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_Here's the behind-the-scenes lowdown on Luna City life and a promoter of Martian dancing girls, vaudeville, and--other things. But remember: stop us if you've heard this one!_
SHOW BUSINESS
By Boyd Ellanby
Illustrated by Mel Hunter
Except for old Dworken, Kotha's bar was deserted when I dropped inshortly after midnight. The ship from Earth was still two days away, andthe Martian flagship would get in next morning, with seven hundredpassengers for Earth on it. Dworken must have been waiting in Luna Citya whole week--at six thousand credits a day. That's as steep to me as itis to you, but money never seemed to worry Dworken.
He raised the heavy green lids from his protruding brown eyes as I camein. He waved his tail.
"Sit down and join me," he invited, in his guttural voice. "It is notgood for a man to drink alone. But I haf no combany in disby-de-gods-deserted hole. A man must somet'ing be doing, what?"
I sat down in the booth across from my Venusian friend, and stared athim while he punched a new order into the drinkboard.
"For me, another _shchikh_," he announced. "And for you? De same?"
Against my better judgment, for I knew I'd have plenty to do handlingthat mob of tourists--the first crowd of the season is always theroughest--tomorrow, I consented. Dworken had already consumed six of theexplosive things, as the empty glasses on the table showed, but heexhibited no effects. I made a mental note, as I'd so often done before,that this time I would not exceed the safe terrestrial limit of two.
"You must be in the money again, drinking imported _shchikh_," Iremarked. "What are you doing in Luna City this time?"
He merely lifted his heavy eyelids and stared at me without expression.
"Na, in de money I am not. Dere are too many chiselers in business. Justwhen I t'ink I haf a goot t'ing, I am shwindeled. It is too bad." Hesnorted through his ugly snout, making the Venusian equivalent of asigh. I knew there was a story waiting behind that warty skin, but I wasnot sure I wanted to hear it. For the next round of drinks would be onme, and _shchikh_ was a hundred and fifty credits a shot. Still, a manon a Moon assignment has to amuse himself somehow.
So I said, "What's the latest episode in the Dworken soap opera? What isthe merchandise this time? Gems? Pet Mercurian fire-insects? A newsupply of _danghaana_?"
"I do not smuggle drugs, dat is a base lie," replied my friend stolidly.He knew, of course, that I still suspected him to be the source of thelast load of that potent narcotic, although I had no more proof than didthe Planetary Bureau of Investigation.
He took a long pull at his drink before he spoke again. "But Dworken isnever down for long. Dis time it is show business. You remember, how Ihaf always been by de t'eater so fascinated? Well, I decided to open ashow here in Luna City. T'ink of all the travelers, bored stiff by spaceand de emptiness thereof, who pass through here during the season. Evenif only half of them go to my show, it cannot fail."
I waited for some mention of free tickets, but none was made. I wasabout as anxious to see Dworken's show as I was to walk barefoot acrossthe Mare Imbrium, but I asked with what enthusiasm I could force,
"What sort of act are you putting on? Girls?" I shuddered as I recalledthe pathetic shop-worn chorus girls that Sam Low had tried to pass offlast year on the gullible tourists of the spaceways. That show hadlasted ten nights--nine more than it deserved to. There are limits, evento the gullibility of Earth-lubbers.
"Yes, girls," replied Dworken. "But not what you are perhaps t'inking.Martian girls."
* * * * *
This was more interesting. Even if the girls were now a little too oldfor the stage in the Martian capital, they would still get loud cheerson the Moon. I knew. I started to say so, but Dworken interrupted.
"And not de miserable girls dey buy from de slave traders in Behastin.Dese girls I collected myself, from de country along de Upper Canal."
I repressed my impulse to show my curiosity. It could all be perfectlytrue--and if it were not the opening night would tell. But it sounded alot like one of Dworken's taller tales. I had never been able todisprove any one of them, but I found it a _little_ hard to believe thatso many improbable things had ever happened to one man. However, I likebeing entertained, if it doesn't cost me too much, so finally I said,
"I suppose you are going to tell me you ventured out into the interiorof Mars, carrying a six weeks' supply of water and oxygen on your back,and visited the Xo theaters on the spot?"
