by Mike Resnick
“You’re sure this isn’t just some fairy tale your mother invented to keep you in line after you came in from a hard day of pinching all the little bald blue girls in the neighborhood?"
“I am only repeating what I have heard,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus seriously. “Very little is known about them."
“Well, if it’s true, I can see why everyone counts their teeth when a Jimorian comes into the room."
“They are really more to be pitied than feared,” said the blue man. “They spend their lives in constant danger; they are hated and feared everywhere except their home planet, they are frequently slaughtered for no reason other than being Jimorians. Indeed, the prevalent view is that they had been totally eradicated from the galaxy. For all we know, this specimen may be the last surviving member of his race, at any rate, he is certainly one of the last."
“I wonder what the hell he ever left home for,” mused Flint.
“Why do any of us?” said Mr. Ahasuerus gently. “To see the next world, to meet beings we had never imagined existed, to—"
“Spare me your platitudes,” interrupted Flint. “Most of us left just to make a buck. There’s no reason to assume this guy is any different. So the question isn’t whether to pity him or fear him, but how best to use him."
The blue man shook his head. “People—especially planet-bound people— hate and fear what they cannot understand. If you put him on display, or concoct some scheme to utilize his special talents, you are very likely inviting his death at the hands of our customers."
Flint stared at his partner. “What did you think I was going to do—turn him into a one-man freak show? He juggles, he does magic tricks, ask him and he’ll probably swear that he can do a buck-and-wing. Stogie is slowing down and the Dancer’s act has gotten shorter, so I say we put him to work in the specialty tent."
“An excellent suggestion,” agreed Mr. Ahasuerus. “Forgive me, but I naturally assumed that—"
“I know what you naturally assumed,” said Flint. “But we’re rich, successful men these days, so we take something like a Jimorian and turn him into a third-rate entertainer.” He paused. “Do you know what I could have done with him back on Earth, or even the first couple of years out here?"
“I know,” said Mr. Ahasuerus distastefully.
Flint shook his head sadly. “What a fucking waste. I almost wish we were starving again, just so I could use this guy the way he ought to be used.” He lit a cigarette, exhaled two streams of smoke from his nostrils, and turned to his partner. “You know, success isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. I’m worth how many million credits—forty? fifty?—and I still can’t get a decent beer or a hamburger that isn’t blue; I’m going to see the same four women for the rest of my life, and just between you and me I’m getting sick of the sight of them; those bastards at the Corporation are even less lovable when they grovel and kowtow than when we used to have to bamboozle ’em out of every little thing we needed; and when I get something like a Jimorian, a guy who was born to be a carny, I turn him into a second-rate version of W. C. Fields.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t know—maybe Karl Marx knew a little something about capitalism that J. P. Morgan missed."
“The names are unfamiliar to me,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus.
“No great loss,” said Flint. “Neither of ’em was worth the powder to blow him to hell.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll hunt up our new employee after he’s had a couple of hours to get used to the ship and figure out whether to let him juggle or do card tricks—or who knows, I might just have the robots whip up some snake oil and see how good he is at selling it."
“Snake oil?” repeated the blue man in a puzzled tone.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” said Flint with a smile.
“But we have no snakes aboard the—"
The blue man was interrupted by a knocking at the door. “Come in,” he said, pressing a button on his computer console that caused the door to slide back into the wall.
“Diggs said that you wanted to see me,” said Tojo, stepping into the office.
“Hello, Thaddeus."
“Yes, I did,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus. “Please sit down."
“If it’s not going to take too long, I’d rather stand,” said Tojo. “I don’t want to offend you, but your chairs are, well . . ."
“Torture racks,” offered Flint.
“Probably it’s just because of my back,” said Tojo apologetically.
“This won’t take long at all,” replied the blue man. He opened a desk drawer and withdrew two gaily wrapped packages. Then, standing up, he carried one over to Flint and handed the other to Tojo.
“What’s this all about?” asked Flint.
“I realize that we haven’t celebrated any of your holidays since leaving Earth,” explained the blue man, “but according to my calendar, today is the last Thursday in November."
“So?"
“Happy Thanksgiving!” said Mr. Ahasuerus, contorting his lips to form a smile.
There was a momentary silence.
“I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,” said Flint. “On Thanksgiving we slaughter innocent birds and forget to abuse Indians. Christmas is when we defoliate forests and exchange gifts."
“Oh?” said the blue man, suddenly upset. “I am terribly sorry. I must have—"
“Then it’s time for a new tradition,” stammered Tojo. “And I, for one, want to thank you for being so thoughtful.” He held the small package in his hand, staring at it. “What is it?"
“Open it up,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, his enthusiasm returning.
“I will,” said the hunchback, peeling off the wrapping paper. He came to a small box and lifted the lid.
“Well?” said Flint.
“It looks like a whistle,” said Tojo, holding up a small glistening object.
“It is,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, beaming like a proud parent. “It is goldplated."
“Just what a ringmaster needs,” said Tojo. “It was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Ahasuerus."
