Star Performer

by Robert Shea

winked at Gavir. Gavir straightened up, and shetook a long look at his seven feet.

  "All finished, Blue Boy? Come on, let's go have a drink at LuciferGrotto."

  Caution told Gavir to refuse. But before he could speak Spurlingsnapped, "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 theBluie!"

  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 allsick."

  "You can't claim any monopoly on mental health. Not with thatconcentration camp you run on Mars. Coming, Gavir?"

  Gavir grinned at Spurling. "The contract, I believe, does not cover myprivate life."

  Hoppy Davery said, "Sylvie, I don't think this is wise."

  Sylvie uttered a short, sharp obscenity, linked arms with Gavir, andstrolled out.

  "You screwball Senile Delinquent," Spurling yelled after Sylvie, "yououghtta be locked up!"

  * * * * *

  Lucifer Grotto was in that same quarter in which Gavir had beenattacked. Sylvie told him it was _the_ hangout for wealthier New YorkCentury-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 themost prominent Senile Delinquents of our day. He's president of thebiggest privately-owned space line, but he likes to call himself theHat Rat. You must be one of the few people who ever got away from himalive."

  "He seemed happy to get away from me," said Gavir.

  An arrangement of force-planes and 3V projections made the front ofLucifer Grotto appear to be a curtain of flames. Gavir hung back, butSylvie inserted a tiny gold pitchfork into a small aperture in theglowing, rippling surface. The flames swept aside, revealing adoorway. A bearded man in black tights escorted them through aluridly-lit bar to a private room. When they were alone, Sylviedropped 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 alittle frightening. But the skin of her face and her bare upper bodywas 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. Shedidn'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 wayyou are? Why--and how--have you broken away from EthicalConditioning?"

  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 ofabout a hundred it stopped working for me. I suddenly wanted to dowhat _I_ wanted to do. And then I found out that I didn't _know_ whatI wanted to do. It was Ethical Conditioning or nothing, so I pickednothing. 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 itbefore 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 thecostumes and manners of some more colorful time. You try ridiculousthings, disgusting things, vicious things. You know they're allnothing, 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 noticeda folded paper tucked between the glasses. She picked it up and readit, chuckled, and read it again, aloud.

  "Sir: I beg you to forgive the presumption of my recent attack onyou. Since then you have captured my imagination. I now hold you to bethe noblest savage of them all. Henceforward please consider me, Yourobedient 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 wasnot like a Martian woman, but he found the differences exciting andattractive. He went to her, and he forgot entirely that she was over ahundred years old.

  * * * * *

  In the months that followed, Gavir's fame spread over Earth. Byspring, the rating computers credited him with an audience of eighthundred million--ninety-five percent of whom were Century-Plussers.Davery doubled Gavir's salary.

  Gavir toured the world with Sylvie, mobbed everywhere by worshipfulCentury-Plussers. Male Century-Plussers by the millions adopted bluedoublets and blue kilts in honor of their hero.

  Blue-dyed hair was now _de rigueur_ among the ladies of LuciferGrotto. The Hat Rat himself, who often appeared at a respectfuldistance in crowds around Gavir, now wore a wide-brimmed hat ofbrightest blue.

  Then there came the dreamcast on which Gavir sang the _Song ofComplaint_.

  It was an ancient song, a Desert Man's outcry against injustice,enemies, false friends and callous leaders. It was a protest againstsufferings that could neither be borne nor prevented. At the climax ofthe song Gavir pictured a tribal chief who refused to make fairdivision of the spoils of a hunt with his warriors. Gradually heallowed this image to turn into a picture of Hoppy Davery withholdingbundles 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 hedeserves, or I will give you death. It will be a personal thingbetween you and me. I will besprinkle you with corrosive acids; I willburn 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 moremoney. Say something nice about me on your next dreamcast, forheaven'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 intomy mind even though they have nothing to do with me."

  Hoppy shook his head. "That's because you haven't had EthicalConditioning. We don't have this trouble with our other performers.You just must remember that dreamvision is the most potentcommunications medium ever devised. Be _careful_."

  "I will," said Gavir.

  * * * * *

  On his next dreamcast Gavir sang the _Song of the Blood Feud_. Hepictured 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 didnot throw his knife. That would not have satisfied his hatred. He fellupon the drock and stabbed and stabbed.

  The Desert Man howled his hunting-cry over the body of his enemy, andspat into its face.

  And the fanged face of the drock turned into the square, battered faceof Jarvis Spurling. Gavir held the image in his mind for a longmoment.

  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 amongthe Senile Delinquents were giving a party for him in the PandemoniumRoom. The only prominent person missing, as Sylvie remarked aftersurveying the crowd, was the Hat Rat. They wondered about it, but noone knew where he was.

  Sheets of flame illuminated the wild features and strange garments ofover a hundred Century-Plus ladies and gentlemen. Gouts of flameleaped from the walls to light antique-style cigarettes. Drinks wererefilled 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 frontiersonic pistol strapped at his waist. A protesting Malcomb was behindhim.

  Jarvis Spurling's square face was dark with anger. "You deliberatelyput my face on that animal! You want to make the public hate me. I payyour 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 trea
t you like a Bluie shouldbe treated." He unsnapped his holster and drew the square, heavypistol 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 muchchance. Let's make a game out of this. We'll make like we're back onMars, Bluie, and you're out hunting a drock. And you find one, onlythis 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 doorwayof the Pandemonium Room of Lucifer Grotto, and there was