BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.6 - 3:10 TO ZXUMA

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.6 - 3:10 TO ZXUMA

by Steven Novak

When Garlock grabs Sally, your muscles stiffen. Instinctively, your tentacles slither forward.

Garlock’s grip on her neck tightens. “No! Don’t you dare take another step! Not yet! Not until I’ve said what needs to be said!”

You stop moving. There’s no choice. Sally is dangling from his tentacle, limbs flailing, fingers scraping at the slimy appendage coiled around her neck. Garlock has the advantage.

 The corners of his lips curl upward, all fifteen eyes narrow. “You’re a worthless flick of sniz, Rachorin! Gallivanting from system to system, spreading the appendages of unsuspecting, innocent, foolish females! Filling them with your seed and leaving them to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives! You’re a menace! A cancer! A blight on the good name of our species!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Garl…”

“No!” His tentacle pulls tighter around Sally’s neck. Her eyes bulge. She tries to scream, but she can hardly breathe. “This is not up for debate! You’re a fizzleburn! A calavot! A hidden grizzleglorp! A gleepeldeegleep of the highest order!”

Well, you certainly can’t argue any of that.

“It ends today Rachorin! I’m going kill you! I’m going to remove your organs and paint the hull of my ship with your blood! I’m going to smear your insides across the stars! Use your tentacles as a belt! Fashion your flesh into a vest and wear that pretty face of your as a hat!”

Garlock pulls sally close to his face, extends his tongue and licks her from neck to hair, coating her face in slime and smearing her tears. “Before I do any of that, I’m going to flay this tiresome girl! You will watch as the insides spill from her body and the life drains from her eyes! Her suffering shall be your suffering! She will die in the name of Scarletz Smigglezforth! And Rayden of planet Uropa! Misty Marcos of the Hightower Circle! And Princess Adelle! And Sanelle! The lovely Sanelle! My beautiful Sanelle!”

Sanelle?

Shit.

You remember Sanelle. How could you forget Sanelle? The things she did with those tentacles? The way she talked you into trying some backdoor games for the first time in your life? Until you met Sanelle you’d always assumed that particular hole was for removing stuff from your body.

You’d never been so wrong.

Sanelle was a half-pint stick of dynamite. Sanelle was a wildcat.

Garlock slimes forward, tentacles coiled, jittering. “Yes, that’s right! Now you see! Now you understand! Sanelle was my daughter! My beautiful little girl! A delicate flower! So innocent! So sweet! And you ruined her! Soiled her soul! Erased the proper young lady I raised and replaced her with nothing more than a harlot! You took advantage of her! Filled her womb with your little bastards!”

The statement is so absurd you almost chuckle. You didn’t take advantage of Sanelle. If anything she took advantage of you. Only one of you ended up with Galorian candles melting in your rectum while tied to the hood of your Malcordian Speeder, and it sure as hell wasn’t her.

Sanelle was a freak.

Garlock’s limbs continue to smear their way across the sand as he moves forward. Suddenly he’s screaming, spitting names you vaguely remember, sexual exploits you’d long forgotten, and the stolen virtue of his pervert daughter. At some point during his rant he stops paying attention to Sally. It’s a rookie mistake. His emotions have the better of him and Sally’s not as frail as she seems. She’s half your species, half-tough, and half a fighter. She’s a hard-nosed broad and she has more than the usual feminine weapons hidden beneath her dress.

You watch as a slimy appendage appears from just beneath the hem of her gown, then another. When a third tentacle emerges, it’s holding a shotgun. You’re not exactly sure where she was hiding that thing.

You aren’t sure you want to know.

The barrel of the weapon immediately goes to Garlock’s head. She pulls the trigger. Flesh and slime spray from the flashpoint, encased in a puff of smoke and spitting blood. Garlock yelps, headon fire, half his face opened up, three eyeballs airborne, two more swaying in the breeze. He topples sideways, knocks over a horse and smashes through the front door of Missy May’s Whore Emporium.

Sally’s hands go to her neck, bright red, struggling to catch her breath. She looks in your direction, tosses you the shotgun, nods, and growls, “Go git that bastard.”

You’re liking her more and more every day.

