Northern Lights

we've built ourselves up from a settlement of boomers and hippies and badasses to a solid town. You'll get to know the people of that town, the relationships, the grudges and the connections. Then you'll know how to handle them."
    "Which brings me back. Why did you hire me? Why not somebody who knows all that already?"
    "Seems to me somebody who knew all that already might come into this job with an agenda of his or her own. Grudges, connections of his or her own. Bring somebody from Outside, they come in fresh. You're young; that weighed in your favor. You don't have a wife and children who might not take to the life here and pressure you to go back to the Lower 48. You've got over ten years experience with the police. You had the qualifications I was looking for—and you didn't haggle over the salary."
    "I see your point, but there's the other side. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
    "Mmm." She finished off her coffee. "You strike me as a bright young man. You'll figure it out. Now." She pushed to her feet. "I'm going to let you get started. Meeting's at two, Town Hall. You're going to want to say a few words."
    "Oh boy."
    "One more thing." She dug in her pocket, pulled out a box. "You'll need this." Opening it, she took out the silver star, then pinned it to his shirt. "See you at two, chief."
    He stood where he was, in the center of the room, contemplating his coffee as he heard the muted voices outside. He didn't know what he was doing—that was God's truth—so the best he could think of was to mark some sort of beginning and go from there.
    Hopp was right. He had no wife, no children. He had no one and nothing pulling him back to the Lower 48. To the world. If he was go ing to stay here, then he had to make good. If he blew this, this strange chance at the end of the universe, there was nowhere left to go. Nothing left to do.
    His stomach jittered with the same sort of queasy nerves he'd experienced on the plane as he carried his coffee out to the communal area.
    "Ah, if I could have a couple minutes."
    He wasn't sure where to stand, then realized he shouldn't be standing at all. He set down his coffee, then walked over to grab two of the plastic chairs. After carrying them over to the desks, he retrieved his coffee, worked up a smile for Peach.
    "Ms. Peach? Would you come on over and sit down?" And though the short stack was heavy in his belly, he boosted up the smile. "Maybe you could bring those cinnamon buns with you. They sure smell tempting."
    Obviously pleased, she brought over the plate and a stack of napkins. "You boys just help yourselves."
    "I gotta figure this is at least as awkward for all of you as it is for me," Nate began as he plopped a bun on a napkin. "You don't know me. Don't know what kind of cop I am, what kind of man I am. I'm not from around here, and I don't know a damn thing about this part of the world. And you're supposed to take orders from me. You're going to take orders from me," he corrected, and bit into the bun.
    "This is pure sin, Ms. Peach."
    "It's the lard that does it."
    "I bet." He envisioned every one of his arteries slamming shut. "It's hard to take orders from somebody you don't know, don't trust. You've got no reason to trust me. Yet. I'm going to make mistakes. I don't mind you pointing them out to me, as long as you point them out in private. I'm also going to rely on you, all of you, to bring me up to speed. Things I should know, people I should know. But for right now, I'm going to ask if any of you have a problem with me. Let's get it out in the open now, deal with it."
    Otto took a slurp of his coffee. "I don't know if I've got a problem until I see what you're made of."
    "Fair enough. You find you've got one, you tell me. Maybe I'll see it your way, maybe I'll tell you to go to hell. But we'll know where we stand."
    "Chief Burke?"
    Nate looked over at Peter. "It's Nate. I hope to God you people aren't going to take a page from Mayor Hopp and call me Ignatious all the damn time."
    "Well, I was thinking that maybe at first me or Otto should go with you on calls, and on patrol. Until you get to know your way around."
    "That's a good idea. Ms. Peach and I'll start working out a shift schedule, week by week."
    "You can start calling me Peach now. I'd just like to say I expect this place to stay clean, and that chores—which includes scrubbing the bathroom, Otto—get put on the schedule like everything else. Mops and buckets and brooms aren't tools just for