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About this Episode
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Transcript
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Warning.
La próxima cíper cruder radio spot,
¿a quién está aquí?
¿Quién va a ser filled con f-words?
Cuando estás hiciando,
nosotros en cíper cruder no puedes sentir frustrante.
Por favor, por favor.
Como tu fíjense es fútbol.
Y puedes tener una oportunidad de intentar encontrar gente fabulosa,
solo para poder ser flotado con candidates o...
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¡Fu**!
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En realidad, 4 de los 5 empleos que poseen en cíper cruder
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¡Chill Business, by William Boy!
Except for all Dworkin, Cothas Bar was deserted
when I dropped in shortly after midnight.
The ship from Earth was still 2 days away,
and the Martian flagship would get in next morning
with 700 passengers for Earth on it.
Dworkin must have been waiting in Luna City a whole week,
at 6000 credits a day.
¡That's as steep to me as it is to you!
But money never seemed to worry, Dworkin.
He raised a heavy green lich from his protruding brown eyes
as I came in.
He waved his tail.
Sit down and join me, he invited in his guttural voice.
It is not good for a man to drink alone,
but I have no company by de gods deserted whole.
A man must something be doing, what?
I sat down in the booth across from my vanusian friend
and stared at him while he punched a new order
into the drink board.
For me, another chic, he announced,
and for you, De Sain, against my better judgment,
for I knew I'd have plenty to do handling that mob of tourists.
The first crowd of the season is always the roughest tomorrow.
I consented.
Dworkin had already consumed six of the explosive things
as the empty glasses on the table showed,
but he exhibited no effect.
I made a mental note, as it 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 chic,
I remarked, what are you doing in Luna City this time?
He merely lifted his heavy eyelids
and stared at me without expression.
Nah, Indy money, I am not.
There are too many chislers in the business.
Just when I think I have a good thing going, I am swindled.
It is too bad.
He snorted through his ugly snout,
making the Venusian equivalent of a sigh.
I knew there was a story waiting behind that witty skin,
but I was not sure I wanted to hear it.
For the next round of drinks would be on me,
and chic was 150 credits a shot.
Still, a man on a moon assignment
has to amuse himself somehow.
So I said, what's in the latest episode
of the Dworkin soap opera?
What is the merchandise this time?
Gems, petmacurian fire insects,
a new supply of denga?
I do not smuggle drugs.
That is a base lie, replied my friend, stolenly.
He knew, of course, that I still suspected him
to be the source of that last load of that potent narcotic,
although I had no more proof
than did the planetary bureau of investigation.
He took a long pull of his drink before he spoke again.
But Dworkin is never down for long.
This time it is show business.
To remember how I have always been by the theater
so fascinated, well, I decided to open a show here
in Luna City.
Think of all the travelers, bored stiff by space
and the emptiness thereof, who passed through here
and during the season.
Even if only half of them go to my show, it cannot fail.
I waited for some mention of free tickets,
but none was made.
I was about as anxious to see Dworkin show
as I was to walk barefoot across Mayor Embrien.
But I asked with what enthusiasm I could force.
What sort of act are you putting on?
Girls?
I shuddered as I recalled the pathetic shop-worn course
girls that Sam Lowe had tried to pass off last year
on the go-able tourists of the spaceways.
That show had lasted ten nights, nine more than it deserved.
There are limits, even to the go-ability of earth lovers.
Yes, girls, for fly Dworkin,
but not perhaps what you are thinking.
Martian girls.
This was more interesting.
Even if the girls were now a little too old
for the stage in the Martian capital,
they would still get loud cheers on the moon.
I knew.
I started to say so, but Dworkin interrupted.
And not the miserable girls they buy
from the slave traders invest in.
These girls I collected myself from the country
along the Upper Canal.
I repressed my impulse to show my curiosity.
It could all be perfectly true,
and if we're not, the opening night would tell.
But it sounded a lot like one of Dworkin's taller tales.
I'd never been able to disprove any one of them.
But I found it a little hard to believe
that so many improbable things had ever happened to one man.
