The Eye of the Llama
by Gary D. Snyder
Part 3:
Earth is not an appealing destination for most of the civilized galaxy. It is not located in a particularly upscale sector, and its limited interstellar amenities give it an official appellation of "rustic" in travel brochures, although "primitive" is the term most often used by those who have actually visited. Even so there are the occasional visitors who desire a more unconventional experience than that enjoyed by most spacefarers, much as some vacationers from industrialized Earth countries enjoy safaris in Africa or roughing it in wilderness areas. Word of mouth had actually made some Earth regions such as southern Nevada and western New Mexico fairly popular stopovers for some adventurous tourists, and these visitors can occasionally be seen them arriving and departing by those in the vicinity of Roswell and the Interplanetary Highway.
Skeets and Rocco were not among those adventurous tourists who traveled to Earth by choice. They were completely unfamiliar with the planet and would probably have never heard of it had they not been ordered to locate and retrieve the planet's foremost combat champion. They had assumed that the identity of the planetary champion would be common knowledge and that it would be a simple matter to determine who and where that person might be, making their trip a short one. Just to be safe they reviewed what little was known about Earth and determined that their wisest course would be to land at night and wear clothing to disguise most of their features, as previous visitors had determined that Terrans in general were notoriously xenophobic. The last remaining question was where to land. Earth had no spaceports or orbital space docks with convenient shuttles to the surface and the travel guide listed no frequencies for official landing beacons.
Faced with this quandary Skeets put the vessel in a parking orbit around Luna while he and Rocco discussed the situation. They could, of course, have landed without a beacon and asked the first inhabitant they met for the directions to a more conventional landing site, but it would have been the equivalent of landing a 747 in someone's backyard to find out where the nearest international airport was. More to the point they were males and the very idea of asking directions was both alien and repugnant to both of them. While they were pondering their best course of action Rocco detected something on the communication band and called Skeets over to listen to it.
"What is it?" Skeets asked after listening to the tone for a few minutes.
"I'm not sure," Rocco replied, "It's not a beacon, but it's definitely artificial and in the allocated spectrum for communications in this sector. I think that it's a carrier signal but nothing's being carried on it right now."
Skeets thought about it. "What do you think?" he asked at last.
"It might be a personal communications station," was Rocco's response. "Whatever it is it's the closest indication of extraplanetary technology." He thought a few seconds more. "I say we follow it and land as near it as possible while remaining discreet. It's after dark there now."
"Sound good," his associated nodded. "Let's take her down."
Rocco complied, bringing the craft down without incident in a small stand of trees on the outskirts of the town. The town was, or course, Retroville, for the signal they had followed was a communication beam that Jimmy maintained at his lab to communicate with his various space probes and growing list of extraterrestrial acquaintances. He had long ago discovered that there were a vast number of intelligent signals, as yet undetected by SETI, crossing the cosmos and he had adopted one of those frequencies for his personal use. One reason for doing so was to avoid any interference by the finicky government bureaucracies in charge of allocating and monitoring the limited electromagnetic frequencies known to them. Another was that the alien techniques allowed him to send signals much farther than limited Earth communications technology could possibly reach.
Once they had touched down the Felangians donned their concealing outfits and cautiously emerged from their spacecraft. Rocco looked about warily as Skeets took various measurements with a small device. After studying the readings on his scanner Skeets pocketed it with a grunt of satisfaction. "This atmosphere is a little richer in oxygen and the gravity approximately one-third less," he announced. "We can stay here for some time if need be."
"Where to now?" asked Rocco.
"We should see out an information repository," Skeets answered. "There should be personnel there who can answer our questions. If not, the archives should contain the data we seek." He pressed a button on a small remote control, locking the spacecraft and activating the alarm. This was, after all, a bad neighborhood.
Rocco had no objections and the two moved quickly but with practiced care towards a street and down it towards the cluster of lights marking downtown Retroville. From time to time they passed people but said nothing, as the fewer people with whom they interacted the better. Some gave the tall figures in trench coats and fedoras curious glances but for the most part they were ignored. As they walked they kept an alert eye out for a central information center or library but saw nothing that matched what they associated with the concept. Ironically their journey took them past a branch of the Retroville library but they passed by with reaction. Even had the library been open they did not associate information with printed matter still in widespread use on Earth and would doubtless have ignored the place anyway. After half an hour of walking Rocco suddenly nudged his companion and pointed.
What Rocco had spotted was an information repository in the loosest sense of the term, although not in the sense that he and Skeets understood the term. It was an all-night video store, but the sight of people making careful selections and the images on video displays convinced them that they had arrived at their destination. Without discussion they entered and approached the clerk behind the register, which they assumed was the information desk.
"Can I help you?" the clerk asked helpfully.
"Yes," answered Skeets carefully. As with most species used to visiting other planets he wore a translator and he spoke slowly to ensure that he would not overtax the units ability to render his speech into his listener's language. "I am seeking records of your fighting champion."
"Records?" the clerk asked.
"Yes. Recorded images and information."
"Oh, right. Did you want DVDs or videotapes?"
Skeets waited for the translator to provide the meanings of the clerk's words. "Yes."
"O-ka-a-ay," the clerk said slowly. He was used to odd responses on the night shift. "We have shelves full of them. Any particular subject?"
"Of fighting champions." The clerk looked puzzled and Skeets tried again. "Of those who fight and win the championship. The best fighter."
