Analog SFF, May 2011

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The wolf grinned and nodded, red tongue lolling, razor-white teeth gleaming in the sunset. “The best. They're kind to lonely strangers. Treat ‘em right, they treat you right. I'm Lupe and this is Kitty. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Craddock. May we call you Arnold?"

  "My friends call me Arnie."

  "Perhaps you'll join us for a drink later, Arnie?” said the wolf.

  "It would be a pleasure, sir,” said Ace. He wondered how a wolf that old could have such perfect white teeth.

  "I got a powerful thirst,” said the panther, making a move toward the swinging doors.

  The wolf laughed. “It's been a long time, it has. You know Kitty when she gets a thirst.” He followed the panther. The doors creaked back and forth a few times before stopping.

  "Slow Eddie oughtta oil them hinges,” said Silas, “but he ain't called Slow Eddie jus’ on accounta his leg."

  "Winter of ‘66, huh?” said Ace, playing the game, “I was in Arkansas that year."

  "Warn't so bad there, I heard tell,” said Ira.

  "Bad enough I remember it,” said Ace. “That'd be, let's see, seventeen years ago. Town musta been just new then."

  "Yup,” said Silas.

  "I'd never guess they was that old. The wolf, maybe, but not the panther. Musta been just cubs."

  "Naw,” said Silas, “They was big as now. I remember like it was yesterday. Was Christmas Eve, it was—"

  "Naw, Silas,” said Ira, “it was New Year's Eve. You was roarin’ drunk both nights, so you always get ‘em confused. And it was really New Year's morning, you want to be exact about it; ‘bout two, or maybe it was three. I warn't exactly sober either. Just you an’ me and ol’ Doc O'Toole and Paddy O'Grady—he owned the saloon back then; got religion right then and there, that night—and the two dance-hall girls. What was their names, anyway? Mazie and Sadie?"

  "Nellie,” said Silas dreamily, “Nicest little girl you ever did know, all round and smooth."

  "So anyways, we was keepin’ warm. Doctor's orders, you know; drinkin’ our medicinal spirits. The blizzard was blowin’ so hard we didn't dare cross the street to go home, and we was mournin’ poor Eddie O'Rourke, who went out to check his stock when the sun was shinin’ and then the storm hit and he warn't back and nothin’ could live out there now, so we knowed he was dead.

  "Then there was this scratchin’ at the door and Paddy asks who's there and somebody says, ‘We got Eddie O'Rourke. He's hurt bad and needs the doctor.'

  "So Paddy opens the door and there stands Lupe and Kitty. They've each got Eddie by the arm, up by the armpit, in their jaws, I mean, but real gentle-like, and they done dragged him in from where his horse threw him and broke his leg. If we hadn't all been drunk enough to know we was seein’ things, we'd probly a shot ‘em, like you was about to.

  "Anyways, Doc always keeps a spare medicine bag in the saloon, never knows when he might need it here, y'know, and he's never too drunk to set a leg, so he did what he could for Eddie, which warn't much. He saved Eddie's leg, but it was broke bad and never healed right. That's why we call him Slow Eddie, y'know."

  "But don't never let Eddie know we tole ya,” said Silas. “Don't mention it to nobody. Lupe and Kitty, they's just folks now, but then we was too drunk to know the difference."

  "Paddy was sorta white,” Ira continued, “but he always got that way when he was drunk, so when they said they was hungry and thirsty he got out some cold stew, he apologized for it bein’ cold, he did, and poured ‘em each a big bowl o’ rye whiskey. Warn't right we should be drinkin’ when they'd been out in the blizzard freezin’ their fur off savin’ poor Eddie.

  "They lapped it up. Turned out they'd never had firewater. Pretty soon they was drunk as us, or maybe drunker. When Doc had Eddie patched up and wrapped in a blanket by the fire, he asked ‘em who they were and where they came from, and they told us. Ain't never said a word about it to nobody since. But we all knows, and they knows we knows. Any time anybody's lost or hurt out in the hills, or stock's missing, they always knows and always finds ‘em. Rustlers or stage robbers show up, they know. They take care of ‘em. Makes the place real peaceable. Good folks."

  "Where they from?” asked Ace. He had a professional's appreciation for anyone who could spin a yarn this outrageous with a straight face. Ira must have been a carny too. Both geezers were as good as they came.

