Page 3 of Smart@ss Cyborg

I go still when my body experiences the feeling of deceleration. Suddenly there’s a loud hiss overlaid by a grinding screech—the sound of the train’s brakes, I know from my research. This is followed by a whistle louder than any underwater beast.

Moving quickly, I set my unfinished meal on the empty seat beside me and raise my hat to my head before positioning my legs to take my weight. Then I stand. Taking up my saddlebags which contain all my worldly possessions, I grasp the handle of the roomette car and draw it aside, exiting.

Leaving the train is easy, with the way the humans give me one glance and shy back from me, clutching their suitcases and bags. I pass all of them, tipping my hat to be cordial.

None of the males tip their hats in return.

I step down from the temperature-controlled train car—and I’m walloped with a wall of dry heat.

I grimace. Excessive exposure to this burning sun can be dangerous to a human—and it can become dangerous to a Yonderin as well.

“I need to find the livery,” I murmur to myself, glancing up and down the dusty streets. “My equine transport will be more efficient than my C-legs at helping me reach my next climate-controlled destination.”

My equine transport was arranged days ago, before I ever boarded the train. From the vids I’ve seen, I know that a horse is a cowboy’s closest companion. A sidekick, if you will. I'm quite excited to begin my partnership with mine. I’m to ride a faithful and trustworthy sixteen hands tall Quarter Horse cross animal named Bosco. Although I was matched to him due to my height, I liked his color, which is an electric red with luminescent white legs. His muzzle is mostly white and his eyes are a startling blue. I’m quite elated to meet him. All I must do is find his whereabouts.

I scan my surroundings. Boardwalks line the sides of each street and connect clapboard stores with signs that give an idea of what services they offer, just like the vids I’ve watched. And then I spot the sign that readsLivery Stable & Wagon Yard.

There’s some repair or alteration happening to the sign, as it appears that someone has recently attempted to paint over the additional wordsofHarvey & Co,rendering them hardly legible. But this is the place I need.

“Excellent,” I say to myself, and I move my legs to claim my trusty steed.

CHAPTER 2

“This is Paco.”

We both stare down at the furry gray creature.

So very,very…gray. There isn’t anything resembling luminescence or electric brightness to him. To the contrary, he's the definition of dull. “He looks nothing like Bosco,” I note, dismayed. “How many hands tall is he?”

“Maybe twelve, give or take,” the livery employee hedges.

Leading me to surmise he’s less than twelve hands high.

He isn’t at all what I was promised. Small and shaggy, the only interesting things on him are his large shiny black eyes. They happen to be the only shiny things on him. His hair is the dull gray of a slow-moving aquatic mammal known as a sirenian, with a dusty dark stripe running up his spine and cutting across his shoulders, like a painted-on cross. The top of the cross connects to a stiff-haired mane that stands upright.

“What… what is Paco?” I ask. “He looks like no horse I’ve seen.”

“That’s because he’s a donkey,” the livery man says. “And sir, I’m real sorry about the mix-up, but Boss Alvert just took over this place after, ah—well, after Harvey suddenly died the way he did. The short of it is, I realize you were promised a horse by Harvey but this is Boss Alvert’s place now and we ended up renting out all the horses. Paco’s all we’ve got left for mounts.”

He looks at the animal and winces.

I too consider the animal for a moment, then step back to scan the numerous stalls here inside the belly of theLivery Stable & Wagon Yardformerly Harvey & Co, now of this Boss Alvert.

Most are empty. The few that have animals in them must be boarders here, I assume.I reckon,I correct myself.

Scuffing my boot on the dirt ground that’s so hard packed it behaves like smooth rock, I inhale the interesting scents of equines and dried grasses and the results of feeding equines dried grasses.

“If there are no horses for rent, are there any here for sale?” I query.

“None, sir. Boss Alvert said the horse flesh Harvey kept is too good to sell.” He jerks his head at the donkey. “We don’t have much use for a donkey though, so the boss would sell him if you want.”

“I see.” I focus on the dull creature being offered to me as a substitution, my sole option of transport. He’s a much shorter mount than I anticipated. I estimate that I won’t fit properly atop him.

Paco is unconcerned with my predicament, leaning his haunches against the corner of his stall, and—swishing his furry hindquarters back and forth—he ingeniously itches his shaggy rump.

He is also scrubbing the cobweb-covered wood slats clean with his fur, which is bristly, looking both coarse and soft at the same time somehow.

Catching my bottom lip over my teeth like I’ve seen cowboys do in the Western research vids, I poke two fingers to the brim of my hat, tipping my head as I give my assent. “This’ll do,” I tell the livery worker, attempting a very light drawl.

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