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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31736-h.zip b/31736-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e042a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/31736-h.zip diff --git a/31736-h/31736-h.htm b/31736-h/31736-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..51f0481 --- /dev/null +++ b/31736-h/31736-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1158 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Star Performer, by Robert J. Shea + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.p1 { font-size:24px; font-weight:bold; } +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Star Performer, by Robert J. Shea + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Star Performer + +Author: Robert J. Shea + +Illustrator: Dick Francis + +Release Date: March 22, 2010 [EBook #31736] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STAR PERFORMER *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Robert Cicconetti, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from the September 1960 issue of If. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>Star Performer</h1> +<p> </p> + +<h2>By ROBERT J. SHEA</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Blue Boy's rating was high and his fans were loyal to the +death—anyone's death!</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="35" height="40" /></div> +<p>avir gingerly fitted the round opening in the bottom of the silvery +globe over the top of his hairless blue skull. He pulled the globe +down until he felt tiny filaments touching his scalp. The tips of the +wires were cold.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="300" height="954" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p>The moderator then said, "<i>Dreaming Through the Universe</i> tonight +brings you the first native Martian to appear on the dreamwaves—Gavir +of the Desert Men. With him is his guardian, Dr. Malcomb Rice, the +noted anthropologist."</p> + +<p>Then the moderator questioned Malcomb, while Gavir nervously +awaited the moment when his thoughts would be transmitted to millions +of Earthmen. Malcomb told how he had been struck by Gavir's +intelligence and missionary-taught ability to speak Earth's language, +and had decided to bring Gavir to Earth.</p> + +<p>The moderator turned to Gavir. "Are you anxious to get back to Mars?"</p> + +<p><i>No!</i> Gavir thought. Back behind the Preserve Barrier that killed you +instantly if you stepped too close to it? Back to the constant fear of +being seized by MDC guards for a labor pool, to wind up in the MDC +mines?</p> + +<p>Mars was where Gavir's father had been pinned, bayonets through his +hands and feet, to the wall of a shack just the other side of the +Barrier, to die slowly, out of Gavir's reach. Father James told Gavir +that the head of MDC himself had ordered the killing, because Gavir's +father had tried to organize resistance to the Corporation. Mars was +where the magic powers of the Earthmen and the helplessness of the +Martian tribes would always protect the head of MDC from Gavir's +vengeance.</p> + +<p>Back to that world of hopeless fear and hatred? <i>I never want to go +back to Mars! I want to stay here!</i></p> + +<p>But that wasn't what he was supposed to think. Quickly he said, "I +will be happy to return to my people."</p> + +<p>A movement caught his eye. The producer, reclining on a divan in a far +corner of the small studio, was making some kind of signal by beating +his fist against his forehead.</p> + +<p>"Well, enough of that!" the moderator said briskly. "How about singing +one of your tribal songs for us?"</p> + +<p>Gavir said, "I will sing the <i>Song of Going to Hunt</i>." He heaved +himself up from the divan, and, feet planted wide apart, threw back +his head and began to howl.</p> + +<p>He was considered a poor singer in his tribe, and he was not surprised +that Malcomb and the moderator winced. But Malcomb had told him that +it wouldn't matter. The dreamees receiving the dreamcast would hear +the song as it <i>should</i> sound, as Gavir heard it in his mind. +Everything that Gavir saw and heard and felt in his mind, the dreamees +could see and hear and feel....</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p><span class="p1">I</span>t was cold, bitter cold, on the plain. The hunter stood at the edge +of the camp as the shriveled Martian sun struck the tops of the Shakam +hills. The hunter hefted the long, balanced narvoon, the throwing +knife, in his hand. He had faith in the knife, and in his skill with +it.</p> + +<p>The hunter filled his lungs, the cold air reaching deep into his +chest. He shouted out his throat-bursting hunting cry. He began to run +across the plain.</p> + +<p>Crouching behind crumbling red rocks, racing over flat expanses of +orange sand, the hunter sought traces of the seegee, the great slow +desert beast whose body provided his tribe with all the essentials of +existence. At last he saw tracks. He mounted a dune. Out on the plain +before him a great brown seegee lumbered patiently, unaware of its +danger.</p> + +<p>The hunter was about to strike out after it, when a dark form leaped +at him.</p> + +<p>The hunter saw it out of the corner of his eye at the last moment. His +startled sidestep saved him from the neck-breaking snap of the great +jaws.</p> + +<p>The drock's long body was armored with black scales. Curving fangs +protruded from its upper jaw. Its hand-like forepaws ended in hooked +claws, to grasp and tear its prey. It was larger, stronger, faster +than the hunter. The thin Martian air carried weirdly high-pitched +cries which proclaimed its craving to sink its fangs into the hunter's +body. The drock's huge hind legs coiled back on their triple joints, +and it sprang.</p> + +<p>The hunter thrust the gleaming knife out before him, so that the dark +body would land on its gleaming blade. The drock twisted in mid-air +and landed to one side of the hunter.</p> + +<p>Now, before it could gather itself for another spring, there was time +for one cast of the blade. It had to be done at once. It had to be +perfect. If it failed, the knife would be lost and the drock would +have its kill. The hunter grasped the weapon by the blade, drew his +arm back, and snapped it forward.</p> + +<p>The blade struck deep into the throat of the drock.</p> + +<p>The drock screamed eerily and jumped clumsily. The hunter threw +himself at the great, dark body and retrieved the knife. He struck +with it again and again into the gray twitching belly. Colorless blood +ran out over the hard, tightly-stretched skin.</p> + +<p>The drock fell, gave a last convulsion, and lay still. The hunter +plunged the blade into the red sand to clean it. He threw back his +head and bellowed his hunting cry. There was great glory in killing +the drock, for it showed that the Desert Man and not the drock, was +lord of the red waste....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="35" height="40" /></div> +<p>avir sat down on the divan, exhausted, his song finished. He didn't +hear the moderator winding up the dreamcast. Then the producer of the +program was upon him.