The clerk's face showed dawning comprehension, although to Skeets and Rocco who were not familiar with Terran facial expressions the clerk might just as easily have been yawning or getting ready to throw up. "I get it. You mean a boxing film?"
"Yes," Skeets answered eagerly. "You know of it?"
"Well…" The clerk considered it, running through the list of films in his mind. "There have been a lot of fight films. The Champ, The Main Event, On the Waterfront, Raging Bull, Requiem for a Heavyweight…"
"I need the best," said Skeets.
The clerk thought about it. "Well, I guess that would probably be Rocky."
"I like that name," said Rocco, who had been silent up to then, but Skeets wanted to be sure.
"Rocky is the best?"
The clerk shrugged. "Won the Oscar. So did On the Waterfront, but that was fifty years ago. Rocky is more, you know, a little more contemporary."
"We wish the most recent."
"Well, that would be Rocky. The DVD should be over there…" The clerk pointed helpfully. "…in the Drama section."
"Thank you," replied Skeets. "I will check." Accompanied by Rocco, Skeets headed to the designated section and began searching through the cases. The translator helped with spoken language, but not written text, and he had to laboriously transliterate the strange symbols to find a match. At last he located the DVD he was seeking, pulled it out, and began slowly reading the synopsis of the movie on the back of the rental case. Rocco read along over his shoulder, moving his lips as he sounded out the strange words. "Yes," Skeets said at last. "This heavyweight champion this underdog Rocky faces is the one we seek."
"I concur. Now we must locate him."
"Perhaps the director at the information desk can be of assistance."
Before Rocco could respond they became aware of a disturbance at the checkout counter. A small, pale Terran was in a heated discussion with the clerk who had helped them.
"What do you mean, am I ready for this?" the Terran was saying.
The clerk shrugged and attempted to defuse the situation. "Well, sir, your previous game rentals have always been rated 'E'. Leisure Suit Llama is rated 'PG' because of pre-teen flirting. I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of that."
"I know what I'm doing!" Carl insisted. "Carl Wheezer is ready for anything. Anything! I'm somebody! I always was and I always will be!" Carl laid his two dollas on the counter, snatched up the video game, and headed towards the exit.
At the mention of the vaguely familiar-sounding name Skeets looked at the movie information on the rental case, at the indignant Terran, and back at the case again. Something didn't seem quite right, but the human's words and attitude matched those of prize fighters that Skeets had encountered in his professional career and he decided that fate had delivered their quarry to them. He has really let himself go, Skeets thought as he nudged Rocco and began following the Terran out of the store.
"Oh, good, you found it," the clerk said as they approached the checkout stand. "That will be one dollar."
"Of course," Skeets answered as he and Rocco halted. He fished in one of his pocket and tossed an entire credit on the counter before proceeding out the door. The clerk picked up the heavy gold coin and inspected the non-human visage of Felangian Crown Princess Leama curiously before ringing up the rental.
Man, no wonder these Sacagawea dollars aren't circulating, he thought as he tossed the coin in the cash drawer. She's even homelier than that Susan B. Anthony person. It was only later that he realized that the two customers had only taken the case and not waited for the DVD itself.
Outside on the street Skeets and Rocco caught up with Carl as he stalked down the street in a huff. That was twice today that someone had slighted him and he burned with the slow, hot anger of one who has unjustly suffered for far too long. That alone was perhaps enough to explain his uncharacteristically vehement reaction when Skeets called to him.
"What do you want?" Carl snapped, turning around to face Skeets. The sight of the two large persons confronting him cooled his anger somewhat.
"A thousand apologies for disturbing you," Skeets replied, unruffled. In his line of work it was never good to become emotionally involved. "But I could not help overhearing. Are you in fact the Carl…uh…" He paused in an attempt to enunciate the name properly. "…Weetser of considerable fame?"
"Uh…" Carl had been taught, quite correctly, not to speak with strangers, but his fundamentally docile nature, the lingering hurt from his unfair treatment that morning, and the idea that someone seemed to believe that he was famous were enough to sway his better judgement. "Yes, I am," he answered. "Did you want an autograph?"
Skeets and Rocco exchanged satisfied smiles. "Actually," Skeets went on, "our employer would deem it a great honor if you were to accompany us and have a few pleasant words with him."
Alarms began to sound in the back of Carl's mind. "I don't think so," he answered. "I mean, it's getting late and I'm not allowed to go anywhere with strangers unless my parents and I know them pretty well."
Skeets sighed as long experience prompted him to move forward as Rocco maneuvered to flank Carl. "I am afraid that our employer was most insistent," he said quietly, as his hand moved to an inside pocket of his trenchcoat.
"Uh, no, really," Carl stammered, his mouth going dry with fear. He backpedaled in a desperate attempt to keep his distance from Skeets only to be blocked by Rocco's massive form. "I mean, I'm renting this cartridge by the day and really have to get my game time in as soon as possible to get my money's worth, so maybe…some…other..."
"It appears," Skeets answered while Rocco clamped two huge hands like iron vises on Carl's shoulders, "that we will have to make you an offer you cannot refuse." As Carl stared in terror, too frightened to speak, Skeets pulled an unfamiliar device from beneath his coat, aimed it at Carl, and pulled what was unmistakably a trigger.
End of Part 3.