Hong on the Range

by William F. Wu

Overview

In this science fiction satire of westerns, after the American West was destroyed in a series of biological disasters, rebuilding it is a lot like building it in the first place, but there are crucial differences. For example, new, partly mechanical cattle with computer brains are called steerites. They speak and sing a lot more than the original steers.

Most of the cowboys, outlaws, and lawmen are partly mechanical, too, except for those few humans called control-naturals. That group has to keep all their original equipment, just like the original cowboys. Louie Hong is one of those control-naturals, and life isn't easy for him. Most folks look down on a man who doesn't have at least one bionic hand.

Yet Louie Hong is determined to make his way in the new Wild West.

All Hong has to do is explain to the bounty hunters who are after him for robbing a bank, and the outlaw gang that is after him for stealing the loot, that he hadn't done any of it.

With a little bit of luck, and the help of Chuck, his steerite companion, Hong hopes to find a home on the range that nobody can take away—not outlaws, not bounty hunters, not cyborgs, not even singing steerites.

In Hong on the Range, William F. Wu has returned to the high-tech Wild West world of his Hugo and Nebula Award finalist short story, "Hong's Bluff," and written a rousing, funny science fiction saga complete with cyborg cowboys and outlaws. It is an exciting and witty subgenre of science fiction: The cyber western.

This novel was chosen by the American Library Association, Booklist, and the Library Journal for their recommended and best of the year lists.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

First I could only see that something large was displacing the tall buffalo grass ahead. Then I reached the spot and found a steerite lying down with his steel legs neatly folded underneath him. They gleamed silver in the sun and his hinged metal tail swished back and forth, its brush swatting the flies that buzzed around the natural hide of his meaty, biological middle. As I pulled my battered hat off by the brim and squinted at the steerite, he turned his steel bovine head toward me, short horns and all.

"Hi, there," I said.

"Hello," he answered pleasantly. He had been programmed with excellent enunciation and a trace of a Boston accent. "Good day to you. Where are you bound?"

I untied my red bandana and wiped off my forehead with it. "I'm going to Femur to look for a job. Pardon my asking, but ... have you lost your herd? What are you doing here?"

"I am merely waiting. Have I lost my herd? More accurately, my herd has been rustled."

"Rustled?"

"I dutifully escaped. None of my comrades succeeded in this endeavor. Since our trail crew ran off, I have no trail boss to whom I must report. Nor am I honor bound to join the herd after it has been rustled."

I nodded toward the mark stamped onto the shining metal base of his tail, where it extended from his natural hindquarters. "Waiting for what? You still have your serial number."

"Oh, yes. I am fully programmed and ready to report to any authority who can restore me to my legal owner."

"Who's that?"

"I don't know. We get basic programming for herding, pasturing, and speech, but little precise data. Of course, we can accumulate information as we go, but no one ever told me the owner's name or where to locate him."

"I guess the trail crew was supposed to get you there?”

"Indeed they were, those cowardly louts." He lowered his head modestly. "I am led to believe that my mechanical parts are quite expensive. Not to mention my beef."

Product Details

BN ID:	2940154624845
Publisher:	Boruma Publishing LLC
Publication date:	11/13/2017
Sold by:	Smashwords
Format:	eBook
File size:	961 KB

Read an Excerpt

By the time the creaking of the stage had faded away, I was able to roll over onto one shoulder and watch the swaying vehicle shrink in the distance. The sun was low in the sky over it.

Well, I was no worse off than I had been before I had reached Femur, except that now I was severely banged up, had nowhere to go, had a shotgun rider mad at me, and was wanted for bank robbery.

And my hat had fallen off.

I crawled over and got it, then stood up to dust myself off. The sun was still hot and this humid air wasn't going to cool off much. I looked around.

The tall grasses of the rolling prairie waved endlessly in all directions. At least I had a road to follow now. Since Femur no longer beckoned, except with a rope, I started west.

I was too tired to walk very fast. Harris had plenty of energy and I supposed that one's taste for adventure was higher if one had the money to ride during the day and sleep under a roof at night. Not being a control-natural, of course, made the big difference.

Walking made me think of Chuck, then, for the first time since I had left him. I had promised to come back and I felt bad about not returning. That was life in the west, though. Everyone was transient these days, this side of the big river. You made friends one minute and then never saw them again.

I heard the hoofbeats and saw the dust ahead in the road before I could see the rider. As long as no one came up behind me from Femur, I was probably safe. I watched him come on.

