by Mike Resnick
“I'm sure I'll think of something,” replied Flint. “First things first, Mr. Ahasuerus. Tonight I've got a half-crazy stripper to worry about. If you don't mind, I'll put off thinking about Kargennian until tomorrow morning."
“Is there anything you'd like me to do?” asked the blue man. “Don't look at me so suspiciously, Mr. Flint. I am your partner, and both of our careers are at issue, so to speak."
“Keep the hotshot out of the strip tent for the first couple of shows,” said Flint at last. “I'm going to have enough trouble worrying about the marks without having to keep an eye on him too.” He paused. “And don't tell him what time we're meeting tomorrow morning. We'll let it come as one of life's little surprises."
“As you wish."
Flint pulled a cigarette out of the container and lit it.
“How does it taste?” inquired Mr. Ahasuerus politely.
“About the same as the beer."
“You could always try to wean yourself away from them."
Flint merely glared at him, and after a moment the blue man shrugged and walked away. Flint spent the next two hours in the mess hall, trying unsuccessfully to get used to the taste of the cigarette and trying to get over the urge to wretch whenever he inhaled, then gave the signal to open the gates and let the marks in. He studied them with a practiced eye, estimated that tonight's crowd would top three thousand, and hoped that Kargennian didn't come from some planet where forty thousand was small turnout.
Still, he couldn't worry about it now, and he found Swede, told him to spell Tojo, and requested that the hunchback report to him.
“How's it going?” he asked when Tojo had finally joined him.
“He's not such a bad guy, Thaddeus,” replied Tojo. “He seemed friendly enough. All he really wants us to do is turn a profit."
“Never mind that. Did you manage to shove a hot dog into one end or the other?"
Tojo shook his head. “He didn't want any."
Flint grimaced, then shrugged. Maybe a hungry alien would be even easier to deal with than a sick one, especially if he didn't have time to eat breakfast before the meeting began.
“He seemed especially interested in the games,” added Tojo.
“Yeah?"
Tojo nodded. “He was fascinated when I explained how the Psychic booth worked; and he made me spend about half an hour telling him every detail of the Auction scam."
Flint filed that information away for future use, then turned his attention to the problems of the moment.
“I want you to stick with me for an hour or so, Tojo,” he said.
“Any particular reason?"
“We're going to try a new approach to the art of the striptease,” he replied. “And if it works, I want someone who knows how to do it so I'm not stuck here every goddamned night. So keep your ears open, okay?"
“All right, Thaddeus."
“Now why don't you pop backstage and see if Gloria's ready?"
Tojo returned a moment later to say that she was just putting the final touches on her makeup.
“Good,” said Flint, picking up a translator and hooking it onto his tie.
“Now, as long as you're still on salary, get yourself a translator and get the marks into the strip tent—but don't tell them what they're going to see."
“What will I tell them?"
“You're a bright little bastard; you'll think of something."
“But—"
“Jesus H. Christ! There's three thousand marks out there, all with money to spend. Somebody's got to be curious. Just get up on a platform somewhere and start sending them in."
“Who'll be taking the tickets?” asked Tojo suddenly.
“Who do you think? Close up shop when you've passed about a hundred of them through, and we'll see what's what."
The hunchback began his patter, wondering what the hell he was supposed to be selling, but to his surprise Thaddeus had been right. The carnival had played Procyon for a few days without a strip show, and the thought of a new attraction brought one hundred natives into the tent far more rapidly than he had expected.
“Welcome to the Pageant of the Ages,” said Flint, when Tojo had closed the door and joined him inside the tent. “The Ahasuerus and Flint Traveling Carnival and Sideshow takes great pride and delight in presenting Earth's foremost interpreter of dance, legend, and myth—Butterfly Delight!"
He turned the translator off for the last two words so that Gloria could recognize her cue. Suddenly the tape deck was switched on, the rhythmic beat of “Stairway to the Stars” was piped in, and Gloria strutted onto the stage.
“I realize that the music may sound discordant to your ears,” said Flint, switching the translator back on, “but it is our holiest of melodies, so please bear with us. What you are about to see is the Dance of Supreme Supplication, performed so that the Lord of Rain and Thunder, the great Apollo himself, will end the famine on our parched and thirsty world.
“Notice how the participant makes offerings to the mighty Apollo: a piece of fur, a length of cloth, transparent membranes that she has carried on her legs for this very purpose."
Flint paused as the audience sat spellbound, trying to comprehend the cultural import of what they were seeing.
“Through the posture and gestures of her body, Butterfly Delight is now trying to direct the Lord Apollo's attention to the very spot where the lifegiving rain is most needed. Note the shimmying and twitching of her flesh: each minuscule gesture, all carefully controlled, gives further instruction."
Gloria began a body-wrenching series of bumps.
“As you can plainly see, Butterfly Delight is now casting out the devils from the symbolic body of her nation, ritually cleansing the arid soil for the arrival of the much-needed rain. In a moment she will stand motionless for an instant, the holy music will cease, and she will bow in gratitude to the Great Lord Apollo for heeding her supplication. At this point we would appreciate it if you, as the congregation, would pound your hands together—not enough to hurt yourselves, but sufficient to make a rather loud noise, for only thus may we gain Apollo's attention and let him know of our appreciation."
