By Daniel McKay

Archie’s body had more healed fractures than hairs. Worse than that, the hairs stand up easier than the other parts!

Gallows humour.

With his baldness hidden under an Akubra, he looked, perhaps, ten years younger. Or was that more gallows humour? Either way, there could be no pulling back at this point, what with the rodeo crowd waiting for the nod.

Same as always, he told himself, not even half convinced.

The crowd were growing edgy, he could sense it. And, beneath him, something just as edgy and likely just as experienced nudged forward. Yeah, too right. The gate hadn’t opened and already the G-horse was gearing itself up. The bronc’s first ride, was it? Now that was a laugh.

A muscular ripple down one side confirmed his suspicions.

Let them wait, he thought. Archie was in no hurry to have his innards skewered like a kebab.

One more ride, that was how Willis had played it. A last hurrah, right?

You mean a return hurrah. I’m retired.

Come on, it’s a way to clear your debts! Ask me, that’s better than a ham sandwich.

For a young Bruce, I reckon.

This company believes in equality of treatment, with no discrimination on race, gender or how small your manhood is.

Look at me, Wills. Next month I turn fifty.

Get away. You ever heard of Bob Holder? Never mind, before your time. All right, Archie, have it your way. Just remember, when the bookies come round next month you’ll know which door to knock on. Oh, wait, what was I thinking? Must be going senile. ’Cause it’ll be too late then, won’t it? Shame about that, what with your birthday coming up and everything. Get this straight, cobber, I’m doing you a favour, not the other way round. You’re lucky there’s a plaque with your name on it. Somewhere in the carpark, as I recall. Listen, I’ll try to fix you up with a duff nag. Until then, polish your boots and get back in the saddle.

Above, the televised countdown had begun.

9

8

Back in the saddle was right, the bloody wombat!

5

Were the numbers accelerating? Flippin’ well felt that way.

2

He stretched his legs, keeping his centre of gravity low.

Archie knew to stay loose and relaxed, but still almost fell off the arse-end when the gate opened. Unlike the other animals, this one hadn’t bucked. A normal G-horse started bucking right from the starting gate. This one was cantering — cantering, for goodness’ sake! — like a show pony.

“Strewth!” he hissed, unclenching his jaw. “Which joker set this up?”

The crowd had gone quiet, not liking what they saw.

Someone ought to have checked its teeth, a sure way of telling any creature’s true age. Then again, maybe it was just crook. Archie felt like laughing, but that would be risky. Having come this far, he’d at least have to put on an act, or otherwise risk getting pelted by the crowd. It was a new one on him, but there was no choice.

Fancy tricks, then? He wracked his brains.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Archie spied a gateman grinning from ear to ear. Weird. Now why would that galah — ?

No sooner had the question formed than the air whooshed out of him like an accordion. The arena floor passed beneath him, as, hurled ninety degrees, Archie went right over the horse’s head.

He’d have gone further still if the saddle’s ultramag hadn’t tugged him back.

Sensing that this gambit hadn’t quite worked, the G-horse crashed its hind quarters back to earth with an ear-piercing whinny, a signature of the 3rd Generation series, roars and cheers exploding around the stadium.

Archie leaned forward, gathering what strength he could. The G-horse had merely announced its intentions. He knew that.

As if reading his thoughts, the creature shot him an almost coquettish side-glance. You think you know what’s coming, the look said. Let’s test that hypothesis.

There was a pause, barely half of one. Then the bucking began. Again and again, Archie was propelled upward, breaking a couple of ribs — SNAP — along the way.

Pointless to keep count. Pointless to do anything. Hang on and breathe, that’s all he had to keep in mind. Except — yes. From behind. It was coming from behind: something shoving against Archie’s back. The creature’s razor-sharp tail was whipping against him, probing and slicing. No clothing in the world was proof against it. But Archie only sensed the problem, unable to respond.

Suddenly the G-horse stopped, readied itself, then jumped and twisted in mid-air. This was something different, an entirely new technique, more like a sidewinder bull than anything equine.

It was too much. Archie yelled in agony as he felt another couple of ribs snap.

In desperation, he let go of the reins, raising his arms as though surrendering. He slipped off the shredded jacket, saw it float upward, his arms looking absurdly wizened and thin. Acting on sheer instinct, Archie grabbed the sleeves and whisked the jacket down over the G-horse’s face.

The stadium continued to spin round him, but now his body was steady. Everything was steady. Vaguely, Archie understood that the saddle was still beneath him and that this was a good thing. If he’d still been wearing his Akubra, he’d have — but no. He was utterly spent and gladly gave himself into the hands that caught him…

***

“Archie!”

A distant voice brought him round. “You did it, cobber, I knew you would!”

He was in the changing room, Willis slapping him on the knee.

“How’d you come up with that move? Crikey, what a show!”

He coughed blood. “Hurts.”

“Half a mo, the medics are on their way. You’ll be fixed up good’n proper, I guarantee it. Want a ciggy? There you go.”

