Sylvie uttered a short, sharp obscenity, linked arms with Gavir, and
strolled out.
"You screwball Senile Delinquent," Spurling yelled after Sylvie, "you
oughtta be locked up!"
* * * * *
Lucifer Grotto was in that same quarter in which Gavir had been
attacked. Sylvie told him it was _the_ hangout for wealthier New York
Century-Plussers. Gavir told her about the attack, and she laughed.
"It won't happen again. You're a hero to the Senile Delinquents now.
By the way, the big fellow with the broad-brimmed hat, he's one of the
most prominent Senile Delinquents of our day. He's president of the
biggest privately-owned space line, but he likes to call himself the
Hat Rat. You must be one of the few people who ever got away from him
alive."
"He seemed happy to get away from me," said Gavir.
An arrangement of force-planes and 3V projections made the front of
Lucifer Grotto appear to be a curtain of flames. Gavir hung back, but
Sylvie inserted a tiny gold pitchfork into a small aperture in the
glowing, rippling surface. The flames swept aside, revealing a
doorway. A bearded man in black tights escorted them through a
luridly-lit bar to a private room. When they were alone, Sylvie
dropped her cape to the floor, sat on the edge of a huge, pink divan,
and smiled at Gavir.
Gavir contemplated her. That she was over a hundred years old was a
little frightening. But the skin of her face and her bare upper body
was a warm color, and tautly filled. She had lashed out at Spurling,
and he liked her for that. But in one way she was like Spurling. She
didn't fit into the bland, non-violent world of Malcomb and Hoppy.
He shook his head. He said, "Sylvie, why--well, why are you the way
you are? Why--and how--have you broken away from Ethical
Conditioning?"
Sylvie frowned. She spoke a few words into the air, ordering drinks.
She said, "I didn't do it deliberately. When I reached the age of
about a hundred it stopped working for me. I suddenly wanted to do
what _I_ wanted to do. And then I found out that I didn't _know_ what
I wanted to do. It was Ethical Conditioning or nothing, so I picked
nothing. And here I am, chasing nothing."
"How do you chase nothing?"
She set fire to a white tube. "This, for instance. They used to do it
before they found out it caused cancer. Now there's no more cancer,
but even if there were, I'd still smoke. That's the attitude I have.
You try things. You live in the past, if you're inclined, adopt the
costumes and manners of some more colorful time. You try ridiculous
things, disgusting things, vicious things. You know they're all
nothing, but you have to do something, so you go on doing nothing,
elaborately and violently."
A tray of drinks rose through the floor. Sylvie frowned as she noticed
a folded paper tucked between the glasses. She picked it up and read
it, chuckled, and read it again, aloud.
"Sir: I beg you to forgive the presumption of my recent attack on
you. Since then you have captured my imagination. I now hold you to be
the noblest savage of them all. Henceforward please consider me, Your
obedient servant, Hat Rat."
"You've impressed him," said Sylvie. "But you impress me even more.
Come here."
She held out slim arms to him. He had no wish to refuse her. She was
not like a Martian woman, but he found the differences exciting and
attractive. He went to her, and he forgot entirely that she was over a
hundred years old.
* * * * *
In the months that followed, Gavir's fame spread over Earth. By
spring, the rating computers credited him with an audience of eight
hundred million--ninety-five percent of whom were Century-Plussers.
Davery doubled Gavir's salary.
Gavir toured the world with Sylvie, mobbed everywhere by worshipful
Century-Plussers. Male Century-Plussers by the millions adopted blue
doublets and blue kilts in honor of their hero.
Blue-dyed hair was now _de rigueur_ among the ladies of Lucifer
Grotto. The Hat Rat himself, who often appeared at a respectful
distance in crowds around Gavir, now wore a wide-brimmed hat of
brightest blue.
Then there came the dreamcast on which Gavir sang the _Song of
Complaint_.
It was an ancient song, a Desert Man's outcry against injustice,
enemies, false friends and callous leaders. It was a protest against
sufferings that could neither be borne nor prevented. At the climax of
the song Gavir pictured a tribal chief who refused to make fair
division of the spoils of a hunt with his warriors. Gradually he
allowed this image to turn into a picture of Hoppy Davery withholding
bundles of money from a starving Gavir. Then he ended the song.
