The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy (23 page)

      
“I will charge accordingly."

      
“Somehow I'm not surprised,” said Flint. He paused. “Just how good is this machine going to be?"

      
“It will be indistinguishable from the real Doc Holliday, as least insofar as Billybuck Dancer's information is accurate. You may rest assured that it will appear human in every respect."

      
Flint shook his head impatiently. “That's not what I meant. How good is he going to be with a gun?"

      
“It will be the fastest, most accurate gunfighter ever seen,” said Borilliot confidently.

      
“We'll just have to see about that,” drawled the Dancer, the trace of a smile playing about his lips.

      
“Can you really make it as fast as the Dancer?” persisted Flint.

      
“I've never seen Billybuck in action, of course—but I think I can promise that this robot will be as efficient as any human being can be."

      
“I was afraid you were going to say that."

      
“Thaddeus?” said a voice from the corridor.

      
“In here,” called Flint.

      
“I
thought
I heard your voice,” said Tojo, entering the compartment.

      
“What's up?"

      
“I just thought you should know that we had to break up another fist-fight between Monk and Batman.” He smiled. “Actually, Julius broke it up. I just kind of directed him."

      
Jiminy made his way to the door. “These rooms weren't made for so many people,” he announced. “I think I'd better leave."

      
“Stick around,” said Flint. “I've got something to say that concerns you."

      
“Me?” repeated Jiminy.

      
“Right,” said Flint. “Tojo, say hello to—damn! I've already forgotten your name."

      
“Borilliot,” said the rotund alien.

      
“You mean you're not Kargennian?” asked Tojo, startled.

      
“Absolutely not."

      
“Boy!” exclaimed the little hunchback. “You could sure have fooled me! Are you joining the show?"

      
“No."

      
“Borilliot's job is manufacturing absolutely lifelike robots,” explained Flint. “We seem,” he added ironically, “to have commissioned him to build a Doc Holliday model."

      
“For display?"

      
“For gunfighting."

      
“Is that possible?” asked Tojo dubiously.

      
“Of course,” said Borilliot. “That's why I'm here."

      
“But I thought a robot couldn't harm a human being."

      
“Who the hell told you that?” demanded Flint.

      
“I read it somewhere,” replied Tojo.

      
“Science fiction?” asked Flint sardonically. He shook his head. “You read enough of that shit and your brain'll start seeping out through your ears. This robot will do anything we tell it to do, and we're telling it to shoot as well as the guy it's patterned after."

      
“Better,” added Borilliot.

      
“And the Dancer is going to fight it?” asked Tojo.

      
“Not right away,” said Flint. “As things stand now, the Dancer's reputation is too big for him to attract the kind of crowd we want, unless people think the guy he's facing has got a chance to beat him. And since having him go into the tank for a couple of fights is just a little impractical, what we've got to do is build up his opponent instead."

      
“How do we do that?"

      
“That's where you and Jiminy come in. The robot will be ready in less than a month, and Kargennian is supposedly lining up four fights for him; I think he's trying to hold the last one back on Darbeena.” He paused. “Anyway, we can't afford to divert the whole show for four penny-ante warm-up fights, so we're going to send you two out with him. Tojo, you'll do the barking, just like you always do—and Jiminy, you're a smooth-talking bastard who's good at picking up languages, so you'll be the carny's representative once you land. You can fill an encyclopedia with what Kargennian doesn't know about booking an event or greasing the right palms, so we're going to count on you to see that everything comes off without too many hitches."

      
“What if the robot loses?” asked Tojo.

      
“He won't,” said Borilliot.

      
“But
if
he does,” persisted the hunchback.

      
“He will have human physiological responses,” said the alien. “A wound, or a fatal bullet, will affect him exactly as it would affect a human being. However,” he added confidently, “it's not going to happen."

      
“Okay,” said Flint, trying to ignore Borilliot's remark. “I'll be letting you two know when and where you're going as soon as Kargennian lets
me
know. Any other questions?"

      
“No,” said Tojo reluctantly. “But . . ."

      
“But what?” asked Flint.

      
“I've got a bad feeling about this, Thaddeus,” said the hunchback.

      
“Welcome to the club,” replied Flint.

 

 

Chapter 14

 

      
On Molluteipanth VII, the Doc Holliday robot made his debut. He strode into the center of the huge stadium, waited calmly for his rangy Mollutei opponent to make the first move, and just as calmly put five bullet holes through the Mollutei's chest before his opponent's gun ever cleared its holster.

      
On Selba IV, the robot decided to try out his left-handed reflexes, and won just as easily.

      
By the time he reached Alpha Ceti II, his reputation had preceded him, and the fight was postponed for two days, until the largest arena on the planet became available. The robot faced two members of the dominant race of pink-skinned marsupials, and in a maneuver his namesake would have been proud of, killed the first, flipped his gun to his other hand, and neatly drilled a bullet right between the eyes of the second.

