The Sheriff of Yrnameer

Meet Cole: hapless space rogue, part-time smuggler, on a path to being full-time dead. His sidekick just stole his girlfriend. The galaxy's most hideous and feared bounty hunter wants to lay eggs in his brain. And the luxury space yacht Cole just hijacked turns out of be filled with interstellar do-gooders, one especially loathsome stowaway, and a cargo of freeze-dried orphans. Reluctantly compelled to deliver these defenseless, fluidless children to safety, Cole gathers a misfit crew for a desperate journey to the far reaches of the galaxy. Their destination: the mysterious world of Yrnameer, the very last of the your-name-heresplanets without corporate sponsors. But little does Cole know that this legendary utopia is home to a murderous band of outlaws bent on destroying the planet's tiny, peaceful community. Follow Cole's adventures through a delightfully absurd science-fiction universe, where the artificial intelligence is stupid, dust motes carry branding messages, and middle-management zombies have overrun a corporate training satellite. In the spirit of Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett,The Sheriff of Yrnameeris sci-fi comedy at its bestmordant, raucously funny, and a thrilling page-turner.

MICHAEL RUBENS is a television writer and producer whose credits include Oxygen, the Travel Channel, CNN, and Comedy Central’s The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, where he was a field producer. This is his first novel. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.


From the Hardcover edition.

A very different planet.

Cole, in the most dignified, reasonable tone that he could muster, said, “Kenneth, seriously, you don’t want to lay your eggs in my brain.”

Kenneth, who was dangling Cole upside down by one leg, said, “Stop squirming, Cole. You’re making this very difficult.”

Kenneth had a truly wonderful voice—cultured, warm, soothing.

“I don’t mean to be a scold, Cole,” he said in that voice, “but you shouldn’t gamble if you can’t pay your debts.”

“Kenneth, I can’t even begin to tell you how well I’ve learned that lesson,” said Cole. “In fact, I—whoa! Is that your ovipositor?!”

“Mm-hmm. Oh, come now—you don’t have to make faces.”

“No, no, it looks fantastic—have you had work done?”

“Nope. Just clean living. Hold still, please.”

Kenneth’s voice did not match his appearance.

His appearance, while not precisely defying description, did manage to challenge it mightily. A casual observer would quickly note an overall design direction that leaned heavily on marineinspired elements—tentacles, claws, tentacles with claws; a fin here and there, hints of bioluminescence; plus an overall squishi- and squidginess. Added to the mix were subtle insectoid influences: boldly colored patches of exoskeleton; clumps of coarse, rigid hair.
And eyes. Many, many eyes.

Kenneth did, however, have a really sensational voice.

“You’ve got a really sensational voice,” said Cole.

“You’re too kind.”

Cole was in no way a casual observer. He was at the moment an exceedingly up-close and upside-down observer, face-to-face—or face-to-whatever—with Kenneth’s complex mouthparts and impressive array of eyeballs, swaying on their lengthy stalks.

Cole could see his own reflection in dozens of their shiny black surfaces.Hisoverall design direction placed him squarely in the human category. His flight jacket was hanging around his ears, providing a backdrop for his dark hair and a face that rated a solid eight on the official Handsome Scale. Right now, however, his face merited about a 4.5, distorted as it was from gravity pulling it in the wrong direction, and from sheer terror.

The most immediate cause of that terror was Kenneth’s ovipositor, hovering just at the edge of Cole’s peripheral vision, the hairy appendage ready to posit Kenneth’s ovi where Cole very much did not want them posited.

“You know, Kenneth, have you ever considered doing any VO work? I could probably put you in touch with some people,” offered Cole.

“You remember the Xhat’s campaign? ‘Xhat’s Poog Sticks—’ ”

“ ‘—the poogiest sticks of all,’ ” finished Cole. “Of course! Ilovethat one! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it!”

“Really? That’s very gratifying to hear,” said Kenneth. “Anyhoo, where were we. Oh, right. My brood.”

“Kenneth, stop! I can get Karg’s money!”

“That’s what you told me on InVestCo Four, and InVestCo Seven, and FunWorld World.”

“No! I mean, yes! But this time I mean it—I can get it. Iamgetting it!” Cole gestured up, or rather down, at the assortment of coins and bills that lay strewn on the pavement of the alley.

A few of Kenneth’s eyeballs lazily extended down on their eyestalks to examine the money.

“Wow. Four point three-seven percent of what you owe. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

They were alone in the alley. Just a few kilometers away were the towering buildings and broad, ordered street

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Excerpted from The Sheriff of Yrnameer by Michael Rubens
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.