  "Welllll,” said Ira, “don't know as I can rightly explain it. Ya needed ta be there, and ya needed ta be drunk. Seems like they talk ta ya, but they don't, exactly. Ya sorta hear ‘em in your head. Even ol’ Doc hears ‘em still, and he's been deaf ten years.

  "What they said was, they come from out there in the stars, somewheres, and the thing they was in didn't work right, like a ship sinks if it springs a leak, y'know? So they came down out in the hills. Come spring, we found a great big hole, right where they said it was, that weren't there in the fall. They couldn't live here like they was, so they had to find something to live in, and they found the wolf and the panther, fresh froze to death. They moved in and fixed ‘em up. They can fix up almost anything; just can't make a body younger than it was when they moved in. That's why they don't look a day older than when they walked into the saloon back in ‘66. What they is, I guess, is sorta like ghosts or spirits ‘cept they ain't evil or nothin. Like we said, they's good folks. Just see you don't do nothin’ to offend ‘em, hear?"

  "No, sir,” said Ace, “I wouldn't want to offend ‘em even if they was just a plain old ordinary wolf and panther. No sir!” He hadn't heard so tall a tale in years!

  "You don't believe a thing I said, do you, young feller?” said Silas, chuckling.

  "Believe?” said Ace, with his best sincere outrage, “I don't doubt a word! I won't never tell nobody! They'd never believe it. I wouldn't, if I hadn't seen ‘em with my own eyes and heard ‘em with my own ears. Well, maybe I'll tell my grandkids, if I have any. I seen ‘em and heard ‘em and I know what's real."

  Ira chuckled, a sort of low, tittering cackle. “Well, it don't really matter if ya believe it or not. ‘S true. Just show ‘em your respect, like you did, and remember to watch out for Kitty when she drinks too much. Funny. They got drunk that first night because they didn't know what whiskey would do to ‘em. They don't age, they don't get sick, and they only get drunk when they want to; just don't do whatever it is that keeps ‘em sober. Lupe don't do it very often. Kitty likes it, sometimes. Ya been warned.” Ira cackled again.

  "They got my respect,” said Ace, “They surely do."

  When he got to San Francisco with this story—!

  * * * *

  The sun sank below the hills, illuminating spectacular ridges of orange-red clouds. Smells of food and the sound of Slow Eddie abusing the mistuned piano drifted out onto the veranda. Once, amid raucous laughter, Ace heard the sound of Lupe howling. Or was he laughing? For that instant, Ace almost believed the tale, and laughed at himself. Ira and Silas told the story with such absolute conviction, and the wolf and the panther were beautifully trained. He wondered why they didn't take the pair back east and find a good show to join. Maybe they were tired of that life. He'd let them use him for their mark. Fair enough. They were his.

  As red sky faded to darkening blue, he rose. “Smells good,” he announced, “I ain't got a powerful thirst, but I sure am gettin’ powerful hungry."

  Silas pushed his hat back and wiped his forehead with a filthy, wrinkled bandanna. “Think maybe you'll play some cards again tonight, Arnie?"

  Ace smiled. “Welllll . . . maybe. Don't have much more than enough money left to get to Frisco. Can't risk losing it."

  "We play friendly games here, Arnie. We never clean out a visitor. Lupe and Kitty wouldn't like it."

  "Welll . . . I'll think about it.” He walked casually through the creaking swinging doors.

  A dozen people were scattered among the tables. Suzie and Bonnie, the dance-hall girls, moved among them with professional ease, wearing black stockings and frayed, faded red velvet corsets. The
y'd look better later, when the only light was lanterns and candles. Bonnie . . . hmmm . . . he'd win enough extra to buy her bed. It had been a while.

  Lupe and Kitty were curled up in front of the fire, a pair of large bowls before them. Slow Eddie sat on the hearth, engaged in deep and serious conversation. Ace couldn't hear what man or beast said. The saloon-keeper opened a new bottle of rye and poured half in each bowl. Lupe lapped delicately. Kitty drained the bowl, licked her chops and purred loud enough to make the old floor shake.

  Ace found a table with nice shadows and a good view of the stage, and ordered steak.