Hoppy sent for him next morning.
"Why did you do that?" he said. "Listen to this."
A recorded voice boomed: "This is Hat Rat. Pay the Blue Boy what he
deserves, or I will give you death. It will be a personal thing
between you and me. I will besprinkle you with corrosive acids; I will
burn out your eyes; I will--"
Hoppy cut the voice off. Gavir saw that he was sweating. "There were
_dozens_ like that. If you want more money, I'll _give_ you more
money. Say something nice about me on your next dreamcast, for
heaven's sake!"
Gavir spread his big blue hands. "I am sorry. I don't want more money.
I cannot always control the pictures I make. These images come into
my mind even though they have nothing to do with me."
Hoppy shook his head. "That's because you haven't had Ethical
Conditioning. We don't have this trouble with our other performers.
You just must remember that dreamvision is the most potent
communications medium ever devised. Be _careful_."
"I will," said Gavir.
* * * * *
On his next dreamcast Gavir sang the _Song of the Blood Feud_. He
pictured a Desert Man whose father had been killed by a drock.
The Desert Man ran over the red sand, and he found the drock. He did
not throw his knife. That would not have satisfied his hatred. He fell
upon the drock and stabbed and stabbed.
The Desert Man howled his hunting-cry over the body of his enemy, and
spat into its face.
And the fanged face of the drock turned into the square, battered face
of Jarvis Spurling. Gavir held the image in his mind for a long
moment.
When the dreamcast was over, a studio page ran up to Gavir. "Mr.
Spurling wants to see you at once, at his office."
"Let him come and find me," said Gavir. "Let us go, Sylvie."
They went to Lucifer Grotto, where Gavir's wealthiest admirers among
the Senile Delinquents were giving a party for him in the Pandemonium
Room. The only prominent person missing, as Sylvie remarked after
surveying the crowd, was the Hat Rat. They wondered about it, but no
one knew where he was.
Sheets of flame illuminated the wild features and strange garments of
over a hundred Century-Plus ladies and gentlemen. Gouts of flame
leaped from the walls to light antique-style cigarettes. Drinks were
refilled from nozzles of molded fire.
An hour passed from the time of Gavir's arrival.
Then Jarvis Spurling joined the party. There was a heavy frontier
sonic pistol strapped at his waist. A protesting Malcomb was behind
him.
Jarvis Spurling's square face was dark with anger. "You deliberately
put my face on that animal! You want to make the public hate me. I pay
your salary and keep you here on Earth, and this is what I get for it.
All right. A Bluie is a Bluie, and I'll treat you like a Bluie should
be treated." He unsnapped his holster and drew the square, heavy
pistol out and pointed it at Gavir.
Gavir stood up. His right hand plucked at his doublet.
"You're itching to go for that throwing knife," said Spurling. "Go on!
Take it out and get ready to throw it. I'll give you that much
chance. Let's make a game out of this. We'll make like we're back on
Mars, Bluie, and you're out hunting a drock. And you find one, only
this drock has a gun. How about that, Bluie?"
Gavir took out the narvoon, grasped the blade, and drew his arm back.
"Gavir!"
It was the Hat Rat. He stood between pillars of flame in the doorway
of the Pandemonium Room of Lucifer Grotto, and there was a peculiar
contrivance of dark brown wood and black metal tubing cradled in his
arm. "This ancient shotgun I dedicate to your blood feud. I shall hunt
down your enemy, Gavir!"
Spurling turned. The Hat Rat saw him.
"The enemy!" the Hat Rat shouted.
The shotgun exploded.
Spurling's body was thrown back against Gavir. Gavir saw a huge ragged
red caved-in place in Spurling's chest. Spurling's body sagged to the
floor and lay there face up, eyes open. The Senile Delinquents of
Lucifer Grotto leaned forward to grin at the tattered body.
Still holding the narvoon, Gavir stood over his dead enemy. He threw
back his head and howled out the hunting cry of the Desert Men. Then
he looked down and spat in Jarvis Spurling's dead face.