The
tortoises were restless that morning. They shuffled in their stalls
and clicked in their throats. Petra smoothed her hand against the
smooth nose of the one nearest her. It closed all four of its slitted
eyes and quieted. As a girl, she had believed in omens and had seen
them in most everything. She tried not to dwell on the uneasy herd,
and chose to go about her day.
She
pulled the milking bucket and stool off of their places on the wall
and headed into the stall. She patted the tortoise’s rocky shell as
she set up near its flank. It warbled at her morosely.
"Come now, it's not all that bad," Petra insisted. "We'll head out to graze by noon." The udders of the creature had grown heavy and swollen in the two days she had gone without milking it. Her farm hand was visiting family, leaving her to tend the whole thing by itself. It had taken her three weeks to teach him how to milk the things. It required a grip that was neither too hard nor too soft, pressure applied in the correct manner (which was different for each animal and each teat), and a bit of intuition. She had not had time to do all the milking. Perhaps this was why they were so anxious.
The bucket was half full of the nutrient rich cream when the urgent chime of her communications system sounded. She leaned back and craned her neck. Sheriff Calhoun was on the screen, his bulbous nose anchored in place by his thick mustache. His watery blue eyes shifted, a nervous tic that betrayed the rest of his calm facade. Petra frowned and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. The tortoise stamped its cloven feet as she picked the stool up prematurely. She hauled the bucket out from under it so that it could not kick it over in its displeasure. It butted her in the chest with its beak-- a movement that could have been fatal if the creature had intended it to be. She scratched it under the chin until it quieted, and promised it that she would return in a little while.
"Sheriff
Calhoun," she greeted neutrally.
"Ah,
Petra," the man smiled in greeting. "Would it be alright if
we came in for a few minutes?"
"Depends
on who 'we' is," she frowned. The Sheriff had not had a deputy
in a dozen years or so. He stepped aside to reveal two men in the
pristine uniforms of the Galactic Federation.
"Come
on in," she shrugged. The Galactic Federation did not meddle
much in the affairs of the people that farmed the outer moons. Unless
there were pirates fleeing in their direction, GF forces only stopped
in every few years to recruit, or in off-duty capacities, to buy the
goods they harvested.
Petra crossed the fields to greet her guests.
Petra crossed the fields to greet her guests.
"I
have a lot of work to get through today, so excuse me if I try to
keep this short," she stated. Even as she said it, however, she
began to fix a pot of coffee. She rarely had guests, but her mother
had raised her with proper manners and she would not circumvent that
simply because she was behind on chores. "What is this about?"
"Petra
duMarcos," one of the soldiers said. He pushed his visor up,
which was some kind of courtesy, or else he wanted her to be able to
see his full face so she could see how serious he was. "Sister
of Valentin duMarcos." Although he phrased it as a statement, it
was followed by silence long enough for Petra to realize he was
asking her to confirm.
"Valentin
is my brother, yes." It was not a secret in any capacity.
"Sheriff Calhoun could have told you that."
"We're
just being thorough, ma'am. Are you aware of your brother's current
standing with the law?"
"If
he's on the wrong side of it, then yes. My brother is a low down
crook and smuggler."
"Are
you aware that he is currently under investigation for murder?"
"Murder.
You think Valentin murdered somebody?" Petra's flat expression
did not change much. "Do you mind if I smoke?" She asked as
a courtesy as she pulled the pack out. The soldier made a forthcoming
gesture and waited in silence as she lit up and took the first drag.
"Well, it was only a matter of time before he graduated to
big-boy crime."
"You
were not aware of it, ma'am?"
"I
was not. I'm not surprised, but I wasn't aware of it, either."
"Is
your brother here, Petra?" Sheriff Calhoun asked. The two
soldiers twitched and looked at him in obvious displeasure.
"Here?
That's what this is about? You're coming to find out if Valentin is
here?" she scoffed. Smoke curled about her head lazily.
"Harboring
a fugitive is a crime, ma'am."
"That's
a nice law. A good law. But Valentin is not here."
"Are
you sure about that?"
"Yes,
I'm sure about that."
"We have the records of your bay doors. You opened them at three o'clock this morning, local time."