</p> + +<p>He began shouting even before Gavir removed his headset. "What kind +of a fool are you? Before you started that song, you dreamed things +about the Martian Development Corporation that were libelous! I got +the whole thing—the Barrier, the guards, the labor pools and mines, +the father crucified. It was awful! MDC is one of our biggest +sponsors."</p> + +<p>Malcomb said, "You can't expect an untrained young Martian to control +his very thoughts. And may I point out that your tone is hostile?"</p> + +<p>At this a sudden change came over the producer. The standard Earth +expression—invincible benignity—took control of his face. "I +apologize for having spoken sharply, but dreamcasting is a +nerve-wracking business. If it weren't for Ethical Conditioning, I +don't know how I'd control my aggressive impulses. The Suppression of +Aggression is the Foundation of Civilization, eh?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="400" height="616" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Malcomb smiled. "Ethical Conditioning Keeps Society from Fissioning." +He shook hands with the producer.</p> + +<p>"Come around tomorrow at 1300 and collect your fee," said the +producer. "Good night, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>As they left the Global Dreamcasting System building, Gavir said to +Malcomb, "Can we go to a bookstore tonight?"</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow. I'm taking you to your hotel and then I'm going back to my +apartment. We both need sleep. And don't forget, you've been warned +not to go prowling around the city by yourself...."</p> + +<p>As soon as Gavir was sure that Malcomb was out of the hotel and well +on his way home, he left his room and went out into the city.</p> + +<p>In a pitifully few days he would be back in the Preserve, back with +the fear of MDC, with hunger and the hopeless desire to find and kill +the man who had ordered his father's death.</p> + +<p>Now he had an opportunity to learn more about the universe of the +Earthmen. Despite Malcomb's orders, he was going to find a seller of +books.</p> + +<p>During a reading class at the mission school, Father James had said, +"In books there is power. All that you call magic in our Earth +civilization is explained in books." Gavir wanted to learn. It was his +only hope to find an alternative to the short, fear-ridden, +impoverished life he foresaw for himself.</p> + +<p>A river of force carried him, along with thousands of +Earthmen—godlike beings in their perfect health and their impregnable +benignity—through the streets of the city. Platforms of force raised +and lowered him through the city's multiple levels....</p> + +<p>And, as has always happened to outlanders in cities, he became lost.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="39" height="40" /></div> +<p>e was in a quarter where furtive red and violet lights danced in the +shadows of hunched buildings. A half-dozen Earthmen approached him, +stopped and stared. Gavir stared back.</p> + +<p>The Earthmen wore black garments and furs and metal ornaments. The +biggest of them wore a black suit, a long black cape, and a +broad-brimmed black hat. He carried a coiled whip in one hand. The +Earthmen turned to one another.</p> + +<p>"A Martian."</p> + +<p>"Let's give pain and death to the Martian! It will be a new +experience—one to savor."</p> + +<p>"Take pain, Martian!"</p> + +<p>The Earthman with the black hat raised his arm, and the long heavy +lash fell on Gavir. He felt a savage sting in the arm he had thrown up +to protect his eyes.</p> + +<p>Gavir leaped at the Earthmen. He clubbed the man with the whip across +the face. As the others rushed in, Gavir flailed about him with long +arms and heavy fists.</p> + +<p>He began to enjoy it. It was rare that a Martian had an opportunity to +knock Earthmen down. The mood of the <i>Song of Going to Hunt</i> came over +him. He sprang free of his attackers and drew his glittering narvoon.</p> + +<p>The man with the whip yelled. They looked at his knife, and then all +at once turned and ran. Gavir drew back his arm and threw the knife +with a practiced catapult-snap of shoulder, elbow, and wrist. To his +surprise, the blade clattered to the street far short of his +retreating enemies. Then he remembered: you couldn't throw far in the +gravity of Earth.</p> + +<p>The Earthmen disappeared into a lift-force field. Gavir decided not to +pursue them. He walked forward and picked up his narvoon, and saw that +the street on which it lay was solid black pavement, not a +force-field. He must be in the lowest level of the city. He didn't +know his way around; he might meet more enemies. He forgot about the +books he'd wanted, and began to search for his hotel.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="51" height="40" /></div> +<p>hen he got back to his room, he went immediately to bed. He slept +late.</p> + +<p>Malcomb woke him at 1100. Gavir told Malcomb about the +strangely-dressed men who had tried to kill him.</p> + +<p>"I told you not to wander around alone."</p> + +<p>"But you did not tell me that Earthmen might try to kill me. You have +told me that Earthmen are good and peace-loving, that there have been +no acts of violence on Earth for many decades. You have told me that +only the MDC men are exceptions, because they are living off Earth, +and this somehow makes them different."</p> + +<p>"Well, those people you ran into are another exception."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"You know about the Regeneration and Rejuvenation treatment we have +here on Earth. A variation of it was given you to acclimate you to +Earth's gravity and atmosphere. Well, since the R&R treatment was +developed, we Earthmen have a life-expectancy of about one hundred +fifty years. Those people who attacked you were Century-Plus. They are +over a hundred years old, but as healthy, physically, as ever."</p> + +<p>"What is wrong with them?"</p> + +<p>"They seem to have outgrown their Ethical Conditioning. They live +wildly. Violently. It's a problem without precedent, and we don't know +what to do with them. The fact is, Senile Delinquency is our number +one problem."</p> + +<p>"Why not punish them?" said Gavir.</p> + +<p>"They're too powerful. They are often people who've pursued successful +careers and acquired a good deal of property and position. And there +are getting to be more of them all the time. But come on. You and I +have to go over to Global Dreamcasting and collect our fee."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="35" height="40" /></div> +<p>he impeccably affable producer of <i>Dreaming Through the Universe</i> +gave Malcomb a check and then asked them to follow him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Davery wants to see you. Mr. <i>Hoppy</i> Davery, executive +vice-president in charge of production. Scion of one of Earth's oldest +communications media families!"</p> + +<p>They went with the producer to the upper reaches of the Global +Dreamcasting building. There they were ushered into a huge office.</p> + +<p>They found Mr. Hoppy Davery lounging on a divan the size of a +space-port. He was youthful in appearance, as were all Earthmen, but a +soft plumpness and a receding hairline made him look slightly older +than average.</p> + +<p>He pointed a rigid finger at Malcomb and Gavir. "I want you two to +hear a condensed recording of statements taken from calls we received +last night."