However, I like being entertained
if it doesn't cost me too much.
So finally, I said, I suppose you're going to tell me
you ventured out into the interior of Mars
carrying a six-week supply of water and oxygen on your back
and visited the zoo theaters on the spot.
How did you know that is just what I did?
Solomon affirmed my companion.
He snorted it again and looked at his glass.
It was empty, but he tilted it into his face again
in an eloquent gesture.
No words were needed.
I punched the symbols for a shake in my drinkboard
on my side 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 shake seemed to instill some animation into Dworkin.
I know you feel skeptically, I mean, skepticism.
After my exploits, you will see tomorrow night
that I speak true.
Amazing, I said, especially as I just
happened to remember that three different expeditions
from Earth tried to penetrate more than 100 kilometers
from Bestin, but either they couldn't carry the water
and oxygen that far, or they resorted to breathing Mars
air and never came back.
And they were Earth men, not Venusians, who
are accustomed to two atmospheres of carbon dioxide.
My friend, you must not reason.
It was so.
It always will be so.
The principle of induction is long exploded.
I did indeed breathe Mars air.
Vate, I tell you how.
He took another long swig of sheep.
That their Earthmen did not realize
was that they cannot acclimate themselves as do weem
Venusians.
You know the character of our planet
made adaptability a condition of survival.
It is true that our atmosphere is heavy,
but on top of our so high mountains, the air is thin.
We must live everywhere.
These spaces so few.
I first adapted myself on Earth to live.
I was there a whole year you will recollect.
Then I go further.
Your engineers construct air tanks that make air
like the air of the mountains.
Thin.
So I learn to live in those tanks.
Each day I have spent one to three hours in them.
I get so I can breathe air at one third
the pressure of your already thin atmosphere
and at one sixth detention of oxygen.
No, my friend, you could not do this.
Your lungs burst, but old Dworkin, he has done it.
I take with me only some water
for I know the Martians did not give water
to trade some miniature kerosene lamps.
You know they got no fuel oil now, only atomic,
but these little lamps stay like for antiques,
for sentiment, because their great-grandfathers used them.
Well, I walk through Velas and not stop.
Too close by the capital.
Too much contact with men of other planets.
I walk also through Burr and Zammett.
I come to a small place where they never see foreigner.
Name Tassaha.
Oh, I tell you, the men of the other planets
do not know Mars.
How delightful, how unspoiled are the Martians.
Once you get away from the people by tourists
so spoiled, how wonderful, across the sand to go.
Free as birds, the soul-friendly greetings
of the Martian men and the Martian women.
Well, Tassaha, I go to theater, such lovely girls,
you shall see, but I saw something else.
That, my friend, you hardly believe.
Dworkin looked down at his empty glass and snorted gently.
I took the hint.
Although for myself, I ordered the less lethal Martian
azadmi.
I was already having difficult believing part to this narrative.
It would be interesting to see if the rest were any harder.
My companion continued.
They not only have the chorus, which you have seen on Earth,
imported from Mars, and such a chorus, such girls,
but they have something else.
You recall your terrestrial history?
Once your ancestors had performers on the stage
who did funny motions and said, I'm using remarks.
These spectators make too laugh.
I think you call it Vodville.
Well, on Mars, they also have Vodville.
He paused and looked at me from under half shut
eyelids and grinned widely to show his reptilian teeth.
I wondered if he really found something new.
I would even be willing to pay for a glimpse
of Martian Vodville.
I wondered if my Martian was too rusty for me
to understand jokes in the spoken language.
They have not only men and women telling jokes,
they have trained animals acting funny to walk and win
a lot.
This was too much.
I suppose the animals talked too, I said sarcastically,
do they speak Earth or Martian?
He regarded me approvingly.
My friend, you catch on quick.
He raised a paw.
Now don't add conclusions, jump.
Let me explain.
At first, I did not believe it either.
They sprang it with no warning.
Onto the stage came a fool.
You know him, I think.
And a shield-clid.
