by Mike Resnick
She tried pronouncing it a couple of times until he assured her that she had gotten it right.
“How long have you been an entertainer?” she asked.
“Oh, most of my life,” replied Houdini, taking a wary sip of the juice. “This is quite good. I think the word is tart, is it not?” She nodded, and he continued.
“I left Hesporite five years ago to work for the Corporation. I was very glad to hear that I had been transferred here."
“I didn't know we had all that widespread a reputation,” commented Gloria dryly.
“You have none at all, although of course word has gotten out over the grapevine that your show is somewhat in the nature of an experiment proposed by Mr. Flint under what I understand were rather unusual conditions.” He paused. “I have even heard that he held eleven alien tourists hostage until the deal was struck."
“That's not exactly right,” said Gloria.
“What a relief to know that he is not the monster he is said to be."
“He was holding them against their wills long before he ever got the idea of joining up with Mr. Ahasuerus,” said Gloria.
“But why?"
“He wanted an attraction, and they constituted a ready-made freak show."
She smiled. “Don't worry about it. He's mellowed a little since then.” Her expression darkened. “Which isn't to say that he can't still be a Grade A bastard when mood takes him."
“Oh, dear,” said Houdini, looking troubled. “I had hoped this place would be different."
“Different from what?” asked Gloria, still having some difficulty viewing him as an alien, rather than an oddly shaped Man.
“From the circus. I wasn't very happy there."
“Any particular reason?"
“I had some difficulty making friends,” said Houdini.
“You seem like a very friendly sort to me."
“I try to be,” said the alien. “I like to think that it was mostly due to resentment."
“Because you were so good at what you did?"
“Because I was so unnecessary,” said Houdini with a sigh.
“What do you mean?” asked Gloria, suddenly interested.
“I am a very good magician. I realize that this is an immodest statement, but it is the truth. I have studied and worked at my craft all my life.” He paused, reached into the air and produced Gloria's comb, which he handed back to her. “Most of my tricks are sleight-of-hand. They depend on skill and swiftness and misdirection. I disdain production boxes and other manufactured aids. I feel that a true magician never relies on mechanical contrivances, and so I have never incorporated any into my act."
“I see."
“On Hesporite III, I was acknowledged to be one of the finest magicians of my era. I had a booking agent and a business manager and three assistants, and people appreciated what I did."
“What happened?” asked Gloria, who had a sinking feeling that she knew the answer.
“I had an opportunity to tour the galaxy as a performer with one of the Corporation's shows, which was when I found out that what appeals to one race may arouse no interest at all in another. What good is a mind-reading act in a society of telepaths? Why should a race that possesses the power of telekinesis, that can move objects from one place to another or make them wink out of existence at will, care to see a magician produce flowers out of empty air? What need have they of my illusions?” He paused, lost in thought, for a moment. “I was sent from one show to another, seeking an appreciative audience. At Kargennian's circus I was actually relegated to the role of cleaning up after the animals—but of course I still have a number of years to run on my initial contract, and so I was perhaps the highest-paid lackey in the show, which caused considerable resentment. That's why I was so hopeful when Mr. Flint actually requested a magician. Of course, I found out later that his first choice was a juggler. But my hands are rather deft and facile; perhaps I can learn to juggle if my illusions do not please him."
“You'll do no such thing!” said Gloria hotly. “You're a magician: be a magician!"
“But if Mr. Flint doesn't—"
“Mr. Flint has ruined enough careers!” she continued. “You go out and do what you're best at."
Houdini stared at her for a long moment, his face alien inscrutable.
“May I assume,” he said at last, “that you were not always a ticket-taker?"
“You may."
“Would it be indiscreet to ask what your specialty may have been?"
“No, it's not indiscreet,” said Gloria. “I just don't want to talk about it. It's over."
“As you wish. I understand,” he said, changing they subject, “that we are to be leaving Procyon III shortly."
Gloria nodded. “I heard something to that effect. I think the only reason we're still here is because we were waiting for you."
“And where will we be going next?"
“It doesn't really matter. One world is pretty much like the next."
“Oh, no!” he said enthusiastically. “You are mistaken. Each, no matter how similar in appearance, has certain intangibles that make it unique. Have you ever been to Altair VIII?"
She shook her head.
“Bareimus III? No? How about—"
“I've been on six ugly little worlds, each more primitive than the last,” interrupted Gloria.
“Then you have much to look forward to,” said Houdini. “Just within the Community of Worlds itself there are more than three thousand populated planets. Have you ever heard of Vasor?"
“No, I haven't."
“A fabulous world! It's populated by a race of incredibly long-legged beings who spend their entire lives following the sun over the horizon. They never pause to rest, they never know nightfall, they—"
“They also don't have any use for a carnival, do they?” she interrupted.
“No, I suppose not,” replied Houdini. “But with so many wondrous worlds at your disposal, you can't view them only in the light of whether or not they would support a carnival."
“Why not? I'm stuck with the show. If it doesn't go there, I don't go there."
