The Mars Cowboy

Part 3: Tanner

The Cowboy moved through a crowded marketplace like dog through sheep. The crowd coalesced into lumps around shops or sights, and sometimes just for no reason, but he weaved through unimpeded. Over the dozens of languages being spoken around him, and the corner players launching into a particularly loud ballad, a voice called out, Tanner!

He pulled his hat down over his eyes and moved faster. He scanned the crowd for the yeller. He moved out of the marketplace, and became convinced his ears were playing tricks on him.

He felt someone place a hand on his chest, and he reached for his gun, but when he looked down he saw a child. Old enough to consider himself an adult but not old enough to be one.

Das war dich—du hast der Sheriff geschiessen? Said the kid.

Ja, das war mich.

Wow, said the kid. The Cowboy pushed past him. He was nearing his hotel when he heard it again.

Tanner! Someone called above the noise.

Shaken, he ducked into the hotel and went up the stairs to his room.

He pulled the room’s only chair opposite the door. He produced a deck of cards from his belt and attempted to play solitaire on the room’s crooked table, but couldn’t concentrate on the game.

He studied every ounce of that gray metal door instead. He noticed how the crack in the top left spurted out and then jagged to the side. He noticed a spot of industrial glue on the door’s bottom that indicated something had once been glued to the door. Wood paneling most likely, or even Silenatium. He doubted even in this hotel’s prime that they could’ve afforded a Silenatium door. He noticed an acid stain in the middle by the knob. Someone had tried to get rid of the stain, but stopped halfway through and now it was there forever. There was a little hole near the third hinge where a bit of the light from the hallway streamed through.

He picked up the table and took it over to the wall. He pressed his hand on the wall, and quickly removed it. A bed fell through the wall onto the floor. The bed took up almost the entire room, but it was still too short for the Cowboy. There were no sheets so the cowboy took off his poncho and threw it on the bed. He sat on the bed and placed the table in front of him. He took his currency card from his belt, held it up to his face and flicked it. Currency cards were supposed to display the holder’s balance on the outside, but the amount of digits on the Cowboy’s balance had long since pushed the numbers of the screen, so it just displayed a card worth of zeros. He tossed it on the table. He produced from his other belt a long hunting knife followed by a couple pieces of bread, some trail-jam, and a pack of untouched tobacco. He laid them down next to the cards, and then produced from the first belt fishing wire and a flyer for the newest Winchester rile. He placed his gun down on the table, and ran it over with a polishing rag. He placed the other one on the bed, and did the same with it. He took his belts off one at a time, and folded them over once at the top of the bed. He took off his shirt laid it over the belts, a makeshift pillow. He took off his boots and trousers and climbed into bed. His left hand gripped his gun loosely. It was difficult for him to rest.