“There is an inscription,” said the blue man with childlike eagerness.
“Oh. I see it now,” said Tojo, holding the whistle up to the light. “To Tojo," he read, “the finest barker in the galaxy. With appreciation, from the Ahasuerus and Flint Traveling Carnival and Sideshow.” The little hunchback looked up with moistened eyes. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I will cherish this forever."
Mr. Ahasuerus glowed with satisfaction, as Tojo carefully replaced the whistle in its box.
“I’ll find an appropriate chain for it before tonight,” said Tojo, “and I’ll wear it at the performance."
“Good!” said the blue man. “I’m so glad that you’re pleased with it."
“I just may go into insulin shock,” remarked Flint dryly.
“Aren’t you going to open yours, Thaddeus?” asked Tojo.
“Later,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “Mr. Flint’s present is of a more personal nature."
Flint cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“If it’s all right with you,” said Tojo, “I’m going to hunt up a chain now."
“Hold on,” said Flint. He removed a thin gold chain from his neck. “Wait’ll I pull this thing off”—he detached a life symbol—“and you can have the damned thing."
“Are you sure?” said Tojo hesitantly.
Flint nodded. “Yeah. Alma gave it to me just before we left Earth. I don’t suppose it’s going to hurt her feelings at this late date—and besides, it occasionally gets in the way, if you know what I mean."
“I think we all know what you mean,” said Mr. Ahasuerus disapprovingly.
“Thank you,” said Tojo, taking the chain and attaching the whistle to it. He paused at the doorway. “It’s funny, your mentioning Alma just now."
“Yeah?"
“Yes. When I was down on the third level a few minutes ago, I could have sworn I saw her out of the corner of my eye. It must have been one of the other girls, but it sure
fooled me for a second.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I guess I’ve been working too hard."
“If you have been,” said Flint, “you’re the first. Probably you’ve been hanging around the Dancer too much. Living in the past might be contagious."
“I guess so,” said Tojo. He thanked Mr. Ahasuerus again and left.
“That was very generous of you, Mr. Flint,” said the blue man when the door slid shut.
“What was?"
“Giving him a chain that was given to you by a woman you loved."
Flint toyed with his present for a moment. “I never loved her,” he said at last. “Besides, it was a long time ago.” He paused again. “Hell, if anyone loved her, it was Tojo."
“Still, it was a decent thing to do."
“What was a decent thing to do?” asked Flint distractedly.
“Giving him the chain, as I just explained,” said the blue man patiently.
“Yeah. Well, I always try to do at least one humane thing a year."
The blue man stared at him curiously. “Why do you continually pretend to be colder and less caring than you are?” he asked at last.
“What makes you think I’m pretending?” asked Flint.
“Because over the years I have watched you continually try to appear callous and uncaring, and yet your actions ultimately prove that you are not."
“It’s your imagination."
“It is not, and I think I deserve an answer."
Flint walked over to the blue man’s refrigerator and pulled out another beer. He opened it, stared at it for a moment, and sighed wearily. “There’s a room on the third floor of a tenement building in Trenton, New Jersey, that’s been waiting for me to come back since I was twelve years old,” he said slowly. “It hasn’t been painted in half a century, and I don’t think it’s ever been heated. At night, you can shine a flashlight on the floor and watch the cockroaches fight the termites. I’ve spent my whole goddamned life getting as far away from that room as I can, and something deep down in my gut tells me that the day I stop running and start caring is the day I’ll find out that someone has moved my bags back into it.” He looked directly into his partner’s narrow orange eyes. “Does that answer your question?"
“You’re a very unusual man, Mr. Flint."
“So are you, Mr. Ahasuerus. Isn’t that why we became partners in the first place?"
“I suppose so,” sighed the blue man.
Flint took a long swallow of his beer. “This is really pretty awful stuff,” he commented.
“Then don’t drink it."
Flint smiled. “It’s not quite that awful."
“By the way, I haven’t made my ledger entries yet. How much did you spend to get Billybuck and the Jimorian out of jail?"
“Three thousand credits for the Jimorian,” said Flint. “If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have charged them to take him off their hands."
“And Billybuck?"
“You don’t want to know."
“I must have a figure."
“Twenty-two thousand."
“That much?” asked the blue man, surprised.
“They’d hit him with a murder rap. I had to grease a lot of palms.” He finished his beer. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it all back on the next world."
“You have a plan,” suggested Mr. Ahasuerus dryly.
“You’d better believe it,” said Flint. “We’ve got a real live killer on our hands. They arrested him for murder the last time he appeared in the ring, and ran us off the planet."
“I don’t see how—"
“We’re putting a notorious killer on display!” interrupted Flint. “We’re giving a whole world a chance to put up their champion against the Dancer! We’re going to run ads on every videocast, we’re going to boost the prize to five million credits and we’re going to triple the admission to the specialty tent."
The blue man looked his surprise. “I rather assumed Billybuck would go back to his original act, now that we’ve had this unfortunate occurrence."
“Not a chance."
