Mission Earth 09 - Villainy Victorious

by Villainy Victorious [lit]

  "You're describing a Manco Devil."

  "Good," said Madison, who had never heard of one. "I'm glad you've got that straight. So this Manco Devil rules all the people. And they haven't got any money and they are starving. Now, in the opening scene we show the people all huddled and starving and praying and the Devil comes in and kicks them around."

  "How awful!"

  "But wait," said Madison. "The Devil has a huge court of Devils and one of these has lost his Devil child and an old nurse has put a HUMAN child in its place to fool the Devil and the Devil raises this human child, thinking it is his own.

  "So the sight we saw in the first scene-the main Devil kicking the people around-is witnessed by this human child, who is now a young man, and he decides it's bad."

  "Good for him," said Hightee.

  "But the Devils in the court all think this son is one of them. They think he's a reliable officer of good repute. But really, he's planning to help the people. So, whenever he can get away, he puts on a mask and starts robbing trains."

  "Trains?" said Hightee. "What's a train?"

  Madison said, "This is a fantasy."

  "Oh."

  "Now, the Devils all ship their valuables and money on these trains."

  "Ah, a train is a space-liner between planets," said Hightee.

  "Well, kind of," said Madison. "And the hero robs them."

  "You mean the fellow goes CRIMINAL?"

  "Well, he HAS to," said Madison.

  "Oh, I don't think that would go down well. People despise criminals."

  Madison said, "Well, this isn't really criminal. It's in a good cause. He robs the trains and he gives the money away to the poor and they DON'T STARVE!"

  "Listen," said Hightee. "It's the people who raise the food. If they didn't raise the food, they couldn't buy anything with the money the hero gives them."

  "Oh, the Devils grab the food and the people have to bribe them to get it back. So suddenly the Devils find out WHO the bandit is. A Devil's own son! So they de­clare him an OUTLAW! And there's a lot of fighting and the Outlaw escapes."

  "Hurray!" said Hightee.

  "But the Devils finally catch him," said Madison, "and hang him. Hang him up high and very dead. The people all cry--"

  "Wait a minute," said Hightee. "I don't see any part in this for me. There's no girl."

  "Well, I was coming to that. You're the hero's sister."

  "Then I must be a Devil, as he was a stolen child."

  "No, no. The Devil stole a brother and SISTER! I forgot to mention it. And in the musical, the sister warns and saves the hero time and again. And SHE'S the one who sings all the songs. The Outlaw just runs around shooting people, and the sister, in the songs, describes what he is doing. And all the people begin singing her songs."

  "So there're a lot of choruses."

  "Exactly!" said Madison. "Now the last scene when they hang him is the great one. All the people are there watching him choke out his life on the scaffold--"

  "How grisly!"

  "And the sister comes in and sings a great song, a kind of a dirge. And then the Devils realize that she was the one who tipped him off all the time and they hang her on the spot!"

  "No!"

  "Yes. Right alongside her brother on a second scaf­fold. And then two graves open up and huge skeletal hands come out of them and grab the bodies off the scaf­folds. And then the people all rise up and sing the song she had been singing and remember the Outlaw forever!"

  Hightee Heller was staring at him, wide-eyed.

  Madison held his breath. Would she fall for it?

  A speaker underneath a flowering tree opened up and interrupted them. "Hightee, the instrument is ready."

  Chapter 2

  Madison, as he followed her into the music practice room, knew he had better be awfully lucky or awfully good or both.

  The place was a domed room with no flat surfaces to reflect sound. It was decorated with huge enlarge­ments of Voltarian single notes in pastel blue that hung in various places as baffles to farther break up the sound. The interior of the dome was a pastel yellow. Jarp was hanging something from wires in the middle of the room. It was the drawn piano keyboard but the keys were vertical and it was raised five feet above the floor.

  "No," said Madison. "You sit down to it."

  "No musician ever sits down," said Jarp. "It must be awfully lazy music."

  "Give him what he wants," said Hightee. "I can't see for the life of me how you play such a thing. Keys?"

