In Loving Memory of Robert A. George and Donald R. George
In Loving Memory of Robert A. George and Donald R. George
In Loving Memory of Robert A. George and Donald R. George
You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles
YUMPU automatically turns print PDFs into web optimized ePapers that Google loves.
“I don’t know,” Sherman replied, red faced. “I just want a pair <strong>of</strong><br />
jeans.”<br />
“You might want to try Western Wear Outfitters. Here’s a list <strong>of</strong> their<br />
stores.” The tailor jumped to the side, avoiding a three-foot-square panel<br />
that slid down out <strong>of</strong> nowhere <strong>and</strong> hovered in the air. “Please look it over.”<br />
Sherman pointed at the board, not bothering to see where his finger<br />
had l<strong>and</strong>ed.<br />
“Ah.” The fake tailor replied with faked interest. “Good choice. Rocky<br />
Mountain Western Outfitters in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.”<br />
The panel, the tailor, <strong>and</strong> the mall corridor all disappeared, <strong>and</strong><br />
Sherman found himself face to face with a snarling grizzly. Sherman<br />
yelped, then realized the bear was dead <strong>and</strong> stuffed.<br />
Sherman looked at his surroundings: a store <strong>of</strong> western décor with<br />
shelves <strong>of</strong> jeans <strong>and</strong> cowboy boots, racks <strong>of</strong> cowboy shirts <strong>and</strong> the walls<br />
filled with Cowboy hats.<br />
When a perky woman—complete with blonde braids, suede skirt,<br />
tooled boots, western blouse <strong>and</strong> 10-gallon hat—sprang into view,<br />
Sherman likened her to some kind <strong>of</strong> Cowgirl Genie. “Why, howdy<br />
partner! Welcome to Rocky Mountain Western Outfitters! You can call<br />
me Calamity. I’ll be your clerk. We <strong>of</strong>fer a 15% discount to working<br />
cowboys with credentials.”<br />
“They still have cowboys?”<br />
“Of course. Where do you think free range beef comes from? Not<br />
everyone likes cloned <strong>and</strong> grown. If you want real beef, with that oldfashioned<br />
flavor, ya have to do it the old fashioned way. And that takes<br />
Cowboys! Now, what can I get for ya?”<br />
“I need a pair <strong>of</strong> jeans.”<br />
“Any particular style?”<br />
“Just ordinary jeans.” Sherman gulped, realizing “ordinary” in 2353<br />
might be something really weird. “Like the ones they wore in the 1985?”<br />
He added.<br />
“How about these?” Calamity held out her arm. A pair <strong>of</strong> jeans<br />
suddenly appeared, draped over it. “Would you like to try these on?”<br />
“I suppose.”<br />
A large full length mirror materialized. Sherman looked into it <strong>and</strong> saw<br />
himself wearing the jeans, <strong>and</strong> nothing else. “What the—? How did you—<br />
? What gives you the right to—?”<br />
“Calm down, kid.” Serendipity’s voice said from nowhere. “Nobody<br />
yanked <strong>of</strong>f your pants. That thar is yore spittin’ image. Computerized. It<br />
25
Change language