“Is it over?” he rasped.

Willis was brought up short. “Over?” He measured his words. “Yeah. I reckon,” — another lengthy pause — “in a sense.”

“Why you — ”

“Ease up, Archie, ease up! You know how it goes, what with — ”

“I ought to — ”

“Look, don’t crack the shits. Hear me out, all right? I wouldn’t do this to you, except,” — Willis played with the rim of his hat for a moment — “look, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Say it.”

“Fact is, we’ve been bought up.”

This took a moment to register.

“Come again?”

The other man shrugged. “Know how much a bale of hay costs, these days? Or wood shavings? We’re still solvent, now at any rate, but the comptroller has been riding me into the dust. Any way we can cut the costs, Willis? Look here, we need to balance the books. Oho, Willis, let’s look at incomings and outgoings. What in hell did he think that would accomplish, the drongo? Anyway, he’s become as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. And me? I feel like a new man! It’s all thanks to you, Archie. Seriously. Let me tell you, soon as you pulled off that stunt, I got this call from a joker out east. Real smooth talker, he was. Bought the whole company, lock, stock, and you over a barrel.”

Archie shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. Got to get to the hospital.”

“Well, matter of fact, he’s booked you in already.”

Willis flicked a switch and a holographic form rose up before them. Most of the words were lost on Archie, but the part about contracts came through loud and clear. Riders would get usual rates, subject to annual reviews and a termination policy that required no explanations. The parent company expected results, not bludgers.

Archie, though, was destined for greater things. After tonight’s performance, he could clear his debts whenever he liked. Not only that, but a fortune in stock options and real estate was heading his way. All he had to do was sign up for another ride. That wasn’t asking much, was it? They even had their own G-horse lined up. Maybe he’d heard the rumours.

The picture gave way to a huge animal, galloping forward. Hard to tell whether it was in slow motion or just showing off its muscles. It certainly had plenty of those. As its face filled the screen, frothy-mouthed and eyes bulging, there could be no mistaking its intentions. And what was that, bulging from its forehead? It looked like a sharpened horn, not much longer than a finger but unmistakable just the same. The picture froze and scrolling text provided the details:

 

Name: Kriegstrauma.

Breed: 4th Gen (experimental).

Weight: 2,500 lb.

Training record: 10 deaths, 16 throws, 20 no-shows.

Anatomical distinctions: alicorn, electrostatic spine, three-pronged tail, platinum mane.

Regulatory permit: pending.

 

Archie heard a roar from the crowd outside, a sure sign someone had been thrown in mid-ride.

“I’ll get on that thing when you do,” he spat.

Willis grinned slyly and patted his midriff, as if the fat geezer thought that were any kind of answer. Archie would have given him more than a pat, if he’d been able to lean forward without agony. In his present condition, calmness was what he needed most, but Willis had provoked the opposite reaction.

As if reading his mind, the other man leaned forward conspiratorially. “Ask yourself how that buttoned-up arsehole’s going to feel if — and I know it’s only if — you manage to survive riding this Krieg-whatever-it-is and then you give him the two-fingered salute. How would you feel?”

“Be a miracle if I had any fingers left.”

“Nah. See, I’ve got something for you. Think of it as a birthday present.”

Willis passed a tightly-rolled newspaper. Looking closer, Archie spied a tiny phial wedged in the middle.

“Fuck me dead! Is that what I think it is?”

“You bet. Pour it over the back and let the little mites go to work. Takes ’em all of twenty seconds, if they need that much. First they eat their fill, then they drop off and disappear into the sand.”

Archie leaned back, frowning. “You sell the company. Then you double-cross the buyer on the opening night?”

Willis shrugged. “What did you think I was going to do, give them a twenty-one gun greeting? I don’t like those east coast pricks any more than you do.”

A few beats passed, as Archie digested this. Willis cleared his throat, raised his eyebrows, then scratched the back of his neck. “Do it, Archie. Show the bastards, like you did tonight. Show ’em you know they’re not giving us a fair suck of the sav.”

“Us?”

“Ain’t no way you can survive this G-horse, cobber, and they know it too. All this talk about stock options is just sugar-coating your tombstone, that’s all. Do it my way and you might just survive.”

“They’ll know. They’ll cancel my contract right after I’m done.”

“That they will, my son, but Archie won’t cancel yours.”

“Huh?”

“Open the newspaper.”

Archie made to do so, but winced.

“Here, I’ll do it.”

Willis flattened it out, then passed it over. Archie’s eyes weren’t as sharp as they’d used to be, but he got the gist right away. Willis would give him 10% of the total company sale, that’s what it amounted to. More than enough for Archie to clear his debts — unless, that is, he chose the other way, forgot about the mites, and rode the G-horse according to contract. Assuming he survived. Willis thought he wouldn’t. Willis thought lots of things.

Archie reached for his Akubra, tipped it down over his eyes, pocketed the phial, and shot Willis a wink. “I’ll remember you properly when this is over.”

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