</p> + +<p>Gavir stiffened. They <i>had</i> gotten into trouble because of his +thoughts about MDC.</p> + +<p>A voice boomed out of the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"That Martian boy has power. That song was a fist in the jaw. More!"</p> + +<p>A woman's voice followed:</p> + +<p>"If you let that boy go back to Mars I'll never dream a Global program +again."</p> + +<p>More voices:</p> + +<p>"Enormous!"</p> + +<p>"Potent!"</p> + +<p>"That hunting song drove me mad. I <i>like</i> being mad!"</p> + +<p>"Keep him on Earth."</p> + +<p>Hoppy Davery pressed a button in the control panel on his divan, and +the voices fell silent.</p> + +<p>"Those callers that admitted their age were all Century-Plus. The boy +appeals to the Century-Plus mentality. I want to try him again. This +time on a really big dream-show, not just an educational 'cast. Got a +spot on next week's Farfel Flisket Show. If he gets the right +response, we talk about a contract. Okay?"</p> + +<p>Malcomb said, "His visa expires—"</p> + +<p>"We'll take care of his visa."</p> + +<p>Gavir trembled with joy. Hoppy Davery pressed another button and a +secretary entered with papers. She was followed by another woman.</p> + +<p>The second woman was dark-haired and slender. She wore leather boots +and tight brown breeches. She was bare from the waist up and her +breasts were young and full. A jewelled clip fastened a scarlet cape +at her neck. Her lips were a disconcertingly vivid red, apparently an +artificial color. She kissed Hoppy Davery on the forehead, leaving red +blotches on his pink dome. He wiped his forehead and looked at his +hand.</p> + +<p>"Do you have to wear that barbaric face-paint?" Hoppy turned sad eyes +on Gavir and Malcomb. "Gentlemen, my mother, Sylvie Davery."</p> + +<p>A Senile Delinquent! thought Gavir. She looked like Davery's younger +sister. Malcomb stared at her apprehensively, and Gavir wondered if +she were somehow going to attack them.</p> + +<p>She looked at Gavir. "Mmm. What a body, what gorgeous blue skin. How +tall are you, Blue Boy?"</p> + +<p>"He's approximately seven feet tall, Sylvie," said Hoppy, "and what do +you want here, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Just came up to see Blue Boy. One of the crowd dreamed him last +night. Positively manic about him. I found out he'd be with you."</p> + +<p>"See?" said Hoppy to Gavir. "The Century-Plus mentality. You've got +something they go for. Undoubtedly because you're—forgive me—such a +complete barbarian. That's what they're all trying to be."</p> + +<p>"Spare me another lecture on Senile Delinquency, Our Number One +Problem." She walked to the door and Gavir watched her all the way. +She turned with a swirl of scarlet and a dramatic display of healthy +young flesh. "See you again, Blue Boy."</p> + +<p>After Sylvie left, Hoppy Davery said, "That might be a good +professional name—Blue Boy. Gavir doesn't <i>mean</i> anything. Now what +kind of a song could you do for the Farfel Flisket show?"</p> + +<p>Gavir thought. "Perhaps you would like the <i>Song of Creation</i>."</p> + +<p>"It's part of a fertility rite," Malcomb explained.</p> + +<p>"Great! Give the Senile Delinquents another workout. It's not quite +ethical, but its good for us. But for heaven's sake, Blue Boy, keep +your mind off MDC!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="35" height="40" /></div> +<p>he following week, Gavir sang the <i>Song of Creation</i> on the Farfel +Flisket show, and transmitted the images which it brought up in his +mind to his audience. A jubilant Hoppy Davery called him at his hotel +next morning.</p> + +<p>"Best response I've ever seen! The Century-Plussers have been rioting +and throwing mass orgies ever since you sang. But they take time out +to call us up and beg for more. I've got a sponsor and a two-year +contract lined up for you."</p> + +<p>The sponsor was pacing back and forth in Hoppy Davery's office when +Malcomb and Gavir arrived. Hoppy introduced him proudly. "Mr. Jarvis +Spurling, president of the Martian Development Corporation."</p> + +<p>Gavir's hand leaped at the narvoon under his doublet.</p> + +<p>Then he stopped himself. He turned the gesture into the proffer of a +handshake. "How do you do?" he said quietly. In his mind he +congratulated himself. He had learned emotional control from the +Earthmen. Here was the man who had ordered his father crucified! Yet +he had managed to hide his instant desire to strike, to kill, to carry +out the oath of the blood feud then and there.</p> + +<p>Jarvis Spurling ignored Gavir's hand and stared coldly at him. There +was not a trace of the usual Earthman's kindliness in his square, +battered face. "I'm told you got talent. Okay, but a Bluie is a Bluie. +I'll pay you because a Bluie on Dreamvision is good publicity for MDC +products. But one slip like on your first 'cast and you go back to the +Preserve."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Spurling!" said Malcomb. "Your tone is hostile!"</p> + +<p>"Damn right. That Ethical Conditioning slop doesn't work on me. I've +lived too long on the frontier. And I know Bluies."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="38" height="40" /></div> +<p> will sign the contract," said Gavir.</p> + +<p>As he drew his signature pictograph on the contract, Sylvie Davery +sauntered in. She held a white tube between her painted lips. The end +of the tube was glowing and giving off clouds of smoke. Hoppy Davery +coughed and Sylvie winked at Gavir. Gavir straightened up, and she +took a long look at his seven feet.</p> + +<p>"All finished, Blue Boy? Come on, let's go have a drink at Lucifer +Grotto."</p> + +<p>Caution told Gavir to refuse. But before he could speak Spurling +snapped, "Disgusting! An Earth woman and a Bluie! If you were on Mars, +lady, we'd deport you so fast your tail would burn. And God help the +Bluie!"</p> + +<p>Sylvie blew a cloud of smoke at Spurling. "You're not on Mars, Jack. +You're back in civilization where we do what we damned well please."</p> + +<p>Spurling laughed. "I've heard about you Century-Plussers. You're all +sick."</p> + +<p>"You can't claim any monopoly on mental health. Not with that +concentration camp you run on Mars. Coming, Gavir?"</p> + +<p>Gavir grinned at Spurling. "The contract, I believe, does not cover my +private life."</p> + +<p>Hoppy Davery said, "Sylvie, I don't think this is wise."</p> + +<p>Sylvie uttered a short, sharp obscenity, linked arms with Gavir, and +strolled out.</p> + +<p>"You screwball Senile Delinquent," Spurling yelled after Sylvie, "you +oughtta be locked up!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_l.jpg" alt="L" width="32" height="40" /></div> +<p>ucifer Grotto was in that same quarter in which Gavir had been +attacked. Sylvie told him it was <i>the</i> hangout for wealthier New York +Century-Plussers. Gavir told her about the attack, and she laughed. +"It won't happen again. You're a hero to the Senile Delinquents now. +By the way, the big fellow with the broad-brimmed hat, he's one of the +most prominent Senile Delinquents of our day. He's president of the +biggest privately-owned space line, but he likes to call himself the +Hat Rat. You must be one of the few people who ever got away from him +alive."