by Mike Resnick
The creature did a full flip in the air and began turning circles, totally disoriented. Three more quick shots finally put it on its side, and then the Dancer entered the cage and put a final bullet through the Red Devil's eye.
It shuddered once and then lay still.
“Not much stopping power in a cowboy pistol,” said the Dancer apologetically.
Monk was too weak and breathless to answer. He stood where he was, propped up against the bars of the cage, until his heart stopped pounding.
Then, finally, he took a deep breath, let it out, and walked to the door.
“I'm sorry, Thaddeus,” he said as Flint approached him.
“About what?” asked Flint, honestly bewildered.
“I cost you an animal.” He turned back and looked at the Red Devil. “Lord, he was something! I never saw anything that big move that fast. And smart! He was just playing games the whole time I was trying to work him with my whip."
“You almost sound as if you liked him,” said Houdini, stepping forward to get a better look at the dead animal.
“No one could like something like that,” said Monk, “but I sure as hell respected him. Still do, for that matter. Lord, he was quick!” He shrugged.
“Well, I guess it's back to the leopards and bears. I'd sure like to meet the guy who puts a Red Devil through its paces."
“No one ever has,” said Houdini.
“Somehow that doesn't surprise me,” said Monk. He turned to Flint.
“Thaddeus, I want another one."
“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Flint.
“I want another Red Devil. If the show won't pay for it, take it out of my salary. I've got no place to spend it anyway."
“Are you crazy?” said Flint. “You were in there with it. You saw what it's like."
“Thaddeus,” said Monk patiently, “I'm an animal trainer. It's what I am, it's what I do. This is an animal that's never been tamed. I can't keep fucking around with bears and leopards after being in there with something like a Red Devil."
“You're nuts, you know that!” snapped Flint. “What would have happened if the Dancer's aim had been off?"
“I don't want the Dancer around next time. I'll take other precautions—precautions that won't wind up killing it."
“We'll talk about it tomorrow,” said Flint, “after your brain starts functioning again."
“I'm gonna tell you the same thing tomorrow,” answered Monk. Flint snorted and walked off, and the animal trainer turned to Houdini. “Do you know a lot about these animals?"
“Very little, actually,” replied the magician. “I've seen two on display in zoos, and of course Kargennian exhibited this one for almost a year."
“I've got to shower and grab some lunch and work out with my animals,” said Monk, “but I want to talk to you later. How's dinnertime suit you?"
“Fine,” said Houdini. “But I must agree with Mr. Flint. Only a person bent on suicide would want a second encounter with a Demoncat."
“Maybe,” said Monk. “But if I let one of these bastards scare me, then pretty soon I'll be afraid to work with Bruno and the cats. An animal trainer who's lost his guts ain't an animal trainer anymore. You follow me?"
“I am trying to,” admitted Houdini. “But I think there is a fallacy in your reasoning."
“I'm not talking about being right!” snapped Monk. “I'm talking about being me!” He smiled and shrugged. “I didn't mean to yell at you. Keep dinnertime open, okay?"
“All right,” said the magician with a sigh.
Monk walked off to the ship, and the crew began dispersing. Houdini saw Gloria walking away and hurried ahead to join her.
“It was quite exciting, wasn't it?” he asked her.
“He was almost killed,” she replied coldly. “Is that your idea of excitement?"
“Well, to be honest, yes,” admitted Houdini. “I mean, isn't that the underlying reason why people come to see him—the thought that he might be killed?"
“If you say so."
“You seem unhappy. Is it something I have said or done?"
“No, Houdini. Can't a person be unhappy over something you're not responsible for?"
They wandered to a lichen-covered knoll about a quarter of a mile from the ship and sat down in the shade of a large treelike fern possessed of huge yellow leaves.
“It has something to do with Monk,” said Houdini, finally.
“Nosy, aren't you?"
“I don't mean to be, but you're the only person here who has taken an interest in me, so naturally I am distressed that you are unhappy. You have some emotional attachment toward Monk and were afraid that the animal would kill him."
“Toward Jupiter?” she laughed. “Don't be silly!"
“Then perhaps it is the fact that he will very likely be throwing away his life the next time he steps into a cage with a Demoncat."
She shook her head. “It's what he'll be throwing his life away for."
“You object to animal training?"
“I object to the fact that he'll be allowed to give everything, even his life, for his art, and that I am allowed to give nothing. Now do you understand?"
“Ah, yes!” he said, his features brightening perceptibly. “I believe I do."
“By this time you ought to. You've been tagging around after me like a puppy these past three days."
“Does it offend you?” he asked, suddenly solicitous.
“No,” she sighed. “I suppose not."
She pulled a few pieces of lichen out of the ground and began rolling them idly between her fingers while looking off toward the horizon.
“Gloria?” Houdini said hesitantly after a few minutes had passed.
“Yes?"
“I heard someone mention this morning that you were a stripper."
“So now you know."
“Not really,” he replied apologetically. “I know that you were one, but I don't know what a stripper does."
“You're putting me on,” she said disbelievingly.
“Truly I am not."
“A stripper disrobes to musical accompaniment."
“I see,” said Houdini. “And then what?"
