Think
Good Thoughts
Think Before Squandering Your Franchise
Rant :: Rave :: Write :: It's All Good
Rant :: Rave :: Write :: It's All Good
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RSS 1.0 feed Too Much of a Boy for that Gun
in Fiction
written by Playmaker on 11/12/2009
This is one of the first short stories that I wrote. It isn't very good, so attempts to get it published have failed. I still think that it is kind of a clever story, even though most SF magazine publishers don't. So, have fun, and be sure to leave a review.
"What did you think I'd be like," the Man in the Odd Hat said.
"I don't know," the boy said. "Perhaps something more --"
"More what?" the man interrupted. He punctuated his challenge with a spit of tobacco that missed the spittoon and scattered across the hard metal floor. "Answer, boy!" the man growled.
"I thought," the boy said timidly, "that you'd be on the ripe side -- but strongish. Even with a certain nobility that ya cannot put your finger on."
"Is that really what you thought?" the man said with a snicker. "Nobility? Good word."
"Yes sir, I did," the boy said. "But now I'd say that you are not much more than a drunkard."
The Man in the Odd Hat did not look up from the bar, but before the boy could even swallow, pulled the compression pistol out of its shoulder holster with a quick and steady hand and pointed it merely inches away from the boy's forehead.
"Not drunk, boy," the man snarled. "I am sober enough to cause this weapon to make your life a tad on the short side."
The boy stood his ground, but his knees trembled. "It doesn't take much of a man to point their hid-pistol into the face of a boy my age," he said shakily, swallowing hard. "I was hoping, on the other hand, that you were somewhat of a brave sort who would consider something more challenging than scaring boys with a half used up, first generation compression pistol."
"Is that what you thought?" the man said without looking up or changing the position of his weapon.
"That is my opinion, sir," the boy said, standing firm against the threat.
The two did not move for more than a minute while patrons grew quiet, watching. The man didn't waiver until he finally turned toward the boy, with his weapon still raised, and looked past his hat into the boy's eyes.
"You seem to have a lot of spine," the Man in the Odd Hat said.
"That is a credit to my mother," the boy said, realizing that the man was not going to kill him. "Being raised on the outer moons tends to makes a man strong; them rocks have little tolerance for weakness."
"Arrhh." He spat again. "You're just a boy with a lot to learn," the man said, holstering his pistol and turning his back to the boy. "You're a long way from home, son. I suggest that you catch the next transport out of here and go back to your dirt farm."
"Ain't one acre left out there that I own," the boy said, sitting in the stool next to much older man. "I need your help to get it back."
"I don't do any work for moon ranchers," the man said, finishing his drink. "Your kind is way to poor to afford the likes of me."
"Oh, I have money. You needn't worry about that."
"Really?" the Man in the Odd Hat said, looking over at the boy. "Then here's a way of thinkin': why don't you just buy another ranch, find a bride out of the wedding circular like everyone else and make some fat babies on a rock somewhere."
"Because of the principle of it," the boy said. "Seems these days are lacking in a steady supply of principle. Likewise, I mean to make an accounting for the men what took what was rightfully mine."
"Boy," the man said, "you are really very far from home. Besides, what makes you think that I have any of your precious principles?"
"I don't suffer from that illusion," the boy said. "But I have made several inquiries of late, and most have said that you are drunk and boisterous, that you hold with unseemly folks and that you spend far too much time with unvirtuous women. But everyone, to a man -- them aboard this station that I have asked for an opinion -- said that if there were vengeance to be had against some outlawish folk, you would certainly be the one that could settle it. And sir, I have a pile of vengeance to extract. I do not mind spending a great deal of money, but if you do not have the bile for this type of endeavor, then there's many here, aboard, who'd be happy to accommodate me." The boy started to get up from the stool but the Man in the Odd Hat grabbed him by the arm.
