Skid

by Keith Fenwick

  “Here!” Bruce said, handing her the stick she had dropped.

  “But it’s all dirty!” she complained as she dropped the muck-covered stick like a hot potato. “Look out!”

  Bruce turned and saw the bull ambling towards the gate that the last of its mates were meandering through with the three dogs in close attendance. Confused and upset by the noise and the strange things that were happening all the bull wanted was to rejoin his companions.

  “That’ll do! That will do, Punch! Get over here!”

  Sue saw only a mad bull intent on doing her a mischief and wasted no time in clambering to the top rail of the yard fence, closely followed by Oridor and Cyprus. They were not happy about the situation either and had been looking for some excuse to escape ever since they had returned from the house.

  From his perch on the fence Cyprus thought Bruce must be crazy to walk around ivops armed with nothing more than a flimsy length of syntimber in his hand. The beasts could be dangerous if they got as angry as this one obviously was and could seriously hurt a person with the pointed protuberance that jutted from their noses.

  Cyprus blanched as he conjured up a vision of an ivop thrusting its horn into his body and flinging him into the air.

  “Good bloody riddance!” Bruce picked up his stick and smacked the bull on the nose as it went past with an outraged bellow, the disobedient dogs still yapping at its heels. He locked the gate behind it in time to look up and see Sue and the two Skidians slinking off towards the house.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re off to?” However, they continued as if they hadn’t heard him. “Come back here or I’ll bloody well kill ya. Shit!” Bruce rolled himself a smoke as Sue, Cyprus and Oridor slunk back and climbed onto the fence, perching there like sparrows on a power line.

  Then Bruce walked quietly through the pens shutting the gates between each pen full of ivops so they didn’t smother or pile up in the corners, or worse, push through the rails and escape back onto the plain.

  “Get out!” he roared at Cop who was trying to create a disturbance behind him.

  Cop minced over to the rails and slipped between them. Bruce scratched his nose thoughtfully, running an eye over the ivops in the pen in which he stood while Sue, Oridor and Cyprus waited expectantly for Bruce to let fly at them.

  Oridor coughed beside Sue as the dust raised by the ivops irritated his throat. He did not appreciate the pungent combination of dung, urine and sweat either, or the frightful bellowing noise the ivops made.

  “Right.” There was no sign of Bruce’s earlier contempt or anger now. “We’ll sort out the cows, the females and younger calves into here.” He motioned with his half-smoked cigarette at one of the two large empty pens, one of which opened directly back into one of the holding pens.

  “That’s a cow!” Bruce pointed to an animal with a large udder so his helpers knew exactly what he meant. “Cyprus, you can be first. Stand in the gateway here and let nothing through unless I say.”

  Cyprus climbed reluctantly off the fence frightened by the animals, but even more scared by what Bruce might do to him if he did not.

  The reasoning behind separating the animals from each other was a mystery to Cyprus and he wondered why Bruce bothered. After all, in the wilderness they were together, so what was the sense in doing more than necessary with them? Why was Bruce purposely endangering all of them?

  “Wake up, Cyprus.”

  Cyprus tried to concentrate on what Bruce was trying to do, as Bruce prodded an ivop towards the open doorway where he had taken up station.

  “Stand back and let it through,” Bruce said.

  Cyprus stood aside and the ivop ambled past, showing no interest in him at all. Cyprus’s confidence blossomed. Like most of the things the offworlders did, there was nothing difficult or dangerous about it at all. He relaxed, knowing that whatever the offworlders could do, he could do much better.

  “Bugger off, dog!” Bruce threatened Cop with his stick as he slipped back into the yard to lend a hand.

  Sue, Oridor and Cyprus gave each other significant glances and prepared for the worst. But Bruce seemed unflustered and continued to move quietly among the beasts, tapping one of them on the nose, prodding another in the backside with his stick and guiding them in the general direction of the gate.

