The Three-Legged Hootch Dancer: Tales of the Galactic Midway, Vol. 2

by Mike Resnick

  “Thaddeus was never much for thanking anyone,” replied Gloria wryly.

  “As for Tojo, he's probably the happiest person you know."

  “Truly?"

  “He spent his whole life looking for a family. Now he has one."

  “I see,” said the magician.

  “Sometimes I don't,” admitted Gloria. “Tojo can be totally satisfied just being among his friends."

  “And you can't?"

  “No offense, Houdini,” she said. “But no, I can't. We're not all like that, you know. Look at Monk. He'd sooner risk his life against another Demoncat than stop being what he is. Some people are only happy doing what they've been trained to do. It's all in how you look at it."

  “Despite the fact that your profession is considered degrading?” asked Houdini.

  “Who told you that?” she demanded.

  The magician looked flustered. “I've spoken to some of the others about it—just to try to understand your devotion to your craft."

  “Yeah? Well, Priscilla would degrade herself in two seconds flat if Thaddeus offered her a raise. She's done it before."

  “I meant no offense,” said Houdini.

  “I'm sure you didn't, but you have to understand that degradation is in the eye of the beholder. I never felt cheap or degraded when I was dancing, or even when I heard Thaddeus and some of the others discussing it. I can't help what they think. All I can do is be true to myself. I'm not like Tojo, or even you. Friends and security aren't enough for me. I want to do what I'm good at!"

  “So do we all,” he said gently.

  “But most of you will settle for something else. I can't."

  “You feel I have settled for something less?” he asked earnestly.

  ’”Do you plan to stay with the show?"

  “It is infinitely preferable to Kargennian's circus,” he replied. “I am allowed to perform my illusions, the people are congenial, and I have made a friend. Yes, I plan to remain."

  “And you don't feel you've made any compromises?"

  “No."

  “But you only perform for five minutes at a time, three shows a night,” she pointed out.

  “Mr. Flint feels that is all the audience will accept before becoming restless."

  “And you agree with him?” she persisted.

  “No. Not really,” he admitted.

  “But you don't fight it. You work less than two percent of each day, and you settle for it because it's better than being with Kargennian."

  “I never looked at it that way,” he said, his face troubled.

  “Do you try new tricks, new routines that push you to the limits of your abilities?"

  “No, I do not."

  “You settle,” she repeated.

  “But I am still a magician,” he insisted defensively. “I still perform for an audience. I am not like Tojo in that respect."

  She shook her head. “Tojo doesn't want to be a magician. He just wants to belong, and he'll put up with every kind of abuse Thaddeus can dish out for fear of losing what he's got."

  “Yes, I see,” he said thoughtfully. “I am much more like Tojo than like you."

  “Cheer up,” she said. “It's probably a lot more comfortable."

  “Comfortable or not, it's me,” he said with a wan smile. “What can I do?"

  “If it's you, why do you want to do anything?” she replied.

  “Because you make me feel guilty,” he said. Then he shook his head. “No. You make me feel ashamed."

  “Why? You're what you are. You can't be anything else. You're Houdini the Great, and at least you're working. I'm trying to be a Butterfly Delight, and I'm taking tickets from people who are paying to watch you and Monk and the Dancer."

  “Then be Gloria."

  “I tried,” she said seriously. “I really did. And I found out what I guess I had known all along: Gloria's not worth being."

  “She is my friend,” Houdini said firmly.

  “That's only because you're a funny-looking alien who walks on three legs and plays poker with the boys,” she replied with a sad smile. “Once you've been around for a while, you won't like her or dislike her at all. You just won't think of her.” She paused for a moment and gazed wistfully into the distance. “I wish you could have met Butterfly Delight."

  “Maybe someday,” he said quietly.

  Gloria suddenly seemed oblivious to his presence, and after a few minutes the magician sighed and wandered back to the Midway. Monk was medicating his leopards, Diggs was schooling his workers in some new scam or other, and Stogie was trying out a new pantomime routine on the Dancer, who watched him with a pleasant, impassive smile on his face.