  At Madison's direction, Jarp had a band helper get a stool and then they supported the keyboard horizontal and firmed it in place.

  Madison, on his part, couldn't possibly see how it would work. The keys, white and black, were simply drawn on paper. They had no action up or down at all.

  He summoned up his nerve. It was all or nothing. He struck one of the painted, motionless keys with one finger and he got a sort of a howl.

  "Oh, no," he said. "A piano doesn't sound like that. It vibrates more like a harp"

  "Let's see if we've got the notes right, first," said Jarp.

  Madison limbered up his fingers, wishing he had at least tried to entertain people since he was twelve. He ran the whole scale from bottom to the top. Yes, the notes were all on pitch. But no piano ever HOWLED!

  "The tones are wrong," said Madison. "A piano note is bright and bubbling."

  "My word," said Jarp. "Well, here's the adjustment tool and that's the panel over on the right end. The first slot is 'attack,' the second is 'decay.' The next one is 'over­tones' and the bottom one is 'percussion.' See what you can do."

  Striking one picture of a key with one finger, Madi­son fiddled with the controls. He began to perspire. He got rid of the howls and got some sharp striking notes but it still didn't sound like a piano. Far too dead now.

  "What's this second box under the top one?" said Madison.

  "Well, that thing I pasted the picture on is a chorder-bar. I moved the contact points under it so they match the pictures that you drew, only I can't figure why any­body would want pictures to play an instrument. You simply press the right spots hard or soft. And you don't want that second box. That's drums, cymbals and bells."

  "Ah!" said Madison and promptly went to work with his tool on the second box. He found another slot Jarp hadn't mentioned: it was "resonance."

  Striking one note repeatedly, he thought he finally had it right.

  He wiped off his hands, flexed his fingers, and with­out daring to hope, experimentally struck a chord. It felt so weird not to have anything move.

  Everything, he felt, depended upon this now.

  He took a deep breath and began to play "Beale Street Blues."

  He got very interested. This thing was putting out sound like the most jangly honky-tonk piano he had ever heard.

  He was making an AWFUL lot of flubs and sour chords.

  Too much depended on this. He was rattled. He stopped playing and wiped off his hands again. He shook his fingers in the air. What piece had he been enamored with and had played a lot? Then he remembered. It was Scott Joplin's music they had used in the movie The Sting. It seemed very appropriate.

  He started playing. This instrument really did have a wide dynamic range; the soft was soft and the loud was LOUD! He started to give it the heavy downbeat of rag­time.

  He glanced sideways at his audience of two. He could tell nothing from their faces.

  He thought he had the instrument now. He reached over to his briefcase and whipped out a sheet. "Now this," he said, "is one of the lyrics of the musical." Nothing had been easier than to come up with music, for he could pirate the entire library of Earth ragtime and blues and simply get words written to it. He had lifted the tune "The Trickster Rag" from a Broadway musical comedy, The Con Man. The ex-Royal Academy reporter had put new words to it.

  "If you would like," said Madison, "I will play the melody through and then you can sing it. It's called 'The Outlaw."'

  Hig
htee took it, looked at it. Madison went through the tune and then Hightee began to sing:

  We hunt him here,

  We hunt him there,

  For he is hiding everywhere:

  The Outlaw!

  In your favorite boudoir,

  If you hear a randy snore,

  Don't look further anymore:

  The Outlaw!

  If you step into a bank

  And see the muzzle of a tank,

  Don't ask who you have to thank:

  The Outlaw!

  If there is a town to steal,

  If the jewels are very real,

  If the beauty has appeal:

  The Outlaw!

  He'll take anything you've got,

  Your money, girls, the whole lot,

  And leave you tied up in a knot:

  The Outlaw!

  He will use the smartest lure

  To take riches from a boor

  And give it to the very poor:

  The Outlaw!

  So for this man, strike up the band,

  And give to him a helping hand,

  For he will give us the whole land:

  THE OUTLAW!

  Her brilliant voice died away.