  “Stand back and let it through,” he’d call to Cyprus, or, “Stop it!” until Cyprus developed what he felt was an almost telepathic understanding of what Bruce required and managed to act without being told. After a while Cyprus noticed that some of the larger animals had different organs hanging between their legs. Ah! Cyprus belatedly realized that Bruce was segregating the males from the females and he approved of this. Buoyed by this profound new insight, his confidence grew even further.

  “Stop that one!” Bruce said as a bull got past him.

  Cyprus stepped in front of the ivop and waved his stick at it, a gesture which in his limited experience should have stopped the animal in its tracks. Nevertheless, this beast would not be deterred from its chosen course.

  “Hit the bloody thing, Cyprus!”

  Cyprus waved his stick at the bull, then lost his newfound confidence and jumped back up onto the fence out of its way.

  “Bugger ya, Cyprus!” Bruce cut the bull off himself, forcing it back with a series of sharp clouts to its nose. The bull snorted angrily, half charged him, then retreated against the onslaught.

  “Ya toey old bastard!” Bruce looked up at where Cyprus cowered on the fence. “Cyprus, you’ve got a bloody stick. Just whack them if they go the wrong way.” Bruce didn’t know how many times he’d told them this and it still hadn’t sunk in.

  Cyprus’s budding confidence had dissipated completely, and nothing Bruce could do or say, short of dragging him down, would move him from the rails. Bruce threw his stick across the pen in disgust.

  “Shit!” he yelled, more amused than angry. “You’re a bloody old woman, Cyprus!” Then he turned away so the others couldn’t see him laughing at the expression on Cyprus’s face.

  “There’s no need to be sexist about it, Bruce,” Sue said, about to remonstrate with him.

  “Well, you get down here then, if you think you’re so bloody smart!”

  Sue hesitated for a moment, then slipped down off the railing, and picked up the stick that Cyprus had dropped in his hasty escape. She was not going to let Bruce get away with that!

  Meanwhile Cyprus took this chance to beat a hasty retreat towards the house, closely followed by Oridor. Bruce spat on the ground. Oh well, he thought. The two of them should be able to handle the job if Sue didn’t go all sulky on him.

  “Can you pick out the cows okay?” Bruce asked reasonably.

  “The ones with the big tits you mean?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. We want them in this yard here.” Bruce herded a couple of ivop cows towards the gate and Sue let them through without any problem.

  “Good,” he grunted reluctantly. “They won’t hurt you if you show them who’s boss.” This wasn’t exactly true but Bruce decided Sue didn’t need to know that.

  Gradually the number of beasts to be sorted dwindled. Cows there, heifers there, the few bulls back out into the holding pen, the younger calves back with their mothers and the bigger calves in another pen.

  “Right, we’re just about finished. We’ll just put these ones in a paddock for the night and call it a day, eh?” Bruce said at last with a yawn. While this sort of work wasn’t particularly physical it had been a long day and had required not a little concentration. This was probably why Bruce decided cynically that the Skidians couldn’t handle it.

  “I’m buggered!” Bruce said for Sue’s benefit. “What about you?” She nodded. “All I want is a beer, a feed and to flop into bed. And not necessarily in that order,” he declared. “It’s harder work than it looks, eh.” He ruffled her hair. Sue shrugged numbly too tired to care either way.

  “The dogs are pretty stuffed too; they’re getting fat and laz
y.”

  As if on cue, all three of them came over, panting in expectation of a friendly word and pat. Uncharacteristically, thought Sue, Bruce responded by giving each of them a few hearty slaps and a kind word. Trying to impress her, she decided.

  “They love you, don’t they?” Sue recognized blind devotion when she saw it. “Even though you’re so horrible to them at times.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say so,” he replied, letting Punch take a liberty because he was still really a pup and didn’t know any better. Punch jumped up, placed his paws on Bruce’s chest and tried to lick his face. “We have a symbiotic relationship – buzz off, Punch – in return for me harnessing their natural hunting instincts to chase sheep and cattle around, they get looked after and fed.”

  “Oh, are you sure?”