"Now just you wait, son," the man said, summoning a painful smile. "Nobody ever said that I wasn't going to help you none. But you just got break out the deal slowly. You can't just expect a man to follow you without knowing the details."
The boy yanked his arm away. "Maybe I haven't said enough for you to make a decent decision." The boy then pulled out a small pistol out of his coat and shoved it into the man's ribs. From between an angry set of teeth he growled, "But if you ever lay hands on me again I will send you to your grave earlier then god intended."
With a flick of his elbow and a quick left hand the Man in the Odd Hat easily disarmed the boy. "Where did you get this little lizard-popper?" the man asked, toying with the little gun.
"It was my father's," the boy yelled. "And I would take kindly to you giving it back to me this very moment."
"I'll not be doing that so soon," the man said. "It's not much of a gun, but it'll still put a hole in a man. Ruin his day." He popped the gun in half and removed a crystal from the grip. The weapon gave a hiss and went dead. "There. Now it is safe for a boy your size to carry," he said, and returned the two halves to the boy.
"I'll thank you to return the crystal, sir."
"I will not," the Man in the Odd Hat said. "Have you ever shot a weapon, farmer boy?"
"I have plenty," the boy said angrily. "Please don't make me exorcize my anger on you. I insist that you make my father's weapon whole again!"
"I will not," the man said. "I have no fear from your anger, child. However, I am certain that if left to your own devices you would certainly injure yourself."
The boy began to turn red with anger. He was clearly outmatched by the older, more experienced man. He got up from his stool, but as he turned as if to walk out he spun clumsily and attempted to throw the stool at the Man in the Odd Hat. The man seemed to not be surprised at all and easily ducked his head to avoid the blow. The stool fell harmlessly to the floor with a loud crash. The bartender, who had been trying to ignore their entire conversation, came down to where the Man in the Odd Hat was sitting.
"Are you wrecking my bar for a particular reason?" the bartender said, his teeth clenched in anger.
"This gentleman has stolen a valuable object that once belonged to my departed dad," the boy said. "I'm attempting to convince him to return my property."
"You are attempting to get your ass thrown out of my bar!"
"Ain't so," The boy pleaded. "I don't want to bother you or your patrons in any way. However, this brute, despite my small stature and lack of experience, has taken advantage of me and stolen something of mine. I wish my property restored."
"What!" the bartender said angrily. "What could you possibly took that could turn this dirt farmer into a bar-wrecking blowhard?"
The man didn't say a word or look up. He just held up the crystal between finger and thumb, showing it to the bartender.
"Son, is that what he stole from you? This power cell?" the bartender asked with disbelief. "You are far too young to hold a weapon of any kind." He turned to the Man in the Odd Hat and said, "You best keep it until this lad's growed up a bit."
"I am seventeen!" the boy yelled.
"And are acting half that!" the bartender said amid laughs and cackles from the other patrons.
"I'll report you to the police, " the boy said to the Man in the Odd Hat. Then he turned to the bartender and growled, "You are aiding and abetting -- I know my rights!" The boy stormed towards the sliding doors of the bar, which opened with a hiss. It opened out onto the long promenade of the space station. There were hundreds of people, milling about or going to shops. The boy grabbed a passerby, making sure he was within earshot of the Man in the Odd Hat and the bartender.
"Where can I find the nearest police kiosk?" the boy asked the tourist. The man fearfully pointed up the promenade and the boy walked off in that direction, allowing the doors to shut behind him.
"I do believe that that boy means to get the police in here," the bartender said.
"Seriously?" the man asked rhetorically.
"I do. And dare I say that that would be a bad idea for you, and for me as well," the bartender said.
The Man in the Odd Hat looked toward the door. "Seriously. Have you ever seen a person with as much to prove?"
"You better go after him," the bartender said, deliberately not answering the man's question.
"Me! Why me?" the man asked. "It's your bar."
"Yeah. But I don't have any outstanding warrants," the bartender said smugly. "I reckon the same could not be said of you."
