Comanche

A bit of standard conbook silliness.


Comanche
By Bill "Hafoc" Rogers



Lieutenant Colonel Myles Keough rode on proudly, keeping his red-brown tail straight and just above his brave steed's back, just the way they'd taught him at... at... At wherever it was they taught you to ride. His keen eyes searched the painted desert sands for trouble, always vigilant but unafraid, ready for anything.

He wrinkled his sharp nose, his whiskers spreading to feel the wind. "Sioux," he muttered. "And more antelope-warriors than bison this time. It's Yellow Hand's band for sure. But where? And how long ago?"

"Jimmy?"

He cocked his ear, trying to trace the unfamiliar--

"Jimmy!"

"Oh, sorry, Silverheels."

"You've been nothing but distracted lately," the black stallion said. "You touched me with those spurs again. I warned you once before about that. Take them off, and do it now!"

"But Sil! I worked so hard to get the perfect look. Don't make me spoil it now."

Silverheels raised his head to glare at his dressage partner. Jimmy wore an authentic 1870s US Cavalry officer's uniform instead of his usual English riding getup.

Silverheels had a wonderful voice, deep and almost beautiful enough to make you weep. The tone of it sent shivers of pleasure through you, even when he was ticked at you.

He said "I admit you look wonderful, or I think you do. Gods know I don't know the first thing about clothes. But the clothes you wear don't change what I am. I'm not letting you treat me like a Simple, like they treated Simples before the Kindness Act, no less. Don't forget I'm fully augmented, even if I did have to leave the arms back at the hotel. The spurs. Off. Now."

"Oh, all right. It's too bad; they match the silverwork on your bridle and saddle so well. The polished studs, the gleaming conchos..."

"I have as much vanity as most stallions, but you're not going to change my mind by appealing to it."

"Are you sure? All shiny, with the polished black leather against your black hair, set off in silver that gleams like the little white patches above your hooves--"

The black stallion sighed. "I can't stand spurs. Look, be careful, won't you? Those things hurt!"

"Look, here come Beauty and Sylvia!"

Sure enough, here came a brown and white pinto mare, trotting out of the parking lot with her shoes striking sparks on the pavement. She saw them and tossed her head, going into a proud, high-stepping trot. Hard and muscular as Beauty was from her job guarding tourists in the mountains, the lightweight gig and the vixen who pretended to drive it didn't seem to burden her at all.

"Good evening," Silverheels said as Beauty trotted up. "How are things at the farm?"

"Tobe got into the green apples again."

"That colt is a slow learner. Takes after me."

"He just gets distracted." She half-lidded her eyes at him. "Like you. Are you distracted at the moment, big boy?"

Silverheels didn't say anything, but if Jimmy knew how to read his friend by the tensions of the horse's muscles-- and he most definitely did-- the stallion thought Beauty looked even more fetching than normal. And indeed, the pinto mare looked wonderful. She'd gone with chestnut-brown harness straps and brass hardware polished until it looked like gold. It fit her as if it were custom. It probably was.

Jimmy only had eyes for Sylvia, though. It was amazing how good she looked in an old-fashioned blue gingham dress. Of course Sylvia could have made a gunnysack look good. Especially a low-cut gunny sack.

"You look stunning, Sylvia."

She giggled. "Why, ah I do declare, Lieutenant Colonel! Do they-ah teach nothing but flattery at that Yankee military academy out east? You'd think--"

"Oh no," Silverheels groaned.

"What?" Sylvia asked, dropping the attempt at an accent. Nothing serious seemed to have happened. A dog had trotted up to sit politely on his haunches by the gig's left wheel, that was all. He was a German Shepherd, by the looks of him, although a bit lanky and sharp-featured for one.

"You're not coming," Silverheels told the dog. The dog had no comment.

"Who are you talking to? Sylvia, is that your dog?"

"Jimmy, you know I don't have a dog. I don't know where he came from. He seems well-behaved, though."

Beauty turned her head and sighed deeply. "Jenks," she said. The dog's ears drooped.

