by Anthology
He wore the fin forgot how many missions by now (sprickled skin said a lot a lot) Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie had been out too but last night in Leto, last night N’Alaside, who wants to squeeze it out boning for suckerbucks eh? Mean, what goodr bucks on a hotter in deep? *T*h*e*r*e a*r*e n*o w*h*o*r*e*s a*b*o*a*r*d N’A*l*a*b*a*m*a n*a*v*y.* Commercial ships were of course a whores of a different choler. (Same color, though.)
Nice little weapons shop, self-surf washery. Ononon.
—Where we going?—asked Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.
——
Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie didn’t know what to do to say. Don’t squeeze that was good policy he was a good man an all white guy but temprous so don’t squeeze but what are you going to do stand there on cracked sidewalk (fix it postwarse of course) with your thumb zup waiting—Whatcha wanna do?—
He replied!:—Mmnnph.—
Gilloowoo3&F looked at him puzzled. He jerked a finger over one shoulder, moved his head—Mmnn.—Articulation supreme.
Moved down sidewalk past ugly fronts GorLesWalTriF in tow, looking at ugly town, streetlights yellowbrown (fixem postwarse) some even worked, peep in windows: military supplies (one-fourthmaster was out of stock bentfin boomers two months, three? local merchant had a-plenty, yes: old story, yes); Letohatchie Noozan Sundries selling plenty girlie piks, fukfuk boox, stip strips, You Too Can, noozes.
Noozes: WARGOZWELL ENEMYFALLZBACK BLACASUAL-TIZRIEZ PAPADOCS LOZING GLORIWHITE SPACEFLEET NEET TREET.
Y Bi Noozes? Headlines allasame allagame allafine allatime. Win win win. So: Why no fixem sidewalcracks, streetlights, build some houses, kill some lowzes, and some schools? Afterwarz uvcorz.
Between Letohatchie Noozan Sundries m Leto Lower Mane St Comp Svcs Inc (kipunx, tab, 9th generation central processor you knit/Y’ll U Ate Computing) he stopped crkk!
Turned quarter circle on crackedwalk pushed open a dirtywood door with a frosted dirtyglass panel set in its upper half turned knob pushed open door walked into hallway (what need to say it was dingy?) and started up crikkingwood stairs.
Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie followed.
—Going up?—Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie asked.
——he replied.
Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie did not exactly qualify for MOS +intellectual+ where else to go, hey? Open a dingydoor there are steps going uuuuup and he starts uuuuup crikking & Gleewo3+F asks—Going up?—
Pyech! Wrelse Gloowoo Threeneff slidewaze? Pyech!
Up he went crikking every steppina hotdim hall crik followed crik by crik Gordon crik Lester crik Wallace crik the crikcrikcrik and um, Freddie up to the first landing second floor (first floor, European style, O’Earthtime days) reached a landing & stopped.
GLW3&F2.
Nuthermuther dirtydoor loose dingy brass knob stapaglass pane in top half frostordirty anyway he couldn’t see through (so what he knew) old overpainted mailflap slot set in wood a few inches (European style, O’Earthtime days would have said centimeters) below stapaglass he tapped it with starsprickled finger didn’t linger door opened just a wee crack he saw a dingy brass chain smoke m people beyond no furners all good surners by their looks glasses m bottles 2 & music thumpathump bump it sounded highly encouraging as:
:eye in face opened wide peered through crack at him; eye his face peered back in slowly closed (other stayed open) shut didn’t stay shut opened again (think a whink?); othereye inside shut-opened (sink a wink?) mustabin the code of the ills door shut a moment clattk must be chain coming off door opened again (link a wink?) big fella stepped back let him in Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie following close behind they made their way to a nempty fakewood table pulled up chairs saddown and:
:over came a waiter nice looking surn boy goodpure N’Alabamian stock short though (5′2″? 4′3″? 43”? Short!) pretty yellow hair plastered flat on his skull perspiration held a few straggling locks on his forehead a few tantalizing tips toppled tepidly toward his left eye and fat too a find a big behind don’t mind.
Waiter looked at customers.—?—he said trippingly.
—Fine old Jack Daniels charcoal filtered slow-mellowed golden sipping whiskey please with sufficient glasses m napkins you may leave the bottle thank you here—said he pointing at the fakewood table top with a finely manicured middle finger (the remainder making a fist).
The waiter said—!—and departed.
