by Mike Resnick
“What are you guys talking about?” asked the Dancer.
“Oh, just a couple of bets we made,” said Flint. He turned to the Dancer. “Now let’s get down to business."
“I need colorful stories and anecdotes about Doc Holliday,” explained Borilliot, “and thus far Billybuck has been most reluctant to give them to me."
“You promise you won’t make him sound like some kind of clown?" demanded the Dancer.
“On my honor."
“Okay,” said the Dancer with a sigh. He got up, walked over to his photo of Holliday, and stared at it. “Once, when he was in Dallas, some guy who thought he was cheating at cards wanted to shoot it out with him. Old Doc had already had a couple of run-ins with the Texas law, and he wasn’t hot for no more go-rounds, so he kept putting it off. Finally this guy started getting real pushy, and Doc agreed to meet him the next day. But that night the guy had a toothache, and since Doc was the only dentist in town, he had to go to him. And old Doc, he put him under laughing gas and pulled every tooth in his head, and then set off for Kansas before the guy woke up."
“Excellent!” said Borilliot, making notes with his pocket computer. “That’s just the kind of material I need."
“Good,” said the Dancer.
“Tell me some more."
“There ain’t no more. Doc didn’t spend much time as dentist after that."
“The stories needn’t be about dentistry,” said Borilliot, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Any colorful incident will suffice."
“He wasn’t a colorful kind of guy,” said the Dancer. “He was a dying man, trying his best to find someone fast enough to put him out of his misery."
“His foes, then,” suggested Borilliot. “Surely they must have been a colorful lot."
“They had colorful names, but they weren’t much to write home about," said the Dancer. “Except maybe for Johhny Ringo."
“Tell me about him, then."
“Ain’t much to tell. He was a hired killer."
“What made him different from the rest?” persisted Borilliot.
“He was probably the only gunman in the West besides Doc who’d gone to college,” replied the Dancer. “Anyway, Ringo used to read poems and stuff like that in Greek, in between shooting people."
“Fascinating!” remarked the alien.
“You think so?"
“Absolutely. Do go on."
“I’ve went on. That’s all there is that’s interesting about him."
“How did Doc Holliday kill him?"
“Nobody’s real sure about that. Once, he called Doc out in Tombstone. He was wearing this bandanna, and he wanted each of ’em to hold one end of it in their teeth and draw while they were like that. Doc was willing, but Wyatt Earp, he was having his troubles running the town and thought it would be bad for business, so he broke it up. Then Doc decided to go out hunting for Ringo after the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. They found Ringo a couple of weeks later, sitting propped up against a tree with a book of poems in his hand and a bullet hole smack dab between his eyes."
“You see?” said Borilliot happily. “It was interesting."
“And that’s the kind of stuff you need for these here interviews?” asked the Dancer. He shook his head. “They’re gonna be dull as dishwater. The people ought to know about how fast he was. They don’t care about Johnny Ringo, or what he did to some guy with a toothache in Dallas."
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” replied Borilliot.
The Dancer shrugged, but made no reply.
“Maybe I can help,” suggested Flint, who had been listening intently.
“I would certainly appreciate it,” said the alien.
“Dancer, I want you to tell him about every gunfight Doc Holliday was in, and I want you to name the men he killed. Can you do that?"
“I guess so."
“And he ought to know about—what the hell was her name? You know, the whore he hung out with."
“No."
“She broke him out of jail once. Don’t you think people ought to know about it?"
“They’ll think the wrong things,” said the Dancer. “He never cared for her. He just let her hang around ’cause she’d saved his life, and when she tried to turn him in a few years later he kicked her out."
“Tell him anyway. What was her name?"
“Big Nose Kate Elder,” said the Dancer reluctantly.
“Very picturesque,” remarked Borilliot.
“Well, I ain’t gonna talk about her."
“I thought you were going to be helpful,” Flint reminded him.
“Telling people that he lived with a whore ain’t being helpful to Doc,” said the Dancer.
Flint sighed. “Well,” he said, turning to Borilliot, “I guess you’re not going to hear about his love life. What else do you need?"
“A description of Tombstone would be helpful."
“He wasn’t there all that long,” said the Dancer.
“It doesn’t matter,” replied the alien. “You’re going to face the robot in a town built to resemble the Old West, and it might as well be Tombstone as any other."
“Really?” said the Dancer, his face brightening perceptibly. “You mean we ain’t fighting in a stadium?"
“That’s right."
“Well,” said the Dancer, suddenly enthused, “the O.K. Corral was on Fourth Street, right between Fly’s Photo Studio and a mineral assay office. Then, to the north . . ."
He went on and on, rapturously detailing the street where he would face the robot, and Flint, after seeing that the verbal reconstruction of Tombstone was likely to continue for an hour or so, quietly got to his feet and walked out into the corridor.
He went down to the mess hall, which was deserted except for a pair of Korbussian games workers, huge furry beings who looked as if they ate humans for appetizers but were actually vegetarians, got himself a beer and a rare steak, cursed at the galley robots for changing the color of the artificial meat from blue to yellow, and sat down at his usual corner table.