"Jenks, did you really think we wouldn't know you? And even if we didn't recognize a friend, don't you think we know a coyote when we smell one? We're not city horses any more!"

Jenks gave up the act. "Oh, please, Beauty! Please, Silverheels! Let me come to the party. The excitement, the people to sniff, the food, I can't stand to miss it! I'll be good!

"You're a COYOTE," Silverheels said, with great precision.

"Ah, don't be a species bigot! Besides, I didn't do it!"

"Do what?"

"Whatever it was you're mad about! Honest, Silverheels! I've never been to a premiere party--"

"Or a movie either, most likely."

"--and I went to one of the best hairdressers at the studio, and he did my fur. Full body trim, layering, dye, and detail coloring. I look just like Rin Tin Tin and everything! Such a beautiful job, nobody will ever know the difference!"

"How did you get the studio hairdresser to--"

"Oh, I gave him your name. Said I was an old friend of yours."

"Oh, Epona."

"Well, isn't it true? And I'll be good, really! It took hours to get all the tips of my fur the right color! Hours. Please let me come!"

"If you think coyote promises and puppy eyes will-- will-- oh, Epona save me, I can't stand to hear a grown 'yote whimper. Look, stay out of the bright lights as much as you can. And stay near Jude Law. If something gets destroyed, they'll blame him."

"Oooh! A decoy! What a wonderful idea! I can--"

"JENKS!"

"I'll be good I'll be good I'll be good!"

"I have a bad feeling about this. All right, let's go. And Beauty, let's stay in character. We're supposed to be cavalry horses."

"Then why did I get stuck hauling a wagon?"

"It's not a wagon, just a lightweight gig. And the harness looks wonderful on you, my dear."

"That, sir, is merely changing the subject." But she picked up her feet cheerfully as they trotted toward the bright lights and the red carpet.

The searchlights and laser beams lit up the low clouds of artificial mist in a dazzling display of color and geometry. As they trotted up the lasers wrote COMANCHE-LAST HORSE STANDING in lovely violet letters, with a fine display of fire-drawn mesas, canyons, saguaro cacti, cattle skulls, broken wagon wheels, and other iconic Western stuff that had nothing at all to do with Custer, the Seventh Cavalry, or Montana.

"Ut-oh," Beauty muttered. "Protesters. Emir warned me there might be some."

"It's just a story about the one horse found alive at Custer's Last stand. What could they possibly be upset about?"

"I don't know what-all. The dogs there, probably yelling about being shown as fawning over their masters. Emir mentioned some environmental group opposed to overgrazing--"

"We shot most of it in the studio, and the location shots had CATERING!"

"Nevertheless. And-- Oh no. Watch it. Crazy human woman, bearing 30 relative, range closing."

"Shhh!"

"--obscenity, threatening the morals of our children! To take a classic Western tale and insert a gratuitous sex scene between the cavalry horses--"

"I rather liked that part," Silverheels stage-whispered.

"Shhh!"

"--and they're not wearing pants!"

One of the cops, a burly fellow who seemed unusually alert and good-tempered for a bear who was still wandering around outdoors in December, seemed puzzled by this. "They're non-anthro. Non-anthro horses do NOT WEAR PANTS."

"But these horses KNOW they're naked!"

Silverheels muttered "Naked, and thank Epona for that. Winter or not, LA is hot enough today to make my--"

"Shhhh!"

"Well, things get sticky! I'm just saying."

"Shhhh! Here she comes!"

"You!" The Crazy Woman stepped in front of Silverheels. "You, listen to me! How can you degrade the morals of our children in this shocking manner?"

Silverheels looked at her blankly. He perked his ears and sniffed her. She smelled like apples with slight overtones of over-aged sauerkraut.

"Don't pull that on me! I know you can understand every word I'm saying!"

Silverheels turned his head aside and nickered. Jimmy patted his neck. "Good horsie." Normally, the stallion would rip Jimmy a new one for that, but right now he couldn't even risk saying boo. Jimmy grinned BIG.