  Finally Houdini spied Flint and Mr. Ahasuerus walking toward the ship, and he approached them. “Mr. Flint, I wish to have a word with you,” he said harshly.

  “I'll speak to you later,” said the blue man to his partner, and started off toward the airlock.

  “No,” said Houdini. “This concerns you, too."

  Mr. Ahasuerus stared at him, but said nothing.

  “It's about Gloria,” said the magician.

  “I told you last night—” began Flint.

  “I know what you told me last night,” continued Houdini. “It is not good enough."

  “I notice the word sir seems to have vanished from your vocabulary,” remarked Flint, looking mildly amused.

  “What is all this about, Mr. Flint?” inquired the blue man.

  “Gloria's picked up a convert,” replied Flint. “I suppose we're going to have to let her play to another empty house before he shuts up."

  “No,” said the magician. “But you can let her perform in the specialty show."

  “And have everyone walk out before the Dancer arrives?” said Flint. “No chance, Houdini."

  “Let her go on in my place,” persisted Houdini.

  “I already told you: No,” said Flint. “Besides, you're a damned fine magician."

  “It doesn't mean as much to me as her art does to her."

  “You keep talking as if an audience wasn't involved,” said Flint. “Look, if I could run her act at a loss, I'd do it, just to shut both of you up. But if she sees one more crowd get up and leave, she could wind up in a straitjacket."

  “I am not familiar with that term."

  “My partner is trying to say that one more rejection could well upset her mental balance,” said the blue man gently. “Sadly, I must agree with him. Gloria is not a stable person."

  “That's because she's not Gloria at all,” said Houdini. “She is Butterfly Delight."

  “You, too?” said Flint disgustedly. “Butterfly Delight is a goddamned stage name, nothing more."

  “You are wrong!” snapped the magician. “It is the only real thing in her life!"

  “The only goddamned reality that accrues to Butterfly Delight these days is that she's making the hired help awfully uppity!” snapped Flint.

  Houdini turned to face the blue man. “I appeal to you, sir. Make him put her back in the show!"

  “What can I say?” replied Mr. Ahasuerus with an eloquent shrug. “I agree with him."

  “But you are different from him!” insisted Houdini. “You must be!"

  The blue man shook his head. “We are two sides of a coin. He lacks empathy and tact, although he is slowly acquiring both. I lack drive and ambition, though I too am learning. We complement each other perfectly."

  “Is there nothing I can say, no means by which I can supplicate you?” said the magician.

  “Let Mr. Flint and myself discuss the matter in private,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus. “Possibly there is a compromise to be discovered."

  “Thank you, sir,” said Houdini. He looked at Flint. “I apologize for my rudeness."

  The magician turned and began walking back toward the knoll, his shoulders hunched, his head lowered.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  The journey took five days at speeds that were many multiples of light.
r />   Gloria was resentful that the confines of the small ship were such that she was unable to exercise, and before long resentment had given way to claustrophobia. She wished that Mr. Ahasuerus had programmed the robot pilot to play cards or checkers, or at least to talk, though she couldn't imagine what she would have to talk about with a machine.

  Finally, 117 hours into the voyage, the robot applied the braking mechanism, and as the universe once more became intelligible on the ship's viewing screen, she saw a large red star looming off in the distance, above her and to the right. They were approaching it so rapidly she was sure they would plunge right into it, but after another hour had passed she realized that they were going to slingshot around it. The robot chose an orbit almost two hundred million miles out from the star, and then she saw her destination: a brown planet, partially hidden from view by thick gray cloud cover. Again she had the feeling that the ship was moving too rapidly to avoid a disaster, and again she breathed a sigh of relief when it snapped around the planet as it had done with the star, and began orbiting it at a height of almost three hundred miles.

  The orbit was rapid and eccentric, and she guessed that the ship's somewhat limited sensing devices were trying to find Carp's ship. It seemed an impossible task to her, but after seven orbits a number of lights began blinking on and off and the ship began descending.