“But we can’t make a profit from that poor being’s unfortunate death!"
Flint laughed. “Two weeks from now you’re going to be so grateful to that poor Tilarban asshole for having the good sense to die in the ring that you’re going to be shipping flowers to his grave."
“And if another sentient being should die from heart failure during the next performance?” demanded Mr. Ahasuerus, so upset that he inadvertently spilled most of his remaining coffee onto the saucer.
“Relax,” said Flint. “We’re not that lucky."
Mr. Ahasuerus stared at his partner for a long moment, then sighed and turned his attention back to his coffee.
“Can I open my present now?” asked Flint.
“I had quite forgotten about it,” said the blue man. “Yes, by all means."
Flint ripped the wrapping paper off and found himself holding a paperback book in his hands. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.
“I had Mr. Romany ship it to me just before he left Earth."
“Your Body and How to Care for It,” read Flint. He looked up at his partner. “This is some kind of a joke, right?"
“Absolutely not,” said Mr. Ahasuerus seriously. “I have every hope that this book will help persuade you to cut down on your drinking and give up cigarettes altogether."
“I’ll cherish it forever,” said Flint mockingly.
“I would be satisfied if you merely read it."
“As soon as I work my way through Monk’s stack of pornography,” said Flint.
There was another knock at the door.
“It’s probably Tojo, back to find out how a whistle works,” commented Flint.
Mr. Ahasuerus opened the door and Billybuck Dancer entered the office, a disconcerted expression on his handsome face.
“I hope I ain’t bothering you or nothing,” began the Dancer, tipping his hat.
“Not at all, Billybuck,” said Mr. Ahasuerus pleasantly. “What can we do for you?"
“I just want to make sure I still got a job here."
“Why shouldn’t you?” asked the blue man, puzzled.
“Well, you know—that guy dying in the ring and all,” said the Dancer.
“I was with you all morning,” said Flint. “How come you just started getting worried now?"
“I just bumped into the new guy."
“The Jimorian?” asked Flint.
“No, the other one."
“What other one?” demanded Flint.
“The one who’s dressed up like a gunfighter,” said the Dancer. “Looks an awful lot like Doc Holliday."
“Where did you see him?"
“On the third level. I was just getting off the elevator, and he was coming down the hall. Real thin fella. All in gray, too, just like the Doc used to wear."
He paused. “So I figured maybe you hired another trick-shot artist to take my place."
“We didn’t."
“Good. ’Cause it wasn’t my fault, Thaddeus. You saw it—he just keeled over and died."
“I know."
The Dancer looked puzzled. “Then who was that guy in the corridor?"
“Probably just Diggs playing a joke,” said Flint. “I’ll talk to him about it."
“Okay,” said the Dancer, visibly relieved. “I knew you wouldn’t fire me for something that wasn’t my fault.” He touched his Stetson with his fingertips and walked back out the door.
“I had no idea Jimorians were so adaptive!” exclaimed Mr. Ahasuerus excitedly.
“You also had no idea they could read minds,” said Flint.
“They can’t. Billybuck obviously told him about Doc Holliday while they were in jail."
“Uh-huh,” grunted Flint. “And when do you suppose Tojo told him about Alma?"
“That’s right,” mused the blue man. “I had forgotten all about that."
Flint got to his feet. “I’d better have my little chat with him ri
ght now, and find out what else he can do that you don’t know about."
“I’ll go with you."
Flint shook his head. “This isn’t a field trip for a general science class,” he said. “Has it occurred to you yet that a guy who can read minds and appear to be anyone he chooses just might constitute a potential danger?"
“All the more reason why we should both go,” persisted Mr. Ahasuerus.
“Have it your way,” said Flint with a shrug. He walked to the door. “Let’s go."
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” said the blue man.
“Give me a for instance."
“Your present,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, picking it up from the chair and handing it to him.
“Now, how could that have slipped my mind?” said Flint apologetically. He stepped aside to allow the blue man to pass through the doorway first, quickly flipped the book onto a couch, and walked out into the corridor.
Chapter 7
Flint and his partner checked the Jimorian’s room, and when they found it empty, they began methodically going through the ship’s public rooms. They finally found him in the otherwise-deserted mess hall, sitting at a table with Diggs.
“Hi, Mr. Flint,” he said, looking up. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ahasuerus. Won’t you join us?"
“Yeah, do,” said Diggs with the hungry look of a predator. “I was just explaining the finer points of blackjack to our friend here."
“Thanks,” said Flint, walking over and pulling up a chair.
“How about Mr. Ahasuerus?” asked the Jimorian.
“He’ll be along,” said Flint. “He’s got to load up with a gallon or two of coffee first."
“Billybuck says it tastes best cooked over a campfire,” offered the Jimorian.
“The Dancer never drank anything stronger than milk or Coke in his life," replied Flint. He turned to Diggs. “You got a deck with you, Rigger?"
“Always,” replied Diggs, producing one from a vest pocket.
Flint examined it, then tossed it onto the table. “How about an honest deck?"