“But surely you don't plan to remain with the carnival forever,” he persisted. “Once your contract runs out—"
“We can't go back to Earth,” said Gloria. “Earth isn't a member of your Community. It's not even supposed to know that you exist. So I'm stuck here. These people may not be much, but they're all I've got."
“I see,” said the magician slowly.
“You can go home, where people appreciate what you do,” continued Gloria bitterly. “I can't."
There was an awkward silence, during which Houdini sipped thoughtfully at his drink. Finally he looked at her and spoke again. “Can you tell me something about the other specialty acts with which I shall be working?"
“Well, there's Jupiter Monk. You may have seen him, since he was supposed to be having some kind of animal delivered. He's a big guy with a handlebar mustache."
“He requested a Demoncat?” asked Houdini unbelievingly.
“I don't know the story on it,” replied Gloria. “All I know is that he came out with four animals, and one of them has already died. He needed a replacement."
“It happens,” agreed the magician. “Animals seem to have a much harder time making adjustments to new worlds than do sentient beings."
“The other one is Billybuck Dancer. You probably won't see him until showtime. He keeps pretty much to himself."
“And what is his area of expertise?"
“He's a sharpshooter."
“I'm afraid the term is unfamiliar to me."
“How can I put it?” said Gloria. “He has this gun that shoots bullets..."
“Ah! A projectile weapon!"
“I guess so. Anyway, he can shoot a cigarette out of your mouth at one hundred feet. He also throws knives."
“It sounds fascinating,” said Houdini. “I must be sure to watch his performance."
“He's pretty good,”
admitted Gloria. “A little crazy, but good."
“Crazy?” repeated Houdini with a worried expression.
“Oh, he doesn't go around shooting people,” said Gloria with an amused smile, “if that's what you're worrying about. He's just a bit ... well, odd. You always get the feeling that he's not really listening to you, that his mind is somewhere else."
“It's all very confusing,” answered the magician, “but I'm sure I'll be highly entertained."
“Most people are."
“I wonder if I could make one further imposition upon you,” said Houdini hesitantly.
“I don't know,” said Gloria. “What is it?"
“Mr. Flint seems to have left me totally on my own, while he is concentrating on helping Diggs train the new staff for the game booths. Since the nature of your job is such that you do not have to spend long hours practicing at it, I wonder if you might show me around.” He looked hopefully at her. “I really don't know who else to ask."
She shrugged. “Sure. Why not?"
“Good!” he exclaimed. “I will go to the fourth level and claim a compartment, and then return for you."
“I'll be here,” said Gloria.
He walked to the door, then turned briefly to face her. “You have been very kind to me. I hope that you will become my friend."
“You sound like you could use one,” she replied.
She waited until he had left, then added under her breath: “Almost as much as me."
* * *
Chapter 12
John Edward Carp locomoted—there is no other word for it—through the muck and the slime that had become his home, exulting in the feel of his undulating musculature, the rich texture of the oxygen coursing through his bloodstream, the pungent odors that existed nowhere else in the galaxy.
Though he no longer had eyes, he saw—again, no other word will suffice—three of his companions huddled about a puddle, sucking sustenance from it.
"Greetings, John Edward Carp,” burbled the nearest of the three. “May strength and health permeate your essence.” Carp attempted an obeisance that he had not yet fully mastered, and returned the salutation.
"Have they contacted you yet?"
"No,” answered Carp.
"They will. The ship is valuable. Soon they will come for it—and for you."
Carp wrinkled his vast gray nostrils contemptuously.
"Let ‘em,” he replied."
* * *
Chapter 13
Back off!” shouted Monk.
The entire crew of the carnival, which had crowded around the training cage to watch Monk's first encounter with the Red Devil, backed away.
“Farther! I don't want him getting the idea that he's surrounded."
The carnival had left the Procyonian system forty-eight hours after the aliens’ arrival, but instead of going directly to Mirzam X, the next planet on its agenda, it had diverted to Belore II when Monk insisted upon a gravity identical to Earth's for his first few sessions with the beast.
“What makes you think he'd like Earth gravity?” Flint had protested. “We don't even know what kind of world he comes from."
“Maybe not,” Monk had answered firmly. “But I know what kind of world I come from—and if I've got to jump or sidestep to save my life, I want my feet to wind up where I was planning for them to wind up."
Flint had argued futilely, and finally had Mr. Ahasuerus arrange a six-day booking on Belore II, which, with 98.3% Earth gravity, was the closest Monk was likely to get to his ideal conditions.
Actually, thought Flint as the Red Devil's cage was wheeled out and buttressed up against the door of the training cage, the trip to Belore might work out all the way around. While Monk was working with the animal, he and Diggs would turn it into a shakedown period for the new crew, learning their strengths and weaknesses and figuring out what to do about the latter.
“Careful!” snapped Monk to the two robots that were handling the cage. “Don't get him riled up."
Then the door slid open, and suddenly the Red Devil leaped to the center of the training cage with incredible swiftness.
“Jesus, he's quick!” muttered Monk from his position just outside the door.
Flint approached him. “You sure you want to go through with this? He looks a lot bigger here than in his own cage."