  She decided she would be happier if she didn't watch the ground come up to meet her, so she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes until she felt the very gentle jarring sensation of touchdown and heard a number of the ship's systems begin clicking off.

  Only then did she look at the viewscreen again, and what she saw filled her with dismay. How could Fast Johnny have chosen to stay on a world that looked like watery chocolate pudding and how, given the size of that world, was she ever supposed to find him?

  One of the ship's computer screens began flashing an atmospheric readout, but she paid no attention to it. The planet's oxygen-nitrogen content held no interest for her, and besides, Mr. Ahasuerus had already warned her that continued exposure to the air—anything over fifteen minutes—would prove hazardous. She had hoped to get away with just wearing a breathing mask, but then she noticed on another screen that the temperature was 16 degrees centigrade.

  She didn't know what that translated into as Fahrenheit, but she decided to wear an entire spacesuit just to be on the safe side.

  She pressed the button Flint had pointed out to her, and the ship produced a burst of high-pitched whistles, intended to be loud enough to draw the attention of any nearby natives. (He had explained, as gently as he could, that he didn't trust her to read a compass and didn't want her straying out of sight of the ship, and she had instantly agreed with no trace of embarrassment or humiliation.) She pushed another button and the ship began sending out short-wave radio signals as well. Then, having nothing further to do, she watched the viewing screen and waited. She had a sinking feeling that it would take days before any inhabitants of the planet found the ship, but to her surprise she saw three enormous gray slugs slither into view within twenty minutes. She immediately donned her spacesuit, hooked up her translating devices—one for sending, one for receiving—and went out to meet them. (They had used only one device—a sender—at the carnival, but that was because Flint didn't much care what the marks said as long as they spent their money.) “Hello,” she said uneasily. “Can one of you tell me where I might find John Edward Carp?"

  The three slugs responded with shrill hooting noises, and she realized that she had not activated the translating devices. She did so now, and repeated her question.

  “One of us can,” replied the nearest of the slugs.

  Perhaps it was the way the translator worded the sentence, perhaps not.

  Certainly there was nothing human in the tone of the voice, nor any trace of humanity in the slug's body ... but somehow she knew.

  “Johnny?” she said hesitancy. “Is that you?"

  “Hi, Gloria,” replied the slug. “How's tricks?"

  “My God—what have they done to you?"

  Carp turned to his two companions. “You can leave us now,” he said. “I'll be all right.” He wriggled around and faced Gloria again, as the other two slugs crawled off into the slime and ooze of the planet's surface. “I figured Thaddeus would send someone after me before too much longer. That's why I've been hanging around the ship. I can tell the Hods apart, but I imagine we must all look alike to you."

  “They're called Hods?"

  “Yes. So am I, these days."

  “I hardly know what to say,” began Gloria. “They told me what you had become, but being told is one thing and seeing it with my own eyes is another."

  “I wouldn't know about that,” said Carp, wriggling closer. “I don't have eyes anymore."

  “Oh!” said Gloria, startled. “I hadn't noticed."

  “Don't let it upset you. There are compensations. I assume you're here for the ship?"

  She nodded. “And for you."

  “Good old Thaddeus!” said Carp, and from the way his body undulated she was sure he was laughing. “I'll bet he thinks he's going to hold me to my contract!"

  “Johnny,” said Gloria, “I know it's you, but would you stop coming so near to me? It makes me nervous."

  “Anything you say,” said Carp. “Well, give me your sales pitch, get it over with, and then take the goddamned ship and go."

  “You really don't want to come back?” she asked unbelievingly.

  “To what? A five-and-dime carnival? I spent enough time looking at hicks and freaks. Now I've joined them."

  “But why?"

  Carp's entire body shivered as be emitted a long, hooting sigh. “You wouldn't understand."

  “Try me."

  “What the hell,” said Carp. “You're probably the last human I'm ever going to see, so why not? By the way, you don't happen to have a cigarette with you, do you?"

  “I don't smoke,” she replied. “It's bad for your cilia.” Suddenly she was struck by the absurdity of lecturing a slug on the evils of tobacco.

