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

“That’s a short, brutal life.”

“Most life is. We have a camp near here that’s not so bad. Less salt. More dirt. We’ll walk the horses out to it.”

My horse is coming after us, still a half a mile off, a plucky little figure doing its best to catch up with the three of us. The poor mare never really had a chance against the augmented stallion Orion rides. I know how she feels as she trots up, sweating and foaming and tossing her head in what looks to me an expression of irritation at having been left behind.

I wonder how we are going to camp in a desert with no water, but that is answered when Orion leads me and the horses around a large crop of rocks, from which a small spring is bubbling. There’s shelter here, and a series of rocks leading down a small crevasse in the sand.

“That water in the spring is salty,” he says. “But we have desalinators stashed around here somewhere.”

“Imperium technology is pretty useful sometimes, huh?”

“We just use basic evaporators,” he says. “No Imperium machines here.”

“Not none,” I say, glancing at his horse and his arm.

“None,” he growls.

I should stay quiet. I shouldn’t mention it. But it comes blurting out of my face before I can stop myself.

“That’s a mechanical horse!”

“It is not.”

“I saw the vents!”

“Not every piece of technology comes from the Imperium, Josie,” he says. “There used to be several other factions who traded here, until the Imperium shut them out. This horse is a hundred years old.”

“It, um, runs really fast for a hundred year old horse.”

“Yes. It does.”

He takes a break from glowering at me, which he has been doing since I suggested he has Imperium connections, to go rummaging around in the undergrowth. There is a crate hidden under some crumpled brown foliage. Orion pulls it out, cracks it open and hands me a bottle from the interior.

“Brewed bread,” he says. “It’s healthy because of the yeast. Drink it. We don’t have anything else until the rest of the supplies arrive.”

I open it and take a sip. It tastes like buttered toast, if that buttered toast had grown up, had a family, and then died.

“This is disgusting.”

“It is nutritious and it is liquid and you will drink it, girl,” he growls sternly. “I don’t want you dehydrating and getting sick out here. We don’t have the medical supplies to rehydrate you.”

“I really don’t like this. I can’t drink it.”

“It goes in one hole, or the other.”

“What?”

“It’s possible to hydrate a person via the anus,” he says. “It’s easier if you drink it, but I can pour it inside your rear if you want to make it difficult.”

“You wouldn’t do…” I pause. I was about to say that he wouldn’t do that, but I think he would. He’d do that and so much more. Maybe it’s not as bad as I first thought. Maybe it’s an acquired taste.

I take another sip of the brew, retch, and spit it out. It is not an acquired taste. It’s disgusting.

“I’m really not that thirsty,” I say, backing away from him. “I can’t drink this shit.”

“Interesting choice of words given where it’s going.”

“Orion! Please! I’m not even thirsty yet. Your gang will be here soon. They have water. I think there’s some more in my saddlebag. Enough until the desalinators start working.”

“Uh huh. And if they’re not…” he gives me a determined look. “You know what’s coming.”

I can’t stop blushing. I really don’t know if he’s serious, or if this is some wicked way of getting my mind off the fact we’ve been chased across a desert by the man who is trying to kill me and we are now perilously low on supplies in a location where natural foods are almost non-existent.

“That looks like heat on your cheeks, girl,” he winks. “If you’re getting too hot, don’t forget to drink.”

Orion

I’m only half-joking. Dehydration kills, and if she can’t stomach the brew, I’m going to have to get the liquid into her another way. Josie won’t like it, but I’m not going to lose her before we get to the ranch.

“I’m just going to sit underneath the brush here and conserve water,” she says, pouting at me.

“Alright. Let me get this desalinator up to save your pretty rear from becoming an intake.”

“Gross,” she complains. “Why must men be disgusting?”

“We’re not disgusting. We’re practical. And you’ve hardly got airs and graces yourself there, missy,” I remind her.

That’s not a bad thing either. I enjoy Josie’s company. She’s the first woman I’ve been with I don’t feel the need to have to play a role around. There’s plenty of ladies who like a rough outlaw to act like a refined gentleman. They think they want someone rough until the first time I spit on the ground or split a skull. But Josie doesn’t need me to pretend I’m something I’m not. She likes the rougher side of me. She laughed at the boy with the snake oil rather than lecturing me for my lack of mercy. I reckon I might have found a match in her. It’s a pity we’re going to be going our own separate ways soon enough.