      
They were waiting for him on Darbeena, and he drew an even bigger crowd than had watched the Dancer. The Darbeenans gave him a cordial welcome, then sent out their five best remaining gunfighters to face him. This time the robot was all business, using both guns to dispatch all five opponents in the twinkling of an eye.

      
Where the Dancer had drawn only a smattering of grudgingly given applause, the Doc Holliday robot was given a standing ovation despite the crowd's partisanship, and a statue of him was already on the drawing board before he, Tojo, and Jiminy left Darbeena and returned, at long and bloody last, to the carnival.

 

 

Chapter 15

 

      
"Thaddeus? Are you in here?"

      
Flint growled an obscenity and put a pillow over his head. A moment later a hand reached out and shook him gently by the shoulder.

      
“Thaddeus?” repeated the voice.

      
“Go away, you goddamned dwarf!” muttered Flint.

      
Tojo turned the lights on, breathed a sigh of relief to find that Flint had no bedmate, and closed the door behind him.

      
“Wake up, Thaddeus,” stammered the little hunchback. “It's important."

      
“Why aren't you on Darbeena?” growled Flint, his head still buried under his pillow.

      
“The three of us just got back from there,” said Tojo. “I came right to your room."

      
“How thoughtful of you. What time is it?"

      
“Two in the afternoon, ship's time."

      
Flint tossed the pillow on the floor and slowly sat up. “Coffee!” he rasped.

      
“You don't have any made,” replied Tojo.

      
“Shit!” muttered Flint. He stood up, turned toward the bathroom, and almost knocked the little hunchback over as he made his way to the shower stall. He turned on the cold water, bellowed another curse, and stepped out a moment later.

      
“All right,” he said, wrapping a towel around his waist and drying his head and shoulders with another one. “What's so damned important?"

      
“Do you get up like this every day?” asked Tojo, momentarily distracted from his purpose.

      
“You lived in the same goddamned trailer with me for seven years,” said Flint.

      
”I remember you demanding black coffee,” said Tojo, “but screaming in the shower is new to me."

      
“It was freezing,” said Flint. “I could yodel, if it'll make you feel any better about it.” He tossed both towels aside and began climbing into his clothes. “How did things go?"

      
“We've got a problem,” stammered Tojo.

      
“Big?"

      
“Very."

      
“Is the robot on the fritz?” asked Flint. He walked to a small mirror that hung on the bathroom door and began combing his hair.

      
“No,” said Tojo, looking at the barren walls of the compartment and wondering, as he always did, why only Flint of all the crew refused to hang any posters or other mementos of home. “The robot is working just fine."

      
“Then what is it?"

      
“Thaddeus, I don't think the Dancer can beat him."

      
Flint turned to face him. “What are you talking about?"

      
“I'm talking about the Doc Holliday robot,” said Tojo patiently. “He faced five Darbeenans and killed them all."

      
“So could the Dancer,” said Flint.

      
“Maybe,” admitted Tojo. “But I've been in the ring with both of them, and I've had a chance to watch them both in action, and I think the robot's going to win."

      
“Horseshit!” snorted Flint, putting his comb back in his pocket. “Nothing can beat the Dancer."

      
“The robot's awfully good, Thaddeus."

      
“You're
sure
he can win?"

      
“No, I'm not
sure
about anything,” said Tojo. “But he doesn't look or act like any other robot I've ever seen."

      
“For what he cost, he'd better not,” interjected Flint.

      
“He's smooth and he's graceful, and he never misses."

      
“The Dancer's smooth and graceful, and he never misses either."

      
“Thaddeus, don't you understand what I'm trying to say to you?" demanded Tojo in exasperation. “I was there. I saw him!"

      
Flint sat down on a lounge chair and stared at an empty wall. “How badly did he beat the Darbeenans?” he asked in a thoughtful voice.

      
“Only one of them even got his gun out, and he was dead before he could fire it."

      
“That's pretty fast,” admitted Flint softly.

      
“There's more,” said Tojo. “The local video stations were showing replays all night long, and one of them ran the robot and the Dancer side by side, with a timer on them."

      
“And the robot won?"

      
Tojo nodded.

      
“By how much?"

      
“A couple hundredths of a second."

      
“That's nothing,” said Flint.

      
“That's
enough
,” replied the hunchback.

      
“The Dancer was only facing one guy,” said Flint. “Maybe he could draw faster if he had to."

      
“Maybe,” agreed Tojo reluctantly.

      
“But you don't believe it."

      
“No."

      
Flint sighed. “All right,” he said, getting to his feet. “Thanks for coming to me first with it."

      
“What are you going to do?” asked Tojo.

      
“I'll think of something.” He walked to the door. “Get some sleep."

      
“If I can be of any help . . .” offered Tojo.

      
“If you can, I'll let you know. And in the meantime, don't tell anyone else what you told me—and especially not the Dancer. He's likely to shoot it out right inside the ship if he thinks he can find such hot competition."