"Shootout at the A.R. Depot."

SHOOTOUT AT THE A.R. DEPOT

It was dawn on Urelia X9G. Deputy U.S. Marshal Bat “Wild Bill” Masterson reluctantly forced his eyes open and stretched, groaning a bit as he did. He heard his joints pop and crack in protest of waking up and moving. He was snugly cocooned in his mummy-shaped, heat-generating sleeping bag that was tucked deeply into a cave. He’d needed it to survive the frigid overnight, but with the rising of Urelia’s three suns, X9G was heating up rapidly.

Bill thought, I’m way too old for this assignment. I shouldn’t have beaten that judge at poker, but my hand was so good, I couldn’t make myself fold it. I mean, how often do you even see a royal straight flush, let alone hold it? And who knew the judge was such a sore loser that he’d transfer me from my cushy job on Xarego 12G to this terrible planetoid?

Silver, his opinionated autonomous-mobile-robot horse, was already up. He snorted and neighed in disgust as he surveyed their current location. His long, golden mane flew from side to side as Silver shook his head. He reared up and stomped his front two hooves down dangerously close to the deputy marshal’s head to make a point.

Silver saw a desert landscape which was blisteringly hot, unbroken by water, plant, or animal life for as far as his animatronic eyes could see. All there was were jagged, steaming hot rocks; yellow geysers; and overnight, blue methane gas spouts.

He thought to Wild Bill, Why did you have to go and embarrass the judge who went “all in” on a bluff? You should’ve folded. And what the dark lord did I do to anyone? Do you know why I am stuck in this hellhole with you? You’re the one who screwed up.

Silver heard, “I did not screw up. I won 23 million New Order Credits.”

He replied, “And yet, here we are.”

He asked again, “Why am I here?”

Wild Bill responded, “It’s because you’re my faithful partner and my friend. Right?”

Bill got no response. And he could hardly blame Silver for being upset. He was aggrieved himself.

The two currently found themselves on an exoplanet populated by violent mole-like creatures and humanoid criminals, each offender having been sentenced to serve an indeterminate length of time on X9G.

Autochthonos lifeforms appeared to be harmless little furry creatures possessing a high intelligence and a murderous antipathy for the humanoid interlopers. The small, furry creatures -- called “Urilians” -- have three eyes; six appendages that end in long, sharp talons; and fangs that drip poison.

Urilia’s native race clearly has developed a spoken language and quite possibly a written one. They care for their very young and very old. Those who regard them as cute, little, unthinking animals tend to wind up dead in short order.

Because Urelia X9G’s atmosphere is composed of oxygen, nitrogen, and hydrogen with traces of ammonia and methane gases, the planetoid is perpetually shrouded in thick, yellowish clouds of sulfuric acid that trap heat and summon steam geysers hot enough to melt rock.

These daily fire spouts -- called “Surtr’s fancy” after the Norse fire god -- were interspersed with the glassy sheets of semiliquid methane that fell at night, freezing the ground upon impact. This deadly blue ice was evocative of Hodur, the blind Norse god of cold, dark, and winter.

Long-time X9G-ers claim to have distantly seen a Jötunn, a fire giant described in Norse mythology, and the fire god, Surtr, battling each other. They would not be shaken of their belief that the ancient Norse gods still lived.

Most of these aliens had been convicted of minor, nonviolent crimes on their homeworlds and were sentenced to a stay of indeterminate length on X9G in order to populate the world.

These erstwhile criminals -- of male, female, and indeterminate sexes -- possessed one head, two legs, and six arms. Excepting their buttocks, which are covered in shocking-blue, long fur, they have no hair anywhere on their bodies. They are always cold; thus, the authorities’ decision to settle them on Urelia X9G.

Now most of these X9G-ers actively beg those in power on their homelands for a pardon or for death. They would rather die than remain on this planetoid. They don’t dare to explore the countryside surrounding Dreyrugrakr, which is mostly a no-man’s land, a desolate wasteland resembling a dust bowl, intermittently punctuated by blue methane showers and yellow fire spouts.

This hinterland is lonely and dangerous. The outskirts of Dreyrugrakr are walled and reinforced with armed deputies, whose sole job it is to defend the town from attacking Urilians.

Not only do these aborigines try to kill the adult

Dreyrugrakr’s citizens, they try to steal away their young. What happens to them is unknown, in truth, but terrible speculation abounds. It is not spoken of aloud.

Dreyrugrakr is a small town composed primarily of farmers, barbers, judges, deputies, postmen, salesmen, but is controlled by outlaws, gunmen who won’t hesitate to shoot anyone trying to go against them.

There is no deputy, marshal, sheriff, or, in fact, anyone wearing a badge to enforce laws. There are very few ordinances to be upheld. These gunslingers are bank robbers, cattle rustlers, thieves, kidnappers, and killers. Their crimes span the spectrum of evil deeds. They used the quiet town to send and receive goods, guns, and money. Dreyrugrakr’s citizens are sufficiently scared to do as they’re told or else.

The only remotely interesting thing that happens in Dreyrugrakr is the flying stagecoach that stops on its way through once a week. Very few individuals get off at this stop; or, if they do, they rapidly get back on once their sanitary needs have been met, and their hunger and thirst have been slaked.

In the “Old West” on the planet Earth, stagecoaches were pulled by four fur-and-blood horses. They transported people and products across vast territories not conducive to other forms of transport. There were way stations every 20 kilometers or so to rest and feed both people and animals.

Nowadays, stagecoaches can fly and are guided by four autonomous-mobile-robot horses, who are smart, possessing the most advanced AI, artificial intelligence. Each has their own personality, but all of them possess great courage and “horse sense.” They routinely travel through territory that is dangerous and so hot that it can melt their metal hooves if they tarry too long.

