The Outpost (29 page)

Suddenly, a tear appeared on Langtry Lily’s cheek, and she leaned over and planted a long, tender kiss on Hurricane Smith’s lips.

“Now that’s right touching,” said Catastrophe Baker.

“It sure is,” agreed the Reverend Billy Karma. “It almost makes you forget she’s a godless insect that lays eggs and probably eats her young.”

He was lucky he leaned over to blow his nose just then, because a stream of acid saliva from Langtry Lily shot out right to where his head had been.

“I knew a lady insect once,” said O’Grady. He turned to Langtry Lily. “Not of your species, ma’am. She was a brilliant silver in color, and had a number of long sinewy arms, and the biggest, reddest multi-faceted eyes you ever saw. She showed up at the casino out by Mutare II one night and started winning everything in sight. Took me hours to figure out how she was doing it.”

“The eyes, right?” said Little Mike.

“That’s what I thought originally,” answered O’Grady. “But it wasn’t. It was those damned antennae. She was getting signals from another insect that was standing maybe twenty feet behind us.”

“What did you do—tar and feather her, or cut off her antennae?” asked the Reverend Billy Karma.

“Neither,” said O’Grady. “All we did was take our money back and burn a big red ‘A’ into her carapace.”

“Why?”

“I take it you’re not much on the classics,” said O’Grady. “We figured any time she entered a human gambling establishment, the players would take one look at that ‘A,’ figure she was an alien Hester out for a good time, and if their name wasn’t Hurricane Smith they’d head for the hills.”

Big Red looked at his computer’s holoscreen. “Einstein says he likes that idea.”

“That’s because Einstein is better read than the Reverend here,” said O’Grady.

“I don’t read anything but the Good Book,” said Billy Karma defensively. “Especially the begattings.”

“You sound like you’re into genealogy,” said Achmed of Alphard.

“He’s into begatting,” Sinderella corrected him.

“Where does the Lord say you can’t have a little fun?” demanded Billy Karma.

“How about Genesis?” suggested Hellfire Van Winkle.

“Besides that!”

“That wasn’t enough?” said Van Winkle. “He threw Adam and Eve out of Eden.”

“Well, I got my own theories about that,” said Billy Karma. “You know what I think Eve was
really
nibbling on instead of an apple?”

“I don’t want to hear this,” said Sinderella.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” added Van Winkle.

“If God didn’t want you educated, He wouldn’t have put me here to preach to you,” said Billy Karma. “I’ve been thinking for some time now that the Bible needs a complete rewrite.”

“I can see it now,” said Little Mike Picasso
. “The Old Testament—The Good Parts Version, by the Reverend Billy Karma.”

“Sounds good to me,” said the Reverend.

“Does anything that’s filthy or in terrible taste ever sound bad to you?” asked Sinderella.

“Insufficient information,” said Billy Karma.

“What are you talking about?”

“You let me nibble up your thigh and down your belly and then I’ll know if you taste good or terrible.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you, Reverend,” said Little Mike, “but there’s a difference between women with good taste and women who taste good.”

“Not to me there isn’t,” said Billy Karma devoutly.

“I can believe that,” said Van Winkle.

“I think maybe you’d better pray to the Lord to send you a restraining bolt,” said Sinderella.

“You’re into restraints, are you?” asked the Reverend.

Sinderella looked like she was going to reply, but then she turned her back on him in disgust.

“No doubt about it, the Lord had plenty of foresight,” said Billy Karma, still staring at her. “Look at that beautiful round bottom. God put most of the fun stuff on the flip side, but He remembered to leave a little something back here for a lonely man of the cloth to admire.”

“Kind of single-minded tonight, ain’t you?” said Baker.

“Single-minded is an understatement,” agreed the Gravedigger.

“Hey, Reverend,” said Baker as another explosion lit up the night sky, “maybe you’d better have a quick talk with the Lord and tell Him to leave women alone and concentrate on ending the war.”

“Not His department,” said the Reverend Billy Karma. “God made women.
Men
make wars. Well, men and godless aliens.”

“You know, any minute now we’re going to take offense at that,” said Sitting Horse.

“You wouldn’t want to go to heaven anyway,” said Billy Karma. “I figure if there actually
are
any aliens there, they all live in the low-rent district and don’t get choice tee times at the golf course.”

“I don’t know why,” said Hellfire Van Winkle, “but I get the definite impression that it takes less education to become a preacher these days than when I was growing up.”

“Mostly it takes a bible, a black coat, and a personal relationship with the Good Lord,” agreed Billy Karma.

“It sure as hell doesn’t take any knowledge of Old Earth’s literature,” put in Big Red. “Hell, even
I
knew who Hester was.”

“He probably thinks the House of Usher is where you train robots to guide dirty old men to their seats at a strip show,” said Little Mike Picasso.

“You mean it ain’t?” said Billy Karma.

“Just a minute here,” said Catastrophe Baker. “Are you saying that the House of Usher is
fictional
?”

Little Mike stared at him. “Are you saying it isn’t?”

“I’ve
been
there,” said Baker.

“I’m talking about a story called
The Fall of the House of Usher
,” said Little Mike.

“Am I in it?” asked Baker.

“No.”

“Well, I should be,” he said. “Because I was there when it fell.”

“Somehow I don’t think we’re talking about the same place,” said Little Mike.

“How many Houses of Usher could there have been?” asked Baker.

“Tell me about yours and then I’ll give you an answer.”

