The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy (15 page)

      
“Same as the last ten times. The Dancer's not for sale."

      
“I never thought he was."

      
“I thought you just said he was the reason you're here,” noted Flint.

      
“He is.” The rotund alien leaned forward, not quite able to mask his excitement. “We have received a most amazing proposition back at Corporate headquarters."

      
“Oh?"

      
“Have you ever heard of Darbeena?"

      
“It sounds like a laxative,” remarked Flint, putting his feet up on a delicately carved hardwood coffee table.

      
“Isn't that a planet in the Albion Cluster?” interjected Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“Correct,” said Kargennian. “It is the home of a very unusual race, as violent in their way as the people of Earth."

      
“I'll assume that's a good thing to be,” said Flint dryly.

      
“For the purpose of this proposition, it most definitely is,” said Kargennian, ignoring Flint's undisguised animosity. “They have a culture that worships weaponry fully as much as yours does."

      
“I don't know that we actually
worship
it."

      
“Perhaps I used the wrong word,” replied Kargennian. “But the fact remains that their history and cultures are as fully committed to firearms as your own. To this day, most of them carry hand weapons, as barbaric as the concept may seem."

      
“How much did they offer?” asked Flint.

      
“I beg your pardon?"

      
“That's the deal, isn't it?” he said. “Their champion against the Dancer?"

      
“I
knew
you would understand them!” said Kargennian. He paused for effect, then continued. “I've worked out the preliminary details with them. Each side will put up ten million credits, for a duel to the death!"

      
“But that's dreadful!” exclaimed Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“That's all the money they could raise, and all we can afford to lose if worst comes to worst,” apologized Kargennian.

      
“That is not what I am referring to,” continued the blue man. “I am reluctantly willing to let Billybuck disarm his opponents in the specialty tent, but a duel to the death is out of the question.” He paused, trying to control his emotions. “This is not what sentient beings do to one another!"

      
“We should have nothing to worry about,” said Kargennian confidently. “I've seen Billybuck Dancer in action a number of times, and I can't imagine anyone ever defeating him."

      
“That is not the point!” protested Mr. Ahasuerus. “I will not stand idly by and be a party to murder!"

      
“I thought you would be happy with the proposition,” said Kargennian, obviously bewildered.

      
“One of us is,” said Flint. “Why don't you go on down to the mess hall for a while and let Mr. Ahasuerus and me discuss this in private?"

      
“There is nothing to discuss,” said the blue man firmly.

      
“Fine,” said Flint. “Then we'll talk about the weather.” He turned to Kargennian. “Go on. We'll call you when we need you."

      
“But this is a chance to make ten million credits in a single evening, not to mention subsidiary rights!” said Kargennian to the blue man. “Think of what you're refusing!"

      
“Kargennian, you're about as subtle as an elephant in heat,” said Flint. “Will you please get the hell out of here and let me talk to my partner alone?"

      
“This was
my
idea!” protested Kargennian. “I really should remain and explain all of its implications."

      
“There is only
one
implication that I am concerned with,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“
Kargennian
!” said Flint ominously.

      
The rotund little alien looked into Flint's eyes, sighed, shrugged, and walked out the door, which slid shut behind him.

      
“Well, Mr. Flint?” said Mr. Ahasuerus, staring coldly across the office at him.

      
“Well, Mr. Ahasuerus?"

      
“I cannot condone premeditated murder,” said the blue man firmly. “What happened on Tilarba was tragic, but it was an accident. This is a totally different matter."

      
“This is a unique situation,” said Flint, picking up an alien artifact that his partner had set aside for use as an ashtry and studying it absently.

      
“We are doing very well as it is. We do not need the money."

      
“You're going to find this hard to believe, but I don't give a damn about the money,” answered Flint.

      
“‘Hard' is an understatement,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “I find it impossible to believe."

      
Flint smiled wryly. “I've already got more money than I ever dreamed of, and I haven't got a damned thing to spend it on. What do I need more for?"

      
“As you yourself have pointed out many times, you view it as a means of measuring success,” retorted the blue man harshly. “I, on the other hand, view dead bodies as a means of measuring not just failure but immorality."

      
“Why not look at it from the Dancer's point of view?” suggested Flint.

      
“Because Billybuck Dancer is not a rational man."

      
“He's not a rational blue skeleton,” said Flint. “There's a difference."

      
“Come now, Mr. Flint. You yourself have remarked countless times that you consider him to be crazy."

      
“Of course he's crazy,” acknowledged Flint. “So what? This is a whole different ball game from what's been going on lately. He'll be fighting to win, and the competition will be hot enough so that he won't have to do anything stupid to give his opponent what he considers a fair chance."

      
Mr. Ahasuerus shook his head. “No matter how you try to justify it, the end result is that someone is going to die."

      
“People have been dying for eons."

