WoK - World of Klaus

Meine SF-Satire "Feuer Frei" aus dem Buch "Kein Raumhelm an der Bar - Neues aus der Asimov-Kellerbar" ist jetzt auch als englische Übersetzung erschienen.
In einer Übersetzung von Wolf von Witting erschien diese Satire als "Fire in the Hole" in CounterClock 18. Viel Spaß!


FIRE IN THE HOLE
von Klaus Marion
Übersetzung: Wolf von Witting


My wife gave me the information concisely. "We have been invited by Herbert. On Friday. To a private party in the Asimov Basement Bar. We are going!"
Hm.
Of course, Herbert is a widely renowned sf-fan. But why should we participate in this dreary party, thrown by a half-witted wanker? The conversation of his other guests can usually be hailed as pedestrian at best.

Perhaps because Herbert's parties are renowned for their relaxed atmosphere, for their compelling and charismatic guests and for the exquisite food as well as for the sharp witticism of their host.
The event unfolded accordingly. One celebrity after the other entered Rudi Gerstner's Asimov Bar and Herbert was once again the superstar of the parade. SF Fans were hanging on his every word when he told about his adventures at Worldcons, where he spent the night chatting with American SF writers in smoke filled bars. Or when he reported from his pioneering efforts of bringing SF to Western Asia. "And then I had to sing German filksongs all night long in a Karaoke Bar in Tokyo with 200 Japanese SF fans." The female SF fans were lying at his feet. And then he is not even particularly attractive.
No, he is extremely attractive. And he's got money, success, and he is popular. Everyone knows him.
I really hate him.
Late night, around one o'clock Herbert invited to a snack and had slices of pizza delivered for everyone still in the bar.
We sat together in a round alongside adjacently moved tables, while Rudi with a reassuring smile placed the huge slices of pizza in the middle and served the requested beverages. I hauled a piece with plenty of salami onto my plate and seasoned it carefully with a few drops of Tabasco from Rudi's assortment of spice supplements.
Herbert nodded conscientiously.
"I can still recall a convention in Uzbekistan, when we had a fiery Chilisauce. Invigorating! Tabasco is nothing compared to it. Mild!"
Of course. What did you expect? Herbert always knew best. But here he invoked in me the jagged spirit of opposition. In familiarity with picquant fla- vours, I am a specialist.
So I casually raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, of course. Tabasco has to be applied in ample measure, or the pleasant aroma gets completely lost in the tomato sauce."
I reached again for the Tabasco bottle and coated my slice of pizza with an even layer of the liquid. Rudi stretched out towards us over the bar. "Tabasco? That stuff is for beginners. You ought to try the Venusian Firefly. A German pepper and chili- liquor produced for the Basement Bar. Original german invention. Only for real men."
Indifferently I gave Rudi an affirmative nod and he placed a bottle of the Venusian Firefly on our table, next to two small glasses, filled to the rim.
Smiling I took a first sip. The buzz around us mellowed and everyone observed us with intense curiosity.
Haaaa!! This Firefly packed a punch and even a seasoned Tabasco-user such as myself felt its sting. "Careful! Don't overdo it! It's darn hot!"
"Too hot for you?" Herbert smiled charitably.
"No, not at all. It lacks perhaps a bit... flavor. Rudi, may I have some more of your Chili?"
"No sweat!"
Rudi placed another Chili shaker on the table. Unconcerned I covered the surface of my beverage with a solid layer crushed seeds of Chili.
"Hmmm! Yummy!" With a swift movement I drank the remaining content of my glass.
HAAA! Scorching fire pierced through my mouth, throat and down towards my abdomen, blistering every fiber of my interior. AAAARGH! I got the feeling the Chili rather reduced the average pungency of the drink than strengthening it.
"You want some, Herbert?" I coaxed him hissingly. His eyes narrowed into cracks as he was thinking. All the present ladies were looking at him. There was no turning back.
"Of course. Gimme some!"
I handed him the full glass and observed his eyes as he swept the beverage with a smile. His pupils contracted to the size of pinheads, and a hoarse cackle escaped his mouth as he grappled for a glass of beer. He emptied it in a single gulp.
His tactical defeat gave me the opportunity to quench some of the terrible burning inside me with a mouthful beer of my own.
Herbert had become as pale as the moon.
"Oh, yes indeed! Nice spicy flavor."
Rudi at the taps, let his voice be heard in the mingle.
"You are drinking it all wrong. You should take a mouthfull and hold it in your mouth for half a minute. Flush it through your teeth, move it around a bit with your tongue to fully savor its aroma and then swal- low."
Herberts eyes flickered in fear. Gotcha, my friend! "Of course, let's try it. It can't possibly hurt us, can it Herbert?" He nonchalantly shook his head.
I grabbed the bottle and filled our glasses one more time to the rim.
I smiled graciously as I handed Herbert his glass. We drank it all, keeping the liquid in our mouths for thirty seconds.
Scorching flames do not even begin to describe the feeling. Now it was the FIRE OF HELL incarnate. For a moment I thought the hellish pain could not get any worse. This was the moment before the afterburn went like napalm on fire through my respiratory system. Like a roaring tempest of lava it was filling my throat and cramped my body through- out my gastrointestinal tract. Drops of sweat formed on my forehead and tears came into my eyes. The agony was insufferable. As far as I could make out through the hazes of my barely conscious mind, Herbert was sobbing in despair. In an attempt to soften the volcanic eruptions, he tried to open a bottle of Prosecco with his teeth. His hands were desperately trying to keep his intestines from exploding.
"It... wasn't... hot... at... all... I.. am.. merely... crying... because... I... disagree... with... some... of... the... recent... decisions... made... by... the... board... of... the... SFCD..."
Meanwhile rhythmically stabbing my thigh with a fork to produce a counterpain, In the hope it would allow my lungs to reassume their duty.
"I... agree... completely... It... was... all... very... sad... We... should... be... going... home... now..."
Leaning unsteadily upon each other, we left the Asimov Basement Bar.
Strange; Herbert has not invited me ever again since this day.