By the time you enter the Emporium, the place is a mess, floor sticky with slime and spattered with blood, half-naked humans hiding under tables and running into walls, penis’ flopping and boobs bouncing. The body of a portly, gray-haired cowboy flies past your head and through the window behind you. Garlock emerges from behind the bar, dripping blood, half his face missing, two more humans dangling from his tentacles.

“You’ve ruined everything Rachorin! Ruined it all!”

One of Missy May’s finest whores slams into your chest. She’s not the biggest girl, but she’s thrown with such force that she knocks you backward and into the wall. You can hear her spine snap.

Garlock is swinging wildly, throwing, and smashing, and screaming, aiming to anything. Aiming for everything. He shatters a mirror, reduces a section of the bar to splinters. “You bastard! Why her? Why did it have to be her?”

The enraged bounty hunter tosses a second cowboy your way. You reach for his boots, try your best to snag him with your tentacles, but he slips past, slams into a tabel and cracks his skull.

You have to move.

Suddenly you’re charging, sliming your way across the room, dodging bottles, and chairs, and human beings, firing rounds in Garlcok’s direction. The side of the bounty hunter opens wide. One of his tentacles explodes. Another tears free from his body and shoots across the room. A bottle hits you in the face. Broken glass tears open your arm. The airborne body of a particularly beefy whore momentarily knocks the wind out of you. Through it all you never stop shooting, reloading and shooting again. By the time you reach Garlock you’re out of ammo and the muzzle of your weapon is smoking. His body is a mess of shredded flesh and slime, peppered with shrapnel, wounds gushing, insides sprayed across the bar.

The mound of mauled meat that was once his face jerks. Sticky lips quiver. “Y-y-ou…”

You can barely hear him, voice so soft, words garbled and running together. “Y-yo-ou…go-gonn-gonna…ki…”

His face explodes.

A few feet behind you, Sally grins, pistol still smoking in her hand. “What exactly did you do to his daughter, Doc?”

God damn she’s sexy.

You wipe bits of Garlock’s brain from your face and smile back. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She lowers her gun, moves alongside you, wraps her arms and tentacles around your waist. “Yeah…I think I would.”

Two of her tentacles head south, managing to find an orifice that hasn’t been used since Sanelle and worming their way inside. Her head moves to yours, lips to your ear. “I think I’d like that very much.”

THE END

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.5 - LONG SHADOWS ACROSS MULDER'S LOT

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.5 - LONG SHADOWS AT MULDER'S LOT

by Annie Evett

Garlock’s face oozes as he smirk. “Got me self a perdy one here.” Another tentacle slithered over Sally’s struggling body.

“Now what do yer look like under all them undergarments; and I ain’t talking about your clothes.”

“Leave her out of this Garlock. It’s got nothing to do with her or…” as you sweep your arm across the scene, “ Any of these humans.  Let’s settle our differences Intergalactic style. Mano to Mano.”

”Intergalactic style?” Garlock roars with laughter. “Mano to Mano? You dumb shit. You are in the wrong century to be using that lingo.” A tentacle tightens across Sally’s chest as another strokes her ringlets. She continues to struggle but you see her human form is beginning to fail. Garlock lifts her up and brings her closer to his enormous face. A rough tongue extends from his grotesque mouth and, dripping with green saliva, delicately touches her brow. She attempts to squirm away, but her thrashing weakens.

“Hmm hybrid, My favourite type of relief. Just what I need after I kill you Rachorin.”

Sally’s face begins to drain of colour.

“You’re killing her. Stop! I’m the one you are after.”

Garlcok’s tentacles relax a little.

“Got a soft spot for this one? Just like the Queens little niece huh? I could kill you with most of my tentacle tied behind my back, while I’m holding this youngun and still not raise an ooze. Do yourself a favour Rachorin, come peacefully and I won’t destroy all the humans; but I get to keep my toys.”

His tongue flickers across Sally’s lips. She appears to have gone limp. You suppose she has passed out as you register her oxygen intake and heartbeats as being normal. You notice her eyelids fluttering. She is still conscious.

What was she up to?

You have not time to ponder the mind of a woman, hybrid or not. A steaming shot of shit screams past you as you twist elegantly out of the way. The load smashes its way through the General Store window. Garlock growls at you.

“Enough chit chat and playing. Tick Tock, Times a wasting. Are yer man enough to stand there and take what’s coming to yer? Please start a fight, the Queen will be pissed I killed you, but I’ll sure enjoy it.”