“What do you mean—then what? That's it."
“Perhaps I misunderstood you,” said the magician. “You're saying that what you do is take off your clothes while music plays?"
She looked at him wearily. “Doesn't do much for you, does it?"
“There must be more to it than that. After all, how long can it take to disrobe? Five seconds? Ten? Surely not thirty."
“Sometimes it took as much as twenty minutes,” said Gloria with a wistful smile.
“I knew it was more complex than you made it seem!” said Houdini triumphantly. “Did you sing?"
She shook her head, still smiling. “No. I didn't tell jokes or recite poetry or do magic tricks, either."
Gloria thought his face had become less human and more alien again, as he tried to envision someone taking twenty minutes merely to climb out of her clothes.
“Well, whatever you did, I am certain there was an art to it,” he said diplomatically.
“There was,” said Gloria.
He was silent for a long minute. Then he looked up brightly. “You juggled!"
“No,” she laughed. “Not even that."
“Then...” He shrugged and let his voice trail off.
“All right,” she said. “You're just going to make an ass of yourself asking Monk or someone else if I don't explain it to you.” He smiled gratefully at her, and she continued. “I notice that you wear clothing. Is that common to your race, or do you do it because the other members of the carnival do?"
“All the Djjongi wear clothing,” he replied.
“Only for warmth?"
“No,” he said. “We control our environment, like almost all civilized races."
“Then why?"
“Custom,” he said. “And religious strictures."
�
��Does anyone ever go naked in your society?"
He shook his head. “Only infants, and then only in the privacy of their homes."
“I have been assuming all along that you are a male, but this seems like a proper time to ask: are you?"
“Most definitely,” he assured her.
“What would your reaction be to seeing an unclad female of your race?"
“Shock,” he replied promptly. Then he considered the matter for a moment. “And shame,” he added.
“And sexual excitement?” asked Gloria.
“Please,” he stammered. “This is not a fit topic for discussion."
“Then it would excite you?"
“Possibly,” he answered aloofly.
“Possibly, hell!” laughed Gloria. “It would drive you right up a wall, you dirty old man!"
“I hope you have a reason for embarrassing me,” he said uncomfortably.
“I'm not trying to embarrass you. I'm explaining what I do. I disrobe, as sensually and suggestively as I can, to music."
“In front of males of your race?” he demanded, visibly shocked.
“And an occasional kinky female."
“And do you then perform—how shall I say it—the act of propagation with them?"
“No. The purpose of stripping is simply to titillate."
“I've never heard of anything like that!” exclaimed Houdini.
“Neither, it seems, has anyone else in this goddamned galaxy."
“Aren't you horribly embarrassed when you perform?” he persisted.
“Of course not. It's my job—or anyway, it was my job."
He lowered his head in thought, toying absentmindedly with some fronds that had fallen near him. Finally he looked up. “It is a unique concept, I will grant you that. Is it very popular on your world?"
“Less and less,” admitted Gloria.
“Stricter morality?” he asked.
“Just the opposite."
“But—?"
“Once upon a time, the only place you could see a naked woman outside your own bedroom, or maybe the National Geographic—that's a magazine—was in a strip show. Now that's all changed. Every actress we have has taken her clothes off. The magazines are filled with nudes. The beaches are covered with naked people. Women wear see-through dresses. All strippers do is tease; Linda Lovelace delivers."
“Linda—?"
“An actress, of sorts. No, to be truthful, time and morality have kind of passed strippers by. That's why I came out here: I thought I could keep on doing what I wanted to do, what I'm good at.” She shrugged. “I was wrong."
“Possibly you haven't played the proper world yet,” he said comfortingly.
“There is no proper world for me,” she said. “You can't be a magician on worlds where they have psi powers. Well, I can't be a stripper anywhere but Earth.” She looked at him. “What would you do if I took off my shirt right now?"
“Nothing. Why?"
“What would you do if a Djjong lady took off her shirt five feet away from you?"
He turned away and fumbled for an answer.
“See what I mean?” she said.
“Yes,” he admitted uncomfortably. “But still, it seems to me that an art form that incorporates dance and music should be able to find an appreciative audience on its own merits somewhere."
“The art is to elicit a biological response by virtue of the dance,” she replied. “That sort of limits the audience, doesn't it?"
“I agree. But why be a stripper at all?"
“Why are you a magician?” she shot back.
“I do it well, and it makes me happy,” said Houdini.
“Ditto."
“There must be a world for you somewhere,” he said.
“There is,” replied Gloria. “I walked out on it.” She paused. “Anyway, now you know why I'm upset about Monk. It isn't that he's going to throw his life away in the ring with a Demoncat. It's that he's got something to throw his life away for."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, then rose and prepared to return to the ship.
“Just a minute, Gloria,” said Houdini She turned to him, and he moved his hands mystically in the air. Suddenly he muttered a pair of odd-sounding words and produced a small bouquet of colorful flowers.
“For you,” he said, extending his hand.
“Thank you,” said Gloria, taking the proffered gift. “It's been a long time since anyone gave me flowers. For a snoopy little alien who's doing what he wants for a living, you're not such a bad apple at that."
