The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy

by Mike Resnick

  “Are you tired of it?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus dubiously, as he put the artifact back down and returned to his chair.

  “I’m getting there,” said Flint. “Mostly, though, I’m tired of watching you dither. We’ve got a problem, and we’ve got two solutions, and neither of them is very pleasant, and all the fence-straddling in the world isn’t going to make the problem go away."

  “It is not that simple, and all the verbal games you can play will not make it that simple!” said the blue man desperately. “I am being forced to make a decision that every fiber of my being tells me not to make—except that by not making it, I am still influencing what happens."

  “Hobson’s choice,” remarked Flint wryly.

  “I do not know anyone named Hobson. I only know that I cannot take on this responsibility alone. I must discuss it, and there is no one with whom I can discuss it with except you."

  Flint stared at him for a long moment, then screwed the cap back on the Pinch bottle and set it down on the floor beside his chair. ‘”You don’t happen to have any cigarettes or cigars hidden away in here, do you?"

  “No."

  “You’re sure?"

  “I am sure."

  “Too bad.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “All right. I say we buy another robot. If we work it right, we’ll not only be able to use it in the Dancer’s act for the next few years, but we can amortize a goodly part of the cost by betting a few million credits on the Dancer. I’m sure Borilliot will loan us the money at forty or fifty percent interest, once he knows it’s going on a sure thing."

  “That is out of the question!” exclaimed the blue man, horrified. “If we agree to buy the robot, we will not use our special knowledge of the fight’s outcome to place wagers on it!"

  Flint smiled. “Will the fight be any less crooked if we don’t bet on it?"

  Mr. Ahasuerus closed his eyes and held very still for a long minute. Finally he looked at Flint and spoke. “I know that you are an essentially decent man, Mr. Flint, and that you are more compassionate than you want people to believe.” He sighed heavily. “But you are also a morass of moral ambiguities, and I simply cannot judge the rightness or wrongness of a course of action by using your values."

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Flint.

  The blue man stared intently at him. “That under no circumstances will we wager on the outcome of a gunfight when that outcome has been predetermined. If I agree to commit an act of fraud, I will not make a personal profit from it."

  “Even if it means that we’ll be broke when the dust clears?” asked Flint.

  “Even so."

  “All right,” said Flint. “Then let’s get back to the problem at hand: do you want to buy the robot or not?"

  “I just don’t know,” replied the blue man. “Are you sure that Billybuck will lose?"

  “No."

  The blue man uttered something in his native tongue again. “If I just knew for certain . . ."

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Flint.

  “I know. But if he could win, then—"

  “Wishing isn’t going to help,” interrupted Flint. “If I was as sure of the Dancer today as I was yesterday, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it."

  “I know,” murmured the blue man. He sat perfectly motionless, staring at his interlaced fingers.

  “Well?” said Flint after a few minutes had passed.

  “I cannot make the decision,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, his face agonized, his long fingers turning pale from the pressure he had put on them.

  “Okay,” said Flint. “There’s a third alternative."

  “What?” asked the blue man.

  “Cut and run."

  “I’m not sure I understand you."

  “We tell Kargennian and the Corporation to go fuck themselves, and leave. It’s as simple as that."

  “Just the two of us?"

  “And Tojo,” added Flint. “We can take the money we were going to spend on the second robot and start a new show. We’ll take any of the crew who want to come along, and we won’t be beholden to the Corporation ever again."

  “We’d go broke within a month,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “Do you realize the start-up costs of such an undertaking? Just the cost of a ship alone is—"

  “We’ll owe so much money our creditors won’t dare let us go broke,” said Flint decisively.

  “We can’t."

  “Why not?” asked Flint. “To be perfectly honest, I enjoyed getting to the top a hell of a lot better than staying there. Maybe a new challenge is just what we need."

  The blue man shook his head sadly. “Mr. Flint, you are an entrepreneur, and it is perfectly natural for you to look for new worlds to conquer. It is your nature always to be dissatisfied with your situation, and continually to seek out new challenges.” A note of regret crept into his voice. “But I am a company man. I have devoted forty years of my life to the Corporation. I am not unhappy with the shape my life has taken—or at least, I haven’t been until recently."

  “It wasn’t much of a life from what I could see,” replied Flint. “You were just a two-bit tour guide when I met you. That’s not much to show for your first thirty-five years."

  “I was a tour guide by choice,” Mr. Ahasuerus pointed out gently. “You are a climber by nature; I am a wanderer. I have always wanted to see new worlds and exchange ideas with new species."

  “Then leave with me and do it to your heart’s content,” urged Flint.

  “I can’t. There is more separating us than our natures, Mr. Flint. My life expectancy is far longer than yours."

  “Then you’ll own everything after I die."

  The blue man shook his head. “What would I do with it? Let us not kid ourselves, Mr. Flint. I may handle the money and the paperwork and the various details that annoy or do not interest you, but you have been the driving force behind the carnival from the day we established our partnership. Besides,” he added softly, “sooner or later you would tire of the carnival, and you would leave."