Garlock tests a tentacle up Sally’s nostril. You cringe as it slithers further into her nose and exits from the other. She doesn’t move a muscle.

“Hmm. I’ll play with this one later.”

His tentacles release Sally onto the dusty street. Petticoats and frills flutter in the slight breeze. One of the townsfolk coughs and a chair scrapes across the flooring behind you. A projectile of shit streams out from one of Garlock’s tentacles, knocking over the man who attempted to stand up. One of your hidden eyes registers that it was the preacher. Smothered in steaming shit, you see he is still clutching his bible and had attempted to raise the cross which normally hung around his neck.

Stupid move. However, your respect for the man of religion has just doubled. He wriggles and splutters, but no-one dares to move from their positions to assist him, for fear of the same treatment.

The stench of the shit laying around the main street and Garlock’s mountainous body odour reaches new heights. You'd better get this done. Your eyes twitch, hoping your crew are in place and remember the drill. You pull at your human skin and begin to peel it away to reveal your true form. Sudden intakes of breath and prayers are whispered behind you as the townsfolk see you for the first time. Your glossy skin ripples. What you don’t make up with size, you are more than adequate in pure unrestrained muscle, sexual energy; and you certainly haven’t had any complaints from your partners. You admire one of your own tentacles and think briefly about the Queens niece.

Garlock lifts a thick tentacle holding a laser-powered sonic blaster. You get distracted as you gawk at the new technology and design. Stroking it tenderly with a smaller tentacle, Garlock sneers.

“The Queen gave it to me special. Made me turn it to stun, so’s I can bring yer back to her and she will deal with you. He he he. If it were me, I’d let you kill me. You’re not gunna last long when the Queen gets a hold of you.”

He flicks a switch and a blue light streams through the circuitry of the inside of the gun, giving Garlock an eerie glow. He taps at it playfully.

“Awww. Seems the stun option don’t work. Oh, and I lied about the townfolk here. You’re all gunna die.”

From the side, Sally screams with a raw energy so guttural, so passionate, even Garlock stops for a second. But that was all she needs. A stiletto knife she had secreted in her undergarments swiftly comes to hand, and is flung across the dusty space, finding its target in one of his 20 eyes. Puss and green ooze bust frothing from the wound. Garlock clutches it and let off the blaster, slicing the hotel’s roof and setting fire to the stable.

Town folk, once paralysed with fear, now find their feet and scatter, knocking chairs and tables across the street. Sally rips at her dress and pulls at her skin. She begins to transform. You are secretly impressed and find her even more attractive in her hybrid Malarian form.

Oh shit. Really? Not now.

You pulse one of your tentacles in the hope she notices your bulging…..Malarianhood; instantly forgetting the environment you have placed yourself in.

No wonder Malarian males don’t die of old age.

Sally storms toward Garlock ducking and weaving his attempts to capture her in his tentacles. Her smaller, more nimble hybrid form has taken on all the positive factors of each species.

She is poetry in motion. Your tongue swells with desire.

Garlock’s blaster fires indiscriminately, resulting in more fires and larger holes within the buildings of the town.

Your pulses are raised and you position your body in an alluring way towards Sally. Somewhere in your brain, you remember you are supposed to be doing something; but when the attraction procedure starts, your species can’t stop until mating has occurred.

You thrust one of your lower tentacles toward her in a manner no other Malarian female has been able to resist.

A burning sensation cuts into your feverish mind. You block it and begin the traditional Malarian mating whistle. Sally turns to stare at you. You see her mouth beginning to open and you grin, knowing you have her full attention and lust. The last thing you see is a succession of laser bolts streaming from Garlock’s blaster as she fails to wrench it from his grasp.

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.5 - HIGH NOON AT MULDER'S LOT

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.5 - HIGH NOON AT MULDER'S LOT

by Mandy Ward

It doesn’t take you long to realise that the Sheriff is right. “Damn.” You grumble as you take the bridge back up and return the saloon to an approximation of normal. “You sure you want me to do this? It could kill as many as it could save.”

The sheriff chuckles. “If’n you’re right about this Garlock, then that’s more than he’d leave alive.”

Taking a deep breath you look at Sally. “I want you to go to the mine. Talk to my second in command, Veezlbez. Tell him that he was right all along and that we’re going to need to take Garlock down.”

She nods reluctantly. “You want me to go now?”