He took Gordon Lester Wallace’s hands in his own two for a moment, looked into GLWIII&F’s eyes, then around the room, found the band (they weren’t playing merely staying for the moment): One hornist holding hollowed heculan headbone horn, guava marracist, rhythman with blackskin drumset taptatapa-ing quietly to himself.
Drinks came, sampled same, wartime shame but good booze good news. Trues?
Emcee stood up, he looked, Gloowoo3&F dida same. Emcee a fat pee, short too, big ass, big mass, yellow hair plastered where on his forehead, couple tips of couple strips hanging over his left eye, spotlight spanged on him dressed in plainbuttoned war surplus grays (no bentfin boomer of course) dark gray damp patches at armpits m crotch, perspiring in spangspot waving arms up and down pointed straight to sides fingers extended (don’t cough he won’t take off) couple times till:
:noise level dropped couple deci damn bels emcee worked his mouth couple times perspiration on his forehead glinted in the spangspot he said—and now ladies and gentlemen (no ladies visible present but who ever really knows, you know?) Ueer proud to present Miss Merriass Markham (one shrill whistle) to dance our National Anthem!—applause.
Spangspot shot emcee disappears room is all dark a moment sound of rustling here m there surprising shrill giggle from one nearby table rustle too from center floor (emcee departing?) sudden drumroll from blackskin set (rhythman must really love his work pang and a whang!) fanfare on heculan headbone horn and marracas rattle new spangspot pows on and somebody’s init:
:Miss Merriass Markham a zoftic miss must be pure N’Ala blood but spangspot color is . . . ? . . . bluegreen gruebleen gives her skin sheen (all glistered) unnatural coloration (bad taste that) standing at attention quivering salute.
What she wear? Tight brazeer on big big bosom, too tight, flesh welts above and below, must be shall we say, ah, uncomfortable for the poor leddy Miss Merriass Markham, cinched in back, bright bruegleen brazeer looks like rubber (?!) two highly attractive cutouts large pink (?) aureoles (howcinya tell in this light?) protruberent nips pazowie that must tingle it’s too tite see the red (this lite?) line below nothing on her belly but a wee bit would you say protruberent (pregnant?) actually kind of voluptuous (think of that belly belly-to-belly with your belly—a navel orgasm?) and tights, shorts that is, same blue squeezing gluebreen rubberlooking oh! holdin that roundbottom Miss Merriass run your mind past that behind my! what a lotch of crotch mmmmm! he liked that thought whooeeee Miss Markham he gave Gordon Lester Wallace III & Freddie a hand squeeze apeez watching Miss Merriass Markham stand all a-tremble with patriotic fervor as the three-man band struck up by damn, suh! Dixie and in a couple beats Miss Markham began:
:quivering for real in time to that glorious tune her proud patriotic ass slamming slidewaze in tune to bump-bump-bump-bubu-bump-bump-bumbump feet planted proudly on that fine N’Alabamian wooden floor knees apart m bent her arms extended forward toward the audience and quivering quivering in time to the stirring strains of that glorious old tune soon she began to work her hips her hair (glorious golden waves sweeping over softwhite shoulders the kind of tyke a soul has to like her daddy must be proud to grab a handfull of that stuff) swaying too in time and rock that pelvis hey (are we sufficiently discreet do you think?) all day.
He took a drink of golden smooth Jack Daniels sipping whiskey bless the old land N’Alabama’s soul must be in there somewhere the patriotic air slammed to a close with Miss Merriass Markham slamming a backbend (she was lithe) hands on floor behind her feet hot in the spangspot all-over wet salty sweat the aud
ience cheering to a man (no ladies visible in the audience but do you ever really know?) venting pure patriotic fervor m appreciation of artistry. Mmm?
He took a Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie shoulder in each hand, shook companionship.—Here,—he said to GLWIII&F—want know where I take you? Here for a last night in Leto.—
Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie expressed appropriate impressedness. Now, wouldn’t you?
