Page 56 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian
P. 56

High Tex and the Orbies

        book my mother showed me, but I didn’t know it was worth looking
        for  them  anymore.  I  was  hungry  and  tired,  and  they  didn’t  want
        another mouth to feed, but Mr. Nye happened to be visiting them
        and  he  wouldn’t  let  them  hurt  me.  He  said  he  knew  a  man  who
        would take care of me, and that we should make the journey together
        to High Tex. I did not trust him at first, but I had no choice. We
        traveled many weeks, and Mr. Nye went to a lot of trouble to protect
        me  and find me  food. Now  I am with High Tex,  and he has also
        given  me  shelter, although  it is very dangerous outside here and it
        must be difficult for him to keep me safe from the terrible weather
        and  bad  people  down  here.  But  this  is  not  my  final  destination,
        according to him. Soon I will  be going to a place  where it will  be
        much safer and people will want me.”
          “That’s the short version, Ottley,” said Tex. “You need more.”
          “No. Show me on a map where I found him, how long it took to
        get here, how long ago this happened, how I knew you would take
        him in.”
          “Those are the right questions. You are the man I sought. And just
        in time: the boy will be leaving this afternoon. Daniel. Go to your
        room and get ready. You know what you can take with you.”
          “Yes, sir.”
          Ottley  heard  the  first  trace  of  emotion  in  that  reply,  a  bit  of
        sadness. It was another surprise. Most people able to carry on had the
        subtler feelings burned out of them, no matter what age. The boy left
        an uncomfortable silence behind. Tex broke it.
          “Not many of us left.”
          “I won’t argue with that.” Ottley intuited his host referred to the
        brotherhood of con artists to which they both perforce belonged.
          “Normal commerce is all twisted. Nothing left, everything needed.
        Rubes  and  marks  should  be  treating  us  like  gods,  no  matter  the
        quality of goods we supply.  But we have a hard sell. No honor even
        for  a  false  prophet.  Hope  is  the  organ  we  play  and  the  pipes  are
        busted. No sizzle accepted without a bite or two of steak attached.”
          “You found a customer for the boy. The price won’t be a case of
        soldier’s rations. I think you found the right tune for this one.”
          High Tex grunted.





                                       55
   51   52   53   54   55   56   57   58   59   60   61