You return the nod, trying very hard to ignore the flashing light under the bar. “Tell him to step on it.”

She smiles and runs out of the door.

You wonder if she’ll return with Veezlbez and the rest of the crew or high tail it out of town and save her own skin. Obscurely, you hope that it’s the latter.

“What’d we need to do doc?” the sheriff asks, trying not to move his shoulder.

You sigh and slither over. “Let me look at that.”

He nods and looks away as you bring one of your smaller tentacles toward the wound. A quick jab and wriggle later, you’ve extracted the bullet. Using your inbuilt anaesthetic, antiseptic glue, you clean and close the hole.

The sheriff looks at it. “See. You’n the Doc still. I dint feel a thing.”

Shrugging you move back behind the bar. “Go round up the men folk. Tell the women and children to hide in the storm cellars. If this works, they’ll be okay to come up in a day or two. If not, then they’d best be able for a long stay.”

The sheriff looks worried. “How long a stay?”

About a hundred years. You think and decide to lie. “Food and water for a month at least.”

“How long have they got to prepare?” he moves towards the door.

You glance down at the display next to the flashing light. “Between four and ten hours. It all depends on if he decides to land his ship or beam down.”

The sheriff goes white and runs out of the door.

Three hours later, you’ve set everything up in the saloon. All the computational work is done and all you need now are the extras. You decide to don Doc’s skin one last time, just to make life easier.

The saloon door swings open. Veezlbez and the rest of the crew slip inside, looking green around the gills. Wonder of wonders, they’ve managed creditable human costumes. And no Sally.

“Where’d you want us, Boss?” Veezlbez asks.

“You come and sit at the bar, Vee. Security, dot yourselves around the perimeter and the rest of you pick a seat anywhere.” You watch with relief as they jump into action and settle themselves.”

“You want to do what we discussed on the way into this pokey planet, Boss?” Vee asks, toying with the glass of Malrovian Whisky you pour him.

“As close as I can.” You pour yourself a shot and toss it back. The alcohol makes Vee’s face blur and double for a second. “Whoowee, that hit the spot.”

The Sheriff wanders in, the men of the town following him and looking around nervously. You direct them to sit anywhere that is left and then check the display under the counter. “He’s come to a halt in orbit, Vee. He’ll be beaming down. You ready for this?”

Your second in command nods and swallows the whisky. “Now or never, Boss.”

You stand up on the Bar. “Gentlemen, we are about to have a visitor to this fair planet. You may have heard rumours of what I look like under this costume,” you pull at the skin you’re wearing, making it gape for a second around the eyes. “But this fella is three times as bad.”

The crowd mumble amongst themselves.

“All I want you human folks to do is be scenery. Sit, drink, chat. It’sall you need to do. My crew will do all the dangerous stuff.” You feel the tentacles at the back of your neck buzz. He’s here. “Just ignore the bloke and let me deal with it.”

The humans seem relieved that they don’t have to do anything dangerous or scary. You send one of your crew round with a tray of glasses and the weakest whisky you possess. Can’t have one of them getting brave-drunk and squaring off with Garlock.

A voice rumbles in from the street. “Rachorin. Come out here and face me.”

You step up to the doors, Vee selecting security team members to back you up. “Garlock, nice to smell you again.”

Outisde in the street, wearing a long tan duster and a black ten gallon Stetson, is the largest Golgothan you have ever seen. His skin oozes and flows as he moves in your direction and he leaves a trail of shit behind deep enough to mire a mule.

“Get out here, Rachorin.” The creature sounds irritated. “You’ve moved from star system to star system for the last four hundred cycles. Haven’t you got tired of running yet?”

“Not a bit.” You reply. Behind your back you give the signal for your crew to surround the faecal intruder. “I’m far younger than you and a lot speedier. What was your best oozing time? Forty microns?”

“Enough. Come quietly and I’ll let this miserable planet survive the blast from my engines.” All twenty of Garlock’s piss coloured eyes take in the surroundings. “If you don’t, then I reckon the Earth is about to become toasted Veedlebaz.”

Shrugging, you step out onto the veranda. “I’m not coming with you. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Sleeping with the Queen’s niece is nothing? Shit man, you got some nerve.” Garlock roars with laughter. “You’re a father four times over.”