</p> + +<p>"He seemed happy to get away from me," said Gavir.</p> + +<p>An arrangement of force-planes and 3V projections made the front of +Lucifer Grotto appear to be a curtain of flames. Gavir hung back, but +Sylvie inserted a tiny gold pitchfork into a small aperture in the +glowing, rippling surface. The flames swept aside, revealing a +doorway. A bearded man in black tights escorted them through a +luridly-lit bar to a private room. When they were alone, Sylvie +dropped her cape to the floor, sat on the edge of a huge, pink divan, +and smiled at Gavir.</p> + +<p>Gavir contemplated her. That she was over a hundred years old was a +little frightening. But the skin of her face and her bare upper body +was a warm color, and tautly filled. She had lashed out at Spurling, +and he liked her for that. But in one way she was like Spurling. She +didn't fit into the bland, non-violent world of Malcomb and Hoppy.</p> + +<p>He shook his head. He said, "Sylvie, why—well, why are you the way +you are? Why—and how—have you broken away from Ethical +Conditioning?"</p> + +<p>Sylvie frowned. She spoke a few words into the air, ordering drinks. +She said, "I didn't do it deliberately. When I reached the age of +about a hundred it stopped working for me. I suddenly wanted to do +what <i>I</i> wanted to do. And then I found out that I didn't <i>know</i> what +I wanted to do. It was Ethical Conditioning or nothing, so I picked +nothing. And here I am, chasing nothing."</p> + +<p>"How do you chase nothing?"</p> + +<p>She set fire to a white tube. "This, for instance. They used to do it +before they found out it caused cancer. Now there's no more cancer, +but even if there were, I'd still smoke. That's the attitude I have. +You try things. You live in the past, if you're inclined, adopt the +costumes and manners of some more colorful time. You try ridiculous +things, disgusting things, vicious things. You know they're all +nothing, but you have to do something, so you go on doing nothing, +elaborately and violently."</p> + +<p>A tray of drinks rose through the floor. Sylvie frowned as she noticed +a folded paper tucked between the glasses. She picked it up and read +it, chuckled, and read it again, aloud.</p> + +<p>"Sir: I beg you to forgive the presumption of my recent attack on +you. Since then you have captured my imagination. I now hold you to be +the noblest savage of them all. Henceforward please consider me, Your +obedient servant, Hat Rat."</p> + +<p>"You've impressed him," said Sylvie. "But you impress me even more. +Come here."</p> + +<p>She held out slim arms to him. He had no wish to refuse her. She was +not like a Martian woman, but he found the differences exciting and +attractive. He went to her, and he forgot entirely that she was over a +hundred years old.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="20" height="40" /></div> +<p>n the months that followed, Gavir's fame spread over Earth. By +spring, the rating computers credited him with an audience of eight +hundred million—ninety-five percent of whom were Century-Plussers. +Davery doubled Gavir's salary.</p> + +<p>Gavir toured the world with Sylvie, mobbed everywhere by worshipful +Century-Plussers. Male Century-Plussers by the millions adopted blue +doublets and blue kilts in honor of their hero.</p> + +<p>Blue-dyed hair was now <i>de rigueur</i> among the ladies of Lucifer +Grotto. The Hat Rat himself, who often appeared at a respectful +distance in crowds around Gavir, now wore a wide-brimmed hat of +brightest blue.</p> + +<p>Then there came the dreamcast on which Gavir sang the <i>Song of +Complaint</i>.</p> + +<p>It was an ancient song, a Desert Man's outcry against injustice, +enemies, false friends and callous leaders. It was a protest against +sufferings that could neither be borne nor prevented. At the climax of +the song Gavir pictured a tribal chief who refused to make fair +division of the spoils of a hunt with his warriors. Gradually he +allowed this image to turn into a picture of Hoppy Davery withholding +bundles of money from a starving Gavir. Then he ended the song.</p> + +<p>Hoppy sent for him next morning.</p> + +<p>"Why did you do that?" he said. "Listen to this."</p> + +<p>A recorded voice boomed: "This is Hat Rat. Pay the Blue Boy what he +deserves, or I will give you death. It will be a personal thing +between you and me. I will besprinkle you with corrosive acids; I will +burn out your eyes; I will—"</p> + +<p>Hoppy cut the voice off. Gavir saw that he was sweating. "There were +<i>dozens</i> like that. If you want more money, I'll <i>give</i> you more +money. Say something nice about me on your next dreamcast, for +heaven's sake!"</p> + +<p>Gavir spread his big blue hands. "I am sorry. I don't want more money. +I cannot always control the pictures I make. These images come into +my mind even though they have nothing to do with me."</p> + +<p>Hoppy shook his head. "That's because you haven't had Ethical +Conditioning. We don't have this trouble with our other performers. +You just must remember that dreamvision is the most potent +communications medium ever devised. Be <i>careful</i>."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Gavir.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>n his next dreamcast Gavir sang the <i>Song of the Blood Feud</i>. He +pictured a Desert Man whose father had been killed by a drock.</p> + +<p>The Desert Man ran over the red sand, and he found the drock. He did +not throw his knife. That would not have satisfied his hatred. He fell +upon the drock and stabbed and stabbed.</p> + +<p>The Desert Man howled his hunting-cry over the body of his enemy, and +spat into its face.</p> + +<p>And the fanged face of the drock turned into the square, battered face +of Jarvis Spurling. Gavir held the image in his mind for a long +moment.</p> + +<p>When the dreamcast was over, a studio page ran up to Gavir. "Mr. +Spurling wants to see you at once, at his office."</p> + +<p>"Let him come and find me," said Gavir. "Let us go, Sylvie."</p> + +<p>They went to Lucifer Grotto, where Gavir's wealthiest admirers among +the Senile Delinquents were giving a party for him in the Pandemonium +Room. The only prominent person missing, as Sylvie remarked after +surveying the crowd, was the Hat Rat. They wondered about it, but no +one knew where he was.</p> + +<p>Sheets of flame illuminated the wild features and strange garments of +over a hundred Century-Plus ladies and gentlemen. Gouts of flame +leaped from the walls to light antique-style cigarettes. Drinks were +refilled from nozzles of molded fire.</p> + +<p>An hour passed from the time of Gavir's arrival.</p> + +<p>Then Jarvis Spurling joined the party. There was a heavy frontier +sonic pistol strapped at his waist. A protesting Malcomb was behind +him.</p> + +<p>Jarvis Spurling's square face was dark with anger. "You deliberately +put my face on that animal! You want to make the public hate me. I pay +your salary and keep you here on Earth, and this is what I get for it. +All right. A Bluie is a Bluie, and I'll treat you like a Bluie should +be treated." He unsnapped his holster and drew the square, heavy +pistol out and pointed it at Gavir.</p> + +<p>Gavir stood up. His right hand plucked at his doublet.