Emcee was back on the floor now waving arms up and down fingers splayed his warsurp grays (plain buttons of course, and definitely no bentfin boomer) looking darkwetter where they’d looked darkwet before the spangspot had changed back no more bleegruen yellowbrown now on him (went nicely with his plastered blond hair one might suggest) grinning broadly his fat face but keeping his teeth clenched and making little folding-unfolding motions at the waist and neck (bowing? nodding?)—Thank you thank you ladies and gentlemen—he said (no ladies visible in audience but did you know?)—Miss Merriass Markham will be back momentarily I’m sure you want to see more of her much much more (snicker) and I’m sure she wants you to see more of her so in just one moment after everyone has had a chance to refresh himself for a moment—he stopped lights came back on in the room the emcee disappeared but:
:he remained at fakewood table with Jack Daniels (reserve quality) and companionship.—That all?—asked Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.—That all? Thought she was stripper. This our last night, maybe, on N’Ala, thought we’d get some satis damn faction not a tease.—
—Wait—he said.—Looko there—pointing, table across floor had four men, two sitting, two standing, standing two looked alike, short, fatties, blond hair plastered each over left eye, two at table, one tall, palepalepale, agitatedly moving jiggling up and down in fakewood seat, clutching at arm of companion who:
:medium size man dark hair lay across table arms on table wearing nondescript business (looked like) suit not moving drink spilled across table washing face in booze (o dream, dream, to bathe in JD Sippin Grade) from nondescript medium sized back covered by nondescript nocolor business suit (looked like) jacket protruded handle he was to coin a phrase turned off. Two fat shorties (blond both) lifted nondescript medium sizer carted him from table disappeared into unknown preserves trailed by tall skinny bobbing agitatedly.
—So?—Getc. said.
—Tomorrow,—he replied.—Ueebee gone, orders for . . . wanta guess, Gordon and so on? Try? Where? More training work? Not likely. Off-planet, hey, bye bye N’Bama hey. Where do you think?—
—?—
—Deepspace? Vacbattle papadocs ready to board? Killanigra once a day gyrene hasta earn his pay. Ready to invade N’Haiti?—
—Mmn.—
—Think the warle spread? N’Anguilla? N’Azteca? N’Tonga?—
—N’Haiti probably. Deepspace on a hotter don’t think sarge?—
—Mmm. Drink y’booze.—He gestured again. The empty table where the two men had sat and two stood was empty not now.—!—
Bandback brrrm, c’chkkkk, sound of heculan headbone horn, lights down spangspot on emcee again waving arms as ever moving mouth—Thank you ladies (do you know?), gentlemen Miss Merriass Markham and assistant will now present a patriotic pageant in honor of N’Alabama her glorsy spacerines—sound of applause in room audible through thick smoke also sound in one corner—no no yes oh—(do you know for sure?) spangspot off emcee rustle movement in dark and a pow:
:light back on babypinkspot playing on golden curls Miss Merriass Markham strolling in center lowcut lowcut frilly gown tightfitting cloth begins just above nipple showing pink circle protruberence through cloth every pore by bang tight waist and flaring skirt hooped out and ribbons frills to furgem floor—Sheet!—loud voice from dark room shuff mumbles Miss Merriass Markham only smiles in circle as:
:second spotlight pangs on edge of floor shows a nigra brute Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie and even he do double take—Ha?—but no, look, he’s white only daubed, daubed, could they pay you to trick out as a coon buck? You? How much?
Sheeh, one never knows, does he?
Fake coon in a red red spotlight Miss Merriass Markham prances to and fro looking ever whichaway but not at him he inches up on her audience tense and silent inch there’s some quiet tense music how can the headbone horner concentrate inch up on that symbol of pure surn lily lady parasol over shoulder gloves over elbows and the nigra:
:pounces from behind drags Miss Merriass Markham to him black black dirty she screams he bats parasol clatters Merriass Markham struggles nigra paws, claws lookit him drool smashes Miss Markham to the floor reaches, she screeches, nigra bends, rends, rips Miss Merriass’s frilly gown rip down the back she rolls cloth falls away from big pink rubies round boobies nigra growls audience howls and:
:whimpering half-naked surn womanhood backs away from slobbing black animan backs he lunges an arm claws at hanging cloth at pure white womanhood’s waist r-i-i-p nigra swings arm away in triumph pink and white shreds hanging from clawlike beasthand Miss Merriass Markham no longer fearing stands straight in spangspot eyes flashing bosom heaving as they say (mmm, bosom heaving) starkass naked pale white flesh pale in now-pale spangspot only spots of color her golden lox, dark eyes, red lips (open, panting, love those bodiorificesheymac?) and red nips and that curly triangle pub hair like night delight and what’s that?
