Orion's Belt - A Dark Sci-Fi Western Romance

It’s getting dark, so I don’t really get an impression of the town, aside from it being like all the other farming towns in these rural areas. There’s a dusty road that ain’t got no seal on it, horse shit with bits of bone sticking out clogging up the sides where the grooms haven’t been paid enough to bother picking it up, and little rodents going through it to get the pieces the horse’s digestive systems have missed.

Orion and his men draw attention, but not much comment. It’s like the good citizens of Slitneck just melt away into the night, leaving us to our outlaw activities. I feel a surge of power and pride which doesn’t make sense because none of this is about me. I’m not part of Orion’s gang, but I’m getting the feeling of what it is like to be one of them. I haven’t felt very strong of late. It’s nice to have some clout.

My stomach growls. I’m hungry as hell all over again. A little ways off there’s some street food, a small wagon with a fire out back of it, with a grill over top of it and what smells like slug.

I remember Orion telling me to tell him if I got hungry again. I wonder if he meant it, or if he’s going to cuff me around the ear for daring to ask him. I decide to chance it, once he’s done giving orders to his men who disperse around the town like a series of lawless shadows.

“Can I have some money for food, please?”

He looks at me, then flips me a coin. It’s been a while since anybody gave me money or food just because I asked for it.

“Thanks, mister.”

“Yer welcome” he says gruffly. “Get yerself something good.”

I make my way right over to the street merchant, feeling Orion’s eyes on me the whole time. He’s not with me, but he’s not letting me get away either. It’s a weird feeling, to be watched over, cared for. I better not get used to it.

“One special, please,” I say, handing my coin over to the vendor, who doesn’t even ask me what I want. I just point to the special painted on the board and he hurries to get me what I want. Because he thinks I’m a big mean outlaw. Nice.

I’m pretty sure I get more than the regular helping too. The bowl he hands me is overflowing with taste. My mouth waters as I poke the fermented cabbage with my fork. It is drizzled with oil and topped with sliced, grilled slug.

“Mmmm!” I make the sound of satisfaction to myself as I take a big, juicy bite. The slugs are perfect. Charred on the outside, gooey on the inside, and with enough salt to taste. I sit down on the stoop next to the cart and just shovel the food into my face, grateful for every bite.

I never thought I’d get to eat again, figured it was all going to end on the tracks. At least it would have been quick. Noisy, maybe, kind of vibrate-y, but ultimately over with in seconds. Probably wouldn’t even have hurt. I guess this is what it means to be living on borrowed time. Maybe some part of me did die on those train tracks. Maybe what comes next is a new life with a new me… maybe a new man?

Orion puts his boot up on the stoop next to me and leans down, his eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Want some brew?” He hands me a bottle taken from somewhere.

“Sure,” I say. I’ve been drinking alcohol since I was a baby. Safest way to get liquid into your body. Everything on Patch is brewed and fermented or dried because the water has the kind of pathogens that turn your digestive system into a slip and slide straight to hell. “Thank you.”

He tips his hat to me. “No problem, little lady.”

I’m glad it is dark and he can’t see the blush which rushes to my cheeks with those words that could so easily be mistaken for affection.

Orion

I watch her eat. She’s a ravenous little thing, that’s for sure. If I were a betting man, I’d say she hadn’t been fed properly for a long time.

“So. You want to tell me how you ended up on them tracks?”

“Nope,” she says through a mouthful of food. “Don’t want to tell you nothing.”

“You might not want to, but you’re going to have to tell me something.”

“Why?”

She looks at me, then takes a long swig of the brew. It’s a good question. I guess she doesn’t think I can help her, and she doesn’t reckon she owes me for her rescue. She’s an independent woman, and one who can keep her mouth shut. Never thought I’d have to work to get a woman to talk. Most of the ladies I know can’t stop talking.