A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2) by Paul Tomlinson (books on motivation TXT) 📗

“Down the street and to the right,” the hotel-keeper said. “Be careful down there, it’s the rough end of town.”

I made myself not smile at that and filled out the registration card he slid towards me. I decided to call myself Quincy Quigley.

“Will you be paying in local or Alliance dollars, Mister Quigley?” the hotelier asked, as casually as he could.

“Which would you prefer?” I asked, pulling out a mixed bundle of notes.

The man smiled, showing me his crooked teeth again. “Would you like me to send anything up to your room?” he asked, handing over the brass key.

“Just the hot water for my bath.”

“It’s piped into the room, sir.”

Hot ziggety, I really had died and gone to the good place.

“Dinner?” I asked.

“Served between six and eight pm, today’s menu is on the nightstand in your room.”

This made me smile some more so I tipped him ten dollars to add to his dental repair fund. “Have my bag taken up for me, would you? I’ll go out and lose the robot.”

“Very good, sir.” He looked up at Floyd and scowled but his expression changed when he thought of something else. “You’re not one of those gentlemen who likes to have sex with a robot, are you sir?”

“No, why?”

“Madam Fifi has one, if you want to try it.” My expression told him what I thought of his suggestion and he quickly continued. “She’s got real people too, of course. Her place is down the street – near the marketplace.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need to pay for it,” I said.

His expression said he wasn’t convinced by that. “Of course not, sir. If you need anything else, please ask for me. I’m Horace.”

“I’ll see you later, Horace.”

He smiled at me again and I pressed another five into his sweaty palm. The sooner he could afford that dentist the better for us all.

Chapter Four

We walked down the street towards the rough end of town. If there was some sort of border that marked where it began, I missed it.

People stared openly at the big blue robot beside me and their expressions weren’t friendly. It made me uncomfortable, even though I knew Floyd had no feelings to hurt. I’d never understood where this prejudice came from. I’ve been chased by robots and shot at by them – on lots of occasions – but regarded this as a professional hazard. I did my job and they did theirs – I didn’t hate them for it. And I wasn’t afraid of them because they were machines that looked like people. I was afraid of them because their bullets hurt when they hit you and had the potential to kill you.

As the sun set, the streets grew quieter. Couples strolled arm-in-arm and single men scurried by on their way to the hotel bar. There were a couple of girls on a corner looking for a man – married or single – who wanted a bit of fun for an hour. It was basically just like any other small town.

We’d once tried to disguise Floyd in a poncho and a big sombrero, but it didn’t really work. When you’re eight feet tall, it takes more than a fake moustache to hide the fact. At some point, I was going to have to talk to him about moving into a different robot body. Something less conspicuous. But not until we were off Saphira. Here his size had some tangible benefits. And so did the cannon. We’d just have to put up with the scowls from the backwoods folk.

A man changed his path to give us a wide berth. Sure that he was well beyond arm’s reach, he spat on the ground in front of Floyd and hurried away. If I took a few thousand dollars from this town I wasn’t going to feel guilty about it.

A tarnished silver-coloured robot waddled down the street on the other side, its elbows sticking out like wings. It looked very much like the sort of robot Happy Hawkins peddled, fit only for the tin-foil factory. But what did I know? One man’s scrap is another man’s vintage classic. I could hear the robot chattering in an old-fashioned English butler sort of voice as it scurried along.

“Oh my, I’m late. Master Louie won’t be pleased at all... Oh my!”

The robot stopped suddenly as three men stepped out of the shadows and blocked its path. The men all carried bats and they didn’t look like a softball team.

“What do we have here?” One of the men said. “A curfew-breaker! You know unaccompanied robots aren’t allowed out after sundown.”

“No, no, there has been a mistake,” the robot said. “I must rendezvous with my master. There are still seven minutes until curfew.”

“Are you calling me a liar, boy?” The man began swinging his bat backwards and forwards at his side and his two stooges copied his example.

“Oh, no sir. But I think that if you look at your watch, you will see that...”

The man swung his bat in a wide arc and brought it down on top of the robot’s domed head. The blow left a good-sized dent.

“Please, don’t do that, sir,” the robot said. “My master will be most displeased if I am damaged.”

The man laughed and swung the bat again. His two companions joined in. They all managed to rain down blows without getting in each other’s way. Something told me they regularly spent their evenings this way.

Floyd stirred beside me and I knew he wanted to go to the robot’s aid. I took hold of his arm and pulled him back into the shadows. We both knew it was a bad idea to attract the wrong sort of attention. My own hypocrisy made me uncomfortable. If the victim had been human, we would have gone to help him. The silver robot fell to the ground and curled into a ball to try to protect itself.

“Stay here, don’t go scaring the locals,” I said. I needed Floyd