Bar Hopping

By Kevin Turnquist

"Keep the change."

Ford flipped a ten spot to the cab driver, who, grunting heavily, tipped one of his hats (the one on the middle head of three) to Ford and sped away. Ford coughed in the exhaust of the vehicle, but then realized it probably wasn't the exhaust.

For you see, Ford was on Beta Century, the most polluted planet in the Universe where life could still be found that wasn't mutating every minute or so. The planet was so bad they had to have "Clean Air Warnings" in cases where the air cleaned out to a point where the shock would kill anything used to the norm. Other than the total lack of sunshine, clean water, or even a clean place to sit down, it was, all and all, a pretty nice planet to find one on.

For those not familiar with "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," Ford is a space traveler, except instead of having a ship of his own, he hitches rides with others. Ford has been known to find a bar anywhere, and this planet was not going to be an exception to that rule.

Ford crossed a small walkway and enter 'Guillotine's,' a theme bar in the red light district of the capital of Beta Century. The theme bar was designed to add excitement to the normally dull routine of getting horribly drunk and picking up women. Ford stepped in and immediately dropped to the floor.

A razor sharp blade zoomed by at what would have been about neck level if Ford had still been standing. Ford slowly got to his feet and looked around the bar. Here and there, he could see various forms of lie conversing, and occasionally ducking as a blade zeroed in and swooped for the neck. Some people had devised hand signals for positions and angles of blades. One group held up the clock position of where the next one was coming from. Three fingers meant "Coming at 3 o'clock..." Unfortunately, none of the creatures at the table had more than six fingers total, so life was getting precarious at times.

Ford sat at a table in the corner, with his back to a wall, and watched with amusement as a waitress was being chased the length of the bar by a rather determined blade.

"May I get you something?"

Ford looked up. His waitress was very cute, and oddly didn't seem to be worried about the blades buzzing around the room behind her.

"The strongest thing you've got, and double it."

"Very good, sir!" As she turned to walk away, Ford realized why she seemed indifferent to what was going on - she had two eyes in the back of her head.

A couple minutes later, she returned and gave him the drink. A minute after that a two-headed sloth sat down next to Ford and started talking about the joys of being an anti-environmentalist, which is a a pretty neat trick for a sloth, not to mention a two-headed one.

"It is really a niche' trade, you see," remarked the head with blonde hair.

"We figured, on a polluted planet like this, there are bound to be far more environmentalists than you can shake a dead tree at," continued the other head that had darker hair.

"So does it make good money?" Ford inquired.

The blond head cleared its throat.

"Well, not exactly...we haven't found anyone actually interested in it yet, but it has potential...DOWN!" Just then, a blade came by and neatly plucked the dark-haired head off at the neck. The now bodiless head rolled on the floor with a look of surprise on its face.

Ford was about to offer his sympathy, but the remaining head spoke first.

"Oh, well, never liked him anyway. Can't cry over spilled milk," remarked the head, and immediately continued to talk on with how the economics of anti-environmentalism worked, while the on-staff surgeons that hang around the bar tried sewing the departed head back on.

"Think about it. Say you are a big company, and you want to get rid of some waste. Now, with all the environmentalists out there, you have to petition to the public, and plead, etc. Our position is, hey, everything is screwed up beyond repair anyway, and so who bloody cares?"

"What about future generations?" asked Ford.

"Oh, they'll mutate to adapt."

Just then, there was a gasp from the dark haired head as the surgeons revived him after putting the head back on, dodging blades while working. They slapped a bill down in front of the revived head, and carefully walked over to a table where three heads lay neatly detached after a five blade attack on the table just moments before.

"We should probably go," sighed the blonde head. "He gets so cranky after being decapitated." With that they got up and left, with the dark haired one yelling something about giving advanced notice next time.

Ford continued to drink as he watched them go, and dropped his satchel on the ground. As he bent over to pick it up, a blade slammed into the wall at what would have been neck level about 1 second before. Ford sat up and looked at the blade. It looked like your typical blade, until you got close.

Up close, it was easy to make out the two little eyes, and the tiny mouth that had a menacing grimace frozen on it. It was obvious these blades were living creatures. What made it more obvious was it working its way out fo the wall. After freeing itself, it wheeled around on Ford in anger, and proceeded to chase him around the bar. Some people stopped to watch, which didn't benefit them when blades got them from behind.

Ford ran to the front door and dived through just as the blade was swooping to take out a leg. Ford stood up outside the bar and looked back. The blade hovered for a second at the entrance, then wheeled away to decapitate someone who was laughing about someone else's decapitation.

Ford smiled to himself. All and all, it had been a pretty enjoyable time. Good drink, a little excitement. He flagged down a cab.

"Where to?" asked a cross between a giant cricket and an insurance salesman.

"Oh, just another theme bar, something down the street..." said Ford as he waved his had in the direction he wanted to go.

"OK, 'Crispy Critters' it is."

And off they went.