I don't make a big deal about my Native heritage. I have the skin color, and the stereotypical nose. Truth is, those of us who are genuine half-breeds are in the minority. Most of us entered the vast bloodstream of humanity centuries ago.
Our old ones were essential in the healing of the Scorched Earth left in the wake of the Ka-boom. The Inuit, the Apache, the Sioux, the Navajo, the Cherokee – willingly travelled the globe sharing their wisdom and knowledge of agriculture and animal husbandry.
As they moved around, some chose to settle in Europe and Asia. Some chose to go to Mars, where they established native settlements. The Dromedaries have sent a few of their young every year since First Contact, to learn their wisdom and their way of life. Imagine that – the first intergalactic student exchange. I'm meandering again.
Sometimes, when I've been seriously injured, I have visions courtesy of Angwusnasomtaka Tumas, The Crow Mother. The drugs contribute to their weirdness, certainly. This one, though, was different. She was there, in her aged aspect, her feathery hair tinged a light grey on the edges. It was just the two of us, sitting under a tree whose branches spread across the night sky, holding galaxies and stars; and whose roots stretched far below us, feeding upon the river of light from constantly exploding supernovas.
"You know, grandma, I could really use a cold beer about now."
"No," she answers. "You need to finish healing, then hightail your big butt outta here. You have places to be, people to talk to, psychos to dispose of, a cyborg to raise, aliens to threaten, and whatever else lies in store for you to deal with."
"Is that all? What about this vision, huh?" I whine, "I didn't ask for this!"
"I didn't ask for your opinion, either!" We both chuckle at that one.
"You know, Coyote really wanted to take charge of this."
"He loves to mess with me, grandma."
"Don't I know it! Do not indulge his antics, boy. But if you can make him fall for you, it might be of use to you both. You're going to need all the good luck you can get to settle this mess you've gotten yourself into."
"I didn't ask for any of this!"
Crow Mother laughs, and in my own voice, says: "I'll take it." Which is exactly what I'd said to Helena. Hoisted with my own petard, I think.
"Okay, yes. I did ask for it."
Crow Mother plucks some feathers from her hair and starts braiding them. In her hands, they bend and twist, intertwine and link. She places the bracelet on my wrist, where it sinks into my flesh, becoming a tattoo.
She whispers in my ear: "Just be yourself, boy. Question everything, No one and nothing may be what they seem. Look behind their motives, inside their souls, and recognize that what is truth to one is lies to another. And always try to discover what it is that each suspect really wants. And if you get stuck, remember that I am with you."
She encircles my bracelet with her hands. "This will only work once."
"Work how?" I ask, "What is it?"
The tree and the sky are lost in a flash of brilliant white light. Her wings and her laugher fill my vision, and her last words are "You'll figure it out when you figure it out!" before the light blinds me completely. I open my eyes and see an all-too-familiar ceiling.
"Daniel Crow Feather, your healing is complete. Please get dressed and exit by the door in front of you. Your bill has been deducted from your credit data. Medication tailored to your genetic makeup has been prescribed for you. It is available at the exit. Thank you for entrusting your medical care to MediMart."
I'm nearly bowled over by Teepee, who hugs the breath out of me. Then he quickly releases me, realizing too late that he'd just done something very unmanly and emotional.
"Uncle Les was really worried 'bout choo!" he grumbles, but his eyes are shining. Or is it something electronic showing through his synthetic eyes? I decide that in the end, it didn't matter which – just that he missed me. He lifts his arm up.
"He fixed me up real good!" I examine it, and the kid's right. The synthetic skin looks and feels real. Les' work was not just efficient, it was artistic as well. Then I see the tattoo, and a chill runs up my spine. It's identical to the one Crow Mother gave me. There's an old Native saying that goes, "Whatever we do to the web of life, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect."
I tousle his hair and show him mine. His jaw drops, and his expression changes quickly to a 'cat-that-ate-the-canary' smile. "The Professor says that great minds think alike. Does that mean I'm smart like you?" He dances out of the way of my hand, which was aimed at his shoulder for a playful punch.
"Missed me, old timer!" he laughs. "Les and Wanda are waitin' for us at the diner. He said to tell you their special tonight is somethin' called 'chicken fingers.' I tried ta tell 'im there's no such thing as chickens with fingers. Unless they come from ones that survived the Ka-boom. And those'd be gross. Ain't that right?"
"Maybe they're Martian chickens?" I suggest, keeping the nonsense flowing.
"Ooh – maybe Martian chickens fed on Martian Mutant Mix?" he says, upping the creepiness factor. By the time we get to Penny Banzai's Lectroid Diner, whatever future Martian chicken might have had on Terran menus has been thoroughly destroyed.
