To call Landing a city would have been a gross over-exaggeration. Calling it a town would have just been an exaggeration. Township felt right, but also felt tight. Like a shirt one size too small. It was threatening to grow again, another wave of expansion of the dusty, hard-scrabble community that would cause it to slip over into being a proper town.

Which was likely making more than just a few of the locals anxious. Either the township would grow, or there’d be another way of emigration as people would leave the ‘hustle and bustle of city life’ to go start a few more communities elsewhere. The history of Ayer’s Rock was littered with such events, but the general trend was for Landing to grow.

The main street was still a prominent feature of the township, punctuated not by a church like the holodramas conditioned visitors for, but by the town hall, featuring the only piece of modern technology that was out on display – the subspace transceiver tower that was the world’s only link to the rest of the galaxy. Even the Federation Outreach office had conceded to the local aesthetics and no obvious technology was on display from the outside.

All of this meant that the high-pitched whine and bright red swirling lights of a transporter were not missed by the locals, many of whom backed away from the coalescing figures, a few tensed and at least one went bolting away down the street as fast as they could. There wasn’t any screaming, just townsfolks preparing themselves. And then relief that the red transporters hadn’t turned out to be Klingon invaders, but a motley pack of humans, Orions and Romulans.

The spot they’d beamed down to had been chosen for two reasons – it was a nice large intersection of the main road and another that was competing with it for businesses and traffic and the single largest saloon on the planet was on one of the corners.

“Sheriff Jacobs won’t be long,” Sidda said to her landing party of four others – R’tin, Orelia, Deidrick and Trid. Then she indicated the saloon with a flick of her chin and proceeded to head on it. Drinks had, a table claimed, they didn’t make any effort of hiding. They also pointedly didn’t make any trouble, just like every visit beforehand to Ayer’s Rock.

But that still didn’t stop the local constabulary from showing up in response to their arrival in town. Sheriff Jacobs, the keeper of the peace for Landing, stepped into the saloon with a couple of his deputies, who put together might just come within spitting distance of his age. All of them were armed, from the sheriff and his trust rifle to the pistols on the deputies’ belts.  Silence fell over the sparsely populated saloon in the mid-afternoon and stayed that way as Jacobs crossed the intervening space from door to table with his lackeys in tow.

“Sidda,” Jacobs drawled as he neared, staying just far enough to keep his rifle a viable threat.

“Sheriff Jacobs,” Sidda answered, then kicked out the one empty chair at the table for him. “Not causing any trouble as always. Just here to visit a couple of friends.”

Her reassurances hadn’t eased the tension in the deputies’ one iota. The people of Ayer’s Rock lived this decidedly ancient lifestyle, emulating the Ancient Wild West of pre-industrial Earth because they wanted to. They didn’t want the trappings of modern technology. So, anyone who just beamed into the middle of their largest city was instantly and likely irrevocably branded a troublemaker.

That and members of her crew were decidedly non-human on this human-dominated backwater. They were human enough not to cause immediate problems, but green skin or pointed ears branded them as outsiders.

“You know the rules,” Sheriff Jacobs continued. “You land your ship well outside of town and you walk in. We don’t want to see any of your fancy technology.”

“Well, I would have done that, if I had a ship to land,” she said in defence of her actions, earning a slight chuckle from R’tin and whispered ‘kaboom’ between him and Trid.

“Miss that ship,” Trid whispered in response.

“You don’t use that transporter thing to land yourself in the middle of my town,” Jacobs said, the drawl fading as impatience slipped into his voice.

“I’ll add it to the list of rules,” Sidda conceded, then jostled the empty chair with her foot again. “I wouldn’t mind having a friendly chat with you Sheriff, if you don’t mind.”

Jacobs just stared at her, then shook his head. “I ain’t got time for this Sidda. You want to talk to me, you come down to my office and make an appointment like everyone else.”

