My Fair Planet

by Evelyn E. Smith

pal, you lemme spy the way I wanna an' I'll letcha act the wayyou wanna."

  Paul was disturbed by this change in Ivo because, although he hadalways tried to steer clear of social involvement, he could nothelp feeling that the young alien had become in a measure hisresponsibility--particularly now that he was a teen-ager. Paul wouldeven have worried about Ivo, if there hadn't been so many other thingsto occupy his mind. First of all, the producers of _The Holiday Tree_could not resist the pressure of an adoring public; although theoriginal star sulked, three months after the play had opened in NewYork, Paul's name went up in lights next to hers, _over the title of theplay. He was a star._

  That was good. But then there was Gregory. And that was bad. Gregory wasPaul's understudy--a handsome, sullen youth who had, on numerousoccasions, been heard to utter words to the effect of: "It's the partthat's so good, not him. If I had the chance to play Eric Everard justonce, they'd give Lambrequin back to the Indians."

  Sometimes he had said the words in Paul's hearing; sometimes the remarkshad been lovingly passed on by fellow members of the cast who felt thatPaul ought to know.

  * * * * *

  "I don't like that Gregory," Paul told Ivo one Monday evening as theywere enjoying a quiet smoke together, for there was no performance thatnight. "He used to be a juvenile delinquent, got sent to one of thosereform schools where they use acting as therapy and it turned out to behis _metier_. But you never know when that kind'll hear the call of thewild again."

  "Aaaah, he's a good kid," Ivo said. "He just never had a chanct."

  "Trouble is, I'm afraid he's going to _make_ himself a chanct--chance,that is."

  "Aaaah," retorted Ivo, with prideful inarticulateness.

  However, when at six-thirty that Friday, Paul fell over a wire stretchedbetween the jambs of the doorway leading to his private bathroom andbroke a leg, even Ivo was forced to admit that this did not look like anaccident.

  "Ivo," Paul wailed when the doctor had left, "what am I going to do? Irefuse to let Gregory go on in my place tonight!"

  "Y'gonna hafta," Ivo said, shifting his gum to the other side of hismouth. "He's y'unnastudy."

  "But the doctor said it would be weeks before I can get around again.Either Gregory'll take over the part completely with his interpretationand I'll be left out in the cold, or more likely, he'll louse up theplay and it'll fold before I'm on my feet."

  "Y'gotta have more confidence in y'self, kid. The public ain't gonnaforgetcha in a few weeks."

  But Paul knew far better than the idealistic Ivo how fickle the publiccan be. However, he chose an argument that would appeal to the boy."Don't forget, he booby-trapped me!"

  "Cert'ny looks like it," Ivo was forced to concede. "But watcha gonnado? Y'can't prove it. 'Sides, the curtain's gonna gwup in a li'l over anour--"

  Paul gripped Ivo's sinewy wrist. "Ivo, you've got to go on for me!"

  "Y'got rocks in y'head or somepin?" Ivo demanded, trying not to lookpleased. "I ain't gotta Nequity card, and even if I did, _he's_y'unnastudy."

  "No, you don't understand. I don't want you to go on as Ivo Darcyplaying Eric Everard. I want you to go on as Paul Lambrequin playingEric Everard. _You can do it, Ivo!_"

  "Good Lord, so I can!" Ivo whispered, temporarily neglecting to mumble."I'd almost forgotten."

  "You know my lines, too. You've cued me in my part often enough."

  Ivo rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Yeah, I guess I do."

  "Ivo," Paul beseeched him, "I thought we were--pals. I don't want to askany favors, but I helped you out when you were in trouble. I alwaysfigured I could rely on you. I never thought you'd let me down."

  "An' I won't." Ivo gripped Paul's hand. "I'll go on t'night 'n play 'atpart like it ain't never been played before! I'll--"

  "No! No! Play it the way I played it. You're supposed to be _me_, Ivo!Forget Strasberg; go back to Stanislavsky."

  "Okay, pal," Ivo said. "Will do."

  "And promise me one thing, Ivo. Promise me _you won't mumble_."

  Ivo winced. "Okay, but you're the on'y one I'd do 'at for."

  Slowly, he began to shimmer. Paul held his breath. Maybe Ivo hadforgotten how to transmute himself. But technique triumphed over method.Ivo Darcy gradually coalesced into the semblance of Paul Lambrequin. Theshow would go on!

  * * * * *

  "Well, how was everything?" Paul asked anxiously when Ivo came into hisroom shortly after midnight.

  "Pretty good," Ivo said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Gregorywas extremely surprised to see me--asked me half a dozen times how I wasfeeling." Ivo was not only articulating, Paul was gratified to notice;he was enunciating.

  "But the show--how did that go? Did anyone suspect you were a ringer?"

  "No," Ivo said slowly. "No, I don't think so. I got twelve curtaincalls," he added, staring straight ahead of him with a dreamy smile."Twelve."

