Invaders from the Outer Rim Read Free

Western Liquor down in Orcutt. For Olsen, missing beer was solid evidence it was damn teenagers. The little bastards probably learned the art of lock picking on the Internet.
    A deeply tanned woman appeared on the porch of the farmhouse and waved to Olsen. He climbed out of the car and waved back.
    “Doc is out in the barn with Ted,” Mrs. Brown said. She pointed to a faded red building not far away. Olsen nodded and walked toward the barn, the morning sun like fine grit in his eyes.
    It was a relief to step out of the harsh light into the cooler barn. But Olsen immediately regretted it. There was a sickly smell in the barn. Not the normal animal smell. Not warm straw and hearty dung. Instead, the evil odor was electrical and medicinal, and Olsen felt his stomach turn on the donut and black coffee that sat heavily there. He found Doc Valdez standing with farmer Ted Brown.  
    Dr. Valdez wore a stethoscope as he listened to the breathing of a five-year-old Holstein cow.
    “Hello, Doc,” Olsen said. Then he noticed the frown on farmer Brown’s face. “Ted? You called? What’s going on?”  
    “Somebody’s fucking with me,” Brown said.
    “Can you be more specific?”  
    “Sheriff, I’ve been working like hell to run a grade-A organic certified farm. Last year I got the official kashrut stamp from the rabbis. And now somebody’s fucked me over. Some GMO-loving high-tech company is the only way it could happen.”
    “I don’t understand,” Olsen said.
    “Neither do I. You explain it, Doc.”
    Dr. Valdez took off his stethoscope and hooked it around his neck. He was an older man, but still wiry and strong, with precise brown hands.
    “I can’t explain it,” Dr. Valdez said. “Back in Mexico, we’d say it was the miracle of Saint Guadalupe.”
    “This ain’t Mexico. Talk sense.” Olsen was growing impatient.  
    “Sheriff, I examined these cows last week. All were normal, healthy cows producing milk. Today, they are all six months pregnant.”
    “So?”
    “They were not pregnant last week,” Valdez said.
    “Maybe you missed that,” Olsen said.
    Dr. Valdez laughed. “Sheriff, I’d be insulted if I weren’t so amazed. But the story is stranger yet. How did these cows get pregnant?”
    “I assume they met a bull,” Olsen guessed.
    “Farmer Brown doesn’t own a bull,” Dr. Valdez said. “He only owns an ox named Mickey.”
    “Let’s show him what they done to Mickey,” Brown said.  
    Valdez motioned for Olsen to follow. They exited the barn and came to a paddock. Inside the fence was a healthy Hereford ox. As soon as the animal saw them, it charged the paddock fence and swung fierce horns in a red rage.
    “See how damn mean Mickey is now?” Brown said.
    “Seems like a normal bull to me,” Olsen said.  
    “Ain’t no bull, he was castrated into an ox,” Brown scoffed. “Don’t you know nothing about animal husbandry?”
    “Not much. Maybe you better explain,” Olsen said.
    Valdez shook his head. “Male-born cattle if left intact grow into bulls. You cut off a bull’s balls, and he becomes a steer. Then in a few years, he matures into an ox. But in all my professional practice, I have never seen this. It appears Mickey’s long-lost sexual organs have completely regenerated. He is no longer an ox, but is a bull with a magnificent penis and testicles to prove it.”  
    “But that’s not possible—is it?” Olsen said.
    “It’s those agribusiness fuckers,” Farmer Brown said. “Their voodoo DNA is poisoning the water.”
    “That’s impossible, Ted,” Dr. Valdez consoled Brown.  
    Olsen was at a loss. This whole morning had gone totally loco.
    “Boys, unless you got real evidence of a crime committed, there’s nothing here but four pregnant cows and an angry bull. I can’t work the justice system with that,” Olsen said.
    “Oh, we got a crime all right,” Farmer Brown snarled. “Let’s show him, Doc.”  
    “Look over here, Sheriff. One last thing and the