1899- Journey to Mars

“Oh, you’ll meet him,” Ekka replied.

They turned the corner in time to hear what Pat Garrett took to be a gunshot. Pat ducked and his hand went to his sidearm. Before it was out its holster, B

illy laid a hand on Pat’s hand.

“It’s just a backfire from the thing.” Billy gestured to the automobile twenty feet away.

Pat straightened in disbelief. “Well I’ll be damned. I don’t think I could have one after all. If they do that, I’m liable to shoot it without thinking.”

“Oh, they do that a lot,” Ekka said.

The motor sputtered and came to life. A cloud of smoke erupted from behind the contraption. Pat took off his hat and waved the smoke away.

“Where’d your hair go, Pat?” Billy asked.

“Fellow wears a hat enough, he starts losing his hair. I notice you don’t wear a hat anymore, Billy.”

“My momma didn’t raise no fool,” Billy replied.

“Guthrie,” Dakota called. “Come meet my godfather, Pat Garrett. He’s a real sheriff!”

The figure stepped to the street from inside the vehicle. This time Pat Garrett’s hand was faster than greased lightning. The gun was in his hand with a rock steady bead on the unmoving figure.

“A robot,” Pat said, his voice hard.

“You don’t like robots, do you?” Ekka asked.

The robot was human height and wore human clothing, including a pair of corduroy trousers, a shirt and vest, and even a bowler hat. It’s skin, however, was riveted brass with silver fittings. Its face shone in the noonday sun.

“I suppose I should have told you,” Billy said. He stepped forward and put his hand over the cocked pistol and pressed gently downward.

“You could’ve.”

“Oh. The Lincoln Posse Massacre. I forgot about that,” Billy said. “Damn. I’m sorry, Pat. I’ve been out of touch. My mind’s been in...the sky. But Guthrie here, he’s not one of them New Mexico law enforcement robots that Westingthouse—”

“What is your number?” Pat barked at the automaton.

“My number, kind sir, is G.U.3. My master refers to me as ‘Guthrie’.”

“Guthrie is unarmed, Pat,” Billy said.

Dakota looked at his godfather uncertainly. He was apparently attached to the robot.

“What happened in Lincoln, Pat?” Ekka asked.

“Two outlaws were rustling cattle. They were about to be hanged when one of...these came along and shot the members of the posse faster than you could say Jack Sprat.”

“And the outlaws?” Billy asked.

“Their horses flew at the gunfire and they hung. The robot stood and watched them die too.”

“What happened to the robot?” Dakota asked.

Guthrie stood both motionless and emotionless, the sun glinting off its face.

“I was late following the posse. I had to ride hard to catch them, but by then it was too late. All those men were dead. I hit the damned thing with one shot right through the eye socket.”

“Did they ever find out why he did it?” Dakota asked.