  “Yeah, of course. You ask Punch here.”

  “Rubbish. So, what are we going to do with these?” Sue indicated the few ivops left in the yards, to change the subject.

  “Aw, tomorrow we’ll sort out the bull calves and deknackerise them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Castrate the younger ones. Turn them into steers to raise for meat. Bull meat’s okay but it’s a bit tough.”

  “How do you do that?” Sue asked, balking when Bruce told her. “You’re not serious, of course? That sounds so cruel.”

  “Nah, not really. It doesn’t hurt them much if you get them young enough.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Bruce pressed his thighs together, imagining the feel of cold steel against his own genitals. “Yeah, perhaps, but it’s a real bastard having lots of young bulls running round the place ripping into anything and everything, calves popping out all over the place, fences wrecked. They’re just a bloody menace.”

  “But cutting them out sounds so brutal. Surely there’s got to be a better way?”

  “We sometimes put rubber rings on them to restrict the blood flow. The balls drop off in a few weeks which personally, I reckon is even worse.”

  “How horrible.”

  The sudden reappearance of Cyprus put an end to the conversation as he sheepishly asked whether there was anything he could do to help out.”

  “Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Bruce demanded angrily, wanting to punch Cyprus in the neck. He had probably been watching from the house until they looked finished before he offered his services. “We’re finished for the day now.”

  He was about to add something particularly vitriolic when Sue sweetly intervened and defused the situation.

  “Why don’t you come to dinner, Cyprus?” she asked. She and Leaf had some new organic foods for him to try out.

  Tonight of all nights Bruce didn’t want to have to spend in the company of a Skidian, but Sue led him off before he could make an issue out of it.

  “It will be a pleasure,” Cyprus replied to the retreating backs of the offworlders. Perhaps he would finally be able to discover how the ivops could be a renewable resource. Inel had been most insistent that he get this point clarified as soon as possible. Was it possible that the ivops reproduced in some hitherto unknown fashion? After noting the presence of what appeared to be many juvenile ivops and the obvious lack of technicians needed to ensure the success of the reproductive process, Cyprus now thought they must be able to. How else could the presence of these immature ivops be explained?

  Twenty-eight

  “You’re pulling my leg of course, mate.” Bruce managed to gasp between gusts of laughter as Cyprus broached the question of ivop reproduction after dinner. A hilarity which stunned the Skidian, considering the delicacy of the subject.

  “No.” Cyprus shook his head solemnly, wondering if he had made himself clear. You never knew where you were with the offworlders. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he had not mentioned the subject at all.

  “You’re not joking? Tell me then,” Bruce asked earnestly, “how do Skidians reproduce? I mean, you’d do it pretty well like us, wouldn’t you?”

  With not a little embarrassment, for it was not a subject commonly discussed on Skid, and because Cyprus could not speak from personal experience, he explained the process clinically, like a prudish father teaching his precocious son the facts of life.

  “Well, that’s basically how the ivops do it, mate,” Bruce explained. “I’ll keep my eyes open and if I see it happening I’ll point it out for you.”

  “Do you mean to say the ivops do it in public, where they can be seen?” Cyprus’s discomfort was acutely increased by this offer.

  Cyprus sounded so scandalized Bruce thought he must have missed something vitally important again.

  “They’re only animals, man. It’s a perfectly natural activity for them.”

  This casual comment horrified Cyprus even further and Bruce continued to make matters even worse. “You do it, don’t you? I bet Leaf sneaks down to your room every night and you both do the wild thing, you old stoat.”

  “Yes, Leaf often comes down for fellowship … but we Skidians only procreate once or twice in a lifetime, and then only in carefully supervised surroundings, with the attendance of physicians to ensure success. For these ivops to do it whenever they like is, I think, disgusting.”

  Bruce’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Really?”

  “This is true,” Cyprus replied piously, wondering what Bruce thought was so funny. But then, he did have some strange customs. Apparently Bruce and Sue actually shared the same bed! Cyprus had not seen any real evidence of this, for Inel had censored that information, and it had not occurred to him to ask. Nor did it occur to Cyprus that Bruce might find some of his own habits and customs just as odd, to say the least.