"Fine," the Man in the Odd Hat said, "but when I return, you owe me at least one drink."
"Your tab is already three weeks late, " the bartender complained, as he glared forcefully at the man. "OK, I'll remove one drink from your tab, now go!"
"Make it two."
"Damn, you are a fussy man with a bad habit."
"Two."
"Fine, go and get the boy!"
The man ran out onto the promenade, following the direction the boy had gone. The station was crowded, even for the tourist season. Would-be space adventurers came to this station to feel like they were in a rough border town. It gave them a chance to get out of their offices and to rub elbows with the unwashed: the farmers and workers. They even tried to dress up as locals, to make the visit more real, but it didn't work. Anyone who had spent real time out here could tell a tourist from a miner or farmer, and it wasn't hard for find the boy. He was standing in front of two Federal Rangers pointing right at the Man in the Odd Hat. They started to walk his way, but the man, thinking fast, ran towards the group.
"There you are, you little bit of nothing!" he exclaimed as he grabbed the boy and gave him a big hug. "Thank you so much for finding my son. I have been looking for him for hours, ever since we came out of stasis. He ran off: a reaction to the medication. I was worried sick."
"Stasis will do that," one of the rangers said.
"That is true. Some people just don't take to it." He leaned in toward the tall Ranger, cupped his hand over his mouth and said, "This would have been easier with his mother around. She's only been dead two weeks and the boy and I are still getting our feet."
"Thought you said you just came out of stasis," the tall Ranger said.
"Shore I did," the man said. "She died in stasis, son. The boy went to sleep and four months later woked up a motherless child. Awful."
"That is awful," the ranger said.
"But we'll get by. It's our way," the man said solemnly.
"He's lying!" the boy protested. "He's not my father!"
The Man in the Odd Hat gave a knowing look to the shorter ranger, who gave him a knowing look back. "Come along son," the man said. "We have got to find you a doc."
"I'm not going anywhere with you!" the boy yelled. The rangers looked nervous.
"I beg to differ with you on that point," the man said, touching the spot under his arm where he concealed his compression pistol in a way that only the boy could see. "Now, son. This is all just a dream -- a reaction to medication." But the boy dragged his heels and out of frustration, the man said angrily, "If you don't get moving, I will, as sure as I am alive, beat you with the belt of my britches." The rangers looked even more nervous.
The boy looked at the rangers for help, but it was clear from their expression that they believed the Man in the Odd Hat.
"Listen now son," the man said with a new found kindness. "Remember what you were saying a few minutes ago about wanting me to get you a treat? Why don't you come with me and we can talk about it."
The boy's shoulders drooped in despair and cast his gaze to the floor, defeated. Through the glass floor of the promenade he could see all the levels of the space station below him, a vast, seemingly endless vertical tunnel of humanity and commerce. He suddenly felt powerless, meaningless, as if vengeance were the only nourishment that could sustain him, lost in a sea of human life. He relented and went with the man, back to the bar.
The two returned to the bar and sat across from each other at a well-worn steel table; the man seemed somewhat kinder.
"So let's talk about the money, son?" the man said greedily. He waived his hand in the air to get the bartender's attention. They acknowledged each other, which was all the kindness the bartender was capable of showing, and although the Man in the Odd Hat appeared to be trying very hard, it was all the kindness he had too.
"I had some bonds that my mom had that I converted and some money from the sale of my steer," the boy proclaimed. He pulled out a touch pad, and clicked it until it showed a bank balance. He turned the panel toward the Man in the Odd Hat and gave him a self-satisfied smile.
"That's quite a nice little nest egg," the man said, astonished.
"I'll not give you all if it," the boy said, whisking away his pad. He started to say something but the man cut him off.
"Seems like I am in the position to be setting the price," the man said.