  * * * *

  By midnight, Ace was only fifty cents ahead. He should have been at least five dollars up. He'd used the little tricks he'd been using all week; should have had it long ago, lost it, gone in the hole, got even, and then got ahead just enough to give him a reason not to quit. He didn't go in the hole much, but he couldn't get ahead. He was saving his real tricks for the quick, “lucky” winning streak.

  He'd started with Ira and Silas. Then Harry, a swaggering kid cowboy wearing two pearl-handled six-guns, joined the table. Slow Eddie sat in for a few hands, and Bonnie played a hand or two between turns on the stage, brushing against him as she sat and again as she rose.

  He responded with a hand on her leg. She smiled. She didn't look half bad, lit by candles and lanterns.

  About eleven, ol’ Doc O'Toole sat down. Kitty ambled over from the fireplace and stood by his shoulder. The panther's head was almost level with the doctor's. She belched, flooding the table with rye-breath. She repeated every call, and ol’ Doc nodded each time. Her speech seemed a little slurred. Ace decided Silas was the ventriloquist; he'd had more to drink than Ira, and sat next to Doc.

  It was upsetting to try to control a poker game while staring at a drunken panther. The big cat can't be drunk, he told himself. No carny would do an act with a drunken poodle, much less a panther, but he'd seen Kitty slurp down three half-bottles of rye. The stuff had to be watered.

  Slow Eddie came by and filled everyone's glass. He put a bowl in front of Kitty and filled it with the remainder of the same bottle.

  Ace sipped.

  Rye. The good stuff; not watered.

  Kitty emptied the bowl in one slurp.

  Two more hands. Ace was down a buck. Harry the cowboy was down five and beginning to sweat. That could be dangerous. Time to clean up and get out.

  Ace shuffled, expertly stacked the deck, and dealt.

  Lupe ambled over from the fireplace and sat on his haunches, looking over Ace's shoulder.

  Ace tried to ignore the wolf. Good act, he thought with admiration. Who'd expect a mark to be able to concentrate while staring at a panther with a wolf looking over his shoulder?

  He blew the hand.

  He slugged down the rye.

  That damned carny couldn't do this to him! Let the old geezer watch a real pro work!

  He let the deal go around again. He slugged down another rye. He forgot about the wolf and the panther.

  Bonnie came from the stage and leaned against him, her breast pressing on his shoulder, soft and warm.

  He didn't feel a thing.

  He stacked and dealt.

  Hell with them.

  Hell with the dumb cowboy.

  No favors.

  Win and get out.

  Give Bonnie her price and go to bed.

  Doc and Ira folded. Silas bluffed. Harry bluffed. Ace raised. Silas bluffed, smiling like a priest blessing the poor. Harry bluffed, sweat-sheened face tight. Ace raised. It went around again. And again.

  A crowd gathered. Ace didn't look up. Time to leave well enough alone. He'd have to play a few more hands and lose a little, or they might suspect.

  He called.

  Silas shrugged, smiled, and laid down his cards. Harry followed, relief washing across his face when he saw he had Silas beat.

  Ace showed his cards. Nothing fancy, just good enough to win.

  He raked in his winnings. A hundred bucks! Damn, I shouldn't have let the pot get so big! Better lose five quick . . .

  "You cheated!” Harry leaped to his feet, knocking his chair against Kitty. “You cheated!” he said again, hands clawed, inches from the pearl-handled six-guns. “You ain't nothin’ but a two-bit tin-horn gambler! Give me back my money!"

  "Easy, son,” said Silas.

  Kitty growled, low and angry.

  Jus’ don't get in their way after they've had a few . . . Ace remembered Silas’ words, then forgot them, staring into the wild eyes of the dumb, drunken cowboy, estimating how fast a kid that young could draw and the chances that Harry could see straight enough to hit anything.

  Bonnie screamed, a terrified little chirp that cut off sharply, as if she ran out of breath to scream with.

  Ace stood slowly. Use the six-gun on his hip or the Derringer up his sleeve?

  Six-gun. The Derringer would tell everyone what he was. The kid swayed, drunk as a skunk.

  Ace said, with his best bewildered innocence, “No cheatin', Harry. I wouldn't know how. I just dealt the cards.” He felt Bonnie behind him, breath fast and warm on his neck. Behind him was probably the safest place she could be.

  The kid went for his guns.

  Ace never thought when he had to act. Fingers closed on polished walnut; his gun came out of the oiled-leather holster as if it had been in his hand before he reached. It roared and bucked.