Kargennian entered a few minutes later and walked over to Flint’s table, taking a winding path through the room to keep as much distance between himself and the Korbussians as possible.
“May I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Flint?"
“Shoot."
“Galaheen IX has offered us three million credits if Billybuck and the robot will appear on the same bill for a single performance. I thought I would check with you first and make sure we can fit it into our schedule before I agree to it."
“Out of the question,” replied Flint, washing down the last of his steak with the remainder of his beer.
“But we have four empty dates between Ruthven II and Beta Delta IV. Surely we could divert to the Galaheen system for a day!"
“First of all,” said Flint, “I don’t know where the hell any of these worlds are. Second, I don’t remember when I became we. And third, you can’t put the Dancer and the robot on the same bill."
“Why not?"
“Because if the Dancer sees him in action, nothing in the world can make him wait for Tombstone. He’ll call him out then and there."
“Would he really do that?” asked Kargennian skeptically.
“I already told you he would,” said Flint. “But if you don’t believe me, go ahead and accept the date. I mean, hell, it’s only money."
“No,” said Kargennian uneasily. “I think I shall defer to your judgment in this matter. We can’t chance Billybuck’s getting injured.” He paused, lost in thought for a moment, and then bolted up. “In fact, I think it might be best if he were not to perform any dangerous tricks in the ring for the next month."
“It’s nice to know that you care about him so much,” remarked Flint with a smile.
“I care about all sentient beings,” answered the rotund little alien. “And of course, we don’t want to do anything to jeopardize the promotion."
“You’re real people, Kargennian,” said Flint.
&nbs
p; “Why, thank you, Mr. Flint,” replied Kargennian. “And just to show you there’s no hard feelings about turning down the Galaheen playdate, why don’t we up our bet to five thousand credits?"
“That’s awfully rich for my blood,” said Flint. “Are you sure you’re not trying to flimflam me?"
“Absolutely not,” said Kargennian with a predatory smile.
“Well, then,” grinned Flint, “in the name of friendship, I guess you’ve got yourself a bet."
Chapter 17
A world born in sickness and shame: Tombstone.
A world that lived up to its name: Tombstone.
A world that deserved no acclaim: Tombstone.
A world for the halt and the lame: Tombstone.
A world even God would disclaim: Tombstone.
A world that events overcame: Tombstone.
A world where the Fates fanned a flame: Tombstone.
A world that would soon live in fame—Tombstone!
—from “The Ballad of Billybuck Dancer"
You know, it really does look like something right out of a John Wayne movie,” remarked Flint as he and Tojo walked down the dusty frontier street. “I wonder how the hell they made the sagebrush."
“The Dancer must have given them a very thorough description,” agreed the little hunchback. “Look! They even have a watering trough for the horses."
“You don’t suppose that little red bastard blew a couple of million credits on a robot horse, do you?” Flint said suddenly.
“I haven’t seen one,” said Tojo.
They walked a bit farther, past the general store and the editorial offices of the Tombstone Epitaph and the Tombstone Nugget, and stopped again in front of the jail.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the Earp brothers were inside there, sitting around playing poker,” remarked Flint as he stood back and looked at the stone structure.
“The Dancer says that their headquarters were in some saloon,” responded Tojo. “He says that their battle was against the local sheriff and a bunch of hoodlums he was associated with."
“For ten years nobody could get a word out of him,” said Flint irritably. “Now all of a sudden he’s a professor of history.” He wiped his forehead off with the sleeve of his shirt. “Damn! As long as they were starting from scratch, they could have picked a cooler planet."
“Kargennian was very pleased with this one,” said Tojo. “It has a G-type sun and only one moon, just like Earth, and the climate is very similar to Arizona’s."
“Save it for the press,” muttered Flint. “It’s hot and it’s uncomfortable.” He flicked his hand at a couple of buzzing insects. “Now I remember why I never took the show to Phoenix when we were back on Earth.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. At least we’re only here for two days.” He looked down at the little hunchback. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wear tomorrow?"
“I haven’t even thought about it,” admitted Tojo.
“Well, you’d better. You’re going to be appearing in front of something like eighty billion viewers."
“That many?” asked Tojo, suddenly looking very nervous.
Flint smiled. “Would you feel better if I told you it was only fifty billion?"
“I’m sorry,” apologized the hunchback. “I just hadn’t thought of it in those terms before.” He paused. “I suppose I’ll wear my carnival uniform. After all, that’s what I am—a carny barker."
“You’ll be the flashiest guy there,” remarked Flint. “The robot wears gray, and I just know the Dancer is gonna wear those faded jeans of his."
“Speaking of tomorrow . . .” began Tojo hesitantly.
“It’s taken care of,” said Flint, leaning against a wooden hitching post.
“Can I ask how?"
“As long as you keep your mouth shut,” said Flint.
“I will,” promised Tojo.
“We’re running a ringer."
“A second robot?” asked the hunchback.
Flint nodded. “I’ll make the switch tonight."
“Isn’t that cutting it awfully close?"