“You should know, you are the shit after all.” You agree, checking where everyone is with a couple of handy hidden eyes. Four times over? I knew my sperm was strong but that many? You shudder, your costume rippling over your body.

Your crew have worked themselves around to safe positions around the foul smelling pile of excrement. Garlock spots most of them and one long rope of shit flings out and captures a figure.

Your Heart sinks all the way into your feet. Sally.

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.4 - GLEEPGLORP'S LAMENT

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.4 - GLEEPGLORP'S LAMENT

by Steven Novak

The sheriff is sprawled out on the ground, one hand cupping the wound on his shoulder, mustache slightly curled, a shit-eating grin spread across his stupid face.

He staggers to his feet with a grunt. “Heh. I told ya, Doc. Whatever you were before ya landed here is good n’ gone. Yer a part of this town, ya hear? There’s sand in yer blood, Earth dirt beneath your fingers, and whiskey in yer veins.”

His hand falls to your shoulder, fingers sliding across the slimy surface of the tentacle draped lazily over your shoulder. “Yer a saddle tramp, Doc. Raised on salt lick and browned by the sun of the south. There’s a giddy-up in yer step the likes of which I ain’t seen in damn near a hoolywang.”

Suddenly he’s smiling so bright he’s flashing the few teeth has left. His free hand lands on your other shoulder and gives it a pat. “And ya ain’t no yellow-belly varmint. I know ya ain’t about to vamoose n’ let the people of this town go up the spout. Yer better than that. Yer a healer, a dealer, and a hell of a card player. We’re yer friends.”

His hands slide up your neck and to your face, cupping your cheeks. He nods like he’s known you for years, like he’s your best friend, and your mother, and childhood pal GleebGlorp all rolled into one. “We’re yer family.”

He’s an idiot.

While he was busy nodding and waxing nostalgic about the one time you played poker, one of your tentacles was making its way up his back, heading for his neck. Before he can continue his babbling, you shut him up. Your tentacle wraps around his neck. Your muscles tighten.

His stupid head pops off.

Free from his body and airborne his head spins, spurting blood in every direction, shattered spine wiggling like a horses tail. It bounces off a table across the room and crashes into a monitor. When it finally comes to a stop, you notice the expression on the sheriff’s face.

He’s not smiling anymore.

When Sally screams you crack her in the chops, knock her into the wall, and put her to sleep.  There’s no reason to kill her. She might still be good for something. Weird half-human sex, maybe? She seemed pretty handy with those whips. So what if she double-crossed you? So what if she used her womanly wares to get the better of you? Made you look silly? Hurt your pride? Dented your ego? So what if she took advantage of you when you were at your lowest? When you falsely believed this backnebula planet and it’s backnebula lifeforms actually had something to offer? So what if GleepGlorp would’ve been ashamed of what you’ve become? So what if you do…

On second thought, fluuonk her.

Your tentacles dig into her chest, peel back her ribs and tear out her half-breed heart. It’s gross, not quite human and not quite you. It’s pink and purple, and speckled green. It’s an abomination.

Her father should be ashamed.

Fluuonk them all.

With a few tweaks of the levers and dials in front of you the saloon unfolds from your ship once again, crushing three or four slack-jawed locals in the process. 

Fluuonk them too.

You don’t need this place, or these creatures. You never did. You only became a “doctor” because you found it hilariously ironic. You don’t save stuff. You kill stuff. You’ve always killed stuff.

The blood from Sally and Sheriff begins to pool at your feet, green and red, human and alien, and all sort of nastiness. It’s going to be a pain in one of your three rectums to clean up. Still, it was worth it.

GleepGlorp would be proud.

By the time you exit the saloon the locals are have already gathered. Some of them are pointing guns in your direction. Others are cowering behind barrels or peeking through windows. A lot of them are screaming.

You’d roll your eyes, but its more effort than they’re worth.

You’re going to do what you should have done long ago. You’re going to corral these creatures like they corral the lifeforms lower than them. You’re going to strip them bare, shackle them, and teach them a rather harsh lesson about hubris, and their place in the universe, and the grand scheme of things. It’s long overdue.

A rock hits your head. Another bounces off your chest. One of them unloads a shotgun in your direction and it ricochets off the Rumanetic Forcefield you’ve erected around your body. Another fires his revolver. Three of his friends follow his lead. It takes nearly a minute and a half of pointless shooting before they realize it’s accomplishing nothing. When the shooting stops, old Mildred McGraw chucks her cat.

