"Welcome to Nowhere, stranger!"

 

He was an older man, that type they call 'spry', the very image of a village grocer. He sported a gleaming bald pate surrounded by a ring of flyaway wispy white hair. Half-moon spectacles rested on his lumpy nose, and around his neck were suspended apron, tape measure, and dangling keys. His shop fit him like a glove, with seemingly random bits of inventory suspended from the rafters and a pot-bellied Franklin stove radiating warmth from the corner.

 

This was remarkable because we were on Mars, and as best I could tell quite a distance from any customer base. I mentioned this incongruity to him. He nodded.

 

"Oh, yes, well, we do have our customers. Such as, perhaps, yourself, sir?"

 

I was really here for directions, but I saw an honest-to-goodness jar of pickled eggs on the counter. I love those things; haven't had one since my childhood on Earth. Not many hens in space. I bought two and a cold soda, then sat down in front of the stove.

 

"Electric, I take it?"

 

The storekeeper nodded. "Oxygen's too hard to come by to waste on an open fire. But a store's not a store without a stove to set around. Lord knows it's cold enough out there. Hee hee!"

 

It was a mild witticism, but he was laughing so I followed suit, to be polite. We chatted a bit about business — him more than me, since I was eating. Evidently, he kept his own chickens in the garden dome out back, and had nearly lost them in the last big dust storm. The eggs were delicious, and I decided to take a few for the road.

 

That led to my next question. "Where are we, exactly?" I asked. "You said Nowhere, but—"

 

"Heh! Yes I did, sonny. Nowhere, Mars, incorporated 2043, population three, back down to two once you head back out, and this here store is Mittel's. The Mittel of Nowhere, that's me! Hee hee!"

 

I chuckled politely, then told him my own business. "Rance Plugg's the name he used. Medium height, solid build, flat-top gone grey at the temples, bad scar over his left eye. Wears a patch. He's wanted by the Patrol, killed six men and a kid, botched robbery attempt. I'm here to bring him in."

 

Mittel recognized him from the description, said he'd last seen him two weeks ago. After a minute's thought, he allowed as how he might know where the man was living. He started to give directions, but they got kinda convoluted so I asked him to show me.

 

He led me to the counter and spread out a map. It was just a big X, two long straight lines that intersected in the center. A tiny box was labeled Mittel, and the top was clearly marked "Map of Nowhere". There was nothing else on the whole sheet.

 

I looked at him. He looked back, and evidently saw something unpleasant. He hurried to explain.

 

"I get them printed up for tourists. This way I can write on it, and you can take it with you." He met my eyes again, blinked rapidly, and muttered, "No charge."

 

I just have one of those faces.

 

Honest.

 

* * *

 

Four hours later, after an excessive number of twists, turns, and roundabouts, I eventually made it to the right place. It was a cheap settler's dome at the end of a deep arroyo, and I could see from my borrowed buggy that it had been deserted for some time. I got out for a closer look, but there wasn't much left to see.

 

After a few minutes, I sent back a quick question to Patrol H.Q. on Luna and an alert to our Mars office.

 

An hour later, I was back in the buggy, heading back to Mittel's. I had another question for him, though I already knew the answer.

 

* * *

 

It was past midnight by the time I returned, this time by a much shorter route — the direct one. Mittel was expecting me. He'd left the light on, and was sitting by the fire when I came through the airlock.

 

"Back for more pickled eggs, Mr. Craddock?" he asked, deadpan.

 

"You know why I'm here," I said, ignoring the mister and the fact he somehow knew my name. "That dome's cracked and full of sand. You said you saw him two weeks ago, but there hasn't been a big dust storm in these parts for six months. Why'd you lie?"

 

The old man half-smiled. "You tell me."

 

He wasn't scared any longer. When you've had plenty of time to prepare for the worst, there's nothing left to fear. Not that I planned to hurt him, or even arrest him. It's just easier to shake the truth out of someone who thinks you will. But Mittel didn't need shaking.

 

"I didn't notice at the time, but you said population three, and that it'd be two when I left. It's not a wife or kid, because you're the Mittel. So Rance was staying here with you. Old friend?"

 

The shopkeeper shook his head. "No, a new one. Gave me a hand when I needed it, that dust storm you mentioned. I figure there's good in everybody, so when he needed my help, I returned the favor." He held out his skinny wrists. "I'll come quiet."

 

I shook my head. "I don't hold what you did against you, Mittel. It's Plugg I can't let get away."

 

"Get away! Ha! What he's getting away with, I'd like to know. No money, no way out, you hot on his trail. No, he can't escape."

 

Maybe he did at that. Depends how you define "escape". Death by asphyxiation isn't kind. I suppose Plugg thought it was better than prison.

 

Mittel's still running his shop in Nowhere. Every chance I get, I stop in to pass the time of day, and get some pickled eggs. Best on Mars.