The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  It was a hard, exhausting run, coming on top of all the strenuous games. Steaming with perspiration, Joe clambered up the trail be had previously followed along the top of the cliff. Before he reached the village he saw three men coming in his direction along the trail below.

  Of the three, only one was obviously hornless. But on closer approach, Joe knew that none of these men possessed horns of his own. The three were the non-Martians that Joe had come to know as Rabbit Face, Scar Hands, and “Black Hair.”

  It was Black Hair whom Joe had left hanging. It was Black Hair’s head and shoulder harness that now supplied Joe with his eight horns. It was those black patches of hair now adorning his own blonde head between horns that had worried him all through the contests.

  Joe stopped, breathing hard, waiting for them to come within earshot.

  He grew feverish at the thought of what he was about to do. It was a bitter pill—to concede that this blackhaired man whose horns he wore, must be the Venus scientist in love with Donna. It was doubly bitter because Rabbit Face and Scar Hands were his companions.

  “Three tough yeggs,” Joe thought. “I wish I wasn’t so darned honest.”

  But the flash of disappointment which he thought he had once seen in Donna’s face when she surveyed the seven candidates, drove him to go through with his plan.

  “Hi, down there,” he yelled over the cliff to the path below.

  The three men stopped abruptly and looked up.

  “There is the man!” Black Hair exclaimed. “Those are my horns. That is my garment.”

  “I want to explain—” Joe’s speech was out-shouted by a bellow from Rabbit Face, who started climbing up the face of the cliff like a sure-footed naggie.

  “Thief! Come here! You are ours now!”

  “Wait. Don’t be sore. Let me explain,” Joe yelled. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Black Hair echoed with a sneer. “Off with those horns before my men thrash you!”

  “Don’t rush me!” Joe warned savagely. “I’ll make everything right if you’ll listen. Don’t rush me!”

  His warning failed to impress Rabbit Face, who bounded up over the elevation like a hound after a rabbit. He came straight at Joe—in time to catch a flying fist, kerpop, on the left jaw. He staggered and almost fell over the cliff. Joe caught him by his hair and harness and jerked him back.

  “I told you not to rush me.” He walked the wobbly rabbit-faced man to a niche where erosion had formed a natural slide of loose earth. There Joe allowed him to roll down to his less ambitious companions. Joe, dusting his hands, repeated, “Sorry, gentlemen, but if you’ll let me explain—”

  Scar Hands helped Rabbit Face to his feet while their black-haired leader said, “All right. Let us hear what a thief can explain. Talk fast.”

  “I know who you are, now,” said Joe. “I didn’t realize when I roped you that you were the Venus scientist. I apologize.”

  “Huh?” said Black Hair. His two companions gave a questioning look. One of them nudged Black Hair and said, “How did he find out, boss, that you are the Venus scientist?”

  Joe sensed their impatience to know what he meant to do about it. He continued.

  “As soon as I saw my mistake, I realized that you’re the one Donna really loves. She isn’t interested in any of the rest of us. You should have been in the choosing ceremony instead of me.”

  Black Hair nodded with a savage sidewise movement of his head. “I agree with you there—Yes, I agree. But—”

  “All right, you still have a chance,” Joe said. “I’m about to win the contest. I’ve brought your horns back so you can take my place. It isn’t too late. Think what it means to Donna.

  Joe started to unstrap the harness. But curiosity caused him to hesitate. The three men went into a powwow of whispers. Joe waited. He sat on a stone at the cliff’s edge, looking down on them. Something was in the air. Was it possible that Black Hair didn’t want to compete for Donna’s hand?

  Black Hair looked up and spoke deliberately. “An exceedingly noble gesture, my good man. What is your name?”

  “Joe Banker.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Bellrap, U.S.A., the Earth. I’m the Bellrap City Clerk.”

  “Hm-m. Inter-planetary exploiters are becoming quite thick around here. Much too thick! Are you in love with Donna Londeen?”

  “To put it mildly, I’m nuts about her.”

  “Do you think the two of you are well matched?”

