Milo Patel and the Spawn of Trampler

(Excerpt)

Not a depiction of bullriding on the planet Herschell III 320 years in the future, but a depiction of bullriding nonetheless.

The Red Terror, once a frightened calf that Milo Patel had rescued from becoming prey to a pack of black hook-jawed Herschelian wolves, had grown into a huge adult bull in the five years since that dark morning. Now, in the training paddock at the Patel farm, the massive bovine bucked, twisted, heaved, and with a cussedly violent thrash, dislodged Milo’s gloved hand from its grip on the rope handle. The aspiring young bull rider, rising rodeo star of New Hyderabad Province, became airborne.

Good job, Wolfkiller. Guess he didn’t like the spurs. That’s what I get for saving your hide, you overstuffed beef sausage, Milo thought. As he flew upward, he could hear Aditi Kohli’s voice.

“Eight, nine, stay on, ten… go Milo! You got Dace Schildt beat. Oh God, no,” she yelled. Aditi had been his substitute personal trainer for three months, his girlfriend for seven. Her strong, sonorous voice raised her cry of distress over snorts and bellows of the furiously thrashing Red Terror.

Milo reached the peak of gravity’s arc. He saw a flash of light blue-green sky, blurred faces looking up at him, and dull metal fence with the tubular rails, before the dark red-brown earth of the training paddock raced up to meet him.

Red must’ve tossed me five meters. How do I make this hurt less?

He turned in mid-air, trying position himself for a forward landing that would be less likely to snap his spine or crack his skull. He heard the snorts of the Red Terror and Aditi’s shouts of “Roll, roll!”. Will Collins, Milo’s bullfighter and oldest friend, hooted and yelled a stream of creative profanity, drawing the bull’s attention away from the fallen cowboy. Milo slammed, chest and face down, onto the ground. He heard a cracking sound in his left shoulder and stifled a cry of pain. Milo spat dirt and looked up just as Red Terror charged him. He stood and raised both hands to brush dirt off his chest, ignoring the pain in his left arm.

“Hyaah, hyaah. Over here, you big, red sumbitch!”, Milo heard Will shout at the still-raging bull as it pawed the earth only a three or so meters from Milo. Red Terror stopped and turned its head to look at young Collins, pawing at the earth with its left hoof, as if weighing which man to charge.

Milo looked at Will, shook his head and said, “Get the tranq ready.” Then, he locked eyes with the bull.