"Seems like I am the one with the fat account," the boy said. "I have been thoroughly disappointed by your performance so far -- pointing a weapon at me for no reason a'tall, stealing my father's gun, obstructing justice, lying to federal officers -- I don't think that you are in a position to be making demands on me. I could walk away from this table right now with my fat account intact."
"True --" the man said.
"Never were words truer," the boy said. His eyes became slits. "Seems I am the one holding all the cards, sir."
"Just tell me more about the job then we can trade offers," the man said, swallowing his distaste for the young boy.
"That seems reasonable," the boy said after some thought.
"Fine."
"Yes."
"Go on."
"Yes."
"Look son," the man said, "you going to parade around the facts, or are you going to lay them all out where I can see them?"
"Trying to decide where to start," the boy said, thoughtfully.
"Start anywhere. But please be kind and start."
"I was very young --" he started, but was interrupted by the Man in the Odd Hat.
"Still are," he said.
"Sir, it is duly unkind to interrupt me while I'm trying to explain your role in my vengeance," the boy said gruffly.
"I am sorry," the man said with an annoyed smile. "Please proceed."
"As I was saying," the boy said, glaring at the man. "I was young -- not even walking on both feet, when my father was killed, so I really don't remember him. We were living in a small town -- maybe you know it -- Einstein was its name."
"I have been there many times. It's a landing town. A passing point to the outer moons. Not too many private farms there."
"Right. It is a hard, crusty place, no soil to speak of, just the rocks and sand."
"You owned a farm there?" the man asked.
"My parents owned the farm. They called it a farm, as we had a few skinny chickens and a milk cow. But it was more of a mine than a farm, whereas the only thing it produced worth selling was water."
"Ice farmers," the man said with disgust. He spat again, not caring that the spittoon was way over by the bar. He wiped a thin line of brownish red spittle off his chin whiskers. "There are few men lower to the ground than those who mine water and sell it to those of us who need it."
"It is a time-honored profession, sir."
"So's whoring, but them that takes part in it is disgusting too," the man said, becoming enraged.
"I suppose that your profession is a considerable bit more honorable than turning underground ice into water for them that needs it?" the boy said adamantly. "Is that what you mean?"
"Not necessarily," the man said, "but see, what I do is elective for my clients: they don't absolutely need my services to survive, and besides, they can pay. But water's a different matter. Ice farmers take advantage of a basic need of a man and tell 'em to pay or die. This, I find quite distasteful."
"Ice farming is necessary for the furtherance of our people," the boy said. "Without water humans die -- but I'll not argue about points. Let's just say that we are both keenfully aware of the contempt we hold for each other's profession," the boy said. "This doesn't change the fact that I have been wronged."
"No wonders you have such a large bank account," the man said, still disgusted.
The boy started to get up from the table, cursing under his breath and said, "I can see that you do not want any part of this. I'm going to leave."
"Wait, wait, wait," the man said. "True I got no use for ice farmers, but you said yourself that it don't change the fact that you've been wronged."
"There are some who do take advantage of the lack of water on those rocks, but my family ain't one of those."
"Fine," the man said becoming exasperated. "You say you were an honest ice farmer -- that’s good enough for me."
"I hope so. I have just about had my fill of you, old man," the boy said. He returned to his chair and said, "Shall I continue?"
"Yes," the man said, clearly trying to swallow his contempt for the boy.
"So, you have been to the town of Einstein?" the boy asked
"Have we already established that?"
"Yes. Well if you have been there -- "
"And I have."
"Yes, yes -- In the center of town is a bar called Kelly's. You know the place?" the boy asked.
"Sure," the man said, sliding his odd hat back on his head. "I have had many a good time there. Lots of fights, as I recall."
"Lots. Nye every night," boy said.
"Right," the man said fondly. "It was a place where you could shake off your stasis jitters. Get in your right mind."
"Comin' in and out of stasis is very mean to a body, so they say," the boy said.