</p> + +<p>"You're itching to go for that throwing knife," said Spurling. "Go on! +Take it out and get ready to throw it. I'll give you that much +chance. Let's make a game out of this. We'll make like we're back on +Mars, Bluie, and you're out hunting a drock. And you find one, only +this drock has a gun. How about that, Bluie?"</p> + +<p>Gavir took out the narvoon, grasped the blade, and drew his arm back.</p> + +<p>"Gavir!"</p> + +<p>It was the Hat Rat. He stood between pillars of flame in the doorway +of the Pandemonium Room of Lucifer Grotto, and there was a peculiar +contrivance of dark brown wood and black metal tubing cradled in his +arm. "This ancient shotgun I dedicate to your blood feud. I shall hunt +down your enemy, Gavir!"</p> + +<p>Spurling turned. The Hat Rat saw him.</p> + +<p>"The enemy!" the Hat Rat shouted.</p> + +<p>The shotgun exploded.</p> + +<p>Spurling's body was thrown back against Gavir. Gavir saw a huge ragged +red caved-in place in Spurling's chest. Spurling's body sagged to the +floor and lay there face up, eyes open. The Senile Delinquents of +Lucifer Grotto leaned forward to grin at the tattered body.</p> + +<p>Still holding the narvoon, Gavir stood over his dead enemy. He threw +back his head and howled out the hunting cry of the Desert Men. Then +he looked down and spat in Jarvis Spurling's dead face.</p> + +<h3>END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Star Performer, by Robert J. 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Shea + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Star Performer + +Author: Robert J. Shea + +Illustrator: Dick Francis + +Release Date: March 22, 2010 [EBook #31736] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STAR PERFORMER *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Robert Cicconetti, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from the September 1960 issue of If. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this + publication was renewed. + + + Star Performer + + + By ROBERT J. SHEA + + + Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS + + + _Blue Boy's rating was high and his fans were loyal to the + death--anyone's death!_ + + * * * * * + + + + +Gavir gingerly fitted the round opening in the bottom of the silvery +globe over the top of his hairless blue skull. He pulled the globe +down until he felt tiny filaments touching his scalp. The tips of the +wires were cold. + +The moderator then said, "_Dreaming Through the Universe_ tonight +brings you the first native Martian to appear on the dreamwaves--Gavir +of the Desert Men. With him is his guardian, Dr. Malcomb Rice, the +noted anthropologist." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +Then the moderator questioned Malcomb, while Gavir nervously +awaited the moment when his thoughts would be transmitted to millions +of Earthmen. Malcomb told how he had been struck by Gavir's +intelligence and missionary-taught ability to speak Earth's language, +and had decided to bring Gavir to Earth. + +The moderator turned to Gavir. "Are you anxious to get back to Mars?" + +_No!_ Gavir thought. Back behind the Preserve Barrier that killed you +instantly if you stepped too close to it? Back to the constant fear of +being seized by MDC guards for a labor pool, to wind up in the MDC +mines? + +Mars was where Gavir's father had been pinned, bayonets through his +hands and feet, to the wall of a shack just the other side of the +Barrier, to die slowly, out of Gavir's reach. Father James told Gavir +that the head of MDC himself had ordered the killing, because Gavir's +father had tried to organize resistance to the Corporation. Mars was +where the magic powers of the Earthmen and the helplessness of the +Martian tribes would always protect the head of MDC from Gavir's +vengeance. + +Back to that world of hopeless fear and hatred? _I never want to go +back to Mars! I want to stay here!_ + +But that wasn't what he was supposed to think. Quickly he said, "I +will be happy to return to my people." + +A movement caught his eye. The producer, reclining on a divan in a far +corner of the small studio, was making some kind of signal by beating +his fist against his forehead. + +"Well, enough of that!" the moderator said briskly. "How about singing +one of your tribal songs for us?" + +Gavir said, "I will sing the _Song of Going to Hunt_." He heaved +himself up from the divan, and, feet planted wide apart, threw back +his head and began to howl. + +He was considered a poor singer in his tribe, and he was not surprised +that Malcomb and the moderator winced. But Malcomb had told him that +it wouldn't matter. The dreamees receiving the dreamcast would hear +the song as it _should_ sound, as Gavir heard it in his mind. +Everything that Gavir saw and heard and felt in his mind, the dreamees +could see and hear and feel.... + + * * * * * + +It was cold, bitter cold, on the plain. The hunter stood at the edge +of the camp as the shriveled Martian sun struck the tops of the Shakam +hills. The hunter hefted the long, balanced narvoon, the throwing +knife, in his hand. He had faith in the knife, and in his skill with +it. + +The hunter filled his lungs, the cold air reaching deep into his +chest. He shouted out his throat-bursting hunting cry. He began to run +across the plain. + +Crouching behind crumbling red rocks, racing over flat expanses of +orange sand, the hunter sought traces of the seegee, the great slow +desert beast whose body provided his tribe with all the essentials of +existence. At last he saw tracks. He mounted a dune. Out on the plain +before him a great brown seegee lumbered patiently, unaware of its +danger. + +The hunter was about to strike out after it, when a dark form leaped +at him. + +The hunter saw it out of the corner of his eye at the last moment. His +startled sidestep saved him from the neck-breaking snap of the great +jaws. + +The drock's long body was armored with black scales. Curving fangs +protruded from its upper jaw. Its hand-like forepaws ended in hooked +claws, to grasp and tear its prey. It was larger, stronger, faster +than the hunter. The thin Martian air carried weirdly high-pitched +cries which proclaimed its craving to sink its fangs into the hunter's +body. The drock's huge hind legs coiled back on their triple joints, +and it sprang. + +The hunter thrust the gleaming knife out before him, so that the dark +body would land on its gleaming blade. The drock twisted in mid-air +and landed to one side of the hunter. + +Now, before it could gather itself for another spring, there was time +for one cast of the blade. It had to be done at once. It had to be +perfect. If it failed, the knife would be lost and the drock would +have its kill. The hunter grasped the weapon by the blade, drew his +arm back, and snapped it forward. + +The blade struck deep into the throat of the drock. + +The drock screamed eerily and jumped clumsily. The hunter threw +himself at the great, dark body and retrieved the knife. He struck +with it again and again into the gray twitching belly. Colorless blood +ran out over the hard, tightly-stretched skin. + +The drock fell, gave a last convulsion, and lay still. The hunter +plunged the blade into the red sand to clean it. He threw back his +head and bellowed his hunting cry. There was great glory in killing +the drock, for it showed that the