The suited figure that approached the airlock at Robinson Base could only be one man. Somehow, the stetson perched jauntily on the helmet never looked out of place on him. When the kids played outside, they always just looked silly, but him? How he got his powder to strike at 280 Kelvin in 10 millibars of CO2 remained a mystery.
“Call the governator’s office, Max. I’d best go out to meet him.” The stocky sheriff stood and left the rows of screens of the base’s security office.
“You’re gonna let him in?”
“Not much choice. He could shoot a hole or two in the dome, and I’ve heard stories.”
“Big ten, Zark.”
Sheriff Zark stood just inside the inner entry port. Somehow, the stetson remained even after the helmet was gone. “Why are you here, John?”
“A man ought to do what he thinks is right”