The Golem of Deneb Seven: and other stories by Alex Shvartsman

Author:Alex Shvartsman [Shvartsman, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UFO Publishing
Published: 2018-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

The caravan of cars delivered the humans to the golf course built by the Taneers. Another large group of them milled on the edges of a huge field. The grass was yellow, sickly, and sun parched—not like the genetically enhanced and well-kept grass of the courses back home. Randy thought he could make it work. After all, what's the big deal about some turf variance when he was playing an unfamiliar course, with never-before-used clubs, on a world with slightly higher gravity than he was accustomed to?

And he was playing for his life.

"No golf cart, sorry." Ferrett pulled the bag of clubs out of the back seat. "No caddies, either. Goes against their idea of one-on-one competition. Hope you're in shape." He handed the bag to Randy.

Randy hefted the bag. He guessed thirty to thirty-five pounds, give or take. Carrying that around for four hours could be strenuous, but he had carried more for longer, in basic training.

"Come," said Ferrett. He carried the second golf bag.

The crowd parted and let them through to the teeing ground.

The Taneer waiting for them was dressed in the same grey garb as the rest, except his lower legs were bare and the cloth covering his upper legs featured a checkered pattern.

"Is that…a kilt?" asked Randy.

Ferrett stared at the alien with a bemused expression and turned to make sure they were out of earshot of the other humans. "It sure seems that way to me. I don't know what our diplomats here have been telling the natives about golf, but one thing is for sure: the corps didn't assign their best and brightest to this dirtball." He nudged Randy forward.

Reluctantly, Randy approached the alien. He was a little shorter than most of the others, but his muscular frame still towered over Randy. The alien tilted his head slightly and gave Randy a long, evaluating look. Then he extended his fist and repeated the greeting gesture Randy had seen in the arena.

Randy did his best to mimic the gesture. "Umm, hi," he said, realizing that his opponent would likely not understand him. "I'm Randy. I'd wish you luck, but under the circumstances…" Randy shrugged.

"No luck. Skill. Best warrior wins." The Taneer spoke the English words in a strange, grating but intelligible voice. "Call me Ishmael."

Randy blinked. "Seriously?"

"Learn words when study human speech. Like how words sound. Like name. Use name when speak human."

Randy wondered at how well the Taneer could understand his language, despite the basic sentence structure he used. Moby Dick wasn't exactly an early reader book, or even ESL material.

"You play first," said Ishmael.

Randy looked ahead to the first hole in the distance. It seemed awfully far away—definitely a Par 5 course. He wondered if the Taneers had intentionally built it in a way that provided an extra advantage to the player who could hit harder, but that would seem contrary to their notion of fair play. More likely, they wanted to make the game more difficult and therefore more exciting.

He withdrew the driver from the bag and set up the ball in the tee box.

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