"Now, now, move along, you're going to frighten the horses. Don't make me ticket you. Surely you have something better to do?"

"But- but Officer, he understands me! He's mocking-- Pervert! Scoundrel! Dirty old... NAKED HORSE!"

Silverheels flicked an ear. Jimmy dismounted and got the spare pair of boots out of Sylvia's wagon. He took the boots and inserted them, reversed, into Silverheels's stirrups. Sylvia already had Beauty unhitched, perhaps with a few hints from the mare herself; Sylvia was pretty good with motorcycles, but she didn't know horses. She didn't have a horse-friend to ride, poor girl.

Jimmy took Silverheels's reins. He nodded to Sylvia, who took Beauty's, hesitantly. Silverheels flicked an ear and rolled his eyes, but no more. He had to play his part for the cameras, after all.

They walked through the police line and down the red carpet. The happy chatter of the fans and the galaxy of camera flashes were disorienting, but exciting too. Jimmy had never dreamed he might be the center of attention like this.
Of course they weren't here to photograph him. He could hear the comments. "Oh, so glossy! Doesn't she look proud? And her pinto coloring is real, I can tell!" "Comanche! Silverheels!" But he was proud to be a part of it, if only as a fashion accessory for his friend.

"Hey, they can't come in here!" Security. Ut-oh!

"Of course we can, sir. We're with Beauty and Silverheels."

"No, not you, I mean them. The horses. Are they even housebroken?"

Silverheels blinked. "Are you? What kind of cretin are you?"

"Be fair, dear," Beauty said, tossing her head.

The black stallion caught himself. He nodded. "No need to throw a full Hollywood diva fit, I guess. Yes, sir, whoever you are, I am in fact housebroken."

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't know. It's so hard to tell you're augmented when you're not wearing your mechanical arms. I'm so sorry!"

"I suppose that means I played my part fairly well. Thank you, then. May we go in?"

"Please."

They stepped into a vast, dim room humming with excitement and activity. Jimmy smelled the distinct aroma of slow-roasted brined turkey, Chef Olaf's most famous specialty, along with a welter of other delicious scents; meats, cheeses, fruits, wine, beer. And even though he was a fox, his anthro modifications and a life in the city had dulled his senses somewhat. Jenks was wild, Jenks was getting the full effect of everything, and Jenks was wrinkling his nose and sniffing as if he'd gone mad. He was drooling on the carpet, too. Jimmy hoped it was stain resistant.

"Ah, darlings!" the Afghan Hound in the purple beret said as they came in. "So good that our stars could make it this evening."

Silverheels snorted. "Good evening, Emir. We're stars for the day, when you needed some non-anthros to play parts in your Custer film. I think we did all right, but you could hardly call us actors."

"Oh no, no. It is lucky we were finding an augmented horse who makes a living playing the Simple-- and we are not forgetting her handsome mate who is no slouch being at it either. You were magnifique, tres magnifique. I see the big future for you in Hollywood."

"If you say so, but I haven't given up the insurance job yet. May I introduce you to my friends? This is my dressage partner, Mr. James Wendell Brighttail the Third, and our friend and neighbor, Sylvia Delacourte. James, Sylvia, our director, Emir Ghanzi."

"Enchanted. Mister Brighttail, you look all the officer bravest, no? And is good seeing you too could make the arrival, Jenks."

Beauty froze. "You know him? You INVITED him?"

"Oh but of course! He sang the coyote music for the film, you are not knowing? All eight parts, with the overdubbing."

"Jenks! Jenks, get back here! JENKS! Why in Epona's name did you sneak in if you had an invitation?"

"I.. gee, I'm sorry, Beauty, I just... forgot. And sneaking in is more fun!"

"He's a COYOTE," Silverheels said, with great precision.

Emir laughed. "Well, be having the fun. I have to go speak to Jude Law. Poor fellow is wanting to be the part for my next film. Au revoir!"

"How did an Afghan get a French accent?" Sylvia asked, quietly.