“Might as well,” said Monk grimly. “I ain't getting any younger and he ain't getting any nicer.” He turned to the crowd until he spotted the man he was looking for. “Hey, Dancer!"
The Dancer approached him. “Want me to ride shotgun, Jupiter?” he asked pleasantly.
“Something like that,” admitted Monk. “Stay close to the door and put a bullet into this bastard if it looks like I'm in trouble."
“I'd say you were in a mess of trouble already,” offered the Dancer.
“I agree,” said Flint. “Jupiter, let's call this whole thing off and send the goddamned animal back gift-wrapped to Kargennian."
Monk sighed and shook his head. “I'm an animal trainer, Thaddeus. This is my job. It's what you pay me to do."
“I'm not paying you enough to mess with that thing,” said Flint fervently.
“If it comes to that, Thaddeus,” said Monk with a smile, “you ain't paying me enough to mess with Bruno or the leopards, either."
He withdrew his whip from his belt, picked up a small metal chair with his left hand, and walked to the door.
“Dancer, go around the other side and get his attention for a minute,” he said.
The Dancer walked halfway around the cage and stepped up to the bars.
The result was electrifying: the Red Devil leaped across the intervening distance in a single bound, shot a forepaw between the bars, and missed taking off the Dancer's face by less than an inch.
“That's some pet you've got, Jupiter,” said the Dancer, more amused than startled.
Monk didn't answer. He had stepped inside the cage and was waiting for the robots to lock the door before calling the beast's attention to himself.
When he heard the catch click into place he whistled once, then held the chair out in front of him as the Red Devil turned to face him.
The huge carnivore crouched as if to spring again, and Monk cracked his whip. The sound caused the Red Devil to flinch, and it jumped some ten feet to its right.
“Quick,” muttered Monk, not without a touch of admiration. “Goddamned quick!"
He stood motionless for a few seconds, waiting to see what the Red Devil would do next. When the beast contented itself with glaring at him, he took a step forward, extending the chair in front of him. Nothing happened, and he took another step.
Then the Red Devil roared and charged at him. He backed up two paces, and the creature came to a stop twelve feet from him.
He knew he'd made a mistake. The next time the Red Devil tried to bluff him it would assume he was going to back away, and if he didn't, they were likely to collide more by accident than design.
He cracked the whip again and took a step toward the beast, hoping to make it back away. It didn't move, and he extended the arm that was holding the chair and took another step—and, with a suddenness that surprised him even though he was expecting it, the Red Devil bounded forward and slapped at the chair with a forepaw. It was ripped out of his hand, and careened off the bars some fifteen feet away.
“Now?” asked the Dancer.
Monk shook his head, afraid that the sound of his voice might startle the creature and precipitate a charge.
They stood motionless, glaring at each other, for the better part of thirty seconds. Then Monk's gaze fell on one of the stools he used for the leopards, and he decided to see if he could drive the Red Devil over to it. He cracked the whip once to get the creature's attention riveted upon it, then snaked it out and snapped it again.
The Red Devil hissed and backed away. Monk circled around it, always keeping the whip between them, until he reached the chair. Never taking his eyes from the creature, he leaned down
and retrieved it. Not that the chair would afford him any protection, but it would give the Red Devil an extra target, and might buy him the fraction of a second he needed to avoid an all-out attack if one was launched.
He started muttering words, meaningless words, to get the creature used to the sound of his voice. The Red Devil hissed and snarled and crouched as if to charge, but then the whip cracked again and once more it backed off.
Monk approached a little closer, then started swaying back and forth to make it harder for the creature to gauge his distance. Finally it was the constant motion itself that precipitated another charge, and this time Monk snapped the whip against the Red Devil's moist, leathery nostrils.
The creature roared in pain and surprise, and jumped completely across the cage before turning to face Monk once again.
“So now you know it does more than make noise,” whispered Monk. “Now let's see if you're smart enough to avoid it."
He began cracking the whip to the left side of the Red Devil, hoping to move it to the right. It took two steps to the right, then stood motionless while the whip touched it again.
Then, without a sound, it hurled itself straight at the animal trainer. Monk held the chair out, only to see it go flying across the cage again. He flicked out the whip, but the Red Devil paid it no attention. It stalked him, belly to ground soundlessly, oblivious to the noise and pain of the whip, and Monk began backing away toward the door.
Suddenly the Red Devil leaped right past him and positioned itself by the door, and Monk began backing away in the opposite direction.
And now the stalk continued, as the creature, silent as Death, its red eyes gleaming, slowly approached the trainer, no longer even pretending to notice the whip.
“Get ready, Dancer!” said Monk sharply.
The Red Devil backed him up against the bars, then slowly, almost leisurely, gathered itself to pounce upon him. Monk yelled and took a single step toward it, hoping to scare it back, but it paid no notice whatsoever.
Then a single shot rang out, and all hell broke loose. The Red Devil screamed, careened over backward, and started clawing at the canvas floor.
Finally it looked up at Monk and hurled itself at him, and the Dancer fired again.
