Discworld, or for that matter why they eat pigeons if they're trolls and made of rock).

Colon, Nobby, and Vimes are the only real old coppers left in the city and I thought maybe it was time to retire them with some dignity. Because they are only going to keep getting older and sitting around the watchouse until they dropped dead seemed okay for Colon and maybe Nobby, but not for Vimes. So I got him out of town. He's a Duke, he can do that sort of thing. And it lets him leave while still leaving behind the idea of future adventures for Vimes, while behind him the city carries on.