The general squinted toward the sky. “Looks as if the sun’s over the yardarm,” he said. He’d never much thought about what a yardarm might be, or how high the sun would have to be to be over one. It seemed as good an excuse as any to have a drink, not that he ever lacked for excuses.
“All right, name your poison,” said Jester, pointing toward the cooler. “We’ll wet our throats and then see how far the ball’s going today. In this dry air, it usually flies pretty well. Rolls a long way after it lands, too.”
“Good,” said the general, chuckling. “I don’t mind a few extra yards, to tell the truth.”
“Who does?” said Jester, with a broad grin. “Let’s get a drink, and then we can find out how it’s playing.” He waved toward the waiting cooler, and General Blitzkrieg eagerly stepped forward. This was beginning to look like a worthwhile visit, after all-and he hadn’t even started to compile demerits against Omega Company. That would be when the real fun started…
Sushi and Do-Wop sat in a circle with a large group of the Red Indians, illuminated by a campfire in the middle. They’d told their story to the chief (the same Indian who’d met them). Then they’d been feasted, they’d been entertained by singers and storytellers, and now the peace pipe was making its way around the circle. At the moment, it was apparently somewhere on the far side of the circle; neither of the two legionnaires had yet sampled it.
Showing unaccustomed patience, Do-Wop nudged Sushi, and said, “Yo, Soosh, what d’ya think of these Indian babes? I think a couple of ‘em like me…”
“That’s just because they don’t know you,” said Sushi. “Give them five or ten minutes…”
“Funny man,” said Do-Wop, throwing a mock-angry punch at Sushi. He was about to add something else when a voice behind the two of them said, “Legionnaires come quick-heap bad news!”
“Oh, shit, I just knew it-we’re gonna miss our turn on the pipe,“ said Do-Wop. ”Soosh, how about you go find out what’s happening?“
“Both must come,” said the messenger, before Sushi could reply. With the strength of robotic muscles, the Red Indian grasped each of them by the arm, pulling them away from the circle around the fire. Reluctant, yet full of curiosity, Sushi followed without objection. True to form, Do-Wop complained bitterly every step of the way.
Their guide took them a short distance to where their robosteeds were hitched. Now, away from the glare of the fire, they could see the chief waiting there for them. Next to him stood another man, who looked as if he’d ridden hard to get there. “What’s going on?” asked Sushi. “Is this about the captain?”
“Got it in one,” said the new arrival, a lanky copper-skinned man dressed in boots, chaps, a vest, and a hat with three feathers in the brim. “He just left West Indian territory, headed lickety-split toward the spaceport. Word I got is that the guy he’s chasing has already booked ship off-planet.”
“Oh, great,” said Sushi. He looked off into the looming darkness, then turned back to the man with a sigh. “Any re-• port on where they’re heading?”
“All the ships off-planet stop on Tejas first,” said the chief. He turned and spat off into the field, then said, “Could be anywhere after that. But the ship don’t take off till tomorrow noon. You hurry up, you ask-um yourselves.”
“Tomorrow noon,” said Sushi. “How long’s it take to get there?”
The rider looked at the chief, then shrugged. “Depends,” he said. “You ride flat out, you can be there by nine-thirty, ten. Longer if you stop for grub, sleep, or trouble. Be another ship on Thursday, no big deal-they all go the same place.”
“Hey, that’s right,” said Do-Wop. “That means that even if we miss it, we can catch up with ‘em on Tejas, no big deal…“
Sushi cut him off. “It is a big deal. If we wait for the Thursday ship, we’re three days behind the captain, maybe further behind Beeker. Even worse if we have to waste time figuring out where he’s transferred to after Tejas.”
“Aww, come on,” said Do-Wop. “It’ll make that long ride a lot easier if I get one good hit off that peace pipe.”
Sushi wasn’t buying any part of it. “There’s no way we can do our job if we miss that ship. Chief, our apologies for not staying longer; I hope you understand this is important. If we can, we’ll come back and visit you again.”
“Not likely,” said the chief, with an ironic smile. “But we do understand. Just to prove it, you take this with you.” He handed Sushi a small package. “Food for journey-you eat in the saddle and not lose time. Now go ride-and luck ride with you!”
They hopped into the saddle and rode off. It wasn’t until morning that Sushi opened the package. There he found tasty meat jerky and chocolate brownies. About an hour after eating, Sushi found himself smiling. He looked over at Do-Wop, who had a silly grin on his face. He winked, and said, “Y’know, partner, I think those people must like you, after all.”
Do-Wop nearly fell off. his horse laughing.
They made it to the spaceport with plenty of time to spare.
“How long did you say this hole was?” said General Blitzkrieg, squinting down the fairway into the desert sun. He held a driver in one hand, a ball and tee in the other.
“About two-eighty,” said Captain Jester, shading his eyes with one hand. “I’d think you could reach the green on this one. There’s a bunker on the left, though, so be sure to fade it away from that.”
General Blitzkrieg nodded sagely and teed up his ball.
In fact, based on the general’s showing on the practice tee, it was long odds against his being able to reach the green with anything less than a howitzer. As for the bunker on the left, Blitzkrieg could safely put it out of mind. The general’s tee shots took off with an invariable slice, for which a less stubborn golfer might have tried to compensate by aiming far left in hopes that the wildly curving ball would end up somewhere down the middle of the course. Perversely, the general insisted on lining up every shot as if he were going to deposit the ball in the dead center of the fairway. The unfortunate results of this strategy had not so far deterred the general. He was a hard man to deter.
The general took his stance, wiggled the club head back and forth a few times, glared at the distant flag, and took a mighty swing. The ball leapt off the tee, headed straight down the middle of the fairway, then inevitably began to curve to the right. “Get back, you bastard!” screamed the general, waving his hand as if to direct the errant pellet. “Hit something, damn you!” But as if oblivious of his exalted rank, the ball continued to the right, disappearing at last into the deep brush lining the course on that side.
“Wow, you got all of that one, sir,” said Captain Jester, watching the general’s ball fly out of sight. “It’d be pin high if you straightened it out. Hey-it’s just a practice round. Take another and see if you can put it close.”
“Right, just practice,” said the general, reaching in the side pocket of his golf bag for another ball. “Got to keep that left elbow straight.”
“Sure, we’ll get a chance to bend our elbows all we want after the round,” said Jester, with a wink. “Hit as many as you like, get the feel of the course. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can round up a foursome and we can play for real.”
“A foursome?” said the general. “Now you’re talking- especially if there’s some action on it.”
“I think I can undertake to provide that,” said Jester. “Worse comes to worst, if our partners don’t have the sporting blood, you and I can put a few splazookies on the round. But we can worry about that when it’s time to pony up. For now, let’s get you some local knowledge. Hit a couple more balls out, and get a look at what kind of lies you’ve got. Then you can find out how the green’s playing… and then, you won’t be able to excuse getting beat by saying you didn’t know the course!“
“Hah!” said Blitzkrieg, gleefully. “We’ll see who it is who needs excuses, Captain. I’ll have you know I regularly shoot in the low eighties, you young pup. Get us a couple of partners who can put the ball down the fairway, and I’ll show you a few things about the game.”