  “Perfectly,” said Joe. What was he driving at? Was he going to be noble and magnanimous too? “Perfectly. Except—”

  “Except for the horns?”

  “Yes,” said Joe. “If it wasn’t for her horns—”

  “I have a suggestion, young man. You have recognized me as the scientist from Venus. Let me suggest that a—few experiments might prove that these forest folk would be as healthy’ and happy without horns. Have you considered the possibilities of an experiment?”

  Joe was all ears. Might there be some simple way out of his difficulty?

  “If you are winning the contests,” said Black Hair, “the judge and the elders are sure to listen to you. Gather four or five of them together and propose a dehorning experiment.”

  “Dehorning?” The suggestion struck chills through Joe. It sounded inhumane, somehow. And still, coming from a scientist—

  “Dehorn only twenty or thirty at the start,” Black Hair continued. “Wait until you see the effects before you decide how and when to dehorn Donna. The judge and the elders will listen to YOU.

  Joe considered. If he could go back, and win the final events, would Londeenoko give him a break in the interests of science? As a, newcomer to Mars it was impossible to know whether this venture might, catch on. But it sounded worth a try.

  “This means,” said Joe, “that you’re willing for me to keep this set of horns until I’ve put myself across—”

  The three men held another brief whispered pow-wow. Then, “All right, Mr. Banker, return them later. We will see that you do. But be sure to sell, the dehorning idea. It was your own idea, you know.”

  “Mine? Did I think of that myself?”

  “A very brilliant idea, Mr. Banker. Congratulations.”

  All the way back to the arena Joe kept relating this conversation to himself, trying to remember just when and how he had originated the dehorning scheme. If he should succeed in putting it over with a bang—if he should start a new fashion in Apple Forest—wouldn’t that be one, to tell the boys back at Bellrap!

  He arrived at the arena just as Donna’s candidates were being called together for the announcement of another event.

  CHAPTER X

  This would be a human whirligig, to be operated by horn-power.

  “Fortunately we have a prisoner who will serve as the victim for this event,” Londeenoko explained. “The competition will be open to the four of you with the highest scores.”

  “Correction, my dear uncle,” said Donna. “The rules say only the two highest shall compete in these additional events.”

  After another savage argument with his relatives, Londeenoko, was forced to bow to the established tradition, though it hurt him to have to leave the two twelve-horned huskies out of the game. They and the other three competitors. were now through. The decision lay between Axloff and Joe.

  “This game is cruel,” Donna said aside to Joe. “There were other alternatives, but Uncle Londeenoko and the officials insisted that a certain prisoner should be punished, the sooner the better. Do you understand what this implies, Joe?”

  Not knowing what the human whirligig consisted of, Joe was in the dark. But he had his guess as to who the victim might be.

  While the mechanics prepared the whirling beams on a horizontal shaft between two trees, the crowd recessed for an hour of feasting. The multitude of horns had collected a multitude of falling apples. For those who preferred more expensive delicacies, Ruffledeen’s finest pies and t
arts were sold. A corps of boys passed through the crowd with trays, tempting the buyers with the magic name of Ruffledeen.

  During this repast, Joe found himself surrounded by three or four elderly men of affairs. Londeenoko himself paid Joe the respect of looking in on this group. A little later the young judge arrived to rejoin the crowd, impressive in his freshly painted green face and stuffy costume.

  This was Joe’s chance to spring his big idea, to sound out these gentlemen on the subject of dehorning.

  “Gentlemen, if a candidate from Up North may be privileged to propose a plan in the interests of science—”

  Joe paused, trying to read the expressions of the four or five faces around him. The word science, had not brought the warm response he had hoped for.

  “—I suggest that it would be useful to know what would happen to a growing child—or an adult—if his horns were to be removed.”

  Cold silence. Everyone was eyeing him. No one responded. He went on:

  “A few boys and girls could be dehorned, to begin with. Different methods might be tried. If the experiment has no ill effects, it might become an established practice.”

  More silence. Glances exchanged. The young judge spoke one sharp word. “Why?”