Silverheels snorted. "More to the point, how did an Afghan whose ancestors have been in America since the days of Zeppo Marx ever get a French accent? And why didn't he save up for a better one? Oh no-- oh Epona, oh, all the gods, hide! We have to get out of-- Oh, hi, Rudy! Didn't see you. How's it going?"

The balding human took another swig from his beer glass. The glass was for beer, but by the scent the amber liquid filling it was considerably stronger. "Horrible, thank you for asking. How many of you are there, Silverheels? I only see one. Not enough Jack yet, then. Let me correct that oversight."

"Jimmy, Sylvia, Beauty, Jenks-- Jenks? Oh gods, where's he gone? Anyway, let me introduce you to Rudy Thovald, our historical advisor."

"The movie even HAD a historical advisor?" Beauty seemed stunned.

Rudy laughed and nearly fell over. "I took the money for the job. They'll never touch me at Berkley after this, I tell you. Why they even bothered--"

"No, seriously, Mr. Law, I think the part of Shylock in Venereal Venice would be perfect for-- ah, Rudy, we are still the angry? For a few minor historical liberties he is not forgiving. Says the cavalry didn't have the Winchester rifle repeaters--"

"Which they didn't. There's also the minor point that Custer's Last Stand wasn't in Monument Valley."

"A trifle. A scene-setting for the audience--"

"Making the Seventh Cavalry a group of dog-slaves with wolf officer overlords--"

"Well, I am admitting that was being only the US Cavalry during the American Guerre Civil, no?"

"No it wasn't! It never happened. Civil War or any time, Custer's troopers were all human. Custer was human! The Sioux weren't bison or antelopes, they were human! Human, human, all human!"

"Such a case of species bigotry!"

Rudy took a big gulp from his glass and winced. "Bigotry be damned, that was before the creation of even the very first uplifted species. There were no talking antelope! And Custer wasn't hunting buffalo to feed workers on the Transcontinental Railroad, either!"

"Well, these things trifling are. I am wanting to give the audience the sense of real life in the days of the Wild West, eh? The feel, not the historical accuracy exactiment. With of certainty the respect full for all the human peoples of whatever color breed, no?"

"This film is a travesty."

"Now, Rudy, Rudy, we must the allowances make, no? After all--"

The noise was so loud that Silverheels shied. He jerked the reins so hard he nearly lifted Jimmy from the floor.
Crashes and howls of outrage came from behind the dark blue hangings covering the rear wall. Something darted under them and plotted an evasive course beneath the bar, around the potted saguaro, behind the section of split rail fence with the old saddle draped across it, and lost itself among the legs of the crowd. A minute later Jenks appeared, licking his chops. He smelled strongly of brined turkey.

"I think we should go," Silverheels muttered.

"But Officer! I didn't do anything. I was minding my own business when--"

"Sure, Mr. Law. It's not for me to say, but I think it's rehab time for you again."

Beauty glanced at Jenks, at the handcuffed Mr. Law and his police escort, and at Silverheels. "Maybe we could stay."

Silverheels glared at the 'yote. "Well, maybe."

Rudy didn't seem to have noticed. He tilted his head back as he drained his glass. "The airship," he whispered. "The airship!" He screamed "The Zeppelin hadn't even been inveted yet! And Bill Gates didn't invent the Zeppelin, a guy named ZEPPELIN invented the Zeppelin! And--"

But an expression of peace came over his face. Smiling, he turned around, hugged Beauty's neck, and slipped quietly to the floor. It looked suspiciously as if he had kissed her.

"Ah, academics," Emir said, with an artfully tolerant smile. "Such the prima donna- prima donnas? Prima donnae? Such the trouble they are. Not like those in the film industry. And you, Mr. James Brighttail with the tight cavalry pants, you are enjoying learning the ways of Hollywood?"

Jimmy grinned and reached down to scratch Jenks's ears. The 'yote jumped, apparently surprised, but he seemed to like it after that.

"It's a whole 'nother world, Mr. Ghanzi. It's like nothing I had ever imagined."

He meant every word of it, too.