by Phil Geusz
It had been very kind of Tottson to stand up for me, I knew, even if we Henhouse staffers had saved his life. The Commodore had experienced a very bad week after the incident, between blaming himself for bringing in the Blueberries and then ending up among the rioters instead of the good guys. It hadn't been his fault, none of it! The whole thing had been a refining accident, that was all. Still, he'd blamed himself and had been unable to leave his stateroom for days.
It was just as well that he couldn't remember a thing about our encounter in the Saloon. And I certainly had no intention of ever reminding him. Tottson was a damned fine spacer, and a damned fine man. Even if he did tend to spend a good part of his R and R time in the company of the Dragon.
I smiled as I thought of her, then turned and sought out her face among the crowd. All the Henhouse people were sitting together off in a corner by themselves, Beauregard in the front row, though it hadn't been planned that way. Even now, after all that we had been through, no one would sit next to anyone associated with the Henhouse. It was rather sad, really.
The Dragon herself was also sitting in the front row, dressed in racy black lace and spike-heel boots that were subdued and tasteful in contrast to her normal working wardrobe, but which still stood out dramatically from the more conventional attire around her. The Henhouse was back in business already, though on a far more limited basis, and the Dragon had resumed her usual habits. She almost never left her Dungeon, and a visit to Lagrange proper was virtually unheard of. I was being deeply honored.
She was the real hero of the Henhouse. I knew it, she knew it, we all knew it. Yet it was me that was getting the medal, and whenever I tried to tell the truth about her everyone simply clammed up and conversation became awkward. It was the damnedest thing I'd ever seen, how "normal" people reacted to the Dragon. It was almost as if they refused to accept her very existence. I'd tried to turn my medal down unless they gave her some kind of award too, but she'd come and called me a childish idiot and asked me what someone as divine and powerful as she was could possibly want with a filthy medal?
Someday, I vowed. Someday she would get the recognition that she deserved. In the meantime, she had earned my eternal gratitude and respect. I smiled at her, and she scowled slightly by way of reply.
She kind of liked me, I realized then for the very first time. Maybe it was the feathers? Several people had told me recently that they made me irresistible...
Then everyone was applauding and Commodore Tottson was holding up my medal and smiling, his teeth blazing out like an exploding galaxy against the eternal night. "…Order of Venus," the master of ceremonies was saying, "The Brotherhood's highest award for valor in the face of danger." Clumsily I climbed to my feet and walked across the stage to receive my prize, feathers fluffed and comb held proudly erect. I was going to stay a chicken, I'd decided, even after I completed my tour of duty as the Pussy Pilot. When you're a chicken, you learn right away where folks stand. It's easy to tell who your true friends are and who simply wants to laugh.
When I reached the dais, Tottson took my hand and squeezed it warmly. "The Venus Award," he said with a grin, after making damned certain that the mike was dead. "How utterly appropriate."
My feathered face remained perfectly deadpan as I made my reply. "Watch out for Uranus," I declared flatly. Then he laughed again, and hung the chain around my neck as everyone stood up and cheered, cheered, cheered. The silvery Morning and Evening stars now sparkled against my space-black tunic, just like they did on Commodore Tottson's, and would forevermore. Only four other living men wore the Order of Venus, though it was an honor that I shared with many dead ones. The Order was awarded posthumously far more often than not.
"I wanted to add something to your medal," Tottson continued. "Because of the very special nature of your accomplishment. But they wouldn't let me build in a vibrator, no matter how hard I pleaded."
For a long moment I just stood and gaped, my beak hanging open. Was nothing sacred? Then I thought of the swollen chrome trophy that was now mounted lovingly to Aphrodite's control panel, and which Tottson had promised would be accompanying me out to the Kuiper and far beyond, soon enough to the stars themselves.
And there, in front of the cameras and God and Mrs. Mayberry and everybody, I leaned my head back and laughed my goddamned ass off.
Also available from Legion:
Corpus Lupus
Descent
Transmutation NOW!
Wine of Battle
Novellas:
A Left-handed Sword
Lagrange
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