  "Friday nights, the audience is always enthusiastic." Then Paulswallowed hard and said, "Besides, I'm sure you were great in the role."

  But Ivo didn't seem to hear him. Ivo was still wrapped in his goldendaze. "Just before the curtain went up, I didn't think I was going to beable to do it. I began to feel all quivery inside, the way I do beforeI--I change."

  "Butterflies in the stomach is the professional term." Paul noddedwisely. "A really good actor gets them before every performance. Nomatter how many times I play a role, there's that minute when the houselights start to dim when I'm in an absolute panic--"

  "--And then the curtain went up and I was all right. I was fine. I wasPaul Lambrequin. I was Eric Everard. I was--everything."

  "Ivo," Paul said, clapping him on the shoulder, "you're a born trouper."

  "Yes," Ivo murmured, "I'm beginning to think so myself."

  For the next four weeks, Paul Lambrequin lurked in his room while IvoDarcy played Paul Lambrequin playing Eric Everard.

  "It's terrific of you to take all this time away from your duties, oldchap," Paul said to Ivo one day between the matinee and the eveningperformances. "I really do appreciate it. Although I suppose you'vemanaged to squeeze some of them in. I never see you on non-matineeafternoons."

  "Duties?" Ivo repeated vacantly. "Yes, of course--my duties."

  "Let me give you some professional advice, though. Be more careful whenyou take off your makeup. There's still some grease paint in the rootsof your hair."

  "Sloppy of me," Ivo agreed, getting to work with a towel.

  "I can't understand why you bother to put on the stuff at all," Paulgrinned, "when all you need to do is just change a little more."

  "I know." Ivo rubbed his temples vigorously. "I suppose I just likethe--smell of the stuff."

  "Ivo," Paul laughed, "there's no use trying to kid me; you arestagestruck. I'm sure I have enough pull now to get you a bit partsomewhere, when I'm up and around again, and then you can get yourselfan Equity card. Maybe," he added amusedly, "I can even have you replaceGregory as my understudy."

  * * * * *

  Later, in retrospect, Paul thought perhaps there had been a curiousexpression in Ivo's eyes, but right then he'd had no inkling thatanything untoward was up. He did not find out what had been at the backof Ivo's mind until the Sunday before the Tuesday on which he wasplanning to resume his role.

  "Lord, it's going to be good to feel that stage under my feet again," hesaid as he went through a series of complicated limbering-up exercisesof his own devisement, which he had sometimes thought of publishing as_The Lambrequin Time and Motion Studies_. It seemed unfair to keep themfrom other actors.

  Ivo turned around from the mirror in which he had been contemplatingtheir mutual beauty, "Paul," he said quietly, "you're never going tofeel that stage under your feet again."

  Paul sat on the floor and stared at him.

  "You see, Paul," Ivo said, "I am Paul Lambrequin now. I am more PaulLambrequin than I was--whoever I was on my native planet. I am more PaulLambre
quin than _you_ ever were. You learned the part superficially,Paul, but I really _feel_ it."

  "It's not a part," Paul said querulously. "It's me. I've always beenPaul Lambrequin."

  "How can you be sure of that? You've had so many identities, why shouldthis be the true one? No, you only _think_ you're Paul Lambrequin. I_know_ I am."

  "Dammit," Paul said, "that's the identity in which I've taken out Equitymembership. And be reasonable, Ivo--there can't be two PaulLambrequins."

  Ivo smiled sadly. "No, Paul, you're right. There can't."

  Of course Paul had known all along that Ivo was not a human being. Itwas only now, however, that full realization came to him of what aruthless alien monster the other was, existing only to gratify his ownpurposes, unaware that others had a right to exist.

  "Are--are you going to--dispose of me, then?" Paul asked faintly.

  "To dispose of you, yes, Paul. But not to kill you. My kind has killedenough, conquered enough. We have no real population problem; that wasjust an excuse we made to salve our own consciences."

  "You have consciences, do you?" Paul's face twisted in a sneer that hehimself sensed right away was overly melodramatic and utterlyunconvincing. Somehow, he could never be really genuine offstage.

  Ivo made a sweeping gesture. "Don't be bitter, Paul. Of course we do.All intelligent life-forms do. It's one of the penalties of sentience!"

  For a moment, Paul forgot himself. "Watch it, Ivo. You're beginning toham up your lines."

  "We can institute birth control," Ivo went on, his manner subdued. "Wecan build taller buildings. Oh, there are many ways we can cope with thepopulation increase. That's not the problem. The problem is how todivert our creative energies from destruction to construction. And Ithink I have solved it."

  "How will your people know you have," Paul asked cunningly, "since yousay you're not going back?"

  "_I_ am not going back to Sirius, Paul--_you_ are. It is you who aregoing to teach my people the art of peace to replace the art of war."