  Joe gulped. Why should horns be removed? When you came right down to it, his only reason was that in case a hornless man wanted to marry a horned girl—

  But he didn’t dare say this. Already these men were scrutinizing him with suspicious scowls. Somehow the argument didn’t sound half as good as before.

  “Why?” the young judge repeated sternly. “Why should anyone want to lose his proudest possession?”

  Joe floundered. “Well—I only thought—that is, in the interests of science—”

  The weird musical notes of the wooden signal tubes sounded, to Joe’s immense relief. He backed away from the staring group and hurried along to the elevated platform.

  Sure enough. Uncle Keller was there.

  Poor Uncle Keller! What would the folks back in Bellrap say if they saw him now? Even his pigs and chickens would hardly recognize him. That prison well must have been full of dried apple dust. His overalls were bluer than ever, and his face and hands were smeared with what might have, been blue chalk dust.

  If the blue dust had been inflammable, Uncle Keller would have blown up. For again there was a fire burning in the “tube in his mouth.”

  Indeed, this cob pipe was such an attraction to boys and girls and even grown-ups, that the famous chef, Ruffledeen, seemed to be looking on with envy. Londeenoko was nettled to find himself distracted from the impending event. Those gentle puffs! Those swirling rings of smoke! That fragrance of burning naggie wool.

  “I’m outa smokin’ again,” Uncle Keller said, chiefly for Donna’s benefit, for he didn’t attempt to speak much Martian. “Down in the well I kept wishin’ a naggie would fall in, to keep me company and fill my pipe.”

  “What are you smoking now?” Donna asked.

  “A bit of naggie wool garment I chopped out of the judge’s robe when he wasn’t lookin’. When he turns around you’ll see . . . Say, whaddya reckon they’re gonna do with me?”

  Before answering, Donna glanced at Joe, who was stationed nearby. She put a hand on Uncle Keller’s shoulder. The officials and spectators around her were growing angry. What was she saying to this culprit—this spy—this demon who blew fire?

  “They will hurt you, Uncle,” she said. “There is nothing I can do until the choosing contest is finished. I have already antagonized my uncle Londeenoko. I dare not say any more until I know which man will be my husband.”

  Uncle Keller’s beady little eyes shone fiercely. He looked from Joe to the tall, eleven-horned boyish Axloff.

  “You mean it’s gonna be one of those two?”

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “Then can’t we fix it so you’ll get the tall handsome guy with the horns?”

  “He is wonderfully nice,” said Donna, but it is Joe that I love. I have loved him since the day he chased me with the silver loving cup.”

  Uncle Keller suffered a wobbling of the Adam’s apple and his voice sounded strangely sentimental. “Well, then, if it’s Joe Banker you love, let’s fix it—”

  “Poor Uncle!” Donna patted his dusty cheek. “Do you not realize that my fate must now be decided by a contest of brutality? Whichever one succeeds in hurting you worse will win me.”

  Uncle Keller’s lips tightened. “Then, by crackies, you see to it that young Joe gives me hell!”

  When the second signal notes sounded, Uncle Keller was tied to the end of the sixteen-foot whirligig. It was a crude one-man ferris wheel without seats—a pair of parallel beams fixed to turn on a horizontal axis between tree trunks. Uncle Keller’s hands and feet were tied to the crossbar between one end of the beams, a short log was attached to the other end as a crude balancing arrangement.

  Uncle Keller was a little heavier than the weight at the other end. Thus, when the whirligig was at rest, he hung straight down. His long bent body, tied up by wrists and ankles, hung limply at a height of seven or eight feet above the ground.

  One of the officials took a running jump and struck Uncle Keller with his horns. This caused the whirligig to start spinning, and the lone passenger began a series of most uncomfortable ferris-wheel whirls.

  “Pick up my pipe!” he yelled as he raced through the air.

  But an official, no respecter of pipes, kicked it off the grounds. That was only the beginning of Uncle Keller’s tortures.

