The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy (3 page)

      
“Well, then?"

      
“I'm telling you he's changed in the past couple of months, Thaddeus,” said Diggs, puffing vigorously on the cigar. “He used to just stare off into space, and you knew just by looking at him that he was back in Dodge City or Tombstone, saving proper young virgins from outlaws and Indians. But now he spends all his time sitting around moping."

      
“How can you tell the difference?” asked Flint with a smile.

      
“Just look at him."

      
“He looked pretty animated in the tent last night."

      
“Sure. But that's the only time he ever comes alive."

      
“Look, Rigger, any guy who enjoys having a batch of knives shot out of a machine at him isn't playing with a full deck to begin with. As long as he does his job and shows up sober, he's two steps ahead of most of the people around here. What else is new?” Flint ground his cigarette out in the dirt and lit another.

      
Diggs rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, now that you mention it, I'm probably going to have to fire three of the games workers—the ones from Zartaska."

      
“What do Zartaskans look like?"

      
“They're the big jokers, look kind of like fat orange orangutans."

      
“Didn't we just take them on a couple of weeks ago?” asked Flint.

      
“Yeah—and if we keep them for twenty years, there's no way they're ever going to learn how to make change. So next time you talk to your Corporation buddy Kargennian, tell him to send us three replacements."

      
“All right."

      
“Is he going to give you any trouble about it?” asked Diggs. “Nothing personal, but it ain't exactly a secret that you two ain't the closest friends that ever were."

      
“No,” replied Flint. “There won't be any trouble. In case it's escaped your attention, he's given us everything we've asked for lately. We're a moneymaking proposition these days.” He shrugged. “I kind of liked things better when I had to bluff and cheat and blackmail him out of whatever it was that we needed.” He picked up a small stone and threw it at the empty beer can. It missed.

      
“Yeah? Well, don't forget that we damned near starved to death a couple of times waiting for you to swindle that little bastard."

      
“Almost—but not quite."

      
Diggs paused and looked at Flint for a long moment. “What the hell's the matter with you, Thaddeus? If the Dancer isn't troubling you, what's got you down? The way we're raking in money, you ought to be the happiest guy in the world."

      
“In the galaxy,” amended Flint with a ironic smile. “I don't know, Rigger. Maybe I just work better when I'm hungry."

      
“I've been hungry and I've been full,” replied Diggs. “Full is better. The problem with you, Thaddeus, is that you're too damned used to adversity. You ought to just settle back and enjoy being rich and respectable for a change.” He smiled and added, “Don't worry—if you can't adjust to it, there's always the Dancer. One of these days he's going to get tired of shooting at stuff that can't shoot back, and then you're going to wish you were fat and carefree again."

      
“Probably,” agreed Flint.

      
They fell silent for a few minutes, and then Diggs withdrew the deck of cards from his pocket. “Don't suppose you'd care for an honest, friendly little game of gin?” he asked innocently.

      
“I'd love one,” said Flint, grinning and getting to his feet. “As soon as you find someone who can play an honest, friendly little game of gin, send him around.” He began walking back toward the Midway, and Diggs, after uttering an insincere obscenity just for form, fell into step behind him.

      
They passed the game booths, the specialty tent, and the ring where their green alien wrestler, Julius Squeezer, challenged all comers, passed by the concession stands, circled the Null-Gravity Ferris Wheel and the other rides, paused for a moment to watch Monk and Batman in the midst of yet another heated argument at the Bozo cage, and finally reached the ship. Diggs took the elevator to his quarters, but Flint stopped by the mess hall, had the galley robots fix him a sandwich and another beer, and seated himself at his usual corner table.

      
The mess hall itself was the social center of the ship. The walls were covered with holographs of the Dancer in his cowboy outfit, Monk with his long-departed leopards, a pair of strippers back before the carnival found out the hard way that alien beings had very little visceral interest in watching human women undress to music, and, above Flint's own table, a very early holograph, taken by Mr. Ahasuerus, of Flint and the twelve carny workers he had induced to join him in his bold new venture. There were some twenty tables in the place, all but one deserted because of the hour.

      
The Dancer was on the opposite side of the room, sitting alone as usual, staring off into space at some vision only he could see, and Flint turned toward him, trying, in the light of his conversation with Diggs, to see if the sharpshooter looked any crazier than usual. After a few minutes he sighed, shrugged, and turned away, unable to make up his mind.

      
“Ah, Mr. Flint!” said a familiar voice, and he looked up to see his gaunt blue partner approaching him. “I have wonderful news!"

      
“I can always use some of that,” said Flint. “Have a seat, Mr. Ahasuerus."

      
He lit another artificial cigarette, tried not to wince as the smoke reached his lungs, and waited for the blue man to lower himself awkwardly onto one of the plain plastic chairs.

      
“I have solved our sugar problem,” announced Mr. Ahasuerus, beaming with satisfaction.

      
“Oh?"

      
The blue man nodded happily. “I traded it to one of the Corporation's circuses on Gamma Eridani IV."

      
“Where the hell is that?” asked Flint.