Curled around her jelly hip what’s that black what’s that? Round it goes around that sweet soft crotch that lovie V and up around her hip and and back O Underline the Arse and back between and around and what? A handle it has she grasps and uncoils a whip (a bullwhip a buckwhip) and upraises’t in the spangspot and lookit lookit that face that joy that maidenhood defended boyoboy o lookit that coon now willya see him cringe see him crawl
he knows his place
but she won’t let him off that easy Miss Merriass swings that whip and tchapp! lookit that nigra roll hear him whine phwapp! O good O God O finefinefine O go Miss Merriass and crack! O look o look his back the red the people lose their mind the cheers and screams and hips, hips working, losing minds, pelvis grinds tears, cheers the nigra falls, Miss Merriass Triumphant calls defiant independent slogan:
Never!
Lights out, rustling sighing moaning and houselights uuuup roomful of men (well . . . ) sitting drained, Miss Merriass and troupe not to be seen shortfatblond emcee in centeroom waving arms up and down blinking mouth working no sound at first (but who cares? a great audience, not a dry crotch in the house!)—Thank you thank you Miss Merriass Markham thanks you please note ladies (hmm) and gentlemen that the nigra was accredited member Actor’s Professional Guild qualified simulator available weddings and bar mitzvahs this is, after all, a respectable establishment drink up ladies (?) m gentlemen thank you.—
Well the Jack Daniels sippin was about done by now so he poured a few drops for Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie and finished up the rest himself and smacked his hand down hard on the table some money in it bills and coins made a good solid sound on the fakewood and stood up, up too Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie, followed him to the door past the (one might so dignify him) maitre d’hote a short man with the cutest blond strings crossing his pate plastered with perspiration (or sweat as they say) on his forehead and a couple strands dank dangling before his left eye and—Thank you sir O thank you—as they passed through the dirty door with the stapaglass panel (the extra O thank you for a sweet tweak in a sensitive spot) and onto the landing.
—Base now,—he said.
—Yes,—said Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.
They scapp-scappered down dingy stairs out dingy door at bottom retraced steps past quick glimpse at Leto Comp Svcs peered into Noozan Sundries (last edns now on sale N’ALA TRIUMPH BLACKS FALLING BACK RUMOR N’DESERET TO ENTER WAR TREASON TRIAL IN TRUSSVILLE passemby), military supplies (needny bentfin boomers?), Piggy Peggy’s (eyecorner glimpse of John Darn entering establishment), and EATs and B A R.
Gyrenes back to two-wheel gyrocar
and !whatchaknow! clever electronic device done caught somebody (short man and fat with platnum locks) see’m writhe willya?
GLWIII&F watch as he keys off clever device, writher falls, he chexm—No fun this bucketkicker—he gets in gyro, G+ in back seat, ‘noff we go on the red rut road and to (but of course!) beddie.
Darkness in barracks, he listens:
—Deepspace, do you think?—
—N’Cathay?—
—N’Yu-Atlanchi bet.—
—Invade, invade N’Haiti show furgem papadocs.—
—Think we’ll ever get back on O’Earth?—
Sniggers. From sarge’s private (well) cubicle:—Orders tomorrow. Now quiet!—
Rustles and sighs.
2. From the Bizonton Pylon
The climb from the Rue Margarite to the hoverail depot was long and difficult, and for the thousandth time Christophe Belledor mourned the long discontinued vertiflot service. Discontinued, perhaps, is not the correct word. When there was not the money or manpower to perform routine maintenance, the vertiflot became increasingly erratic in its performance, carrying passengers between the street and the hoverail platform less and less reliably, until it had finally been abandoned as too dangerous to continue.
Already, many N’Haitians, Christophe among them, had had narrow escapes from too-rapid descents or from ascents that had suddenly reversed their direction. A few unlucky Bizontoniers had tried the device once too often, and had not escaped its failure.
Ah, well, such was the war effort. Someday things would be better, the vertiflot would be repaired and restored to service, and patient, hardworking citizens would be rewarded.
Christophe stopped halfway up the pylon to catch his breath. He was no longer the young man he had once been. As well, as well. All citizens could contribute, each in his own way. Too old to serve in the starfleet, still Christophe could fill his desk at the Ministry, freeing a younger man to fight for N’Haiti. And he could bear arms at the regular drills of the Planetary Guard, ready to defend his world against invasion if it ever came. But for now . . .
