The Wizard of Karres

'Hmm. Mind if we come on board?' asked the thin man, still sounding suspicious.

Captain Pausert shrugged. 'Sure. If your friend stops pointing that rifle at us.'

The rifle muzzle shifted not one micron. 'It makes me feel more secure,' said the plump man, his face scintillating oddly in the cloud-filtered light. 'There ain't much law here on Vaudevillia.'

Captain Pausert shrugged again. 'Suit yourself.' He pointed up at the nova gun turret which was locked onto them. 'It does seem a bit pointless, though.'

The glistening-faced one nearly dropped his rifle. 'It's a trap!'

Pausert held up his hands pacifically. 'No. We are just being careful. Like you are. You leave the Blythe rifle there and we'll get Vezzarn to deflect the turret.'

'All right. We just want to call our ship first, huh? You try anything and the guys from the Petey, Byrum and Keep will fix you.'

'Sure, go ahead,' said Hulik. 'We have some allweather cloaks and fishing rods for sale. Or to trade for some extra rations.'

A brief call to the lattice ship, and the two men disembarked and came out of the rain and into the Venture. Viewing them now in good light, Captain Pausert thought that if he'd been some alien captain meeting these members of the human race for the first time, he'd have been inclined to think that they were from two different species. The thin man was so thin you could see every strap of sinew across his bones. He was not actually particularly tall. He just looked that way with the stiff blue-dyed upright comb of hair on his head. The short plump man was entirely hairless, and his skin seemed to shimmer with different color-patterns gleaming, coming and going.

The Leewit stared admiringly at him. 'How does it work? How does your skin go like that?'

That broke the ice. He bowed and winked. 'I'm Mannicholo the chameleon man,' he said with a grin. 'Half- lizard, half-man, that's me. The strangest creature in the Universe!'

'I bet I could do it,' said the Leewit firmly, 'if I knew the trick. Go on, tell me how it really works. Please?' She cocked her head and tried to look cherubic.

'Trade secret, dearie.' Mannicholo chuckled, revealing rainbow striped teeth.

'He's tattooed with various temperature-sensitive crystals,' explained the blue cockscombed man superciliously. 'And he has tiny bits of reflective stuff imbedded in his dermis. As the crystals get warm they change color, and that color radiates heat better so they change color back again.' Then he ducked, folding himself under the swing of Mannicholo's arm, with almost boneless ease. 'And he hates me telling people.'

'I'll fold you into shapes even you can't get into, Timblay,' growled Mannicholo.

'Impossible,' said the man with the blue cockscomb, bowing to them. 'As you may have gathered from my compatriot Mannicholo, I am Timblay, otherwise known as the Incredible Folding Man.' He looked around the control room. There were parts of one of the panels artistically strewn about, along with an array of tools. 'You do seem to have something of a problem.'

'Main drive firing sequencer won't work,' said Vezzarn, having gotten up from the nova gun controls. 'We had a massive lightning strike just as we were trying to touch down. It fried that, and fried our communicator.'

'Ah. That can happen here,' said Timblay, understandingly. 'This your first trip to Vaudevillia?'

Pausert nodded. He noted that Timblay had eased over to the fuel gauges. He flicked a glance down at them before asking, casually. 'Repairable?'

'With a few spares we're not carrying,' said Hulik. She pointed to the electronic components on the floor. 'We've tried cannibalizing other stuff, but so far it hasn't worked.'

'Ah. Well, maybe we can help each other. Exchange things, as it were.'

'We have allweather cloaks to offer. Very good line. Remarkably effective . . .'

'I'm sure the outside crews will buy some,' said Timblay smoothly. 'But that doesn't really get around your problem, does it? You've got a fried communicator and drive sequencer, and here you are stuck on a planet where you just can't buy spare parts. No, I'm afraid we can't sell them to you, not even in exchange for your truly magnificent allweather cloaks. But . . .'

He smiled, all teeth. 'We can perhaps still reach an accommodation with each other. Help each other out. Get you off this damp spot and benefit us, too.'

'What do you mean?' asked Pausert suspiciously.

'Well, this ship is useless to you. It's not going anywhere. You're stuck on one of the wettest planets in the Galaxy. Now, in exchange for the ship—which we'll use as a store—and some short-time labor contracts, we'll take you to another world with a spaceport.'

Pausert was surprised to see the glistening-skinned Mannicholo, who was standing behind Timblay, shake his head warningly. Well, when it came down to it, Pausert had absolutely no intent of agreeing too easily anyway. And, while he was a reasonably skilled trader, he had a past-master in his crew. Goth could get the better of anyone.

'It doesn't sound like much of a bargain to me,' said Pausert. 'We're just short a few electronic components. We're armed. We've got a locally valuable cargo and we've still got our laterals firing. We'll be able to start moving around on them. Find a fuel seller and arrange for the parts we need for the communicator at least. After that we'll have to fight off customers. Sooner or later we'll get the spares we need. No, I don't think you've got a deal. Now, if you'd like to give us a lift back to Pidoon—for a small fee, of course—I'm sure we'd be grateful.'

Timblay waved his hand dismissively. 'I don't think we'd be very interested. Pidoon's not on the itinerary. But why don't you come and talk to Master Himbo? Maybe he can reach a more mutually equitable deal with you. We'll transport your craft there . . .'

Pausert shook his head. 'We'll come, but under our own steam. I'm not having you claim salvage on the Evening Bird.'

Timblay pinched his narrow mouth. 'Up to every trick in the book, are we, Captain . . .'

'Aron. From Mulm.'

'Well, Captain Aron. I see you have damage around your main airlock.'

'You aren't the first would-be salvagers,' admitted Captain Pausert.

The Venture proceeded to follow the lifter to the lattice showboat on the last dregs of fuel in her laterals. In the gray, driving rain, the showboat loomed like a small dark mountain. The lattice skeleton of triangular hull-metal girders was covered over, not with the bright synthasilk of Pausert's memories, but a utilitarian black. A small yellow digger was busy trenching and a work team was repairing a small exposed section of the lattice. The showboat looked very workaday ordinary, except . . .

It was very, very big. Had it been a solid hull-metal thing it would have dwarfed a fair number of battle- dreadnaughts—and cost a small fortune in fuel to fly. As it was, the round, plump half dome, ringed with attendant smaller half-domes, could take crowds of thousands—and fly between planets at minimal cost.

The Venture set down in front of the entry portal. Here on their home-world, with no customers to draw, the showboat hadn't bothered to clad the two towers and arch in bright bunting and flags. Instead, a guard with a disrupter cannon huddled in the small metal box above the rippling array of colors that formed fifteen-foot-high red-and-gold ornate letters.

 

Petey, Byrum and Keep

THE GREATEST SHOW IN THE GALAXY

 

'Clumping awesome!' said the Leewit.

 

CHAPTER 11

Vezzarn stayed to man the guns. Mere fabric and I-beams would be a poor defense against the unpredictable