Gloria's routine came to an end just as Flint finished speaking, and the audience, not wishing to offend the cultural or religious beliefs of another race, applauded as they had been instructed to.
“Well?” grinned Flint.
“I'm flabbergasted,” responded Tojo.
“We'll do four more shows tonight: a mating ritual, a reenactment of the Rape of Lucretia (for which much thanks), a physical-fitness program, and some Indian sign language. Then we'll start eliminating the ones that don't seem to draw enough enthusiasm—or maybe we'll leave ‘em all in for a couple of days. Once word gets out, who knows? Maybe the same marks will come back to see a different ritual."
The next four shows went smoothly, and it was a reasonably-satisfied Thaddeus Flint who returned to the mess hall after two in the morning to have a couple of beers.
He was sitting there, relaxing and still trying to smoke one of the robots’ cigarettes without feeling as if his chest was on fire, when Gloria stopped by, glowing with satisfaction.
“We did it, didn't we?” she said with a happy smile. “We're back in business again!"
“We sure are,” said Flint, answering her smile with his own. “Tojo'll take over tomorrow, and things ought to be back on track."
“I don't know, Thaddeus,” she said doubtfully.
“About what?"
“Tojo. He's sincere, but he's not you. I don't know what you said to those crowds, but they stayed long enough to watch. Did you hear the applause I got?"
“You deserved it,” replied Flint. “And don't worry about Tojo. He might even improve on what I did. He's going through his library right now, doing research."
“How do you research burlie patter in a classical library?” she laughed.
“Who said anything about meat-show patter?” said Flint. “You've got to adapt to conditions. Righ
t now he's probably figuring out how to do Leda and the Swan."
“I don't understand."
“You don't think these goddamned Procyonians give a damn about naked human females, do you? I gave ‘em some cock-and-bull about a rain dance, and another one about an Indian maiden describing a buffalo hunt through sign language, and—"
“What are you saying?"
“Just that you've graduated from Stripper to Cultural Interpreter."
“But I am a stripper!"
“To me, you are. To them, you're whatever I tell them you are."
“Did you tell them to applaud, too?” she demanded.
“No,” he said. “That was their idea."
“You're a goddamned liar!"
“What's got you so upset?” he asked her.
“Don't you see?” she said, tears of frustration starting to appear. “It wasn't me they paid to see. It was your goddamned fairy tales. It was you who entertained them, not me! They don't even know what I was doing up there!"
“What's the difference?” he asked, unable to understand her outburst. “Gloria, these creatures don't even wear clothes. We filled the tent for Butterfly Delight and no one walked out before the end of the show. What the hell else do you want?"
She brushed a couple of tears off her cheek and stared at him. “I've had religious groups try to shut me down,” she said at last. “But no one ever made fun of my act before tonight."
“Who made fun of it? I just used it."
“You just don't understand what I'm saying, do you?"
“Truthfully? No."
“I'm through. I'm not working for you anymore."
“Where are you going to go?” he asked with a gentle smile.
“I'll think of something. Maybe Mr. Ahasuerus’ visitor will take me with him."
“What do you think you'll find on his world?"
“I don't know. But somewhere, somehow, I'm going to find someone who appreciates who I am and what I do."
She got up from the table and walked rapidly to the elevator.
Flint remained at the table, trying unsuccessfully to comprehend what had gotten her so upset. He was still working on it a few minutes later when Mr. Ahasuerus approached it.
“I hate to disturb you, Mr. Flint,” he said apologetically, “but we have a bit of a problem on our hands."
“You've talked to Gloria?"
“No, I haven't. Why?"
Flint shrugged. “You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine,” he said ironically.
“I have just received a message from John Carp."
“Fast Johnny?” said Flint. “Has he lined us up a couple of new worlds yet?"
“In point of fact, he has just tendered his resignation."
“Shit! Did he give any reason?"
“No,” replied the blue man.
“And he's still shaped like a big gray slug?"
“To the best of my knowledge. And what is your particular problem?"
Flint sighed. “Go to bed, Mr. Ahasuerus. It'll still be a problem tomorrow morning. We'll talk about it then."
“You're sure?"
Flint nodded.
“Goodnight, then,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “I will see you in my office in"—he checked his timepiece—"just under three hours."
Flint winced at the thought, and then nodded.
He decided that there was no sense in going to bed himself, not with the meeting just a couple of hours away, so he walked through the airlock and began strolling along the Midway, hoping the cool night air might invigorate him.
A moment later he heard a single gunshot from the area of Monk's cages.
“Perfect,” he muttered. “Just perfect."
* * *
Chapter 8
Flint yawned and glanced across Mr. Ahasuerus’ office at Kargennian, hoping that the round little alien was sleepier than he looked. It wasn't as if Kargennian had hair, or more than one piece of clothing, but somehow he looked groomed. He also looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and Flint felt a certain amount of loathing surging up inside himself: no one should look that goddamned alert on four hours’ sleep.
