Sheriff Parimat swept a hand down her little skirt as she stepped off the traveling square. It was a futile gesture. Nothing would make this wisp of uniform long enough.
No one saluted or even nodded to her; this was the least-travelled corridor in the Rhododendron. Had it not been for the blue carpet which had been rolled out to cover the brown one, she would have suspected no one had come near the museum since her own last visit.
Sirg was asleep, which left her in command again, but there wasn’t much to command. Procedures aboard the compound vessel were largely automatic while the y remained in standard orbit. Now and then she had to order a search party to find someone who had taken a wrong turn on the Drover and couldn’t find the way out, This was not demanding.
She blinked at the bright lights. These had been added to the first nine rooms, to enhance the exhibits dedicated to the Emperor, burning away the dim, sool atmosphere she loved. She closed her eyes to slits and moved along, her hand on the light blue velvet ropes. On the required tours of the first nine rooms, overzealous cadets would throw themselves down in front of the pictures of His Imperial Worship. Id they accidentally nudged the pictures , this counted as sacrilege, and led to wasteful executions. She had installed heavy stanchions and velvet ropes with chains inside to keep the hyper-loyal alive.
Awards, trophies, pictures and plaques glittered around her. These were unlabeled, of course, but holographic guides could be activated if explanations were needed, and a recorded tour was also available. Sheriff Parimat didn’t need these. She ground the butt of her left hand against the top of a stanchion as she turned to regard the walls of the ninth room.
The museum had not changed, barring the new lights, for most of the years she’d been alive. An uo-ti-date museum would have dispensed with the velvet ropes and transparent cases in favor od the latest archivally-sound security fields. Bit this collection of relics of Imperial greatness had gone unimproved at first because her father considered it a low priority and after she succeeded to command because she liked it the way it was.
She moved past the newest portraits of His Imperial Worship, the ones bestowed upon her for her own unblotted record, Beyond the lights, beyond the exhibits which were required viewing, was her sanctuary. She hardly had to give orders that she was not to be disturbed while she was here; three fourths of the crew of the Rhododendron didn’t even know these rooms existed.
Here she could sit without worrying how high her tiny uniform. was riding. Here her eyes could rest. Even her personal quarters had had the new, brighter lights installed. His Imperial Worship wanted no suggestion of gloom about his visit.
And here she could reflect on the previous Imperial visits she had survived. All she had to do was survive one more. Then she would be free to command the Rhododendron on its mission, perhaps for years before His Imperial Worship remembered her or her ship.
Rubbing one thigh, she moved into Room Ten. A rope had come unhooked from its stanchion; she stooped and reached for the metal end of the velvet rope, her eyes on the exhibit to make sure nothing had been disturbed. She frowned. A small picture of the Imperial Family hung there. Someone should have moved that; His Imperial Worship did not like having pictures of his father on display, even in areas tours were not required to go.
“Your captain’s lucky there’s been just two tours so far.”
The voices came from Room Eleven. A woman’s voice with ice in it replied, “The Sherriff must approve any removal of items from an exhibit.”
“She better watch her pretty paws.”
“You aren’t telling us your Sheriff outranks His Imperial Worship in this.”
“Her Grace takes a personal interest in the museum.”
No sense letting that information reach His Worship; the Sheriff stepped quickly to the next room. No doubt that family picture was the cause of the argument. Letting everyone know she had already decided to remove it might quench any threatening fires.
Just past the door stood Lt. Bab Katner, an officer grown white-haired in her service to the Rhododendron. The closest thing to museum curator on board, she was officially Chief of Imperial protocol, and Poet laurate. The two men with her were Imperial guards. Katner outranked them by a great deal, but this was trivia to members of the Imperial Escort.
As they were willing to point out to the Lieutenant. “We’re Emperor’s men,” said the taller guard, waving a hand toward his special insignia. “We don’t take any orders from some flunky of a far star sheriff.”
The short trooper took Katner by one arm. “Maybe she doesn’t know about Emperor’s Men.”
The Lieutenant shook her arm loose, only to have the other arm taken up by the taller trooper. “She probably never even saw a real man on this bucket. Let’s show her.” His free hand went to the Lieutenant’s tiny skirt.
Sheriff Parimat slipped to the exhibit nearest the door, and took the end of a stanchion rope in one hand. Disconnecting this caused a tiny click.