"How did you know? Dat is just what I did," solemnly affirmed mycompanion. He snorted again, and looked at his glass. It was empty, buthe tilted it into his face again in an eloquent gesture. No words wereneeded: I punched the symbols for _shchikh_ into the drinkboard on myside of the table. Then, after hesitating, I punched the "two in"signal. I must remember, though, that this was my second and last.
His eighth _shchikh_ seemed to instill some animation into Dworken. "Iknow you feel skepticality--I mean skepticism--after my exploits. Youwill see tomorrow night dat I speak true."
"Amazing!" I said. "Especially as I just happen to remember that threedifferent expeditions from Earth tried to penetrate more than a hundredkilometers from Behastin, but either they couldn't carry the water andoxygen that far, or they resorted to breathing Mars air, and never cameback. And they were Earthmen, not Venusians who are accustomed to twoatmospheres of carbon dioxide."
"My vriend, you must not reason: it was so, it always will be so. Thebrinciple of induction is long exbloded. I did indeed breathe Mars air.Vait! I tell you how."
He took another long swig of _shchikh_. "Vat your Eart'men did notrealize was dat dey cannot acclimate themselves as do we Venusians. Youknow de character of our planet made adaptability a condition ofsurvival. It is true dat our atmosphere is heavy, but on top of ourso-high mountains de air is t'in. We must live everywhere, de space isso few. I first adapted myself on Eart' to live. I was dere a wholeyear, you vill recollect. Den I go further. Your engineers construct airtanks dat make like de air of mountains, t'in. So, I learn to live indose tanks. Each day I haf spent one, two, three hours in dem. I get soI can breathe air at one-third the pressure of your already t'inatmosphere. And at one-sixt' the tension of oxygen. No, my vriend, youcould not do this. Your lungs burst. But old Dworken, he has done it.
"I take wit' me only some water, for I know de Martians dey not givewater. To trade, some miniature kerosene lamps. You know dey got no fueloil now, only atomics, but dese little lamps dey like for antiques, forsentiment, because their great-grandfathers used dem.
"Well, I walk through Vlahas, and not stop. Too close by the capital.Too much contact with men of odder planets. I walk also through Bhur andZamat. I come to a small place where dey never see foreigner. NameTasaaha. Oh, I tell you, ze men of ze odder planets do not know Mars.How delightful, how unsboiled, are ze Martians, once you get away fromde people by tourists so sboiled! How wonderful, across the sands to go,free as birds! The so friendly greetings of de Martian men. And deMartian women! _Ah!_
"Well, in Tasaaha I go to t'eater. Such lovely girls! You shall see. ButI saw somet'ing else. That, my friend, you hardly believe!"
Dworken looked down at his empty glass and snorted gently. I took thehint, although for myself I ordered the less lethal Martian _azdzani_. Iwas already having difficulty believing parts of his narrative; it wouldbe interesting to see if the rest were any harder.
My companion continued. "They not only have de chorus, which you hafseen on Earth, imported from Mars--and such a chorus! Such girls! Butthey had somet'ing else."
"You recall your terrestrial history? Once your ancestors had pe
rformerson the stage who did funny motions and said amusing remarks, despectators to make laugh. I t'ink you called it 'vaudeville.' Well, onMars they have also vaudeville!" He paused, and looked at me from underhalf-shut eyelids, and grinned widely to show his reptilian teeth.
I wondered if he'd really found something new. I would even be willingto pay for a glimpse of Martian vaudeville. I wondered if my Martian wastoo rusty for me to understand jokes in the spoken lingo.
"They haf not only men and women telling jokes. They haf trained animalsacting funny!" Dworken went on.
This was too much. "I suppose the animals talked, too?" I saidsarcastically. "Do they speak Earth or Martian?"
He regarded me approvingly. "My