This is a little tale that came to me complete in a fever dream. I almost forgot it since I really didn’t feel like writing it down at the time, since I was sick and all. But I remembered most of it once I got all better and here it is. Most of it anyway. There was a talking penguin named Emil that was really a bookie (unless he was a robot) in there somewhere, but I couldn’t figure out where he should go. It’s really a pity since as I remember it the penguin was the best part. I think he could dance too. Cherri Maraschino had her own bit too, but you really wouldn’t be interested in that anyway. Unless you would. Oh well, your loss. But now…
The rest of the story…
Fue cito, vade longe, redetarde.
It made sense during the Black Death, it makes sense today. Especially when your whole hab is coming down with some new improved ick. It seemed the best course of action was to load up Bettie and get the heck outta Dodge. Only I should have ramped back on the whole “flee quickly” thing and read the Guide before I hit Open Space. It might have saved me being exposed to Local Color. Unless that’s a Good Thing, the Local Color exposure.
I found myself in the rock ringed “bowl” (an all-natural formation) of the Sukey Spaceyard (one of the three landing zones on the planet and the only one not completely mechanized) on the delightful garden spot of Burroughs (named for Randall Burroughs captain of the Survey Ship that first mapped the planet and the owner of the first brothel in local space). The locals lovingly refer to it as “a backwater dirtball” but it’s nearly twice as nice as they make it sound. After you set down and get all the way through Customs (that would be Doreen, she’s real nice) your choices are:
A) check in to your hotel (the Emperor’s Arms- the best hotel on the planet) and then find a bar (Smitty’s - as The Emperor’s Arms is to “hotel”, Smitty’s is to “bar”)
or
2. Go to Smitty’s (try the Cranberry Zinger!) until you can’t drink any more and then go to The Arms. (The Arms has the Guide Free In Each Room, giving you ample opportunity to read up on everything about Burroughs and Sukey giving you a certain omniscience when you Tell All Your Friends. There are two pages. Two whole pages. With pictures.)
Personally I suggest Option A since that way you won’t have to keep an eye on your drop bag. It was while at Smitty’s that the Local Color exposed itself to me. It’s just that kind of bar.
It was a late afternoon like any other (as far as I know), the locals were drinking and playing cards and stuff while we tourists (I think there were as many as three of us) were trying the Cranberry Zinger when he came in. A raw boned Kid straight off the High Plains, still with the dust on his long coat and wide hat. You know exactly what he looked like. It’s like they were shooting a Horse Opera and called down to Central Casting. He looked like that Kid would. Anyway, he comes clomping in to the bar and in his manliest voice calls out:
“I’m looking for the man who shot my Pa!”
No, he didn’t. But he could have. What he really called out was:
“I’m looking for Henry Bonita!”
An older guy at the bar, yeah you could go so far as to call him “grizzled” and no one would stop you, without even looking up from his beer tells him, quite politely, “He heard you were gunnin’ for him so he lit out of town.”
To his credit, the Kid didn’t kick at the dust. Then he had an idea. “Heeeey mister, you’re Henry Bonita!”
“Oh good,” muttered Henry, just loud enough for the entire bar to hear. “A smart one.”
Now the Kid was all encouraged. He knew his next line cold. “They say you’re fast mister. I am too.”
'Well you won’t be getting many dates if you brag about it."
“No! I mean I’m fast with a gun!”
“That’s nice.”
“And I say I’m faster than you.”
“OK.”
“And I aim to prove it.”
“Of course you do. And of course to prove it, we’ll have to go out into the street and have ourselves a good old fashioned shoot-out!”
“Yeah!” the Kid was could see he had it all figured out right after all and it was all going the way he thought it should.
“Well I ain’t gonna.”
“OK, I’ll meet you… WHAT? You have to meet me out front for a shoot-out! It’s the Way Things Are Done! Ya gotta!”
“Nope.”
“It’s 'cause yer yella!” This wasn’t good, the Kid starting in with the Authentic Local Speech Patterns. Authentic Local Speech Patterns he didn’t have when we walked into the bar. He should have just tried the Cranberry Zinger.
“Yup,” agreed Henry, “I’m yella.”
“All right then, we’ll just take… YOU’RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT!”
“So how am I supposed to do it?”
“You’re supposed to accept my challenge and fight me in the street and we see who’s better with their gun. Like men!”
“That’s the way it’s gotta be?”
“Yeah! It is!”
“OK kid, if that’s the way it’s gotta be.” And the two of them when out to the street for a gunfight! A real gunfight!
At least the kid when out to the street to have a gunfight. I’m not sure exactly what Henry had in mind. I almost got up to watch, I mean how often do you get to see a real live gunfight? But then I thought better of it. The bartender turned on the vid monitors over the bar and he must have had pick-ups out front because we could see everything from our tables. We even got fresh Cranberry Zingers. (Brought to us by our lovely waitress Cherri Maraschino. I wish I was making that up.)
“Now how’s this all supposed to go kid?” asked Henry from the monitor.
“We stand back to back and then pace off twelve steps…”
“Wait. Is that twelve steps or twelve paces? 'Cause you know, a pace is two steps, left then right then it’s a pace, but a step is just one step. I wouldn’t want to get this wrong.”
“Twelve paces. Left then right, is one pace. Twelve of them. Then we turn around and shoot the slower guy.”
“Do we call out our paces? I wouldn’t want to pace slow.”
“Yeah, I’ll call out the paces so it’s all sportin’.”
“And we go now?”
“Yeah. Go!.. One pace! Two paces!..”
Only while the Kid was pacing down the street, Henry came scarpering back into the bar. He was standing by the door when the Kid reached “twelve” a swung around almost too fast to see and quick drew fast as thought and put a bullet ( a real kinetic slug bullet!) into the dust all of three feet in front of him. Then he just stood there real still and closed his eyes. He kept his eyes closed right up until Henry yelled at him from the doorway.
“Hey kid! I ain’t got no gun! NOBODY carries a gun around here! We! Don’t! Have! SHOOT-OUTS!” And he punched the storm shutters closed, locking out the armed lunatic. Which was a good thing since right about then bullets started whanging off the shutters as the Kid vented his rage on the door. With a projectile weapon. Have I mentioned Local Color and how I’m not too partial to it?
The Kid stood in the middle of the street shooting at the door until his gun was empty. That’s when someone came up behind him and dropped him with a stunner. I figure when he woke up he’d either be in jail or fitted with a wrap-around sportcoat with the convenient crotch-buckles. Maybe both. It seems the big industry on Burroughs is vemmix ranching for the exotic meat and fur trade. As mentally stimulating as watching 45 pound gen-commed hamsters eating, pooping and trying to rut, it frankly amazing ALL the ranchers don’t come flooding out of the Plains trying to shoot people. You know, just for a little variety.
After that much fun I retired to the Arms of the Emperor and found out just what makes it “the best hotel on the planet”. Non-lumpy beds. That’s pretty much what they have. Non-lumpy beds and no competition.
Since in the course of twenty seven hours I completely exhausted the fun potential of the entire planet, I felt it best to bid adieu to the fine town of Sukey, and by extension, the entire planet of Burroughs. I had merely covered the “flee quickly” and “go far” aspects of my original itinerary, I thought I’d spend a little time in Faraway Orbital. You know, just to cover the “return much later” thing. And to get the taste of Cranberry Zingers out of my mouth. And the really fun part of Faraway Orbital is the Holographic Mimes they let wander the corridors. You can shoot them for points (with special non-lethal pistiollas) and no one’s going to stun you for it. That was nice.
-Rue.