"When you're on one of the mining runs, you only work three months. The rest of the time is spent lying on your back, asleep. So a five-year stint only seems like a year," the man said then let his mind wander. "A man shouldn't notice his old age comin' on in such a way, but on those runs, you get scared of what face is going to greet you each time you wake. It is towns like Einstein that can make you tolerate your run."
"Bars like Kelly's?" the boy asked.
"That's the truth," the man said. "Haven't been back there in fifteen years." He looked wistful, and stared up into the dingy ceiling trying to search his memory. Then his eyes narrowed and he shot a look past his hat at the boy. "You certainly did not spend time at Kelly's Bar, boy, he said. "What's your connection?"
"I was about to say, before you got all reminiscent," the boy said, but he stopped for a moment to think. "It's just a place. Somewhere's most people know about as a point of reference. That's all."
"That's all?"
The boy avoided the man's burning gaze and said, "My mom got none of the farm when my dad died. She tried to explain once, but I didn't quite understand."
"That's easy," the man volunteered. "Them's old timers in Einstein, and their rules come from a time long past -- Christians, I think they call it. Anyhow, one of those rules is that --"
The boy cut him off, and said, "Women can't own property. I remember now. That's what she said."
The Man in the Odd Hat looked puzzled. "What is it you want, boy?" he said cautiously, slowly slipping his hand under his coat where he could feel the cold, bone handle of his weapon. "You don't want me for a job, do you?"
"Sir? Of course I do," the boy protested.
"See, I done a con or two, and I have been conned more than I care to mention," the man said. "I can smell a con."
"I don't know what you are talking about, sir, " the boy said.
"I know," the man said drawing out his gun and placing it on the table. "Let me tell you a story."
"I am hardly done with mine," the boy said nervously.
"No? But let me tell mine and let me see if it makes yours a little better," the man said. "See, I went to Kelly's one cold night," he said, watching the boy very carefully. "It was one of those nights that the snow was blowing hard and you would freeze to death without a suit. Tioga Moon: the nights were six days long -- cold; nasty."
"I know," the boy said.
"I muscled my way into the bar and got out of my suit," the man continued. "Next to the bar was a peasant -- a farmer as stupid as they come. Said that he was trying to go home but that his suit had torn. So I sold him my suit."
"Not much of a story," the boy said.
"No -- 'cept for the farmer there -- that was your dad. Am I right?" the man said.
The boy started to stammer and became very uneasy.
"Let me see if I got your story right," the man said, very self-assured. "Your pa froze that night, and you blame me. You think that I killed him. So when you got a few hairs on your chest and your momma was too old to stop you anymore, you figured you'd come up here and make a play for me -- exorcise some vengeance on my person, as you put it. You packed up your little lizard popper, caught the first transport off Tioga, and found me here, drinking beer."
The boy slumped in his seat. He didn't know what to say, but it was clear that he had been discovered. The Man in the Odd Hat had got the better of him yet again.
Finally, after trying to find the words, the boy said, "One of the facts that you left out of your story -- my dad -- well -- he wasn't wearing your suit when they found him froze in the ice. He was wearing his own."
The man fingered his gun deliberately so the boy could see. "Not my fault that your dad was too simple-minded to tell the difference," the man said.
"You sold him his own suit, sir," the boy said accusingly. "You knew he would die in it. You knew it was torn, and he died in it tryin' to get home to my momma."
"So what now," the man said. "You going to try to kill me?"
"That had crossed my mind," the boy said nervously.
The man took out the power crystal he had taken from the boy. He held it up into the light, and then slid it across the table to the boy. "I guess you'll be needing this," the man said. "That is if you are still planning to kill me."
The boy withdrew the two halves of his small pistol and started to put it together under the table, where the man could not see. "Oh no, you don't," the man said. "If you are going to kill a man in cold blood, you best let him see it comin'"
The boy placed the three pieces of his weapon on the table. His hands were shaking but he managed to slip the crystal into the grip and the gun made a faint whirring sound as he popped the barrel into place.