Oh yes, this is so incredibly overdue.

As you move from the saloon and into the street, your tentacles spread in every direction, tips twitching, suction cups drooling. “Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system.”

Hansen McGillicutty lunges at you from behind, knife raised, gritting through yellow-stained teeth and a beard in desperate need of a trim. “Ya son of a bitch! Gonna gut yer hear…”

He slams into your forcefield face-first, smashes his nose and chokes on his own blood. You rip his arm from his torso and use it to knock Mildred McGraw on her ass.

That’s for the cat.

Most of the crowd screams. Some of them start to cry. A few of them run. You extend a second forcefield further down the block and chuckle when they slam into it.

GleepGlorp would have loved that.

When they realize there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do, most of the crowd gives up, staring in your direction with unbelieving eyes. The time has come. The end is near. Those that believe in God, have come to the grim realization that you are it.  

It’s almost enough to make you grin.

“Most of you probably know me as Doc, but that is a foolish title, given by foolish lifeforms, on a shphithole planet at the ass-end of the universe. I am tired of tending to you. I’m sick of doing my best to heal your injures! I’m sick of pretending that I care what happens to your fragile bodies!”

You point to a skinny man near the back of the crowd. “You, Charles Smith! I inserted my finger into your rectum to check your prostate! I did that! That’s something I did to keep you from learning what I was! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you?”

Before Charles can respond you knock him through the window of a dress shop.

“I am through! My days of seeing to your sniffles, and coughs, and pains are history! The time has come for you to learn your place! To be treated like the ghastly, poorly constructed, weak-bodies monstrosities you are! The time has come for you to clean my bedpan! To bring me food! To stick your fingers in my rectum! The time has come to lear…”

The saloon behind you explodes, transforming into a fireball of splintered wood, and scaled steel, shooting in every direction. The inferno engulfs everything, scatters the crowd, tossing bodies, and removing limbs, bathing the street in blood and cooking flesh. The forcefield falls from your body. When you hit the dirt you hit hard. When you hit it again, you hit harder. For a moment you’re spinning, caught in the blaze, surrounded by fire and smoke, unable to determine up from down, tips of your tendrils on fire. You don’t stop spinning until you hit a horse, knock it over and wind up waist deep in its trough.

Before you open your eyes you hear the familiar hum of a ship, hovering somewhere above, obscured by the smoke and debris. Trexlarion Panels shift. Energy weapons recharge. The bounty hunter.

You forgot about the damn bounty hunter.

You don’t see the shot that blasts you to atoms.

GleepGlorp would be ashamed.

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.4 - TOO MUCH SASS FOR SARSAPARILLA

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.4 - TOO MUCH SASS FOR SARSAPARILLA

by Ryan Hunter

You feel Sally’s chains dig into your shoulders as your true self begins to emerge. You’re shocked to discover how much you don’t want that to happen. It’s been too long since you were Rachorin, you want to continue thinking he no longer exists. You want to be Doc.

                “Sally,” you whisper, one last chance. “I know you think you know what you’re doing here, but…”

                “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Sally whispers into your ear, licking your earlobe as she does.

                You don’t have to hear the popping of the chains to know that you are well and more beyond the point of return.

                Sally jumps as a broken link careens off of her cheek, leaving a small cut just below her eye. “What… what are…?”

                You stare down at her through Rachorin’s eyes, as you grow she seems to shrink. Your brow grows, expanding out and around, large green tentacles slither over your shoulders as your feet grow to a point. When the transformation is complete you look every inch a green cowboy with ten-gallon hat and green flowing duster made of tentacles.

                “I don’t… I didn’t…” Sally stammers.

                “Daddy never showed you his true form,” you say, already wondering why you’d been so concerned for this ridiculous, mousy thing only a moment ago. Of course you’re still going to be having your way with her shortly, but worrying about her seems quite a waste of time.

                “You can’t… he’s, he’s coming for you.”

                “So you said. Reckon we’d best be leaving then, huh?” A tentacle flashes and wraps around Sally’s waist. You pull her to you and tuck her under your massive arm before walking out of your office.

                “Hells bells,” a voice grumbles to your left.

                “Howdy Sheriff,” you mutter.

                “Doc,” the sheriff says.

