The Wizard of Karres

About the Arimann Trust. It was just to tide me over . . .'

'And so it shall,' said Sedmon. 'Just as soon as these cases are dealt with.' Then he left, to go and arrange an accident—of reasonably long duration—for a certain Colonel Pasker. And then to get aboard the Thunderbird and head, finally, towards Altim Four.

'I do wish that Pausert was tidier about these things,' said Sedmon, plaintively.

 

CHAPTER 21

Vaudevillia had been, in Pausert's opinion, one of the ugliest mud-balls in the universe. Altim Four made Vaudevillia look like a pleasure-planet.

At least it wasn't a swamp. The vegetation was limited to the local versions of mosses and lichens; the local fauna was lower reptiles and whatever was swimming in the oceans, and a lot of insects. Fortunately, none of them found any of the invaders at all tasty, but they were a nuisance, anyway. All the heavy metals made it dangerous to drink the water without a lot of processing. Eating anything grown here, except what was grown hydroponically, was out of the question. The water was a curious green color—copper salts, Pausert thought. And while the air was breathable, it left a faintly bitter taste in the back of the throat.

If Altim wasn't a swamp, it was nonetheless warm, humid, and overcast most of the time. That was above ground, of course, a place where the miners mostly weren't. Every man, woman and neuter among them was spending most waking hours trying to dig out a fortune without poisoning themselves.

The ones who had it easiest were the ones who had staked their claims to EmCorp's tailings. That ore was already out of the ground and processed. It didn't need mining equipment to dig it out again, it just needed more processing to extract whatever else was lurking in there—and a decontamination unit to clean out residual radioactives. Those machines could run themselves. The hard part of their job was that in return for the stakes, by the terms of their charter these miners also served as reclamation techs, turning poisonous tailings into something benign and restoring the landscape. What there was of it.

Still, no telling what might evolve. Or what might turn up one day to take them to task for ruining the place. Better to be safe than sorry.

The spaceport was huge, built to take EmCorp's enormous freighters, and lots of them. Now it was mostly empty, which meant the Petey B was able to come in, set down, and set up on real tarmac without inconveniencing anyone. Better yet, since Altim Four was still officially EmCorp's private property, that meant that there was not an ISS presence. What passed for law around here was EmCorp's security service. They acted pretty much like local police, and enforced what little law there was. Lawbreakers were brought up in front of a magistrate and either fined or booted off the planet. Since being booted off the planet was the last thing any of the miners wanted, it was a simple, but effective, form of justice. The miners were all rugged individualists who didn't give a damn about government, anyway. They paid EmCorp for their stake, EmCorp kept the spaceport running and utter mayhem from breaking loose, and everyone seemed reasonably satisfied with the arrangement. EmCorp didn't even try the usual heavy-handed tactics of unrestrained giant corporations. Dealing with wildcat miners, that . . . could be risky.

Himbo Petey did not do a leaflet drop as they came in; with most of the miners underground, that would have been a wasted effort. And for the same reason, few people saw the showboat come in to land. Instead, he did something that a showboat almost never did: he bought advertising time on the news com-channel.

There was only one, and probably all of the miners listened to it at least once a day; it was just about the only way these far-scattered and reclusive people could keep track of what was going on with the rest of the universe. And there wasn't much else here that needed to purchase advertising; everyone knew every single bar, eatery, and entertainment-parlor there was. That would change, of course, as other merchants got wind of the place and decided it was worth the chance of poisoning to set up shop here. But, for now, Port-town was the only center of population, and it was pretty much as it had been when EmCorp moved out.

Only four locals appeared to watch the setup, and they were all viding for the local newsfeed. Pausert was surprised. Usually there were lots of folk turning out for what amounted to a free show. But miners, he was told by other members of the slowship's company, were always an odd bunch. It would be like them to figure they could get a better view on the vid during their downtime, and meanwhile, they could be making money.

Himbo Petey realized that this amounted to free advertising, of course, and immediately sent out Mannicholo (for the exotic look), the most articulate of the clowns (for the comedic aspect) and the prettiest of the female aerialists to give the vid-crew the full tour and the best shots of the setup. Mannicholo extolled the wonders of Sideshow Alley and acted as the clown's straight-man, the clown cracked some excellent jokes, and the girl waxed eloquent over the delights under the Big Top and on the stage of the Theater. Pausert watched some of it himself; it was a good show, and if the cameraman spent a lot of time with the lens focused on the aerialist, well, that was hardly a shock since the population ran to seventy-five percent male. And given the usual programming available—mostly 'educational' programs, which the station could get for free—it wasn't surprising that the show got a major chunk of the broadcasting day, with one initial play and two replays to cover all three work-shifts.

No doubt about it, the Petey B was Big News so far as Altim Four was concerned.

Pausert expected that, given all the coverage, Himbo Petey would want things up and running immediately, if not sooner. But, no. The whole first day, the showboat was dark, running extra dress rehearsals for every act, even the sideshows. Pausert learned later from Mannicholo that this was for two reasons: Petey wanted the chance for every miner to have seen the 'cast, and he wanted anticipation to build on both sides of the equation.

It was smart thinking; as Pausert had long since realized, just one more example of Himbo Petey's shrewd business sense, which lurked beneath his sometimes buffoonish exterior appearance.

All four of the new plays were now in production: Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and The Merchant of Venice. For the moment, the previous four, Hamlet, Othello, Twelfth Night, and As You Like It were out. Although Dame Ethulassia told Pausert confidentially that if the miners responded with enthusiasm to these plays from Old Yarthe, Cravan would probably put all four of the old ones back in performance, and have the Venture's crew understudy for parts already held by the original cast.

Maybe being a witch—or a wizard—made memorization a lot easier than it was for most people. Pausert was mildly surprised to realize that the idea of memorizing four parts (or more, if he was going to understudy more than one in each play) didn't bother him that much.

Before the Petey B set down, Himbo Petey had delivered a cautionary speech to the entire crew, warning them not to expect that the miners had made fabulous strikes and were laden with wealth. Even though the conditions were right for such a thing, that did not mean it had happened. But when the first of the crew actually made it into town and saw the hideously inflated prices—set out in weights and karats, rather than maels—there was no mistaking the feverish look in the eyes of anyone with an act.

And that was when Pausert got an idea.

He went into the bowels of the ship, looking for engineers. He had the feeling that these, the people who kept the ship and not the show running, might be the forgotten ones in all of the hurly-burly. And that although they were getting crew-share of the new profits, they were probably feeling a bit resentful that they were not going to be able to make more.

'How many of you don't have an act?' he asked the chief engineer bluntly.

The grizzled old man rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. 'Most of us,' he admitted.

'Good. I have a proposition for you, then. There's no rule that stalls can't sell things. In fact, there are souvenir stalls salted all through Sideshow Alley, and I have a hold full of tinklewood fishing poles and allweather cloaks. There's fish here, you know. Even if you can't eat them, there's still sport in catching them, and it certainly rains here plenty enough. All you have to do is make them into souvenir fishing poles and allweather cloaks. Just slap 'Petey, Byrum and Keep, the Greatest Show In the Galaxy' on them, and you lot can take turns off-shift in the stall selling them.'