  “The two candidates will be judged by the energy with which they punish this hornless foreigner,” Londeenoko called out to the crowd. Then, evidently realizing that a justification for such cruelty was needed, he added, “Let me remind you that this foreign demon was caught spying on our Festival. We do not know what damage he might do if allowed to go unpunished.

  “But are these two candidates patriotic enough to punish him severely? We may well wonder, for one of them is a stranger from Up North, and the other is an outlander from a village below the river.

  “You have your instructions, candidates. You may proceed.”

  Axloff stood back to give Joe the first run. They were to take turns “running under” their victim. Joe ran and made a long leap, his horns striking Uncle Keller across the seat of his dusty trousers.

  Joe looked back at the blue dust cloud to see Uncle Keller whirling up through a swift arc. As he swung over and down, Axloff ran under him, struck with his horns, and added speed to the whirl.

  Around again, and Joe again crashed in, to add impetus. Smack! . . . smack! . . . smack! . . . In a moment the one-man ferris wheel was whirling so fast that it made four or five revolutions to each smack of horns.

  The higher the speed, the more perilous the operation. Joe knew that if he ran under a shade too soon, there was danger of inflicting serious wounds.

  Smack! . . . smack! . . . smack!

  Axloff was trying to be humane about it, too, Joe noted. He was not going to insult Donna by putting on a poor show of energy. But he was trying to strike at an angle that would prevent any serious hooking by the points of his tall, sharp horns.

  Some of the noisy spectators called for more brutality. “Tear him up! Spike him in the back!”

  It was a horrifying demonstration.

  At best neither of the candidates could avoid inflicting much torture. Sometimes Joe missed his calculations and knifed at the shoulders or the small of the back. Once Axloff’s thrust ripped an overall leg down to the ankle. The victim’s clothing was being cut to shreds. Drops of blood began to fly.

  “How much can the old man stand?” Axloff said to Joe on the sly as they circled back for another round. And the next time around, “Why do we do it? The judge isn’t watching.”

  Joe saw, then, that judge Mobar, Londeenoko, and a few other top officials had gone into a huddle, as if to discuss something urgent. What? Could it be the dehorning idea?

  While the whirligig w
ent on, the conference of the leaders was swiftly spread into a whispering campaign among the whole crowd. Something was in the air. Some mysterious news was spreading, and as rapidly as the people heard it they turned to stare at, Joe.

  Now their eyes were following his every move.

  Smack! Smack! . . . Smack!

  Not an outcry from Uncle Keller. Was the fellow unconscious?

  Joe wondered. Should he try to strike harder, to win, to bring this hideous whirligig ordeal to an end? Tilting his horns at the safest angle, again he dashed under.

  Flop!

  His shoulder fastening broke. The harness suddenly went loose over his right shoulder and flopped off the top of his head.

  He stopped so abruptly that Uncle Keller almost struck him on the next whirl.

  As he grabbed for his loosened horns, he heard Lon Londeenoko’s commanding bellow.

  “There! Just as I said. Look at him!

  The crowd was gaping. Axloff stopped to gaze. Donna sprang forward from her seat on the platform, put her fingers to her lips. Londeenoko pointed down, and his broad mustached face twitched with anger, gathering breath for a roar.

  Above the sound of the whirligig spinning on its axle, the murmurs of amazement from the crowd rose to a sullen thunder.

  “A demon!” “A hornless one!” “Another spy!” “An imposter!” “A foreigner—a hornless foreigner!”

  Some half grown boy shrieked, “He is the one who roped the ‘naggie’ girl!”

  Then Londeenoko bellowed in a way that welded the whole crowd into a dangerous mob.

  “He is the one who would have us cut our horns off. Yes, my people, that is the very plan he has proposed—to have us remove our horns! There he stands! No wonder he has such ideas! He has no horns of his own. He is a freak—a hornless demon!”

  The crowd spilled out into the arena. drawn by the magnetism of this excitement. Londeenoko, however, motioned them to stay back. With a dramatic whirl, his sashes fluttering, be clapped his six-fingered hands together as a signal.