  “Me leave the carnival?” scoffed Flint. “Not a chance!"

  “You would,” repeated Mr. Ahasuerus. “You left your home planet, and you left the woman you were living with, and you left the show that you owned. As soon as something threatens to form any kind of bond with you, whether it is a world or a person or a business, you leave. It is the way you are, so you have no need to feel ashamed, but neither is there any reason to deny the fact of it.” He sighed. “And if I were to go with you now, there would come a day, probably sooner than you think, when you would leave, and I would not be able to return to the Corporation that has nurtured and cared for me. I cannot take such a step, Mr. Flint.” He tried to contort his lips into his version of a smile, and failed miserably. “I wish I were like you, but I am not. I cannot leave."

  Flint got to his feet and stretched. “I’m going to do you a favor, Mr. Ahasuerus,” he announced at last.

  “And what is that, Mr. Flint?"

  “I’m not going to bully and badger you into leaving.” He smiled suddenly. “I could, you know."

  “Probably,” agreed the blue man.

  “You’re making a big mistake."

  “Then I shall have to learn to live with it."

  Flint shook his head. “I feel sorry for you."

  “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Flint."

  “Yeah?"

  “I have always been content with my lot in life. You probably never will be."

  “I’ve always wanted what people told me I couldn’t have,” responded Flint. “You’ve never wanted all that much of anything. Which do you suppose is worse?"

  “Right at this moment, all I truly want is peace of mind,” said the blue man. “It seems as if that is something I cannot have."

  “One thing you can have is a little less self-pity,” said Flint sharply. “Whether we decide to let the Dancer go up against the robot or we toss in a ringer, either way you’ll live with the de
cision. After all, I offered you a way out of it, and you turned me down."

  “That is not fair, Mr. Flint."

  “Where did you get the idea that life was fair, Mr. Ahasuerus?” replied Flint dryly. “Now get on the phone, or the radio, or however you do it, and tell Borilliot to make a beeline for the ship and to keep his goddamned mouth shut."

  “We are going to commission a second robot?"

  “Unless you’d rather see the Dancer take his chances with the first one."

  “Not if it means his death."

  “I’m kind of fond of him myself, God knows why,” admitted Flint. “And anyone who bets more than they can afford is fair game for a carny, anyway."

  He paused. “Yeah, get Borilliot here on the double, and make sure he builds us a robot we can use ten or fifteen times a week for the next few years."

  “All right,” said the blue man, grateful that his partner had once again lifted the burden of responsibility from his shoulders.

  “You know,” mused Flint, picking the Scotch up from the floor and taking another swallow, “if the Dancer ever finds out what we’ve done, he’s going to hunt up the original robot and have it out with him.” He smiled ironically.

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if he won?"

  Chapter 16

  "Mr. Flint, you must speak with Billybuck,” said Kargennian.

  “You got any particular subject in mind?” asked Flint, standing a little way from the Bozo cage and watching Batman taking an occasional pot shot at Monk during the lull in the late-afternoon business.

  Three months had passed since the Doc Holliday robot had returned from Darbeena, and the carnival was in the middle of a very profitable three-week stand on Philobis VI, a cool, temperate world with four tiny moons that raced continually across the cloudless sky. Borilliot had delivered the second robot, which was safely locked away in one of the ship’s storerooms, and Kargennian had enlisted the full force of the Corporation’s massive advertising arm in his efforts to publicize the upcoming gunfight.

  “The robot was frightfully dull during his first two interviews,” complained Kargennian.

  “Well, gunfighters were never expected to be real exciting public speakers,” replied Flint, wincing as Monk once again fell into the chilly vat of water and slowly pulled himself back up to his unsteady perch.

  “Mr. Flint, this is a multibillion-credit promotion. We simply must make Doc Holliday more colorful."

  “Paint him green."

  “This is not a joking matter!” snapped the rotund little alien.

  “Why are you talking to me about it?” demanded Flint irritably. “If you need information from the Dancer, go talk to him."

  “Have you ever tried to speak to Billybuck when he’s being reticent?"

  “I imagine it’s not a hell of a lot harder than squeezing blood from a turnip,” replied Flint wryly. He slapped at his neck, peeled an orange-and-blue insect off his hand, and turned to Kargennian. “Okay, I’ll talk to him."

  “Good! I’ll have Borilliot meet you there."

  “Borilliot?” said Flint, frowning. “Is he here?"

  “He arrived yesterday, to get more data for the robot. Billybuck has been most uncooperative."

  “How’s everything else going?” asked Flint, starting to walk down the long line of games and exhibits that formed the Midway’s main corridor.

  “It looks as if the betting pool will total almost five billion credits,” replied Kargennian.

  “Yeah? What’s the morning line?"

  “Diggs tells me it’s called a future book,” Kargennian corrected him. “And Doc Holliday is the early seven-to-five favorite."

  “That’s because he’s killed more people,” said Flint. “I’ll make you a little side bet, if you’re interested."

  “You want Billybuck?"

  Flint nodded. “A thousand credits?"