Petra's jaw tightened. "One of my tortoises is sick. I called the veterinarian when it looked like it might be getting worse. You must have seen that I opened the door to let him out at four thirty in the morning, local time. You can call him to confirm."
"Petra, there's no need--" the Sheriff started. Petra cut him off with a sharp hand gesture.
"There is no need for you to be here." She looked at each man in turn. "Do you want to know why? Because the last time that I saw Valentin was seven years ago, when our mother was on her deathbed. He came home then. And when mother passed? He didn't stick around for the service. He stole two thousand credits from me and then disappeared without a word. So, if my brother comes here looking for refuge, I'll give you a call and you'd better bring a body bag to collect him in."
"...Thank
you for your time ma'am. If he does show up, please give us a call,"
the man offered her his card. She stared at him sourly until he set
it down in front of her.
"I'll
be sure to do just that. Thank you for the warning. Sheriff, I trust
you know your way out?" He tipped his hat to her and led the two
men down the hallway.
Petra
took a long drag and exhaled through her nose. Her hands ached from
being knotted so tightly for so long. She eased them open, flexed her
fingers.
A
clap interrupted the silence in her house. It was followed by
another, which quickly grew into applause. "Excellent
performance. I mean, it gave me chills." Petra turned to see
Valentin set his hip against the doorway. He looked as at-ease as he
ever did, with his hair slicked back and his grin so big it thinned
his lips. He had an attractive smile that masked his lying tongue
perfectly. "For a second there, I thought you were going to give
me up."
"I
was tempted," Petra stated, and Valentin laughed. She had
already worried her cigarette down to the filter. She smashed it into
the ashtray on the table and lit a second one.
"Sis,
that habit'll kill you," he reminded, his voice sing-song. He
raised his hands in surrender at her pointed glare, but his smile was
still as earnest as ever. He pulled two cups of coffee from the
freshly brewed pot and set one down in front of her. Petra watched
him claim a seat on her kitchen counter. Her brother had always had
good intuition. Perhaps he had sensed that if he sat too close, she
would give into the temptation to grab him by the hair and smash his
face into the table until it was a bloody pulp.
Petra
picked up the hefty ceramic mug with the same hand holding her
cigarette and took a sip. The steam and the smoke swirled together to
form odd patterns. "So, is it true?" Her voice was as flat
and unamused as when she had spoken with the officers.
"What?"
Valentin asked, eyebrows arched up to create that perfect illusion of
confused innocence. Petra glared.
"Did
you kill somebody?" She watched the tiny cracks in his mask, the
little flickers of real emotion that were impossible for anyone that
had
not shared
a crib with him to read. He looked guilty, confused, and kind of
lost. She made sure to keep her cold indifference firmly in place.
"I
didn't kill him, but he did die." He looked at Petra, tried to
read her reaction. After a few seconds, he turned his coffee around
so that the handle faced the opposite way and took a sip from it. "I
didn't kill him, but I was there when he died. You have to believe
me, Petree," he turned wide eyes on her. It was too much. The
childhood nickname and the purposefully lost look, the touch of
desperation in his tone. Petra exhaled smoke in his direction.
"I
don't have to believe shit, Valentin," Petra said coldly.
"You're a conman, a cheat. You've been that way since you were
old enough to blink. Maybe it's not your fault. Maybe it's a
compulsion. That doesn't stop you from hurting everyone around you.
Even people that you love, or claim to love." He opened his
mouth in shock, a protest forming at the corners of his lips. Petra
ignored it. "I will smuggle you off of this moon. I will give
you some money if you need it. But
when
I turn around, we're done. I won't be your sister anymore and I don't
want to see you ever again."
Valentin
stared at his hands. Although he looked like a scolded child and a
beaten dog, there was no doubt it Petra's mind that he was trying to
find a way to get back in her good graces. She pursed her lips,
unmoved. "I'm taking the tortoises out to pasture in three
hours. You'd best be ready by then," she stated. "And if
you steal so much as one credit from this house, I will skin you
alive and kick you out of the airlock."
Valentin
grinned at the threat. "Really, sis? Skin me first and then
airlock me? Talk about overkill." He appeared undaunted by her
repeating 'three hours' and ignoring his attempt at humor.