“Are we ready to proceed?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus, taking a sip from his ever-present cup of coffee which, Flint noted bitterly, tasted a lot more like real coffee than his beer tasted like real beer. As for the cigarettes ... well, he hadn't had one in hours, and he still felt an urge to cough every time he took a deep breath.
“I believe so,” said Kargennian. “That is, if you are equally ready, Mr. Flint?"
“Right,” said Flint, wondering if he wouldn't have been better off with a nap the night before.
“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, the Corporation has been quite disappointed in your receipts up until your playdates on Procyon III,” began the troubleshooter.
“I can't honestly say that my heart bleeds for them,” commented Flint.
“I shall choose to ignore that remark,” said Kargennian, and Flint shrugged. “To continue, your first five playdates were one unbroken disaster, and I am not convinced you have the capacity to recoup your losses based on six game booths and a—what do you call him?—a sharpshooter."
“We have other attractions,” Mr. Ahasuerus pointed out.
“On the contrary, you have no other attractions worthy of consideration,” replied Kargennian. “Circuses and carnivals are my field of expertise, and I assure you that the games and Billybuck Dancer constitute your only assets. You've got a comedian whose jokes were probably not very funny on Earth and are incomprehensible anywhere else. You've got a girl who, for reasons unknown to me, thinks that shedding her clothing to music constitutes a money-making attraction."
“It made money last night,” said Flint.
“An aberration. I was there, Mr. Flint. I heard you during the last two shows.
You and I both know that you were the only reason the audience remained. This might be acceptable if you were a barker, but you're the owner and manager, and this is profligately wasteful of such managerial talents as you may possess.
“To continue: you have an animal trainer who is too good at his job."
“Could you explain that?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus.
“Those animals are so well trained and obedient that most of the excitement has disappeared from his act, if indeed it was ever there."
“Maybe we ought to introduce you to Bruno and see just how tame you find him,” said Flint dryly.
“I am merely offering you my evaluation, Mr. Flint,” said Kargennian.
“You have someone called Swede on your payroll whose function totally eludes me."
“He's a combination gofer and roughie."
“Whatever that may be,” said Kargennian dryly. “You have four young females working the games, but two of them show a total lack of enthusiasm. I was unable to ascertain the location or whereabouts of one John Edward Carp. That leaves your gamesman, Diggs. He's good at his job, but he and Billybuck Dancer can't support the entire show.” He paused, then added nastily: “According to our latest reports, Mr. Romany is doing far better with your old carnival back on Earth than you are doing out here."
“Mr. Romany took over a show with thirty employees, a decent reputation, established routes and playdates, and three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of rides,” said Flint. “Don't try to impress me with what Mr. Romany is doing. He hasn't got enough brains to come in out of the rain. When he stops taking advice from Alma and Queenie and some of the others we left behind, he'll be broke inside of six months’ time."
“That is neither here nor there,” said Kargennian. “What we are concerned with is your carnival, and it is my considered opinion that it is never going to make a sufficient profit."
“Are you threatening to shut us down?” asked Flint ominously.
“I never threaten, Mr. Flint,” said Kargennian. “If I decide to shut you down, I'll do it, plain and simple. There is an alternative, however."
“And what is that?” asked Mr. A
hasuerus politely.
“As I said, the show is not a total loss. The sharpshooter is brilliant, and I have never seen anything like your Psychic and Skillo games in my life. And this Auction routine that the little one—what was his name? Ah, yes: Tojo—that Tojo explained to me sounds like a scintillating concept."
“Get to the point,” said Flint.
“The point, Mr. Flint, is that while you haven't the capability to produce the necessary receipts, you do have certain assets—your games and your marksman—that certainly can be put to use."
“In what way?"
“The Corporation runs a number of carnivals and circuses,” explained Kargennian. “I feel reasonably sure that I could arrange to have one of them annex your operation. I hasten to point out that there would be work for everyone, including yourself and Mr. Ahasuerus, as well as such employees you wished to take along. Of course, the deal would revolve about Billybuck Dancer and your games expertise.” He pause thoughtfully. “Yes, I think I can guarantee that we could arrange to have one of the shows assimilate your carnival, with no loss of work or income to anyone."
“That's very generous of you,” said Flint.
“Well, you're part of the corporate family now, and we do try to protect our own."
“How comforting,” said Flint dryly. “Did you have a particular show in mind?"
“As a matter of fact,” answered Kargennian, “there is a circus currently playing on Canphor VII that could easily accommodate your show."
“You don't say?” inquired Flint with a smile.
“Yes. The more I think of it, the more certain I am that that's the place for you. What do you say, Mr. Flint? If you're agreeable, I think we can make all the necessary arrangements before I leave this evening."
Flint laughed aloud. “I say that this is going to be easier than I thought!” He turned to the blue man. “Did you spot it?"
“It was the offer, wasn't it?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus.
“Of course it was."
“Would someone please tell me what is going on here?” demanded Kargennian.
“Why don't you trot outside and take a look at all the signs we've got posted on the grounds?” replied Flint.
“I don't understand,” said the efficiency expert.