  “Done!” Kargennian agreed. “But this is an even-money bet. You could do better betting through our network."

  “I promised Mr. Ahasuerus I wouldn’t,” said Flint. He flashed the little alien a smile. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind my making a friendly little wager with you."

  They stopped by Julius Squeezer’s wrestling ring, and Flint, noticing that part of the mat was coming loose from the flooring, directed one of games workers to get a robot to fix it before the green muscleman went to work that evening.

  “By the way, Mr. Flint,” said Kargennian, when Flint had finished inspecting the rest of the ring, “we’ve finally found a world."

  “I didn’t know one was missing,” remarked Flint.

  “I meant for the gunfight. It’s a dusty, barren little planet which very much resembles your Old West as Billybuck has described it. It was used as a military outpost for a number of years, until most of the beings stationed there were destroyed by a truly repugnant form of chemical warfare. Since their home planet was also destroyed, the handful of survivors have remained there. A pretty sad-looking lot, I must say; most of them are quite incapacitated by the effects of the chemical agents that were used."

  “Is it safe?” asked Flint.

  “Oh, yes. We’ve run numerous tests on the atmosphere and water, and we’ll be building the town in a totally uninhabited section of the planet."

  “The town?” repeated Flint. “What town?"

  “We have decided to faithfully construct a Western town—or as faithfully as we can, anyway. There will be no audience, no arena or grandstand, just a few camera technicians and reporters and the two participants squaring off in the middle of the street."

  “What are my people going to do for customers?” demanded Flint.

  “Your employees can take a few days off,” answered Kargennian. “Believe me, Mr. Flint, there’s enough money involved in this promotion so that you’ll never miss the few paltry credits they might have added to our anticipated revenues."

  “Maybe,” said Flint. “But let’s raise our bet to two thousand credits, just to make me feel better."

  “Fine,” agreed Kargennian. He smiled. “You haven’t asked me the name of the world yet."

  “You noticed,” said Flint.

  “I think you’d approve of it,” persisted the little alien.

  “I’m all ears."

  “Tombstone!” said Kargennian triumphantly.

  “It’s not bad, at that,” admitted Flint grudgingly.

  They came to the end of the Midway, and Flint turned back to the ship.

  “You’re going to speak to Billybuck now?” asked Kargennian.

  “Yeah, unless you nag me so much that I change my mind,” said Flint.

  Flint left Kargennian where he was and began walking back to the ship through the Midway’s maze of games. He stopped by Barbara’s booth to tell her when he thought he’d be through with the day’s chores, gave some free tickets for the Null-Gravity Ferris Wheel to a group of Philobin children, and finally reached the ship. He went to the Dancer’s room, where he found the sharpshooter sitting on his bed, staring off into space, as usual.

  He lit a cigarette, then activated the intercom system and summoned Borilliot.

  “Hi, Thaddeus,” said the Dancer, snapping out of his trance. “What’s up?"

  “Kargennian tells me you’ve been a bad boy,” replied Flint with a smile.

  “They want to turn Doc into a comic-book character,” said the Dancer fiercely. “I’m not gonna let ’em do it!"

  “Was Doc Holliday a stupid man?"

  “Of course not. He was a dentist, wasn’t he?"

  “You never heard of a stupid dentist?"

  “He was smart,” repeated the Dancer.

  “Well, he doesn’t sound smart when they interview him,” responded Flint. “He sounds dull and stupid. Now, if you want him to keep sounding like that, fine . . . but, if you want him to sound smart and interesting, you’re going to have to give Borilliot some stories he can use.” He paused and studied the sharpshooter. “Otherwise, people are going to think you’
re going up against a retard who can barely buckle his gunbelt."

  “You really think so, Thaddeus?” asked the Dancer, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “It’s a possibility."

  “All right,” said the Dancer at last. “But I ain’t gonna tell him nothing that might make people laugh at the Doc."

  “Fair enough,” said Flint. “He’ll be here in a minute or two. You want me to stick around and referee?"

  “That’d be nice."

  “I almost hate to ask, but what have you got in your refrigerator today?"

  “Milk,” said the Dancer. “Well, not really. I tried to tell the galley robots what buttermilk was like, and what I got is what they came up with.” He sighed. “It ain’t real good, but I suppose it’s healthy enough. Looks pretty awful, though."

  “I think I’ll take a raincheck,” said Flint, turning one of the Dancer’s plain wooden chairs around and sitting down with the back pressed against his chest.

  Borilliot entered the compartment a moment later.

  “Ah, Mr. Flint!” said the alien. “How delightful to see you again."

  “I kind of hoped I wouldn’t be seeing you again,” replied Flint. “At least, not until after the gunfight."

  “Never fear,” said Borilliot. “My lips are sealed."

  “Well, I suppose sealed lips are a lot better than a slit throat,” said Flint, his face pleasant but his tone ominous.

  “Believe me, you have nothing to worry about,” Borilliot assured him.

  “That’s not quite true,” said Flint. “But just keep telling yourself that if anything goes wrong, I’ve got a lot less to worry about than you do."