“Brett Gavalore,” she blurted out as he was turning away, deputies still watching her and hers with unblinking stares. “I know you know that name.”

“God dammit,” the sheriff cursed, his shoulders betraying his exasperation physically. He took a moment, then handed his rifle over to one of the deputies and to the other said, “Get me a drink would yah?”

“Make it a round for the table,” Sidda spoke up. “On me.”

“Really?” Orelia protested, then shrugged as Jacobs took the empty seat. “You know we could make a decent amount running real booze here,” she continued, with no regard for the local who just sat himself down.

“I’m not a man for fancy things,” Jacobs said, looking to Orelia with one every so slightly raised eyebrow, “but I might just take you up on that offer if you can bring in a decent whiskey.” He leaned towards her and spoke even softer than normal. “The Rankins haven’t been able to distil a decent spirit in two decades.”

As drinks arrived, set before all, thanks passed on to the deputy who retreated to a nearby table with his companion, all waited for Jacobs to take a sip of his drink. Which he drew out, barely sipping at the dark amber liquid before setting the glass down. “What does Brett Gavalore have to do with you?”

“We have business,” Sidda answered.

“What kind of business?”

“The kind where only one of us is going to be walking away,” she answered.

“Thought so,” Jacobs said, then went for his drink again. “He always said someone would come for him one day.” And with that he drained his glass, slamming the glass down. “Before I say anything further, you just someone’s hired gun, or this personal?”

“He killed a friend in front of me, then left me stranded to die in a space suit,” Sidda answered, working to restrain the anger in her voice. “You’re damn right this is personal.”

“Doesn’t sound like the man I know, but then again, he came to Ayer’s Rock to get away from his past.” Jacob contemplated the depths of his empty glass, pushing it gently on the table with one hand. “Three days ride by horse west by south-west of here. Stick to the riverbed through the Maze Valley and you’ll eventually come across his homestead.”

“Much appreciated.” Sidda sat forward, catching Jacobs’ gaze. “I mean it, I do appreciate it.”

“If you kill him,” Jacobs’ eyes were hard, adding to the steel within his words, “you never set foot on this world again. Am I understood young lady?”

“Perfectly,” she answered.

He held her eyes for a few more moments, then sighed as he slowly stood. “I’m getting too old for this gig anyway.” His gaze passed over those seated at the table. “Your fancy transporter won’t get you to his homestead. Something about those hills. You’ll want to see Sally Oakridge on the south side of town about hiring some horses. And some gear too.”

“Sally Oakridge, south of town,” Sidda echoed the salient points. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, just one other thing,” Jacobs drawled as he returned to his deputies, taking up his rifle once more. “Some other fella got here a few weeks ago, asking after Brett as well. Didn’t cause a fuss, left town a day later. Haven’t seen him since. Can confirm Brett is still ticking though.”

“Got a name?” Sidda asked and her crew were focused on the answer too.

“Aloysius Manfred,” Jacobs answered, then turned for the saloon doors. “Remember young lady, don’t cause any trouble in my town. And remember what I said about Brett. Don’t be surprised if he knows you’re coming either.”

“You going to tell him?” she asked.

“I don’t owe him anything anymore.” And with that the lawmen left, a few glares thrown by the deputies as they passed outside.

“So, Manfred is here,” R’tin finally said after a full minute’s silence. “Here, on Ayer’s Rock. Manfred the Killer. Manfred the Unstoppable. Manfred the Psychotic Paid Killer.”

“So?” Sidda asked without looking at R’tin, a hand waving to the bar for more drink.

“Oh, just stating the obvious,” R’tin continued. “Can I go back to the ship?”

“Nope,” Deidrick answered, speaking up for the first time since beaming down. “So boss,” he looked up at Sidda from his own drink. “What’s the plan?”

“Kill the monster, beat some answers out of the bad guy, go from there.”

“That’s a shit plan,” Orelia declared. “We need a new plan.”