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  He Shot First

  Contents:

  Start

  Lynch Mob

  Connect with S.A. Barton

  By S.A. Barton

  Copyright 2014 S.A. Barton

  Dan Tippdale sat in a chair shaped like an institutional toilet seat with no back or bowl, in a jail cell made of something that looked like chicken wire but was much stronger, talking to a local. The locals were hawzai, sentients that he thought looked like the result of a three-way between a wasp, an octopus, and a beer bottle. He didn't know the alien's name or the local language, and his translator had been confiscated at the door of the police station. But he needed to talk, so he talked.

  “I was in a bar,” Dan said, “but that doesn't mean I was drunk. I had a club soda with some local fruit garnish that looked like a slice of overripe papaya but tasted close to lime, if you dipped the lime in baking soda. Not the most pleasant thing I've ever tasted. And I had a bowl of nori strips. They had those on hand because of all the nibusiru around the spaceport; they get drunk on the iodine in Earth-origin seaweed. And that's important because it was one of them that I shot, and he was drunk. We'd each had a bowl, and they were big bowls. Call it equal to a pitcher of beer, to one of them.

  “And then somehow we got on the subject of the Earth-Nibu War. It's only been, well, just about twenty years, and we were—are, well, he was—both old enough to remember it. My father was a veteran, my uncle didn't come back. He—Grisu, didn't catch his full name—lost some family, too. I'm not too clear on how they were related, I never had a reason to learn the ins and outs of their four-parent egg fertilizing arrangement. But whoever they were, they were people who mattered to him.

  “He said something nasty about how he jumped up and cheered when he heard they cracked Titan's crust and buried four and a half million humans under a few dozen meters of freezing water, and I said something nasty about the relativistic cluster bomb we used on their homeworld. We hit the island side and not the continent side to minimize casualties, but still, a quarter-billion dead is nothing to make fun of. I knew better. I knew not to say it. But in the end, they were only words. His and mine.

  “After I said it, I saw him reach down to draw, so I shot him.” Dan stopped talking, looking over at his cellmate.

  “Why do humans always assume hawzai don't speak Human Interstel? You beings are all over this region, it's one of the top five languages used for a thousand light years in any direction,” the hawzai said.

  “Aw, damn,” Dan said, cheeks suddenly hot.

  “Though I don't remember what 'dozen' means. A set of ten?”

  “Twelve.”

  “No wonder I didn't remember, that makes no sense for beings who use base ten math,” the hawzai said, twitching the six stubby tentacle-antennae on its browridge in a pattern that made Dan feel a touch of vertigo. He couldn't remember if that meant a nod or a laugh.

  “Uh, Dan Tippdale,” Dan said, holding a hand to shoulder height, palm out: the Interstel gesture for 'I'd like to shake hands but don't know or can't remember if your species is willing to touch other species'.

  “Kwazit Trowrer,” the hawzai said, duplicating the gesture with one of its upper tentacles. The underside looked like the pad of a gecko toe, all thin, close lines.

  Dan considered his next words carefully. The alien's brown beer-bottle abdominal segment concealed a venomous stinger as long and as dangerous as a chef's knife. If he remembered correctly, it wasn't venomous to humans the same way it was to the animal life of Hawza, but it could cause a nasty case of heavy-metal poisoning in humans if the victim survived the stab wound.

  “I apologize, I meant no insult. I was thoughtless,” Dan said. That seemed safe. “I hope you'll let me tell the authorities the story myself. I really didn't mean to tell anyone at this time.” That part was less safe. He hoped the apology would soften it.

  “It doesn't matter,” Kwazit said. “The cells are monitored, audio and video, by law. To discourage law enforcement indiscretions.”

  “Oh. Wonnnnnderful. I mean, what I said was the truth, but...” the alien interrupted him.

  “It doesn't matter. You were in a bar. Any public space is monitored the same way, also by law. Do you not consult basic information about local law and custom before landing?”

  “Well... I'm what you'd call a freewheeling sort.”

  “Is that slang for 'idiot'?”

  Suddenly Dan didn't like his cellmate very much. He got out of the awkward chair and went to the chicken wire facing the other, empty, cell and peered sideways down the short hall to the door.

  “Is anyone...” Dan shouted, then shut his mouth abruptly as the door opened. A pair of hawzai entered, wearing the elaborate hat and mantle Dan recognized from the officers who arrested him. The shorter one spoke a short sentence in the local language, of which Dan knew none at all.

  “You have been found innocent of murder by reason of defensive action,” the taller one said. “Armed force in defense of life is not a crime, even when the result is death.”

  “But I didn't get a trial,” Dan protested, then did a double-take. “Not that I'm complaining,” he added quickly. “So let me out.”

  Behind him, he heard a long, low trill from a double-tongued mouth. That was laughter, Dan remembered. The dizzying tentacle-twitching had been a nod.

  There was a short exchange between the two mantled officers.

  “There are other charges to be considered. You will stand trial for those,” the larger hawzai said.

  “Well, what am I charged with? You have to tell me,” Dan said. He heard the laugh-trill behind him again and his eyes narrowed. He wanted to turn around and give his cellmate a few choice words, but held off. Not in front of the cops.

  “No, we don't,” the Interstel-speaking officer said.

  “It's my right to know,” Dan said, crossing his arms.

  “Maybe on your home planet, but not here. Didn't you read the FAQ before you landed?”

  Dan turned around, fists clenched, gritting his teeth. He avoided his cellmate's eyes as he walked to one of the two cots in the cell and laid down, pulling the lurid orange blanket there over himself. I'm on a planet full of wiseasses, he thought, resentfully. It was only early afternoon and it took him several hours to fall asleep, but at least he didn't have to talk to his cellmate.