As we enter, I watch in wonder as Teepee apologizes to Nicky for being smart mouthed about the day-old pastries. Nicky, who's got a soft spot for kids, shakes his hand and soon they're chatting away like old buddies.
Les is sitting at the big booth in the corner, an L-shaped affair that boasts two big movie posters – both reproductions. One is of the diner's namesake, the old movie 'Buckaroo Banzai' and the other is of "A.I. Versus Wall-E." My song starts playing. No doubt Les had cued it up as soon as I entered.
"You okay, Boss?" caws Wanda, "Did they fix your sense of humor this time?" She must be really happy, to open our conversation with a 'baiting game.'
"You are one hell of an uppity A.I. – remind me why I keep you around?" I bait back.
"Because no other A.I. can stand working with a flesh bag possessing a double-digit I.Q., that's why!" she fires.
"Your model is so out-of-date they stopped making you the day after you went on sale!"
"I'm the only model of my kind, you battered collection of spare people parts!"
"They broke the mold when they made you, you broken old MacIntosh!"
"Damn right they did!"
"Damn straight!"
Les coughed. "I'd suggest you two just kiss and make up, but that would short-circuit both of you."
Nicky appears in front of our table, with Teepee in tow. "What can we bring you tonight?"
"We?" I ask.
"Teepee wants to learn how to do what I do. It's a slow night, so he's no bother. Hey, Teeps – how about you sit with Les and your dad, here. Congratulations, Danny – Les told me you'd adopted him. Penny told me to tell you that tonight's dinner is on us."
"Three orders of chicken fingers, three synth-onion rings, some Martian spuds, two Chocobo-latte shakes and one Lectroid Lemon Lickety-Split with 3 spoons."
"Comin' right up!" Nicky says, disappearing into the kitchen.
"I ain't eating any fingers from outer space mutant chickens!" declares Teepee. Wanda takes it upon herself to explain how marketing and advertising work, leaving Les and I time to discuss our discoveries.
"Wanda went through Esket's back issues for info on the earlier Murkerbergs. Either they were the most boring clones in history, or their info has been wiped. If I recall, Murkerberg XXII had an autobiography published. Before you ask, it's not available in digital or print form. To us riffraff, that is."
"Who is it available to?" I ask, sensing that I'm not going to like the answer.
"People who are absurdly wealthy. The Platinum tier. And there's only one family rich enough to qualify..." Les was laughing.
"It's not because I'm dirty,
It's not because I'm clean,
It's not because I kiss the boys
behind the magazines..."
"The bastard wrote an autobiography that only his family could afford?" I say in disbelief, "What would be the point?"
"Don't forget, Boss," caws Wanda, "This is the guy whose favorite book is by Machiavelli."
"Wanda, that's it!" I yelp. "Fear!"
Nicky lays out our feast in front of us, and I can't help but smile watching Teepee scarf down each chicken finger, dipping each one in all four sauces before it lands on his lips. Mutant Martian chicken is back on the menu, I guess.
"Explain," asks Les, using an entire napkin to clean the grease from just one helping of synth-onion rings.
"Dow-ow-own stairs in
Danny's all-star joint,
They got a jukebox,
that goes doyt! doyt!"
"He wants them to know he knows their secrets – all their secrets. He could blackmail them. He'd essentially control MetaAppleSoft. There must be hundreds of Murkerbergs whose lives would be in his hands. The question I'd like answered is: Why are Zacks XX and XXI missing?"
Les nods slowly. "Are they alive, dead, or are they hiding?"
"Who'd they be hiding from?" Wanda caws.
"Mmrph mpmh <gulp> burp! <belch>" added Teepee.
"Again, junior - this time without your mouth full," I request patiently.
"What if the Zacks were fighting with each other? You know, like family does? I mean, like yeah, some were dead, but, like, what if, you know? Could they meet, uh, virtually? All of them, together like?" He returned his full attention to the Lickety-Split, his face dotted with blobs of whipped synth-cream.
Les and Wanda looked at Teepee, human and A.I. eyes open wide.
"Holy shit!" Les whispered. "How did we miss that? This kid, Danny, this kid!"
A smile was spreading across his usually scowling face. He looked 30 years younger. Still plump and sadly out-of-shape, though. He started to speak, when an impressive, mountain-sized fireball exploded less than a mile away.
About right in the vicinity the Chicago Public Library.
How many ONC2023 entries can have you hot & bothered while you're laughing hysterically? Not nearly enough, in my opinion!
Read "Boots of Booty" by guywortheyauthor (he/him)
It's sort of like if Wednesday and Enid were lovers, but also Dungeons and Dragons characters, and the dungeon master keeps trying to kill them off.