      
“About forty thousand light-years from here,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “If it is clear tonight, possibly I can point out the star cluster to which it belongs."

      
“Well, good for you, partner,” said Flint. “What did we get for it?"

      
“Two new rides."

      
“Very good,” said Flint. “However, what we really need is a new tent for the Dancer."

      
“Of course,” agreed the blue man. “But they would never trade a tent with the dimensions we require for a mere five tons of sugar."

      
“They probably feel that way too,” said Flint, taking a bite of his sandwich.

      
“Our job is to instill a more reasonable attitude in them."

      
“You have something in mind, no doubt?"

      
“What are they going to do with the sugar?” asked Flint with a smile.

      
“Manufacture cotton candy,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus. “I had my computer open our records to them so they could see how much gross revenue cotton candy has generated during the past five years."

      
Flint's smile broadened.

      
“Surely, Mr. Flint, you are not suggesting that—?"

      
“Was a cotton candy machine part of the deal?” asked Flint.

      
“No. But our robots can duplicate one in a matter of hours."

      
“Right,” said Flint, finishing his sandwich and taking a long swallow of his beer. “And as soon as the tent is delivered, they'll do just that."

      
“But Mr. Flint!"

      
“Tell you what. You can soften the blow by tossing in our animal crates and training cage. Monk is never going to be needing them again anyway."

      
“I'll see what I can arrange,” said the blue man dismally.

      
“Fine,” said Flint. “And since you seem to feel so guilty about it, tell them we'll only need one of the rides—provided they pay shipping costs on both sides."

      
“They'll never accept it."

      
“Sure they will,” answered Flint easily. “As things stand now, they've got even less use for the sugar than we do."

      
“But the Corporation will
give
you a tent if you'll just request one!" protested Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“I don't like being given things. This way we'll earn it and dump the sugar, all in one fell swoop. There's a certain elegance to it, wouldn't you say?"

      
The blue man sighed deeply and made no reply.

      
“Speaking of your friends at the Corporation,” continued Flint, “you'd better tell your pal Kargennian to send us three more games workers. The Rigger says they can't be Zartaskans."

      
“Some form of prejudice?” inquired Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“He's downright bigoted when it comes to con men who can't count,” said Flint. He lit another cigarette, and began coughing. “And when you talk to Kargennian, tell him to get me another fifty cartons of Parliaments. I could die of old age before your idiot robots ever learn how to manufacture a decent smoke."

      
“I'm afraid that is out of the question,” said the blue man.

      
“I thought we had a deal: I don't nag you about putting away thirty cups of coffee a day, and you don't nag me about cigarettes."

      
“That has nothing to do with it."

      
“Then what's the problem?” demanded Flint irritably. “Mr. Romany is running seven or eight sets of tourists a year in and out of the freak show at my old carnival. Just tell him to send some Parliaments back with one of them. And maybe some Schlitz, too, while he's at it."

      
“I had meant to tell you last week,” said the blue man apologetically, “but it completely slipped my mind. Mr. Romany is no longer on Earth. His tour of duty ended, and he has been transferred to another station."

      
“Fine. Then tell his successor."

      
“He has none."

      
“What are you talking about?"

      
“Earth has been removed from the tourist circuit,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“How come?” demanded Flint.

      
“I suspect it has to do with you, Mr. Flint."

      
“With
me
?"

      
“What's past is past, but the fact remains that you did recognize my group for what it was and kept us against our wills to exhibit in your own carnival. That your actions ultimately resulted in a very profitable endeavor not just for myself but for the entire Corporation does not in any way alter the fact that if one man of Earth could cause so much mischief and confusion, others may do so—and Earth, as you know, is not a member of our Community of Worlds and hence must not be allowed to know of our existence."

      
“Bullshit!” snapped Flint. “If that's their reason, why didn't they take it off the circuit five years ago?"

      
“Because of Mr. Romany,” explained the blue man patiently. “He had undergone a very painful and complex operation in order to appear as an Earthman, and they allowed him to fulfill his contract before totally closing off the world."

      
“Totally closing it off?” Flint repeated. “That sounds ominous."

      
“I certainly didn't mean to imply anything ominous,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “There is no question in my mind that at some point in the future Men will reach the stars and be welcomed into the Community with open arms.” He paused. “But until that happy day, Earth has been ruled off-limits to Community members."

      
Flint frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell. We were never going back there anyway.” He stared expressionlessly at his beer can.

      
The blue man watched him for a moment, then reached out and touched his arm. “I know how you must feel,” he said gently. “I myself have not been back to my home world for more than thirty years, and I have no expectation of ever returning there again. Yet I would feel an enormous sense of loss if I were to be told that even the option of returning had been eliminated."

      
Flint continued looking at the beer can for a long moment then turned to his partner. “It's no big deal,” he said at last. He paused. “But I want you to do me a favor."

      
“Certainly."

      
“Don't tell the others. They might feel about it the way you do."

      
“I can't promise to lie to them,” said the blue man. “But I see no reason why the subject should ever arise, and I certainly will not bring it up."