  "Of course," said Madison, "when you sing it in the play, you will be wearing black shorts and boots and a wide-rimmed black hat and you will have a gun on each hip and then draw and hold up the audience at the end of the song. And then the Outlaw himself rushes amongst them, robs them and runs off to give it to the poor. Ter­rific theater!"

  A man who must be her bandleader had drifted in.

  "That's an amazing downbeat," said Hightee. "What do you think of it, Tink?"

  "Primitive," said Tink. "It probably came from the backwoods of some planet like Flisten and then got refined a bit. Drums. You know, comes from beating sticks on logs. And the downbeat is probably some kind of a charge motion at a wild animal. Hunter enactment dances. You know, chug chug CHUG, chug chug CHUG."

  "You are absolutely right," said Madison. "Except it comes from the blacks of Africa and it got to New Or­leans and caught on all over the place. It's called jazz."

  "You sure got that chorder-bar sounding crazy," said Tink. "Why didn't you tune it up for him, Jarp?"

  "He tuned it," said Jarp defensively.

  "It's tuned to represent a honky-tonk piano," said Madison.

  "Why do you need the pictures drawn on it?" said Tink.

  "Listen," said Hightee, glancing at her locket watch, "I've got to run. I have a show to do this afternoon. I'll walk you to your car, Madison. Somebody tell my maid to bring me a jacket and tell my driver to run out an airbus."

  Madison walked with her out of the music practice room. He had no clue as to whether he had won or lost. An awful lot depended on getting this image built so he could fit Heller to it.

  Hightee seemed to be a bit thoughtful. They came to the landing target. She stopped suddenly, "A MODEL 99! Good Heavens! I didn't think they ever would sell one!"

  Madison had forgotten all about Flick. Suddenly he decided he could at least use this meeting to prevent fur­ther robberies. He said, "My driver will be delighted to show it to you."

  Flick, scarlet-faced, trying to go down on his knees but too frozen to even make them bend, just stood there.

  Madison said, "Flick is trying to ask you if you'd honor him by letting him drive you to the studio."

  "That would be an adventure. I've heard these ride like a cloud." Her maid was hurrying up with her things and she turned to her. "Send Tink and the others in my car. I'm going to take a ride in this Model 99."

  Flick managed to get himself unglued enough to open the door for her. When she and Madison were in, Flick, beet-red and gasping, slid under the controls.

  They flew to Joy City and Flick managed it without ever taking his eyes off the mirrors which showed him Hightee in the rear seat.

  They landed on a target marked Hightee which jutted out of the huge dome. Attendants rushed forward. One yelled back over his shoulder, "Hey! Here's Hightee in a Model 99!"

  Flick had a sudden, obscured fight with the attend­ants and opened the door himself. Although he seemed to be having great trouble breathing, he stood there, straight as a rod, waiting to help her out and bow.

  But Hightee did not get out. She turned to Madison. "You know, Madison, you're a nice fellow. But any friend of Jettero's would be. I'm absolutely bowled over by that-what's its name? Piano beat? You get the writer to do the rest of the book and I'll do the show."

  When she had disappeared inside the dome, Flick said, "You're an absolute wonder, Chief. I actually drove her in the car! I'm a totally changed and reformed man!"

  Madison didn't even hear him. As they took off, he was grinning from ear to ear.

  He had a stage image being manufactured by the most popular star on Voltar, the guy's own sister! And he would soon, with other media, fit Heller to it.

  He would soon put an end to this mediocre hero wor­ship Heller now experienced and push Heller's name to the heights of true immortality.

  And he began to hug himself. He had a bonus! When the musical had been aired and when she had found Heller for him, he would have another headline. It would run:

  HELLER BURNS TEMPLE

  KILLS THOUSANDS

  OF PRIESTS

  ROBS SACRED IDOL

  OF PRICELESS EYE

  TO GIVE PRESENT

  TO HIS SISTER

  Sure-fire! She would even have shown the evidence on Homeview. He could use the story on an off day when he didn't have more exciting news to print about Heller.

  He was REALLY making progress now!