The tall man turned. “Another one! One for you and one for me!” He let go of Katner’s arm and strode toward the Sheriff.
Had he come close enough, he might have recognized her and reconsidered. Sheriff Parimat did not let this happen. She had both ends of the heavy velvet rope in hand now. A rwist of the wrist sent one end into the air.
The metal caught him right under the nose. “Hey hey hey!” called his partner as blood spurted onto the tidy museum floor. Lt. Katner caught the distracted man’s tunic and threw him after his fallen comrade. The Sheriff pivoted the stanchion on its base to hit the falling man in the throat.
Lt. Kastner straightened what there was of her tiny uniform, sparing not a glance for the two men, one of whom was still alive and trying to push his windpipe back into line as he choked noisily to death. “Your Grace, these men were trying to remove an exhibit item in Room Ten. Though they had not authorization, I’m afraid they had a valid….”
The Sheriff had been pulling the stanchion back into place. Planting her feet, she jerked both wrists.
The base of the stanchion caught the Lieutenant hard under the chin. She fell backward, sitting down hard on the face of the first trooper. The Sheriff returned stanchion and rope to their accustomed positions before moving to make sure Kastner was still alive, and doubly sure that the two troopers were not.
“What is the situation here?”
Rising, the Sheriff considered Colonel Kierpath. He was a Hamgar from the Imperial Escort, with a service record that entitled him to a certain amount of personal expression in his uniform. Gis tunbic was cut low to exhibit a bristling thicket of chest hair, taken on his planet as a sign of hyperactive masculinity, while his trousers were as tight as they could be without being skin grafts, to exhibit extensive muscling of calf and thigh.
He had a personality to match all this. “What happened to these two men?” he snapped at a Sheriff who outranked him as much as the Lieutenant had outranked the troopers.
Understanding how trifling this consideration of rank would be to the Colonel, she did not mention it. “Thee two men had knocked out the Lieutenant and were dragging her between two display cases. I could not allow their actions to pollute the Imperial atmosphere.”
The long pink nose rose. “The woman was unconscious when you found them?”
The Sheriff’s nose rose to match it. “She was.”
“And they were taking her between these display cases?”
He had now asked two more questions than the most liberal Imperial Sheriff would accept from a colonel. “Unless they dance some dance in your command that the rest of us don’t see.”
Long orange lips snapped down at the corners. “This may call for a full investigation.” Without waiting for a response, he plucked out a command card with a light blue stripe along the center. Shoving this into a communications monitor usually used for the recorded tours, he pressed two pads and barked, “Your Worship? Colonel Kierpath!”
The bland Imperial face appeared on the screen. It was a startlingly tight shot, to keep people from calling him and sneaking a peek behind him at the monitors showing the progress of the game. All that could be seen of the Imperial Game Center was one thin leg, its foot directed at the ceiling. A slight twitch showed the owner of the leg was still technically alive.
“Colonel?” The Imperial voice told the Sheriff His Imperial Worship had been interrupted while doing something interesting.
The Colonel did not appear to notice. “Two of Your Worship’s troopers are dead. This woman admits she killed them, claiming an attack on a junior officer. She has been uncooperative in answering my questions.”
Imperial eyes looked mournful. “From whose company did the dead men come?”
“Mine, Your Worship.”
“You will be compensated for the inconvenience she has caused you.” Imperial eyes shifted. “He is talking about you, dear Sheriff?”
She stepped closer to the monitor. “Yes, Your Worship.”
“I am not happy. You will report for the first and second shifts with my pets in the morning. In the meantime, for your lack of cooperation, I order you to turn over to SHERIFF Kierpath….”
“Your Worship!” cried the former Colonel, both hands clutched in his chest hair. “I thank you so….”
“All information you have on how to survive four consecutive shifts. And have him shaved before he reports to the pens in…let us say ten minutes.”
No one had ever survived three shifts with the emperor’s trained pigs. “Your Worship!” the former Colonel cried again, his intonation now somewhat difference, his fingers twisting in the chest hair which meant more to his civilization than the insignia on his uniform.
“That is the highest honor I can bestow,” His Imperial Worship said, blinking once, “On an officer who cannot train his soldiers better. Dear Sheriff, make sure the best of the barbers under your command sees to this. You know how particular Stenge can be.”
The monitor blinked off. Marah Parimat smiled at her fellow Sheriff.
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