  Cyprus knew all he wanted to know and did not wish to discuss his own prospects for procreation. He was scheduled to undertake his reproductive duties sometime in the next few months and could not see this was any of Bruce’s business. Sex was rarely discussed on Skid. Not because it was taboo but mostly because it was irrelevant to everyday life.

  “Doesn’t sex give you pleasure? On earth we have sex as much for pleasure as an affirmation of relationships, as to produce children.”

  “Does this mean you have many offspring on your planet?”

  “Not that I know of. I think you’ve missed my point,” Bruce wondered how bright these people were, sometimes. “Children generally result only when you want them to. Contraception and all that. You know?”

  No wonder their planet is overpopulated, thought Cyprus. “This immoral practice must place a great strain on your planet’s resources, causing much distress.”

  “Nah. Well, yeah. But not for the obvious reasons. We’ve experienced a massive population explosion on earth because food production techniques and especially medical care have improved, which means people live longer than they used to and more of their offspring survive. The earth’s birthrate has actually decreased over recent times.”

  “Why don’t you simply disinfect useless, unproductive members of your society?” Cyprus asked.

  “Most cultures would consider that immoral,” Bruce answered without thinking, and then wondered if restricting aid to starving people just because their government was Marxist or something wasn’t euthanasia by another name.

  Cyprus pondered this statement. “Then the obvious course of action would be to withdraw medical support from those areas that cannot care for themselves.”

  “Ah, but that would be contrary to the customs and beliefs of my people. Where I come from, life is prolonged for as long as possible, no matter what the cost.”

  How inefficient, Cyprus thought. What a waste of resources! “Your population grows and people suffer because you try to keep your people alive for as long as possible. That is crazy. It would never happen here on Skid.”

  “It probably did in the past, mate.” Bruce was tired of Cyprus and his smug, holier-than-thou attitude. He didn’t need to be reminded that all was not well on his home planet, especially by one who didn’t take his own planet’s problems too
seriously.

  “What’s the chance of playing some more rugby, er, Stim soon? Maybe once a week or so?” Bruce asked, changing the subject. He had recognized that Stim was a passion on Skid, almost to the point of being a religion, which he could readily understand.

  Bruce had enjoyed watching the games, but recently the attraction had palled a little. Each game appeared to have been choreographed by the same coach. The players didn’t look as if they enjoyed it either, which was the whole idea of playing in the first place, wasn’t it? Besides he wanted to play, not watch.

  “The officials from the Murd club were impressed by your performance,” Cyprus lied, relieved to be discussing something he was more comfortable with. “Although they felt you were a little too aggressive in your approach.” That much was true.

  “Aggressive?” Bruce was a little taken aback.

  “However I’m sure they will be pleased to allow you to play as often as you would like.” Even if it takes a direct command from Inel to ensure they agree, Cyprus thought. Anything to keep him quiet.

  Then Bruce shifted mental gears at a pace that left Cyprus struggling to keep up with him again. “You know, we might be able to use a Stim team or two to introduce our organic food to more people on Skid.”

  “How so?” Cyprus was confused now. Far from being an unintelligent primitive, Bruce was able to reason at a much greater pace than any Skidian he had ever met. Cyprus deeply resented that any individual could be so unconsciously superior to himself, especially since the offworlders had always been regarded as stupid and primitive.

  “Well, at home after a game we usually get together with the opposition for a drink or two. Could we not invite my team and the opposition out here after a game? How’s that for an idea?” Bruce suggested enthusiastically. “We can have a barbecue.”

  “Barbecue?” Cyprus mentally examined the word, trying to perceive its meaning.

  “Barbecuing is a form of cooking, more a social activity, where I come from.”

  Social activity? That sounded a bit ominous to Cyprus, considering the previous topic of conversation. Another immoral offworld practice?