Desert Man and not the drock, was +lord of the red waste.... + + * * * * * + +Gavir sat down on the divan, exhausted, his song finished. He didn't +hear the moderator winding up the dreamcast. Then the producer of the +program was upon him. + +He began shouting even before Gavir removed his headset. "What kind +of a fool are you? Before you started that song, you dreamed things +about the Martian Development Corporation that were libelous! I got +the whole thing--the Barrier, the guards, the labor pools and mines, +the father crucified. It was awful! MDC is one of our biggest +sponsors." + +Malcomb said, "You can't expect an untrained young Martian to control +his very thoughts. And may I point out that your tone is hostile?" + +At this a sudden change came over the producer. The standard Earth +expression--invincible benignity--took control of his face. "I +apologize for having spoken sharply, but dreamcasting is a +nerve-wracking business. If it weren't for Ethical Conditioning, I +don't know how I'd control my aggressive impulses. The Suppression of +Aggression is the Foundation of Civilization, eh?" + +Malcomb smiled. "Ethical Conditioning Keeps Society from Fissioning." +He shook hands with the producer. + +"Come around tomorrow at 1300 and collect your fee," said the +producer. "Good night, gentlemen." + +As they left the Global Dreamcasting System building, Gavir said to +Malcomb, "Can we go to a bookstore tonight?" + +"Tomorrow. I'm taking you to your hotel and then I'm going back to my +apartment. We both need sleep. And don't forget, you've been warned +not to go prowling around the city by yourself...." + +As soon as Gavir was sure that Malcomb was out of the hotel and well +on his way home, he left his room and went out into the city. + +In a pitifully few days he would be back in the Preserve, back with +the fear of MDC, with hunger and the hopeless desire to find and kill +the man who had ordered his father's death. + +Now he had an opportunity to learn more about the universe of the +Earthmen. Despite Malcomb's orders, he was going to find a seller of +books. + +During a reading class at the mission school, Father James had said, +"In books there is power. All that you call magic in our Earth +civilization is explained in books." Gavir wanted to learn. It was his +only hope to find an alternative to the short, fear-ridden, +impoverished life he foresaw for himself. + +A river of force carried him, along with thousands of +Earthmen--godlike beings in their perfect health and their impregnable +benignity--through the streets of the city. Platforms of force raised +and lowered him through the city's multiple levels.... + +And, as has always happened to outlanders in cities, he became lost. + + * * * * * + +He was in a quarter where furtive red and violet lights danced in the +shadows of hunched buildings. A half-dozen Earthmen approached him, +stopped and stared. Gavir stared back. + +The Earthmen wore black garments and furs and metal ornaments. The +biggest of them wore a black suit, a long black cape, and a +broad-brimmed black hat. He carried a coiled whip in one hand. The +Earthmen turned to one another. + +"A Martian." + +"Let's give pain and death to the Martian! It will be a new +experience--one to savor." + +"Take pain, Martian!" + +The Earthman with the black hat raised his arm, and the long heavy +lash fell on Gavir. He felt a savage sting in the arm he had thrown up +to protect his eyes. + +Gavir leaped at the Earthmen. He clubbed the man with the whip across +the face. As the others rushed in, Gavir flailed about him with long +arms and heavy fists. + +He began to enjoy it. It was rare that a Martian had an opportunity to +knock Earthmen down. The mood of the _Song of Going to Hunt_ came over +him. He sprang free of his attackers and drew his glittering narvoon. + +The man with the whip yelled. They looked at his knife, and then all +at once turned and ran. Gavir drew back his arm and threw the knife +with a practiced catapult-snap of shoulder, elbow, and wrist. To his +surprise, the blade clattered to the street far short of his +retreating enemies. Then he remembered: you couldn't throw far in the +gravity of Earth. + +The Earthmen disappeared into a lift-force field. Gavir decided not to +pursue them. He walked forward and picked up his narvoon, and saw that +the street on which it lay was solid black pavement, not a +force-field. He must be in the lowest level of the city. He didn't +know his way around; he might meet more enemies. He forgot about the +books he'd wanted, and began to search for his hotel. + + * * * * * + +When he got back to his room, he went immediately to bed. He slept +late. + +Malcomb woke him at 1100. Gavir told Malcomb about the +strangely-dressed men who had tried to kill him. + +"I told you not to wander around alone." + +"But you did not tell me that Earthmen might try to kill me. You have +told me that Earthmen are good and peace-loving, that there have been +no acts of violence on Earth for many decades. You have told me that +only the MDC men are exceptions, because they are living off Earth, +and this somehow makes them different." + +"Well, those people you ran into are another exception." + +"Why?" + +"You know about the Regeneration and Rejuvenation treatment we have +here on Earth. A variation of it was given you to acclimate you to +Earth's gravity and atmosphere. Well, since the R&R treatment was +developed, we Earthmen have a life-expectancy of about one hundred +fifty years. Those people who attacked you were Century-Plus. They are +over a hundred years old, but as healthy, physically, as ever." + +"What is wrong with them?" + +"They seem to have outgrown their Ethical Conditioning. They live +wildly. Violently. It's a problem without precedent, and we don't know +what to do with them. The fact is, Senile Delinquency is our number +one problem." + +"Why not punish them?" said Gavir. + +"They're too powerful. They are often people who've pursued successful +careers and acquired a good deal of property and position. And there +are getting to be more of them all the time. But come on. You and I +have to go over to Global Dreamcasting and collect our fee." + + * * * * * + +The impeccably affable producer of _Dreaming Through the Universe_ +gave Malcomb a check and then asked them to follow him. + +"Mr. Davery wants to see you. Mr. _Hoppy_ Davery, executive +vice-president in charge of production. Scion of one of Earth's oldest +communications media families!" + +They went with the producer to the upper reaches of the Global +Dreamcasting building. There they were ushered into a huge office. + +They found Mr. Hoppy Davery lounging on a divan the size of a +space-port. He was youthful in appearance, as were all Earthmen, but a +soft plumpness and a receding hairline made him look slightly older +than average. + +He pointed a rigid finger at Malcomb and Gavir. "I want you two to +hear a condensed recording of statements taken from calls we received +last night." + +Gavir stiffened. They _had_ gotten into trouble because of his +thoughts about MDC. + +A voice boomed out of the ceiling. + +"That Martian boy has power. That song was a fist in the jaw. More!" + +A woman's voice followed: + +"If you let that boy go back to Mars I'll never dream a Global