His mount was an unusually large white stallion horsite that cantered casually down the road. He himself wore shiny black boots, gray pants, a long-sleeved matching gray shirt with fringe, and a white hat. From here, hisface was a weird blur.

When he got closer, I could see that he was wearing a clown mask. The face was white with lots of red and orange and yellow, with blue trim. It was smiling goofily. He pulled up in front of me. "Hi, there, fellow traveler. Are you in need of assistance?"

"Sort of," I said. "I could use a home, a job, and a girlfriend. Failing those, a fistful of double bisons would do. But I would settle for a ride west, or even a roof under which to spend the night."

He pushed his hat back on his head. Behind the mask, his hair was black. "You have reached a sorry pass, indeed. Do you know who I am?"

"No."

He drew himself up straight. "I--am the Long Ranger."

"Oh."

"And this is my fiery horse, Goldie."

I took another glance at the big white mount. "Goldie?"

He tilted his hat forward and leaned down at me. "Don't you believe me?"

"The real one lived in olden times. Everybody knows that."

"Yeah, well, never mind that part. I'm the new one. Understand?"

"Okay, okay. I mean, who cares?"

"Here. This'll prove it." He reached down to hand me something.

I took it. It was a red jelly bean. I ate it.

"Now, then. Exactly what, young fellow, has brought you to this unfortunate state of affairs?"

"Well--being a control-natural didn't help any."

"Oh. In that case, forget the whole thing. Gimme back my--aw, you chewed it up already." The Long Ranger shook his head and spurred Goldie. They took off down the road past me.

He would have found out sooner or later, anyway.

I plodded on. Around one bend, I spied a clump of low trees away from the road. It suggested some shelter and maybe some water for the canteen in my pack. I left the road for it just in time, since the horizon had turned red by the time I reached it. The trees were cottonwoods, rather short and stumpy but taller in the sunken creekbed than they had looked from the road. The creek was nearly dry and offered nothing to drink. Since my spontaneous departure from Femur had left me without time to buy food, I had nothing to do but take my blanket out of my pack, use the pack as a pillow, and go to sleep in the waning light.

A weird hissing sound woke me up in darkness. It sounded like sniffing. That could mean anything from a fox to a coyote to something larger than that and even hungrier than I was. I felt around in the dark until I located a small rock. Then I sat up suddenly, threw it, and yelled "Yah!"

Two guns clicked into cocked positions. Now that I was sitting up, I could see two silhouettes by a small yellowish fire. It had been hidden by a couple of tree trunks before.

One of them sniffed loudly.

"Come out of there, slow and easy," said the other.

I did. My habit of sleeping in my moccasins paid off again. When one lived the way I did, being ready to run was useful.

"Hey, it's our little buddy from the bar," said the one who had spoken before. He lowered his gun. "Come on over to the fire."

I got my first look at him by the firelight. He had a wide forehead under a reddish-brown hat, big wide round eyes and a face that narrowed sharply to a pointed chin. As he holstered his gun with his right hand, I caught sight of his left. Instead of a hand, he had a series of shiny blades on a Swissarmie Brand Swivel.

"Dalton's the name," he said, with a nod. "This here's Smellin' Llewellyn."

The other guy sniffed a few more times and holstered his own gun. They both sat down by the fire and I did likewise, not wanting to snub their invitation. They had meat on a little frying pan, just starting to sizzle.

"Say," said Smellin'. "This is the guy? I didn't get a good look outside the bank. He's the same one who rode the steerite I told you about."

I recognized him, too. He was the cowboy with the Model C-5 Abilene Accordion Ankles I had seen almost throw down on the gunfighter in the street. His friend was Carver Dalton. I had a vague memory of seeing him in the bar next to Duke.

"If you hadn't run off after that steerite," said Carver "Duke wouldn't have had to hire him to do your job."

So that last riderless horse I had been holding had been Smellin' Llewellyn's. I looked at the sizzling steaks on the frying pan with a new prejudice.

"I got enough meat for the whole gang, didn't I?" Smellin' demanded. He sniffed again. "I found you all again, didn't I? And I shared it once we all got together again, didn't I? So's we could split up after that?"

"Yeah, all right." Carver jerked his thumb toward the fire and looked at me. "If that was your steerite, you're entitled to dinner. You did a right job for us with those horsites."

"Thank you," I said, still staring in shock at the portions of Chuck frying away in front of me. Eating him didn't quite seem right, somehow, but neither did starving.