      
“That is not an answer,” said the blue man.

      
“It's the best answer you're going to get. This is good for the Dancer, it's good for the Darbeenans, and it's good for business."

      
“Murder is
never
good,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to control his emotions.

      
“I agree,” said Flint. “But murder implies an unwilling victim. Do you think you'll have to twist the Dancer's arm to get him to accept the fight?"

      
Mr. Ahasuerus glared at him but made no reply.
 

      
“Do you think there aren't half a million Darbeenans hoping and praying right this minute that they'll be the one who is chosen to fight for their side?"

      
“And what if Billybuck dies?"

      
“He won't,” said Flint confidently.

      
“But
if
he does?"

      
Flint shrugged. “Then he'll die rich and happy. There are worse things."

      
The blue man shook his head gravely. “There is nothing worse than a meaningless death."

      
Flint smiled a bittersweet smile. “I envy you for thinking so.” He picked up his coffee cup, noticed that it was empty, and walked across the room to pour himself some more. “Why don't we call the Dancer up here and ask
his
opinion?"

      
“I already know what his opinion will be,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“You pride yourself on being a moral man,” said Flint. “Isn't it immoral not to let him know the opportunity he's been presented with?"

      
“It would only frustrate him,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, not without a note of compassion. “I will not allow him to accept the proposition."

      
“Do my ears deceive me,” said Flint with a smile, “or do I detect a note of totalitarianism in your voice?"

      
“He is not capable of making this decision rationally,” replied the blue man.

      
“Well, if push comes to shove, neither are you."

      
“I resent that remark, Mr. Flint,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, stirring his coffee so vigorously that a goodly amount of it spilled out onto his desk.

      
“Resent away,” said Flint. “The fact of the matter is that you're as singlemindedly committed to life as he is to death. What gives you the right to decide his fate based on your prejudices?"

      
The blue man shook his head in amazement. “I often wonder why your bed is never empty. Then I am subjected to your powers of persuasion, and I know.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “However, this is not a debating society. Killing is
wrong
, and nothing you can say will make it right."

      
“All I say is that we should let the Dancer know what's going on."

      
“You insist?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus.
 

      
“I do."

      
“And if we do not tell him together, I presume you will tell him alone?"

      
“Yes."

      
The blue man sighed. “Then I shall summon him here. But I hope you know that the only change this will precipitate will be to make a very confused young man even more unhappy than he already is."

      
“Relax,” said Flint, walking over to the communication console. “I'll do it for you."

      
He activated the intercom, tried without success to get a response from the Dancer's room, and then called the mess hall. Tojo answered, informed him that the Dancer was not there, and volunteered to hunt him up.

      
“I would imagine that Billybuck is in his room and simply did not bother to activate his intercom,” declared the blue man.

      
“Makes sense,” agreed Flint. “That means he should be here in a couple of minutes.” He paused thoughtfully, then looked at his partner. “If you don't believe that I don't care about the money, you're never going to buy this next statement either—but I really don't like arguing with you, Mr. Ahasuerus. Let's call a truce and just keep quiet until the Dancer arrives."

      
They sat at opposite sides of the room, sipping their coffee, for the better part of five minutes. Then there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Ahasuerus opened it to reveal Tojo and the Dancer standing in the hall.

      
“What the hell are
you
doing here?” Flint asked the hunchback.

      
“You said to bring the Dancer up here as soon as I found him,” replied Tojo.

      
“I said to
send
him up here,” said Flint.

      
“I'm sorry,” apologized the hunchback, turning to leave. “I must have misunderstood you."

      
“What the hell,” said Flint. “As long as you're here, you might as well stick around. This isn't going to take all that long."

      
“But if I'm intruding—"

      
“Shut up and sit down,” said Flint. “You've been with this carnival since before I bought it. You've got a right to put in your two cents' worth."

      
The blue man stared at Flint curiously, but said nothing.

      
“What's all this about, Thaddeus?” asked the Dancer, tipping his hat to his two employers and seating himself on an arm at one of the office's sturdier sofas.

      
“Kargennian's got a proposition for you, Dancer,” said Flint.

      
“Who's Kargennian?"

      
“The Corporation guy—the one who looks like a little red butterball."

      
“I don't know him."

      
“Why should you?” muttered Flint. “You've only seen him twenty or thirty times.” He shook his head, then continued. “He's got a pretty interesting offer from a planet called Darbeena. We've just been discussing whether to accept it or not."

      
“It don't make no difference to me where we go,” said the Dancer.

      
“It might this time,” said Flint. “It seems these Darbeenans have a lot in common with the National Rifle Association."

      
“What does that mean?"

      
“It means they carry guns, and they know how to use them.” Suddenly the Dancer's face brightened, and he leaned forward eagerly. “They've offered us ten million credits if you'll go up against the best gunfighter on their planet."