program +again." + +More voices: + +"Enormous!" + +"Potent!" + +"That hunting song drove me mad. I _like_ being mad!" + +"Keep him on Earth." + +Hoppy Davery pressed a button in the control panel on his divan, and +the voices fell silent. + +"Those callers that admitted their age were all Century-Plus. The boy +appeals to the Century-Plus mentality. I want to try him again. This +time on a really big dream-show, not just an educational 'cast. Got a +spot on next week's Farfel Flisket Show. If he gets the right +response, we talk about a contract. Okay?" + +Malcomb said, "His visa expires--" + +"We'll take care of his visa." + +Gavir trembled with joy. Hoppy Davery pressed another button and a +secretary entered with papers. She was followed by another woman. + +The second woman was dark-haired and slender. She wore leather boots +and tight brown breeches. She was bare from the waist up and her +breasts were young and full. A jewelled clip fastened a scarlet cape +at her neck. Her lips were a disconcertingly vivid red, apparently an +artificial color. She kissed Hoppy Davery on the forehead, leaving red +blotches on his pink dome. He wiped his forehead and looked at his +hand. + +"Do you have to wear that barbaric face-paint?" Hoppy turned sad eyes +on Gavir and Malcomb. "Gentlemen, my mother, Sylvie Davery." + +A Senile Delinquent! thought Gavir. She looked like Davery's younger +sister. Malcomb stared at her apprehensively, and Gavir wondered if +she were somehow going to attack them. + +She looked at Gavir. "Mmm. What a body, what gorgeous blue skin. How +tall are you, Blue Boy?" + +"He's approximately seven feet tall, Sylvie," said Hoppy, "and what do +you want here, anyway?" + +"Just came up to see Blue Boy. One of the crowd dreamed him last +night. Positively manic about him. I found out he'd be with you." + +"See?" said Hoppy to Gavir. "The Century-Plus mentality. You've got +something they go for. Undoubtedly because you're--forgive me--such a +complete barbarian. That's what they're all trying to be." + +"Spare me another lecture on Senile Delinquency, Our Number One +Problem." She walked to the door and Gavir watched her all the way. +She turned with a swirl of scarlet and a dramatic display of healthy +young flesh. "See you again, Blue Boy." + +After Sylvie left, Hoppy Davery said, "That might be a good +professional name--Blue Boy. Gavir doesn't _mean_ anything. Now what +kind of a song could you do for the Farfel Flisket show?" + +Gavir thought. "Perhaps you would like the _Song of Creation_." + +"It's part of a fertility rite," Malcomb explained. + +"Great! Give the Senile Delinquents another workout. It's not quite +ethical, but its good for us. But for heaven's sake, Blue Boy, keep +your mind off MDC!" + + * * * * * + +The following week, Gavir sang the _Song of Creation_ on the Farfel +Flisket show, and transmitted the images which it brought up in his +mind to his audience. A jubilant Hoppy Davery called him at his hotel +next morning. + +"Best response I've ever seen! The Century-Plussers have been rioting +and throwing mass orgies ever since you sang. But they take time out +to call us up and beg for more. I've got a sponsor and a two-year +contract lined up for you." + +The sponsor was pacing back and forth in Hoppy Davery's office when +Malcomb and Gavir arrived. Hoppy introduced him proudly. "Mr. Jarvis +Spurling, president of the Martian Development Corporation." + +Gavir's hand leaped at the narvoon under his doublet. + +Then he stopped himself. He turned the gesture into the proffer of a +handshake. "How do you do?" he said quietly. In his mind he +congratulated himself. He had learned emotional control from the +Earthmen. Here was the man who had ordered his father crucified! Yet +he had managed to hide his instant desire to strike, to kill, to carry +out the oath of the blood feud then and there. + +Jarvis Spurling ignored Gavir's hand and stared coldly at him. There +was not a trace of the usual Earthman's kindliness in his square, +battered face. "I'm told you got talent. Okay, but a Bluie is a Bluie. +I'll pay you because a Bluie on Dreamvision is good publicity for MDC +products. But one slip like on your first 'cast and you go back to the +Preserve." + +"Mr. Spurling!" said Malcomb. "Your tone is hostile!" + +"Damn right. That Ethical Conditioning slop doesn't work on me. I've +lived too long on the frontier. And I know Bluies." + + * * * * * + +"I will sign the contract," said Gavir. + +As he drew his signature pictograph on the contract, Sylvie Davery +sauntered in. She held a white tube between her painted lips. The end +of the tube was glowing and giving off clouds of smoke. Hoppy Davery +coughed and Sylvie winked at Gavir. Gavir straightened up, and she +took a long look at his seven feet. + +"All finished, Blue Boy? Come on, let's go have a drink at Lucifer +Grotto." + +Caution told Gavir to refuse. But before he could speak Spurling +snapped, "Disgusting! An Earth woman and a Bluie! If you were on Mars, +lady, we'd deport you so fast your tail would burn. And God help the +Bluie!" + +Sylvie blew a cloud of smoke at Spurling. "You're not on Mars, Jack. +You're back in civilization where we do what we damned well please." + +Spurling laughed. "I've heard about you Century-Plussers. You're all +sick." + +"You can't claim any monopoly on mental health. Not with that +concentration camp you run on Mars. Coming, Gavir?" + +Gavir grinned at Spurling. "The contract, I believe, does not cover my +private life." + +Hoppy Davery said, "Sylvie, I don't think this is wise." + +Sylvie uttered a short, sharp obscenity, linked arms with Gavir, and +strolled out. + +"You screwball Senile Delinquent," Spurling yelled after Sylvie, "you +oughtta be locked up!" + + * * * * * + +Lucifer Grotto was in that same quarter in which Gavir had been +attacked. Sylvie told him it was _the_ hangout for wealthier New York +Century-Plussers. Gavir told her about the attack, and she laughed. +"It won't happen again. You're a hero to the Senile Delinquents now. +By the way, the big fellow with the broad-brimmed hat, he's one of the +most prominent Senile Delinquents of our day. He's president of the +biggest privately-owned space line, but he likes to call himself the +Hat Rat. You must be one of the few people who ever got away from him +alive." + +"He seemed happy to get away from me," said Gavir. + +An arrangement of force-planes and 3V projections made the front of +Lucifer Grotto appear to be a curtain of flames. Gavir hung back, but +Sylvie inserted a tiny gold pitchfork into a small aperture in the +glowing, rippling surface. The flames swept aside, revealing a +doorway. A bearded man in black tights escorted them through a +luridly-lit bar to a private room. When they were alone, Sylvie +dropped her cape to the floor, sat on the edge of a huge, pink divan, +and smiled at Gavir. + +Gavir contemplated her. That she was over a hundred years old was a +little frightening. But the skin of her face and her bare upper body +was a warm color, and tautly filled. She had lashed out at Spurling, +and he liked her for that. But in one way she was like Spurling. She +didn't fit into the bland, non-violent world of Malcomb and Hoppy. + +He shook his head. He said, "Sylvie, why--well, why are you the way +you are? Why--and