  Ace lay on the floor, vaguely remembering three shots, a great weight against his chest, Bonnie's scream . . . a real scream, long, drawn-out and agonized . . . impact against his back and head . . . a thump next to him . . . Bonnie . . . damn cowboy got us both . . .

  I'm dying . . . I'm dead. The thought was a vague, bewildered surprise.

  He heard shouting and snarling and growling. Serve the dumb kid right if Kitty ate him.

  A strange feeling . . . no pain . . . no weight . . . a nightmare flash-vision of something strange and alien and awful, overlaid with aching longing. A sensation like someone trying on a new suit of clothes . . . only he was the clothes and someone else was trying him on.

  "Yes, you'll be a good friend.” Lupe's voice, but it wasn't Lupe. It spoke inside his head, like his own thoughts.

  Silas leaned over him, rye rank on his breath. “You'll be all right, young feller. Lupe took care of you. Don't know how they do it. They ain't tellin'. Ain't had nobody die here in years. Hurt, yeah, but nobody's died, not even a baby. Real good folks to have around, don't you think, Arnie?"

  Ace's body sat up. He heard his voice say, “Damn! That felt funny! Yeah, Silas, they's real good folks! I'd be dead without ‘em!” He had not spoken; just his voice, without his will or control.

  "My dress is ruined!” Bonnie sat spread-legged, looking down at a neat, round hole in her red velvet corset, just below her left breast. Kitty stood beside her, purring the loudest purr he'd ever heard.

  His voice said, “Come to San Francisco with me, Ma'am, and I'll buy you the best red dress in the whole darn town!"

  "Who are you?” Ace screamed, in the silence of his mind, “Go away! Let me alone!"

  "San Francisco! Would you? Would you really?” Bonnie sat on his lap, hugging him.

  The not-Lupe voice said, “I am—” The name-concept felt like breaking glass. “I was . . . engineer . . . of our . . . ship. The other . . . half . . . of me is in Bonnie. It is rare and wonderful when we can . . . transfer . . . both halves at once. We regret your death, as we regret all death. I am honored to give you life."

  "Damn,” said Slow Eddie, “looks like I lost me another girl. Can't keep the good ones. Well, young man, ya got yoresef a real lady, if ya really mean that. Congrats."

  "Oh, I mean it,” his voice said. “Fell in love the minute I seen her."

  The voice in his head continued, “You and I will live together until your world can build a ship like ours. We will go to San Francisco, where we can start to make that happen. When we build a ship, I will leave. You may come wi
th us if you wish, or you may do what you wish for the rest of your normal life. Forgive me for taking control until you get used to me. It is so good to be alive again, not dormant with the others in Lupe."

  His body stood up. Bonnie clung to him, soft and round and warm. On the other side of the table Harry got up, a neat hole in his shirt, a mildly startled expression on his face.

  "Go away!” Ace screamed, silently.

  "You will get used to it,” said the not-Lupe voice. “Is this not better than being dead? You wanted to sleep with Bonnie, didn't you? Now you can. When you do, I can join with my other half. It will be so good! I'm a good companion. We'll like each other."

  Ace shouted, “Go away, go away, go away!"

  His lips made no sound.

  His body walked away, Bonnie clinging to his side.

  The wolf and the panther followed, rubbing shoulders like two old lovers.

  Copyright © 2011 Walter L. Kleine

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  Probability Zero: WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION by Jerry Oltion

  When my parents asked if I wanted to go to a camp this summer, I thought they meant some lame-o place in the woods where you hiked until you got blisters on your feet and fell out of canoes and stuff. Turned out it was in the woods all right, but it was anything but lame. It was a computer camp. Massively multiplayer online game camp, to be specific. I could spend as much time as I wanted—in fact the brochure said I would be encouraged to spend as much time as possible—playing games.

  I guess I'll go, I said. If you want me to.

  The place looked like any other camp. Trees. A creek. Log dorms with bunk beds. A big central building with an echoey cafeteria. Half a dozen old farts grinning at the parents and eyeing the kids mistrustfully. A couple dozen college kids called “counselors” who were really the enforcers for the old farts.

  They talked about hiking trails and canoes and tents and stuff, and said we could use them any time, but they weren't fooling anybody. Even our parents knew why we were really there.