  Paul felt himself turn what was probably a very effective white."But--but I can't even speak the language! I--"

  "You will learn the language during the journey. I spent thoseafternoons I was away making a set of _Sirian-in-a-Jiffy_ records foryou. Sirian's a beautiful language, Paul, much more expressive than anyof your Earth languages. You'll like it."

  "I'm sure I shall, but--"

  "Paul, you are going to bring my people the outlet for self-expressionthey have always needed. You see, I lied to you. The theater on Siriusis not in its infancy; it has never been conceived. If it had been, wewould never have become what we are today. Can you imagine--a race likemine, so superbly fitted to practice the dramatic art, remaining inblind ignorance that such an art exists!"

  "It does seem a terrible waste," Paul had to agree, although he couldnot be truly sympathetic just then. "But I am hardly equipped--"

  "Who is better equipped than you to meet this mighty challenge? Can'tyou see that at long last you will be able to achieve your greatsynthesis of the theatrical arts--as producer, teacher, director, actor,playwright, whatever you will, working with a cast of individuals whocan assume any shape or form, who have no preconceived notions of whatcan be done and what cannot. Oh, Paul, what a glorious opportunityawaits you on Sirius V. How I envy you!"

  "Then why don't you do it yourself?" Paul asked.

  Ivo smiled sadly again. "Unfortunately, I do not have your manifoldabilities. All I can do is act. Superbly, of course, but that's all. Idon't have the capacity to build a living theater from scratch. You do.I have talent, Paul, but you have genius."

  "It _is_ a temptation," Paul admitted. "But to leave my own world...."

  "Paul, Earth isn't your world. You carry yours along with you whereveryou go. Your world exists in the mind and heart, not in reality. In anyreal situation, you're just as uncomfortable on Earth as you would be onSirius."

  "Yes, but--"

  "Think of it this way, Paul. You're not leaving your world. You're justleaving Earth to go on the road. It's a longer road, but look at what'swaiting for you at the end of it."

  "Yes, look," Paul said, reality very much to the fore in his mind andheart at that moment, "death or vivisection."

  "Paul, do you believe I'd do that to you?" There were tears in Ivo'seyes. If he was acting, he was a great performer. _I really am one hellof a good teacher_, Paul thought, _and with lots of raw material likeIvo to work with, I could.... Could he really mean what he's saying_?

  "They won't harm you, Paul, because you will come to Sirius bearing amessage from me. You will tell my people that Earth has a powerfuldefensive weapon and you have come to teach them its secret. And it'strue, Paul. The theater is your world's most powerful weapon, its bestdefense against the universal enemy--reality."

  "Ivo," Paul said, "you really must check that tendency toward bombast.Especially with a purple speech like that; you've simply got to learn tounderplay. You'll watch out for that when I'm gone, won't you?"

  "I will!" Ivo's face lighted up. "Oh, I will, Paul. I promise never tochew the scenery again. I won't so much as nibble on a prop!"

  * * * * *

  The next day, the two of them went up to Bear Mountain where Ivo's shiphad been cached all those months. Ivo explained to Paul how the controlsworked and showed him where the clean towels were.

  Pausing in the airlock, Paul looked back toward Manhattan. "I'd dreamedso many years of seeing my name up in lights on Broadway," he murmured,"and now, just when I made it--"

  "I'll keep it up there," Ivo vowed. "I promise. And, meanwhile, you'llbe building a new Broadway up there in the stars!"

  "Yes," Paul said dreamily, "that is something to look forward to, isn'tit?" Fresh, enthusiastic audiences, performers untrammeled by tradition,a cooperative government, unlimited funds--why, there was a wholewonderful new world opening up before him.

  "--In another ten years or so," Ivo was saying, "Sirian actors will becoming to Earth in droves, making the native performers look sick--"

  Paul smiled wisely. "Now, Ivo, you know Equity would never stand for_that_."

  "Equity won't be able to help itself. Public pressure will surge upwardin a mounting wave and--" Ivo stopped. "Sorry. I was ranting again,wasn't I? It's being out in the open air that does it. I need to bebounded by the four walls of a theater."

  "That's a fallacy," Paul began. "On the Greek stage--"

  "Save that for the stars, fella," Ivo smiled. "You've got to leavebefore it gets light." Then he wrung Paul's hand. "Good-by, kid," hesaid. "You'll knock 'em dead on Sirius."

  "Good-by, Ivo." Paul returned the grip. Then he got inside and closedthe airlock door behind him. He did hope Ivo would correct that tendencytoward declamation; on the other hand, it was certainly better thanmumbling.

  Paul put a _Sirian-in-a-jiffy_ record on the turntable, because he mightas well start learning the language right away. Of course he'd have noone to talk to but himself for many months, but then, when all was saidand done, he was his own favorite audience. He strapped himself into theacceleration couch and prepared for take-off.

  "Next week, _East Lynne_," he said to himself.