Catastrophe Baker and the Fall of the House of Usher

It all took place on Moebius IV (began Baker). I’d just finished hunting Demoncats. They’re currently the most endangered large predators in the galaxy—they weren’t endangered at all when I started, but one of ’em charged me early on and got my blood up—and I’d decided that I owed myself a little R&R, except that I called it F&F.

I’d heard that the best whorehouse in that sector was the one that Ugly Jim Usher ran on Moebius, so I headed there to kind of reward myself for a job well done. Turns out that most of what I’d heard was right. Ugly Jim ran a hell of an operation, and since he’s a pretty broad-minded soul (no pun intended) he stocked it with the best-looking females from most of the better-looking races in the galaxy. There were human women, and Balatai women, and even a couple of Pelopennes (though they didn’t hold a candle to you, Mrs. Smith, ma’am). I think the strangest may have been the one they called the Spider Lady: she had eight legs evenly spaced around her body, but except for that she looked as human as any woman there.

“Uh … I hate to interrupt,” said Hurricane Smith. “But if she had eight legs, how many … ah …?””

“Four,” said Baker.

“Amazing!” said Big Red.

“And how did you … uh …?"” said Smith.

“Pretty much the usual way,” answered Baker. “Except that four of us could do it at once and never get in each other’s way. Well, as long as she stayed on her feet, that is.”

“Fascinating,” said Smith. “I wonder if—”

Langtry Lily uttered a warning hiss.

“It’s merely academic interest, my dear,” said Smith.

She leaned over and whispered something to him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” he said in injured tones. “In fact, I’ve already forgotten that she can be found on Moebius IV.”

Another hiss.

“I misspoke,” said Smith with a little tremor of desperation in his voice. “I’ve already forgotten that she can be found on MacBeth IX.”

She stared at him expressionlessly.

“Reggie!” he hollered. “Some more sugar for the lady!” As Reggie brought out another pound of sugar, Smith turned to Baker. “Go on with your story.”

“You sure?” asked Baker, trying to suppress a grin of amusement. “I mean, I’d be just as happy to wait until she dissolves you or rips you to shreds.”

“No, go right ahead,” said Smith uncomfortably. “You were listing all the alien prostitutes?”

“I was telling about my memorable experience in Jim Usher’s whorehouse,” Baker corrected him. “The rest was just scene-setting and window-dressing.”

“It was?” said Smith, obviously disappointed.

“Right. Are you still interested, or should I quit?”

Smith took a quick peek at Langtry Lily, who looked like she was ready to spit in his eye if he came up with the wrong answer.

“No, I’m dying to hear it,” said Smith.

“Good,” said Baker, still grinning. “I’d hate to think all this talk of alien whores was boring you.”

“Just tell the fucking story!” bellowed Smith.

I wish that was the kind of story it was (said Baker): a fucking story, that is.

Though, to be honest, it certainly started out that way.

Like I was saying, I stopped by Ugly Jim Usher’s place, downed a couple of pints of 150-proof whiskey imported from New Kentucky, and gave the ladies the once-over to see who I was going to honor with my patronage.

And all of a sudden, damned if I didn’t think one of them Demoncats had done my retina some serious damage, enough to make me see triple, because standing in front of me were three of the sexiest ladies I’d ever laid eyes on—and if you’d have put a gun to my head I couldn’t have spotted the tiniest difference between them. I just stood there staring at them with my jaw hanging open until all three of ’em started giggling.

“Don’t feel embarrassed,” said the one on the left. “Everyone reacts like that the first time.”

“Well, I can see why,” I said. “I could have sworn that two of you were holographs of the third.”

“Oh, we’re real, all right,” said the one on the right.

“Want us to prove it?” asked the one in the middle with a wicked grin.

“Why not?” I responded. “In a long lifetime filled with nothing but interesting adventures, this sounds like it could be the most interesting of all. By the way, have you girls got names?”

“I’m Fatima,” said the one on the left.

“I’m Fifi,”said the one on the right.

“And I’m Felicity,” said the one in the middle. “We’re the DeMarco Triplets.”

“Identical in every way,” said Fatima.

“I got no problem believing it,” I said.

“Wait’ll you take us to bed,” promised Fifi. “You’ll find that I’m much more identical than they are.”

“That’s a pretty daring challenge,” I noted.

“Are you up to it?” asked Felicity meaningfully.

“I been up to it (so to speak) since the second I laid eyes on the three of you,” I told her.

I didn’t feel the need to waste any more time talking, so I went over and told Ugly Jim that we needed a small room with a big bed.

“You want all three of them?” he asked.

“Sure do,” I said.

“At the same time?”

“Relatively,” I said.

He named a price that I thought was five times too high. I paid it without an argument and off the four of us went.

Well, I won’t describe the next couple of hours, since my pal Hurricane would probably find it boring, and the rest of you might just faint dead away from excitement—but I will say that it was one of the more satisfying experiences of my life, to say nothing of being one of the most exhausting.

In fact, the more I thought about it the more I couldn’t see no reason why we shouldn’t all get satisfied and exhausted every night for the rest of our lives, so before we left the room I asked all three of ‘em to marry me, and damned if they didn’t say Yes.

Ugly Jim was only too happy to accommodate me when I told him I was buying drinks for everyone in the house, males and females, humans and aliens alike, to celebrate my good fortune. It was only when I told him what my good fortune
was
that he hit the roof and looked like he was having a seizure, or at the very least conniption fits.