A district judge -- not the one who lost at poker -- possessing planetary-wide jurisdiction happened to be on the stage stopping in Dreyrugrakr. As Judge Spicer is disembarking the coach to use the bathroom and seek out some fresh food and drink, he heard a blood-curdling scream followed by a loud thud.

He sees a man falling to the ground, obviously having been fatally shot; and he sees another man laughing as he reholsters his laser gun.

The judge is a witness to the crime, and as a law enforcement official, he cannot bring himself to ignore the murder.

So in short order, Billy “Butch” Cassidy is arrested by the judge’s deputies and is placed in the town’s jail. He’s charged with breaking the town’s no-open-carrying-of-weapons ordinance and with murder.

The Cassidy-James “Broncobusters” gang members circled around and around the jail on their personal mini-planes, driverless aero-autos, and aero-motorbikes. They threatened to blow up the jail to get their leader released.

Jesse visited Butch in his cell to learn what he wanted the gang to do now. Upon receiving Billy’s directions, they send riders to other towns in order to grow the presence of the Broncobusters in Dreyrugrakr; and they threaten to kill a person a day for each day Butch remains in jail.

Judge Garrett sends a message to the most-honored lawman in the sector, Marshal William “Wild Bill” Masterson, who, for some reason unknown to him, was on planet and assigned to his service. This was a gift he could hardly turn down. He sent the command.

The order, sent telepathically and by computer straight to Silver’s AI, was unfavorably received by both recipients. Wild Bill sighed heavily and shook his head disgustedly. Silver snorted and relieved himself right at Wild Bill’s feet.

The marshal secured his silver-handled laser guns more firmly into their holsters, added handcuffs, extra laser charger packs, and some EMC grenades. Then he considered his upcoming travels and tucked some handheld electromagnetic projectiles into his pack.

Dreyrugrakr was more than 130 kilometers away, across rugged territory occupied by violent aborigines who wanted nothing more than to kill him and who, he’d been instructed, had protected status; and he was ordered not to kill them.

When Wild Bill said the name “Dreyrugrakr” out loud, his mount started making unhappy noises and backing away. He patted Silver’s shiny silver flank and said, “It’ll be okay, boy.” But neither of them really believed that.

On his past travels from his home base in the capital city, Skoaglarstrond, to Dreyrugrakr, he’d been repeatedly attacked by Urilians en route. Further, his hands were tied on how to handle them. He’d received orders not to shoot them unless there was no other choice. He considered whether self-defense was necessary and decided that it was.

Silver chimed in that protecting him was also a necessity. Reminded of that, Wild Bill asked Silver to stand still while he put his battle armor on him. Silver cooperated, as a change of pace.

The marshal commented, It’s nice to have you do as I ask for once.

Silver rejoined, You’re doing something to help keep me alive. That’s the difference. Usually you’re doing something that could get me killed.

Once they were suitably attired, they headed out into the steamy heat. Silver muttered that it was 150 degrees Celsius.

The marshal responded, “Why do you think we’re wearing all this protective equipment?”

Conversation stopped as they entered an area where Urilians popped up and tried to kill them. Marshal Bill documented that they’d developed at least a verbal language and quite possibly a written one. He suggested in his report that linguists study it to learn what they’re saying.

Silver said, “They’re saying they want their planet back.”

Asked by Wild Bill whether he is guessing or can really understand them, Silver says he’s sure of his interpretation.

The two leave and continue on to Dreyrugrakr. On average, the journey takes 26 hours by aerostage. Marshal Bill hopes to do it in 18. But some 20 hours later, the marshal and Silver enter into Dreyrugrakr.

He secured Silver’s reins to a post outside of the jail, pats him on his neck and heads into the jail. The marshal asked the volunteer Deputy Sheriff to tell the judge he’d arrived as ordered.

Outside he hears death threats shouted by the gang. He decided he’d better keep Silver safe. So he settled his lasers securely into their holsters on his waist and headed outside to check on him.

Silver’s head was swiveling back and forth, studying the gang members for any signs of imminent attack. Wild Bill untied Silver and led him into the jail for his safety.

He had the prisoner send a message to the Broncobusters, offering to give the gang leader a chance to live by having a shoot-out, which if he won, he’d be released, or death by hanging.

The Cassidy-James gang members conferred with their leader and accepted the marshal’s offer, suggesting the A.R. Aeroport Depot -- so-called because of its prior owner/operator, Al Right -- as the place to meet tomorrow.

“Okay. The depot is fine,” says Wild Bill.

“Good.”

“Let’s do this tomorrow afternoon, say around 3:00. That okay with you?”

Jesse J. Clanton conferred briefly with fellow “Broncobusters,” including the brothers Ike and Billy, Frank and Tom and then spoke for the gang and agreed to the marshal’s terms.

However, he, in turn, set his own requirement of no long-distance snipers up on buildings. Reluctantly, Wild Bill huddled around Silver, and fellow lawmen Wyatt, Virgil, Morgan, and others in their group and agreed to Jesse’s terms.

The following afternoon, there was a brief, but deadly, shootout between six Broncobuster gang members and four lawmen. The 30-second gunfight became legendary and is written about and spoken of even today as “The Shootout at the A.R. Depot.” Thirty shots fired in 30 seconds killed three Broncobusters and two lawmen and injured others on both sides.

The A.R. Depot has been called the location of the shootings, but, actually, the two sides encountered each other in an alley which led to the depot. But “The Shootout at the A.R. Depot” sounds better than “alleyway leading to.”

After the gunfight, Marshal Masterson appeased the card-playing judge by apologizing to him, and eventually he was reassigned – along with Silver – back to Xarego 12G, a planet with a significantly kinder climate.