  Chapter 3

  They were nearly home when Flick turned around. "Chief, I just thought of something. When you were busy with Hightee Heller, you got a viewer-phone call from Queen Teenie."

  Madison was jolted out of his euphoria. All his in­fluence rested on Teenie Whopper, who was busily misrepresenting herself as royalty and holding her posi­tion through making page boys into catamites. It was, however, to Madison, the equivalent of a Royal command.

  "Go up and hover!" he commanded nervously. "If she gave you a connection, call it back at once!" He was very jittery: apparently, due to time lag, it was difficult to call from Palace City. Was Teenie in town?

  A piece of upholstery unfolded and a viewer-phone was staring him in the face.

  Teenie's face appeared. She looked provoked. "I've been waiting out here in the desert beside this God (bleeped) message center for an hour! It's going to ruin my complexion!"

  "Oh, I'm sorry!" said Madison.

  "Why didn't you call back?" she snarled.

  "Oh, I've been meaning to call you. But I got tied up."

  "Tied up with Hightee Heller! You owe me a prog­ress report on Gris!"

  "Well, actually," said Madison, "I've been working up to that."

  "Listen, Madison. This 'all promise and no deliv­ery' is just the way PRs work. I know! You get busy, you lunkhead. I'll come back to this message center at sunset and if you don't have something to report on Gris by then, I'll have your cotton-picking head!" She hung up violently.

  Women! Oh, his mother had taught him well. They were trouble!

  He thought fast. He glanced at his Omega watch and saw that he only had about two hours left of the day. He thought faster. Suddenly, he said, "Fly me to Govern­ment City, Royal Courts and Prison!"

  "What the blazes? Chief, are you all right? Did High-tee run you out of your head?"

  "It's another woman. An almost-woman."

  "Look, Chief, we were just lucky getting in and out of the Domestic Confederacy Prison. You get near a Royal Prison and that's that!"

  "Fly!" said Madison.

  They flashed above the traffic lanes and lanced along toward Government City.

  Madison soon saw the forbidding structure. It was perched upon a craggy hill, a fortress disdainful and aloof from the mundane matters of the worlds.

  Flick didn't
land in any courtyard: that was forbid­den to anyone except the Emperor. Instead he landed on the sloping road outside its gates. He wouldn't move any nearer than a steep one hundred yards.

  "Good-bye, Chief" said Flick. "It was great while it lasted."

  "Shut up," said Madison. He got out and toiled up the pavement. It was heavy going for him, due to the increased gravity.

  Above him loomed the towering pillars of the outer gate. As it was still daylight, guards were standing there, stiff as statues, on the other side of the heavy grill.

  "I want to see somebody," said Madison to the near­est guard.

  The man just kept on standing there. Madison was not as much as a fly.

  Madison got out his identoplate and showed it. The guard didn't even look at it.

  An officer was coming up, electric saber clanking. "What's this unseemly disturbance out here?"

  "It's no disturbance," said Madison. "I've got to see somebody in here."

  "Well, that's informative," said the officer. "All it lacks is his name, your business and what plot you are involved in to subvert the machinery of state. Be off."

  "Look," pleaded Madison, "this is a matter of life and death."

  "There's plenty of both in here," said the officer. "They're doing life, most of them, and we have assorted brands of death. Now get out of here!"

  "Please, please," said Madison. "It's my life I'm talk­ing about."

  "Talk away," said the officer. "In living memory, no one has had the nerve to walk up this road to this gate and ask to get in...."

  The statue guard said, without moving his mouth, "Correction, sir. Gris did."

  "Gris!" said Madison. "That's it. I am his dearest friend. I must see him!"

  The officer bent his head way forward and looked at Madison through the bars. He suddenly walked off and Madison fidgeted nervously. He could see the officer talking into a courtyard call box.

  The officer came back and gave a signal to open the gates wide enough for Madison to slip through. Then he gave another signal. The gates clanged shut and two guards ceased to be statues and abruptly took Madison by the arms, one on each side, and marched him forward saying, "Hup! Hup! Hup!" the same way Madison had heard his criminals chant. Was he under arrest?