Here's the behind-the-scenes lowdown on Luna City life anda promoter of Martian dancing girls, vaudeville, and—otherthings. 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 whenI dropped in shortly after midnight.The ship from Earth was still twodays away, and the Martian flagshipwould get in next morning,with seven hundred passengers forEarth on it. Dworken must havebeen waiting in Luna City a wholeweek—at six thousand credits a day.That's as steep to me as it is to you,but money never seemed to worryDworken.
He raised the heavy green lidsfrom his protruding brown eyes as Icame in. He waved his tail.
"Sit down and join me," he invited,in his guttural voice. "It is notgood for a man to drink alone. ButI haf no combany in dis by-de-gods-desertedhole. A man mustsomet'ing be doing, what?"
I sat down in the booth acrossfrom my Venusian friend, andstared at him while he punched anew order into the drinkboard.
"For me, another shchikh," heannounced. "And for you? Desame?"
Against my better judgment, forI knew I'd have plenty to do handlingthat mob of tourists—the firstcrowd of the season is always theroughest—tomorrow, I consented.Dworken had already consumed sixof the explosive things, as the emptyglasses on the table showed, but heexhibited no effects. I made a mentalnote, as I'd so often done before,that this time I would not exceedthe safe terrestrial limit of two.
"You must be in the moneyagain, drinking imported shchikh,"I remarked. "What are you doingin Luna City this time?"
He merely lifted his heavy eyelidsand stared at me without expression.
"Na, in de money I am not. Dereare too many chiselers in business.Just when 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 ofa sigh. I knew there was a storywaiting behind that warty skin, butI was not sure I wanted to hear it.For the next round of drinks wouldbe on me, and shchikh was a hundredand fifty credits a shot. Still, aman on a Moon assignment has toamuse himself somehow.
So I said, "What's the latest episodein the Dworken soap opera?What is the merchandise this time?Gems? Pet Mercurian fire-insects?A new supply of danghaana?"
"I do not smuggle drugs, dat isa base lie," replied my friendstolidly. He knew, of course, that Istill suspected him to be the sourceof the last load of that potent narcotic,although I had no more proofthan did the Planetary Bureau ofInvestigation.
He took a long pull at his drinkbefore he spoke again. "But Dworkenis never down for long. Dis timeit is show business. You remember,how I haf always been by de t'eaterso fascinated? Well, I decided toopen a show here in Luna City.T'ink of all the travelers, bored stiffby space and de emptiness thereof,who pass through here during theseason. Even if only half of themgo to my show, it cannot fail."
I waited for some mention of freetickets, but none was made. I wasabout as anxious to see Dworken'sshow as I was to walk barefootacross the Mare Imbrium, but Iasked with what enthusiasm I couldforce,
"What sort of act are you puttingon? Girls?" I shuddered as I recalledthe pathetic shop-wornchorus girls that Sam Low had triedto pass off last year on the gullibleto