This story is part of a series, and follows the story "Disquieting Days." Although I have tried to make each tale stand-alone, this particular one works best if one has also read the prior tale. It is my hope that both tales will at least entertain. :)
I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.
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Bluff
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Year 0945 month 9 day 17
The sand steamer had drawn near enough to May City that one could see it without the assistance of binoculars or telescope.
Vash stood on the deck, allowing the hot afternoon winds to blow his shoulder-length black hair out behind him. He liked the feel of the wind on his face, and in his hair.
A bandit prowling the outskirts of May city had grown into enough of a problem that they sent for a deputy marshal with a reputation for always capturing his target... alive. He smiled, and the fingers of his right hand touched the star-in-circle badge he wore on his vest under his new duster.
Under his shirt and pants, he wore his newest body armor. Strapped to his right hip and thigh was his trusty old revolver, though a more powerful firearm was concealed in his left forearm. He felt ready to deal with whatever might come his way as he pursued the robber.
None of the local lawmen or women had yet managed to overcome the current trouble-maker. The bandit and his gang had gotten into a habit of picking off the last few vehicles in a caravan, or attacking wanderers approaching the city for shopping or tourism.
Vash still found it amusing when he thought of what many considered the main tourist attraction: the grave of one "Vash the Stampede." He recalled seeing newspaper reports of how all of the larger cities had fought over which one would get the body he'd dressed in his own coat, and left his identification on, when he found it recently shot in the desert. May had won that contest, approximately 725 years ago.
Vash still pitied the poor youth, shot down so young. It was possible the fellow was shot for looking so much like him. He would never know, beyond that those who shot him believed they had slain "Vash the Stampede." The lad had been dressed to emulate his own well-known attire, so it seemed likely that he would be reasonably content to rest under a grave with that name carved on the headstone.
Vash planned visit that grave while he was here. However, he meant to visit it as a mourner – not as a tourist.
Knowing he might be very busy for a few days, Vash started sending love to each of his children.
His eldest daughter, Rem Luida Saverem, returned love from her job as a deputy marshal in New July.
Naomi Ranita Saverem, young Rem's younger twin, returned love from the Seeds village infirmary where she worked as healer.
Nicholas Wolfwood Saverem returned love from his job as a deputy marshal in December, where he also looked after the grave of the man for whom he'd been named.
Alex Vash Saverem, Nicholas' younger twin, returned love from where he was healing people after a minor factory accident near Juneora rock.
Sheryl Larissa Saverem returned love from her classroom, where she taught the next generation of ordinary human children (including the local orphans) at the school in December.
Lina Michelle Saverem, Sheryl's younger twin, shared love from her job as a deputy marshal in Kasted, where the lady for whom she was named had served as sheriff centuries ago.
Bradley Carlos Saverem shared love from the sheriff's office in Augusta.
Livio Kaite Saverem, Brad's younger twin, shared love from the Octovarn sheriff's office.
Tessla Lumia Saverem returned love from the college where she was finishing her first medical degree. Following in the steps of her mother, Alex and Naomi, Tessla wanted to be a healer. She wanted to make sure that nobody ever treated another person as the scientists had treated the poor girl for whom she was named.
Milly Meryl Saverem, Tessla's younger twin, just wanted to play with other children for now. Vash smiled at the endless enthusiasm in his youngest. Equally as sweet and energetic as the former insurance girl whose name she was given as her first name, she returned love from babysitting "Grandma" Rem's toddler-aged daughter, Ranita Shyla Reeve.
"Grandma" Rem was unable to feel or respond to his love at this distance, since she wasn't a Plant. Vash sent his love to her anyway. He smiled. Rem met a good man about the time he and Shyla married. William Reeve was one of the Seeds Village's best engineers. They wed five years ago, and her second child was due soon.
That took care of all five sets of twins, and Rem. Vash extended love toward his wife.
Shyla did not respond. That was highly unusual. Vash hoped that no medical emergency had required her to focus on healing so intently that she would be unable to respond. This was the usual time for her infirmary shift, so it was possible she might be tending a patient with some extreme need.
People traveled great distances, in desperate hope that the rumor of the "angel healer" at Seeds village might be true. The rumor was old, though. Currently, there were four: though the children were wanted in other towns, and might eventually disperse.
Shyla's lack of response troubled him, but not greatly. He would try again later.
The sand steamer pulled into the port, and Vash patiently waited for his own turn to disembark. Once through the needful rigmarole, he reported to the nearest sheriff's office.
He reflexively glanced at the wanted posters, and inwardly sighed. Strange how roughly 200 years of being hunted, on and off, left one a bit on edge... even several centuries later!
"Hello," Vash said pleasantly to the bored-looking youth at the desk. "I'm Nate Saverem, Deputy Marshal." He displayed ID that backed up his words. "Nathaniel Vash Saverem" was the name written on the card. "I heard you folks have a bandit that you'd like a hand with getting into jail?"
The young man looked over his ID and nodded, but looked puzzled. "You must have been misinformed, friend," he said. "We've not had any significant bandits around here for almost 15 years."
Vash frowned. "Odd, I have papers here..." He pulled them from a pocket in his new brown duster, and showed them to the youthful deputy.
"Yep, that's the last one sure enough," he said. "But someone played with the date. That guy was shot down nearly 15 years ago, along with his entire gang."
Vash felt as if a fist of frozen iron gripped his insides. Someone had deliberately decoyed him here. He wished he could believe it nothing more than a prank, but his instincts were screaming otherwise.
"Sorry to have troubled you," Vash said politely, already beginning to move toward the door that led to the street.
"No trouble," the youth said pleasantly. "Enjoy your stay."
Vash strode purposefully out of the office, and back to the sand steamer. He purchased a ticket to retrace his steps back toward Seeds village. His visit to the grave bearing his own name, to mourn the unknown youth who actually lay beneath it, would have to wait. He'd mourned the lad when he put his own coat on the body, so he refused to feel guilty for neglecting him.
The sand steamer would feel agonizingly slow, but it was the swiftest ride out of here. Today, Vash would take what he could get... and try to be thankful for it.
This location was well outside of radio range to the nearest Seeds outpost, too. His ear-radio would be no help for almost two days. Too many details, too conveniently falling into place... this false report could not have been an accident. Unfortunately, it also required too much effort to be a mere prank.
He tried again to send his love to Shyla, and again received no response. The frozen fist holding his vitals tightened its grip.
Vash both hoped and prayed that he wouldn't be too late.