“Not really,” replied Flint, lighting up a cigarette. “Besides, this way we don’t have to program it to go through all those damned interviews. Kargennian’s got this place as busy as Super Bowl week.” He mimicked the reporters’ voices. “What does Billybuck eat for breakfast? How many teeth did Doc Holliday pull in his career? Why doesn’t the Dancer ever practice? Why didn’t we give the robot tuberculosis? Jesus—if they could, they’d go to Earth and ask the Dancer’s parents where they bought him his first cap pistol!"
“They do ask some pretty silly questions, don’t they?” said Tojo with a smile.
“That’s the problem with a gunfight or a boxing match or anything else like that. They can find out everything they need to know in five minutes, and then they’ve got to start interviewing third cousins and family doctors to justify the money their publishers and networks are spending on them."
“Getting back to the robot,” said Tojo, “do you know how to activate it?"
“Yeah. Borilliot showed me how. You use six words in combination, just like with the other robot."
“How will you know you’re activating the right one?” persisted Tojo.
“Different code words.” He rattled them off, and Tojo nodded.
“They’re different from the ones Jiminy and I used,” said the hunchback.
“I just hope it works." Flint looked up the street and saw the Dancer walking toward them. “Isn’t he supposed to be doing a last set of interviews?” he asked.
“I thought so,” agreed Tojo.
“Hey, Thaddeus!” called the Dancer when he was about fifty yards away.
“Yeah. What is it?"
“We got a real serious problem,” said the sharpshooter, covering the last few steps on the run.
“Oh?"
“You just walked down Fourth Street,” said the Dancer, obviously agitated.
“Didn’t you see it?"
“See what?” asked Flint.
“Come on,” said the Dancer, heading back up the street. “I’ll show you."
Flint ground his cigarette out on the dirt, then fell into step behind the Dancer and Tojo. They walked for perhaps two hundred yards and stopped in front of a colorful barroom.
“There it is,” said the Dancer.
“Looks like a tavern to me,” said Flint impassively. “It probably has a few gambling tables, and rents the upstairs rooms by the hour. So what?"
“So what?” repeated the Dancer. “It’s the Long Branch Saloon!"
“Okay,” said Flint. “It’s the Long Branch Saloon. I still don’t see the problem."
“It belongs in Dodge City!” exclaimed the Dancer, looking as if he might burst into tears any second.
“You’re sure?” said Flint. “I mean, they wouldn’t have put it here if you hadn’t told Borilliot about it."
“I told him about it when I was telling him about when Doc and Wyatt Earp were just starting out. It doesn’t belong here."
Flint grimaced. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Dancer,” he said, “but this place isn’t really Tombstone and this world isn’t really Earth. So what the hell difference does it make if a bar from Kansas wandered over to Arizona? I won’t tell anyone if you won’t."
“But they were supposed to do it the way I told them!” complained the Dancer. “It’s just wrong!"
“It’s a little late to tear it down and build a new one,” said Flint. “Why don’t you just learn to live with it?"
“Can’t we even change the sign?"
Flint shook his head. “All the construction people are gone."
“Well,” muttered the Dancer, “I don’t like it, and Doc won’t like it neither."
“I’ll make you a deal,” said Flint. “If he complains too, I’ll change the damned sign myself."
“You mean it?"
Flint nodded.
“Thanks, Thaddeus,” said the Dance
r, heading off for his interview.
“He’s a little crazier than usual these days, isn’t he?” remarked Flint, watching the sharpshooter’s slender figure kicking up clouds of dust as he turned east toward the video studio on Third Street.
“He’ll be all right after he fights the robot,” said Tojo.
“I sure as hell hope so,” replied Flint. “If he comes up to me tomorrow afternoon and tells me he still wants hotter competition I just might take him on myself."
“A lot of people would pay to see that."
“You think so?"
Tojo smiled. “Most of them work for you."
Flint returned his smile. “You’d probably bark that one for free, wouldn’t you, you ugly little dwarf?"
Tojo shook his head. “I’ve learned a lot from you. I don’t do anything for free anymore."
Flint chuckled and began retracing his steps. “Has Kargennian told you where you’re going to be tomorrow?” he asked as they passed between the bank and the feed store.
“Yes,” said the hunchback. “I’ll be sitting on the chair right outside the sheriff’s office. I guess the Dancer will start from the O.K. Corral, and the robot will come out of one of the saloons. The video technicians will be hidden all over the place so they can shoot the fight from every possible angle, and the members of the carny crew who want to watch will be in the Long Branch. I guess that’s why they put so many windows into it."
Flint looked up and down the street. “I think I’ll watch from the general store. It looks like it’ll have a better view."
“It all depends where they finally stop,” said Tojo. “But I think they’re going to have a cameraman in the store."
“Then he’ll have some company,” said Flint firmly. “By the way, what are those white blocks leaning against the side of the livery stable."
“I don’t know,” replied the hunchback, looking where Flint indicated. “I didn’t see them before."
Flint walked over to the stable, followed by Tojo, and soon stood in front of a pair of granite tombstones.
“I guess we’re prepared for all eventualities,” he said dryly.
“Billybuck Dancer, born 1958, died 1987,” read Tojo.
“Read the other one,” said Flint in an amused tone.