how--have you broken away from Ethical +Conditioning?" + +Sylvie frowned. She spoke a few words into the air, ordering drinks. +She said, "I didn't do it deliberately. When I reached the age of +about a hundred it stopped working for me. I suddenly wanted to do +what _I_ wanted to do. And then I found out that I didn't _know_ what +I wanted to do. It was Ethical Conditioning or nothing, so I picked +nothing. And here I am, chasing nothing." + +"How do you chase nothing?" + +She set fire to a white tube. "This, for instance. They used to do it +before they found out it caused cancer. Now there's no more cancer, +but even if there were, I'd still smoke. That's the attitude I have. +You try things. You live in the past, if you're inclined, adopt the +costumes and manners of some more colorful time. You try ridiculous +things, disgusting things, vicious things. You know they're all +nothing, but you have to do something, so you go on doing nothing, +elaborately and violently." + +A tray of drinks rose through the floor. Sylvie frowned as she noticed +a folded paper tucked between the glasses. She picked it up and read +it, chuckled, and read it again, aloud. + +"Sir: I beg you to forgive the presumption of my recent attack on +you. Since then you have captured my imagination. I now hold you to be +the noblest savage of them all. Henceforward please consider me, Your +obedient servant, Hat Rat." + +"You've impressed him," said Sylvie. "But you impress me even more. +Come here." + +She held out slim arms to him. He had no wish to refuse her. She was +not like a Martian woman, but he found the differences exciting and +attractive. He went to her, and he forgot entirely that she was over a +hundred years old. + + * * * * * + +In the months that followed, Gavir's fame spread over Earth. By +spring, the rating computers credited him with an audience of eight +hundred million--ninety-five percent of whom were Century-Plussers. +Davery doubled Gavir's salary. + +Gavir toured the world with Sylvie, mobbed everywhere by worshipful +Century-Plussers. Male Century-Plussers by the millions adopted blue +doublets and blue kilts in honor of their hero. + +Blue-dyed hair was now _de rigueur_ among the ladies of Lucifer +Grotto. The Hat Rat himself, who often appeared at a respectful +distance in crowds around Gavir, now wore a wide-brimmed hat of +brightest blue. + +Then there came the dreamcast on which Gavir sang the _Song of +Complaint_. + +It was an ancient song, a Desert Man's outcry against injustice, +enemies, false friends and callous leaders. It was a protest against +sufferings that could neither be borne nor prevented. At the climax of +the song Gavir pictured a tribal chief who refused to make fair +division of the spoils of a hunt with his warriors. Gradually he +allowed this image to turn into a picture of Hoppy Davery withholding +bundles of money from a starving Gavir. Then he ended the song. + +Hoppy sent for him next morning. + +"Why did you do that?" he said. "Listen to this." + +A recorded voice boomed: "This is Hat Rat. Pay the Blue Boy what he +deserves, or I will give you death. It will be a personal thing +between you and me. I will besprinkle you with corrosive acids; I will +burn out your eyes; I will--" + +Hoppy cut the voice off. Gavir saw that he was sweating. "There were +_dozens_ like that. If you want more money, I'll _give_ you more +money. Say something nice about me on your next dreamcast, for +heaven's sake!" + +Gavir spread his big blue hands. "I am sorry. I don't want more money. +I cannot always control the pictures I make. These images come into +my mind even though they have nothing to do with me." + +Hoppy shook his head. "That's because you haven't had Ethical +Conditioning. We don't have this trouble with our other performers. +You just must remember that dreamvision is the most potent +communications medium ever devised. Be _careful_." + +"I will," said Gavir. + + * * * * * + +On his next dreamcast Gavir sang the _Song of the Blood Feud_. He +pictured a Desert Man whose father had been killed by a drock. + +The Desert Man ran over the red sand, and he found the drock. He did +not throw his knife. That would not have satisfied his hatred. He fell +upon the drock and stabbed and stabbed. + +The Desert Man howled his hunting-cry over the body of his enemy, and +spat into its face. + +And the fanged face of the drock turned into the square, battered face +of Jarvis Spurling. Gavir held the image in his mind for a long +moment. + +When the dreamcast was over, a studio page ran up to Gavir. "Mr. +Spurling wants to see you at once, at his office." + +"Let him come and find me," said Gavir. "Let us go, Sylvie." + +They went to Lucifer Grotto, where Gavir's wealthiest admirers among +the Senile Delinquents were giving a party for him in the Pandemonium +Room. The only prominent person missing, as Sylvie remarked after +surveying the crowd, was the Hat Rat. They wondered about it, but no +one knew where he was. + +Sheets of flame illuminated the wild features and strange garments of +over a hundred Century-Plus ladies and gentlemen. Gouts of flame +leaped from the walls to light antique-style cigarettes. Drinks were +refilled from nozzles of molded fire. + +An hour passed from the time of Gavir's arrival. + +Then Jarvis Spurling joined the party. There was a heavy frontier +sonic pistol strapped at his waist. A protesting Malcomb was behind +him. + +Jarvis Spurling's square face was dark with anger. "You deliberately +put my face on that animal! You want to make the public hate me. I pay +your salary and keep you here on Earth, and this is what I get for it. +All right. A Bluie is a Bluie, and I'll treat you like a Bluie should +be treated." He unsnapped his holster and drew the square, heavy +pistol out and pointed it at Gavir. + +Gavir stood up. His right hand plucked at his doublet. + +"You're itching to go for that throwing knife," said Spurling. "Go on! +Take it out and get ready to throw it. I'll give you that much +chance. Let's make a game out of this. We'll make like we're back on +Mars, Bluie, and you're out hunting a drock. And you find one, only +this drock has a gun. How about that, Bluie?" + +Gavir took out the narvoon, grasped the blade, and drew his arm back. + +"Gavir!" + +It was the Hat Rat. He stood between pillars of flame in the doorway +of the Pandemonium Room of Lucifer Grotto, and there was a peculiar +contrivance of dark brown wood and black metal tubing cradled in his +arm. "This ancient shotgun I dedicate to your blood feud. I shall hunt +down your enemy, Gavir!" + +Spurling turned. The Hat Rat saw him. + +"The enemy!" the Hat Rat shouted. + +The shotgun exploded. + +Spurling's body was thrown back against Gavir. Gavir saw a huge ragged +red caved-in place in Spurling's chest. Spurling's body sagged to the +floor and lay there face up, eyes open. The Senile Delinquents of +Lucifer Grotto leaned forward to grin at the tattered body. + +Still holding the narvoon, Gavir stood over his dead enemy. He threw +back his head and howled out the hunting cry of the Desert Men. Then +he looked down and spat in Jarvis Spurling's dead face. + +END + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Star Performer, by Robert J. 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