Hunt the Hog of Joe by Robert E. Gilbert - HTML preview

XV: FOURDAY AFTERNOON

As Joe's sun moved behind rising clouds toward the horizon, an odd little procession walked from Joetropolis. Toal said, "The Jury still refused to pay anything?"

"Yes," I said. "I told them again that Rasmussen wouldn't have killed the Hog if I hadn't lured him into the open. They wouldn't pay even part of my fee, and they wouldn't reimburse me for the equipment I've lost. They quoted Ordinances and said I stole a firearm and a box of dynamite. They hinted that I broke Rasmussen's leg."

Toal said, "You'll make other hunts on other worlds. Their people will reward you."

"I suppose so," I sighed.

Ahead of us, former Foreman Maximum Eijkman, now reduced to Recessive—Alien Status, stalked in injured majesty. Two couples and their Alien children followed us.

Against black thunder-clouds, the shuttle, Joe Nordo III, pointed to the sky but appeared incapable of rising above the surface. Somewhere in space and light-hours distant, the astraplane, Ap-GG-12C, approached the orbital rendezvous.

Farmers leaned on their primitive rotor tillers and watched us pass. Several, swinging sticks and shovels, pursued a swarm of toothies. Hundreds of toothies squeaked around the shed at the edge of the spacefield.

Eijkman climbed the chain ladder into the shuttle. As the four men and women helped their children climb, I looked into Toal's blue eyes and said, "Uh, Toal—I mean, Betty. I've rather enjoyed Planet Maggie, in spite of a lot of things. I admire you, Toal. That is, I've never seen another woman quite like you. Your bravery and, uh, all that. What I'm trying to say is, well, you're a hunter, and it looks as if I'll keep on being a hunter. You don't know anyone in the Explored Galaxy. Except me, uh—that is, would—"

Preliminary raindrops spangled the tarnished fuselage of the shuttle. I wiped my face with my sleeve and said, "Doreen, and Laurinda, and Celestine would like you, I'm sure, and you'll like them. They're one of the happiest groups—most of the time, at least. Yes, uh, I'm sure they would approve if—"

"Who are Doreen, Laurinda, and Celestine?" Toal asked.

"Why, they're my wives," I explained. "Out in the Explored Galaxy, almost everyone has—"

Toal's clenched fist struck me squarely in the mouth. She whirled and ran up the ladder.

I spat out a tooth that, anyway, had not been very successfully transplanted. I crawled through the rain, up the swaying ladder, and the first symptoms of spacesickness wrenched my stomach.

Shuttle Pilot Ypsilanti waited on the first deck. He said, "Ordinance 419: Aliens ride the lowest deck.”

END