  “I don't even know if the new improved me has any cilia,” said Carp. “Oh, well, it was a silly request at that. For all I know I might explode the second I took a puff. Damn, but I miss them! That's my only regret, Gloria—outside of the fact that I never got you into bed. Just tell me Thaddeus hasn't made it with you either, and all will be forgiven."

  “He hasn't."

  “Good.” He paused. “Why are you smiling?"

  “I thought you couldn't see,” said Gloria.

  “I don't have eyes. That's not quite the same thing."

  “Oh,” said Gloria, bewildered. “I was smiling because I'm sitting here on a strange world having a conversation with a gray slug who's dying for a cigarette and regrets not having gone to bed with me. I think that's pretty funny, don't you?"

  “I suppose it is at that,” admitted Carp. “You know, I never thought I was going to stay this way, not in the beginning. The only reason I volunteered was because the show was going broke playing the worlds Ahasuerus chose, and Thaddeus offered me too much to turn it down."

  “Where did they do it to you?” she asked.

  “A Corporate-owned hospital over on Zeta Piscium IX,” replied Carp. “That was the closest one,” he added. “I guess they've got about two hundred hospitals that can perform the operation."

  “How long did it take?"

  “Three weeks from start to finish. They tell me the usual surgery goes about half that time, but they really had their work cut out for them with me."

  “Did it hurt much?” she asked, fascinated.

  “Like hell itself,” he said, and she was struck by the lack of emotion in his translated voice. “I cursed Thaddeus every second of every minute I was there. The doctors had told me there would be some pain involved. Hah! When a surgeon suggests that you might feel a bit of mild discomfort, you can bet your bottom dollar you're about to undergo the agony of the damned.” He paused. �
��And after three weeks the pain was gone, and so was Fast Johnny Carp. They put me in my ship and set the navigational computer for Baxite."

  “Baxite?"

  “That's what the Hods call this place. I guess you were told it's Gamma Scuti IV. Anyway, I landed here and went out to convince the natives that they really wanted to play host to Thaddeus’ carnival."

  “But why here, of all places?"

  “How the hell would I know? I'm just a two-bit advance man, Gloria. I do know they haven't been stockpiling any gold or diamonds or uranium. You'd have to ask Thaddeus or Ahasuerus or probably someone high up in the Corporation why this place means anything to them. All I know is why it's valuable to me."

  “And why is that?"

  “It feels good."

  “I don't understand,” said Gloria.

  “I told you you wouldn't,” said Carp. “I know it would sound better if I said they've got a utopian society going here, or that no one ever breaks the law, or that all the women are oversexed. But none of that's true. Actually, they're kind of primitive, and there are a hell of a lot of lawbreakers around, and I haven't had the slightest desire to roll in the hay—or the muck—with any of the women."

  “Then why?"

  “I know it's going to be hard for you to swallow, but I feel like a million dollars. I like being a Hod. I like the new senses they gave me, I like the way it feels when I wriggle around on the ground, I like the taste of the stuff I suck up through this thing that used to be my mouth. I know it must disgust you, but I feel happier and healthier than I've ever felt before."

  “Have you a job?"

  “Hell, no! Nobody has. What do I need money for? When I'm hungry I stop wherever I am and suck this stuff up. When I'm sleepy I burrow into the slime and let it cover me up. The Hods are friendly. They don't make any demands upon me, they accept me as one of them, and we get along fine."

  “But who wants to sleep in slime?” she said, making a face.

  “That's the translator screwing up,” said Carp. “Let me see if I can rephrase it. To you, it's slime. To me, the way I am now, it's like a warm waterbed with satin sheets and goosefeather pillows. To you, I drink muck and filth; to me, it's like the finest dishes from Maxim's all laid out for me, waiting for my choice.” He paused again. “How can I make it clear to you? Walking is nothing special. I did it every day of my life, and except for getting me from one place to another I never gave it any thought. But locomoting in this body is a sensual experience. It's like ... I can't come up with an analogous word."