                You turn slowly to face him. “Ain’t Doc no more.”

                “So I see.”

                “You planning on giving me trouble?”

                The Sheriff opens his mouth but before he can speak an explosion erupts to his right. Acting on its own, your tentacle flies out and bats at the bullet fired back Slack Harry sending it back the way it came. Slack Harry screams and drops to the ground.

                “That didn’t need to happen,” you say to the sheriff.  

                Without comment the sherrif turns toward his fallen friend and you take the opportunity to make your escape.

                Still carrying Sally under your arm you enter the saloon. Instantly the dancing and card playing stop and all eyes fall on you. “Out,” you say softly but you do not have to repeat yourself. The place empties.

                You drop Sally to the floor and walk behind the bar and smile at the setup. No one had ever heard of taps until good Ole’ Doc came to town and built them up a fine new saloon why, dang near over night. In fact, it had only taken him the press of a single button to extend the bridge of your space craft up out of the ground where you’d buried it and then convert it into the rootinest, tootinest saloon in five counties.

                Now you spin the taps 180 degrees, once again turning them into levers needed to run your ship. You reach behind yourself, knocking the bottles of whiskey to the floor until your hand falls on the dustiest gin bottle on the shelf, forgotten by all, just like it was supposed to be. You pull that and the entire saloon descends into the ground and your awaiting ship.

                “Will you please tell me what is happening?” Sally begs.

                “You say ‘HE’ is coming for me. Do you know who he is?”

                “What? I don’t know… he’s… he’s a lawman… from space.”

                “Close, he’s Garlock, he’s a bounty hunter. He’s been looking for me for a long while.”

                “Why would he be chasing an innocent man?”

                “I’m not a man, Darlin’. And I’m a country mile from innocent. Something you should keep in mind, Sheriff.”

                Sally gasps and turns her head. Unlike you, she hadn’t heard the sheriff enter just before you pulled the bridge into the ship although how she missed his clomping you have no idea. Already you’re forgetting the limitations of human ears.

                “Well, I do reckon that’s something worth tucking away in the old hat, Doc.”

                “Doc’s not here, there never was no Doc.”

                “You see, that’s just the thing, I believe there was.”

                “You are mistaken.”

                “I might just be. Seein’ as I’m in this situation with you though, mayhap you’ll clue me in on yer plan. I’m guessin’ you’d like to be puttin’ our fair town behind ya but seeing as your crew’s upp up to the ole’ mine I’m not sure how you’re planning on doing that.”

                “Ship doesn’t need a crew. All they were good for was cleaning up and the occasional cannon fodder. I’ve half a mind to just level the ole’ mine before I go so none of them will tell any tales.”

                “You’d do that to your own people?”

                “Do they look like my people? They’re a slave race from one of the moons of my planet. You’ve seen them, they’re not much good for anything other than target practice. Kind of like humans. Maybe I’ll take a few of your good town’s folk with me in exchange for my former slaves.”

                “Or maybe you stay and fight.”

                “Excuse me?”

                The sheriff takes a step toward you. “You say you ain’t Doc, that no part of him is still in you. I don’t believe that. What I do believe is that this bounty hunter you say’s coming for you ain’t gonna believe you took off right before he got here. I believe he’s going to level my town looking for you.”

                “You’ll be lucky if he’s satisfied with just the town.”

                “That’s what I figured. We’re gonna need some help on this.”

                You sigh and stare down at the sheriff. He’s sharp this one he connects dots all on his own. You hate to admit it but you have some respect for the insect.

                “Look, the only other Malarian on this dustball is laying dead in my office. If Miss Sally could have kept her shoes on her feet instead of jamming one into her old man’s eye, together we might, MIGHT, have stood a fighting chance. As it is, you’re welcome to join us, but that’s all the help I can offer you.”

                “I really hate to have to do this. I can’t tell you how much I do,” the sheriff says, pulling his piece.

                “Put that away, Sheriff,” you say.

                The sheriff fires and again your tentacle flashed, bating the slug back at him. He drops the revolver and backs away two steps, clutching at his shoulder. “That was what I thought,” he said through clenched teeth. “Right in the shoulder just like Slack Harry. You coulda just killed me there but yeh didn’t. You may say Doc ain’t in there no place, but I think he’s more a part o’ ya then you know.”

                You stare at the wounded man for a long time, wondering about your next move.