“May I assume that is a compliment?” asked Houdini, beaming.
“Assume anything you want,” said Gloria, holding the flowers up to her face and hoping he didn't see the tear that trickled down her cheek.
* * *
Chapter 14
It was three in the morning, the show was shut down for the night, and Flint sat in the mess hall, sharing his rapidly diminishing stock of beer with Diggs, Monk, and Tojo. The only other person in the room was Billybuck Dancer, who sat alone at a table in the corner, staring off into time and space, totally oblivious to the argument that was taking place at Flint's table.
“Thaddeus, that's the worst damned carny name I ever heard of!” exclaimed Diggs.
Flint popped open another can and grinned at him.
“He wears a toga, doesn't he?"
“So what?” demanded Diggs.
“And he's got green skin, just like a snake—and he wins most of his matches with a bear hug,” added Flint.
“I know. But Julius Squeezer, for Christ's sake!"
“You got a better name?"
“No,” admitted Diggs. “But I'd sure be hard pressed to come up with a worse one."
“The guy's won thirty-one out of thirty-three matches: he deserves a carny name,” said Flint firmly. “Hell, I'd invite him to join us for a beer, but I imagine he's gotta keep in training.” He turned to the hunchback. “Tojo, that's how I want you to announce him starting tomorrow."
“Julius Squeezer it is,” said Tojo wearily.
“While we're on the subject of names,” Monk put in, “maybe we ought to change Stogie's to the Pied Piper. Have you seen the way the crowds have been following him out from town the past couple of weeks?"
“Never would have thought the old boy had it in him,” admitted Diggs.
“Still, at—what?—two thousand extra a night, hell, he must be responsible for thirty thousand admissions just since we touched down on Mirzam X. And he pulled about ten thousand back on that world where you killed the Red Devil. What was its name?"
“Belore,” said Flint. “You know, Rigger, sometimes I think your memory's starting to go."
“I remember the important stuff,” Diggs shot back. “Like how to fleece a mark. We took in almost a quarter of a million credits tonight."
“I know,” said Flint. “And the rides picked up forty thousand more."
“Some rides!” snorted Monk. “They make a merry-go-round look wild by comparison."
“Yeah,” said Flint. “But these people have never even seen a merry-go-round. As long as we're making money with them, that's all that counts."
“We've turned things around, that's for sure,” said Diggs. “I've got a good feeling about the rest of the tour, Thaddeus."
“You'd sure as hell better,” replied Flint with a smile. “It's not as if you can go home if you're unhappy."
“Who wants to go home?” persisted Diggs. “Maybe now that we're making money, we can finally get out of the sticks and hit a couple of interesting worlds."
“If there are any,” said Flint sardonically.
“Oh, there are,” Diggs said with assurance. “Any worlds that produced some of the aliens I've got working the games have to be interesting."
“Any word on Fast Johnny yet?” said Monk.
Flint shrugged. “Not a peep. And the son of a bitch has still got our ship. I suppose I'm going to have to go out after him one of these days, if I c
an ever learn to pilot one of the two-man jobs."
“Mr. Ahasuerus says the piloting is easy,” offered Tojo. “It's the navigation that's difficult."
“Whatever,” said Flint.
“Thaddeus...” began Monk hesitantly.
“Yeah?"
“Let me go out after him."
“What the hell for?"
“I gotta hunt up some animals,” said Monk. “I haven't wanted to bring it up with everything going so well, but both the cats have diarrhea."
“The food?” asked Flint.
“Who the hell knows? We've been using synthesized food for the past two months. We ran out of real meat back on Kligor.” He paused, staring at his beer can. “I think I'm gonna lose them pretty soon."
“I'm sorry to hear that, Jupiter,” said Flint. “But what makes you think some animal you capture on one of these planets can take the routine any better than they could?"
“It'll take more than a little traveling to kill one of those Red Devils,” said Monk fervently.
“And it'll take more than one guy who doesn't even know where they come from to capture one,” replied Flint firmly. “Besides, you know the score on them: they've never been tamed. You'd either have to kill it or give up on it, and then you'd just be going off to hunt up another one.” He shook his head.
’”No, now that we've turned the corner, I think I can get the Corporation to supply us with whatever animals you need."
“Whatever they send, it'll be something people have seen before. There's a million worlds out there that haven't been touched, Thaddeus,” said Monk, his eyes shining. “Let me go out there and bring back something no one's ever laid eyes on!"
“And by the time you get what you're after, Fast Johnny will have died of old age and his ship will be buried in some swamp,” said Flint with a smile. “I can't okay it, Jupiter. Let's see what else we can come up with."
“All right,” sighed Monk. “But it better be fast. Those poor cats are gonna be dehydrated in another week or two.” He stared across the table at Flint. “And I ain't about to spend the rest of my life holding up targets for the Dancer."
“Nobody's asking you to,” said Flint. “Do you want me to try to get a vet for the cats?"
“I spoke with Mr. Ahasuerus about it,” said Monk. “He tells me that by the time they analyze what makes ‘em tick, they'll probably be dead. So I guess I'll just tend to them to best I can, and hope I can pull them through it this time."