The man clicked the power lever on his weapon with his thumb, and it too came to life.
"You sure you know how to use that thing," the man said. "See, if you don't and you miss, then that's the moment when you and your pa are gonna be reunited. It'll not trouble me in the slightest to make sure your family gets back together in the everlasting. Does a mind proper to think about doing a good deed, fact is."
The boy stared down at the small pistol in his quaking hands. "Suppose I decided to not kill you," he said, deliberately not looking at the man.
"Suppose."
"Would you still shoot me?"
"Depends," the man said. "See, I have about lost all my patience with you by now, and it really depends on how fast you make that decision."
The boy did not speak; he placed his weapon on the table and raised his hands. Then he got up from his chair. "Just let me leave," he said after stand at the table for a moment.
"You can leave," the man said. "I hope I never cross paths with you again. Elsewize you and I are going to settle this dispute." The boy nodded in agreement. "Good," the man said, and he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "Now I hope you take your money and buy a big farm somewhere. Go."
The boy took a step back from the table and turned to walk out. In an instant he spun back. He slapped at his fathers gun he had left on the table and it fired, quietly and suddenly, still lying flat. The charge struck The Man in the Odd Hat's weapon, and sent it flying across the room, clattering across the floor. The boy picked up his gun, slowly and returned to his chair, the barrel of the small pistol pointed directly at the man's forehead.
"I came here with the intention of watching you die, friend," the boy said. "Now I may not be big on skill, but I am full of tenacity."
"What now, boy," the man said. "You have the upper hand."
The boy couldn't decide. He had been on this road so long, and now that he was about to finish his mission, he was not sure that he wanted to. The Man in the Odd Hat, however, did not tremble. He had obviously looked down the barrel of a weapon more than once in his life.
"Boy, you are attracting attention. I suggest that you do something," the man said, and he spit one more time.
The boy watched him wipe the brown spittle off his chin. The man disgusted him. He was nothing more that a blemish on all that is human and worthwhile. But still, he could not muster the courage to pull the trigger. Had he come all this way for vengeance, only to be stopped cold by cowardice? No. He knew what he needed to do.
He closed his eyes and fired his weapon. The compression wave quietly marked the man's forehead with a small red hole, smaller than a pencil. Inside his skull, however, his brain was boiled like lobster in a pot. The man stood straight up, seizing stiff like a board, then slumped across the table, his hat never leaving his head. By the time the bartender got to the table, the boy was gone
. Outside on the promenade, the boy walked swiftly through the crowd, his bones shaking with adrenaline, his hands quivering. He was spinning, not being able to concentrate, just following his instinct to run. He hadn't planned this part -- he had been so preoccupied with the killing he hadn't thought about his escape. Maybe the Man in the Odd Hat had been right. Maybe he was too much of a boy for this kind task.
He stopped for just a second to breathe, and in that sea of tourists on the promenade not a single person noticed him. He was invisible. That was the moment at which he remembered the Rangers. He would certainly not be invisible to them, and he had been moving directly toward their kiosk.
He should have panicked. The boy should have crumpled into a self-destructive ball of uncertainty and rash behavior. Inexperience should have made him an easy target for arrest. But the boy snapped, as if his mind overloaded, and he became calm and focused. He became plotting and the Rangers were suddenly part of a game, a puzzle, a problem to be solved. The guilt of his crime vanished to be replaced with a deep clarity of thought and it was intoxicating.
Within seconds, he had decided on his next steps and had a plan for evasion. He quickly walked into a nearby shop: a clothier for the tourist trade. He easily found new clothes that were, of course, meant to make him look a local, including a wide-brimmed hat. He knew every step, even before he'd finished the last: how to dispose of his old clothes, where to hide his weapon and so on. It was almost as if he had rehearsed his crime. And when he passed the Ranger kiosk, hiding his face behind his hat, without being noticed, he had to swallow a sly laugh.
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