Chapter Nine -Duel At the Gates of Dawn!

MISTER GUNN AWOKE with a throbbing headache and a mouthful of Martian dirt.

"Please, Mister Vanderbilt," muttered Mister Gunn in slurred tones, "honest, I didn't know she was your daughter . . . redheaded cheerleaders all start looking the same after you've fooled around with enough of them . . . high school?  No, sir, didn't know that . . . only once, in the back of my mom's pick-up truck . . ." Gradually, he opened his eyes and got to his feet.

Mister Gunn stood alone in the center of an arena.  He wore nothing but deerskin boots and a bearskin loincloth.  Thousands upon thousands of metal seats ringed the arena, and in every seat sat an Android Princess Warrior, each with a loaded energy pistol pointed right at Mister Gunn's head. Floating a few paces away from Mister Gunn was a metal anti-gravity disk. The Empress Cleopatronica, wearing an even shorter and sheerer chemise, stood smugly on the disk.  The android Murdock stood near her bare, perfect left shoulder, and Doctor Warlock by her right.

"Oh," said Mister Gunn.  "Crap."

"Welcome to my little party," the Empress said airily.  "So glad you could come, so glad you will die."  Several thousand female androids quietly giggled at that remark.  "You will, however, entertain us first.  You will fight our champion to the death.  However long you take to perish is entirely up to you."

Mister Gunn calmly fished a pack of Lucky Strikes and a lighter out of his loincloth.  "Says you, sister," said Mister Gunn, lighting a fresh cigarette.  "I ain't entertaining nobody, and I ain't dying, you crazy broad."

The beautiful face of the Empress darkened.  "You will entertain us.  I command it!"

"Or what?  You'll kill me?"  Mister Gunn blew gray rings of smoke into the android audience.  "Already made that threat, sister.  Doesn't work quite as well the second time.  You might want to brush up on your intimidation skills, sweet cheeks.  I've been threatened by experts over the years, and your skills are positively third-rate amateur.  I've been more threatened by my two-year old nephew Richie promising to feed me mud pies."

Doctor Warlock pointed a stern finger at Mister Gunn.  "Your insolence towards the Empress shall not be tolerated, Mister Gunn."

"Stick it where the sun don't shine, slappy," said Mister Gunn.  "You want me to fight?  Fine.  Give me a reason, and I will."

The android Murdock leaned over towards the ear of the Empress.  "I like this not, my Lady," he whispered hoarsely.  "The human is treacherous.  His words drip with dishonesty."

"Silence," the Empress said coldly.  She focused intently upon Mister Gunn. "What do you propose?"

"Say I beat your champion," said Mister Gunn.  "If - sorry, when - I do, I get to keep on living, I get the neutronical mini-muffin whatever thingamabob, and you call off your precious invasion of Earth.  You fly back to Neptune, go invade Venus, or stick your whole space armada up Uranus, whatever. I don't really give a tin tinker's fart what you do, you just promise to leave Earth alone for the rest of eternity."

"Unacceptable," said Doctor Warlock.

"Zip it, poindexter," snapped Mister Gunn.  "I was talking to the broad."

"Intriguing," said the Empress. "And if you lose?"

"Then I die," Mister Gunn said impatiently.  "Like that isn't too obvious. Come on, baby, we have a deal?  Or would you rather slip between the sheets at some no-tell motel in Pasadena and make out like a pair of crazed weasels in heat, you dirty little minx?"

The Empress Cleopatronica felt her artificial blood start to boil.  "I accept," she said hotly, "your offer."

"Good," said Mister Gunn.  "Bring on the champion, then."

The anti-gravity disk floated back towards the hordes of seated Android Princess Warriors.  A flash of light went off in front of Mister Gunn's face, and a sword suddenly materialized on the ground.  Mister Gunn picked up the sword.  It looked like a blade that could've been used by Errol Flynn.  Mister Gunn toyed with the sword for a moment, testing its weight and balance, and then moved into a classic French DeMoilerre fencing attack stance.

An even larger flash of light went off twenty paces away from Mister Gunn. The rebuilt form of O.G.R.E. stepped out of the light.  It was more heavily armored than before.  It also held two wicked swords, one in each gigantic mechanical hand.

"Aw, no," said Mister Gunn.  He pointed in disbelief at O.G.R.E.  "I already kicked the snot out of that sorry son of a Studebaker.  When the heck did you fix him up?"

"Shortly after you defeated him the first time," Doctor Warlock called out smugly.  "He is vastly superior now."

"Holy macaroni," Mister Gunn muttered to himself in disgust.  "Fixing O.G.R.E., building a Planetary Disintegration Ray, assembling armies of buxom barbarian babes . . . slow down, already.  Get a hobby.  Read some Chaucer."

{{MISTER GUNN,}} said O.G.R.E.  Its menacing mechanical voice boomed loudly through the arena.  {{YOUR EXISTENCE IS AT AN END.}}

"I've heard that before," said Mister Gunn.  "Bring it on, sparky."  He held his stance, waiting for the robotic onslaught of evil swords, ignoring the stares of the Empress and a thousand other android warriors . . .
 
 

Previous episode: The Iron Claws of Cleopatronica!
Next episode: The Dark Wings of Destiny!