The shield-clid was riding a bicycle.
I mean, a monocle, one wheel.
The slew moved just as awkward as he always does,
and then tried to ride a tandem four-wheeled vehicle
which had been especially made for him.
In spite of my resolve, I chuckled the picture of a
tool trying to ride a four-wheeled bicycle, pumping each
of his eight three jointed legs up and down and turned,
while maintaining his usual super-siliest and indifferent
facial expression was irresistibly funny.
Wait, said my friend, and again raised a paw.
You have, guys, yet nothing heard.
They make jokes at the same time.
The shield-clid asked the tool.
Who was that tool I saw you with up on the canal?
And the tool replies, that was no tool.
That was my speed.
I doubled up laughing.
Unless you've visited Mars, this may not strike you as funny.
But I collapsed into a heap.
Put my head on the table and wept with murk.
It seemed like five minutes before I was able to speak.
Oh, no.
Yes, yes, I tell you, yes, insisted my friend.
He even smiled himself.
If you don't know the social system of the Martians,
there's no point in me trying to explain the idea
of a tool being out with the neuter of neuters as sky
as so devastatingly funny.
But that suddenly was not quite the point.
Did it happen?
I had large doubts.
Nobody had ever heard a tool make any sort of sound.
And I was generally supposed that they had no vocal cords.
And no secret.
They sometimes resemble a big groundhog
and live in burrows along the canals of Mars.
Had ever been heard to make a noise,
except a high-pitched whistle in frightened.
Now, just a minute to work.
And I said, you know my friend?
I know you think it is impossible.
You think the talking is faked.
So I thought, too, but wait.
It seems to work and head inquired among the audiences
to who owned the performing animals.
The local Martians were not as impressed
as he was with the performance.
But they guided him to the proprietor
of the trained animal act.
He was a young Martian, mocked nose
with flashing black eyes,
dusky skin and curly hair.
So I say to him, this Martian,
Thorken continues,
if your act on the level is, I buy.
I had three small diamonds with, he explained.
But the Martian was hard to deal with.
First, he said he would not sell his so valuable
and so beloved animals.
The only talking animals on Mars, he said,
the liar.
At long last, I get him to make a price.
But on condition that he brings the animals around
to my inn in the morning for a private audition.
I suppose I interrupted.
You were beginning to have some doubts
as to the Martians good faith.
After all, a talking tool and a talking showclad
all at one time is quite a lot to ask.
I would have, please, friend,
please interrupted my companion.
Do you not think of Thorken nose these things?
Of course he does.
I think the owner,
he is pulling a fake, I guess.
I know that animals do not really talk.
Next morning, I think he knows show up,
but no, I am mistaken.
Bromply at nine o'clock, he come to my inn
with a little dog cart with the animals.
He put them on the stage and the bar of the inn.
They act like before, but they didn't talk, of course.
All my friend, that's where you are wrong.
They talk like nobody's business.
The jokes are funnier than ever, even dirtier, maybe.
But Thorken is not fooled.
He think, aha, I say to the Martian.
You fake this, what?
The animals not talk.
Suppose you have them do the act while you stay outside.
What?
Then I think I have him.
The Martian tear his curly hair, flashes black eyes.
He takes insult that I think he is fake.
Name of the Martian God, he cry,
but at last he agrees to go away
and tell the animals to go ahead.
Thorken, you were a sap to string along with him,
even as far as that, I said, wearily.
I hope you hadn't paid the guy any money.
He shook his head.
No, my old invest, he said.
Thorken, no foolies, even on Mars.
No, no money, but of eight.
The animals go on without the owner.
Same stage business, same talk, same jokes,
and even funnier yet.
What?
I stared at Thorken.
He did not smile, but finished off the 11th chic.
The fifth I had bought him.
Listen, I said, are you sitting there telling me
you have a tool and a shield that can really talk?
You listen, my friend.
Like you, I think something is wrong.
I say to the Martian owner, my friend,
maybe I'd buy or act if you tell me how it is done.
But you know, as well as I do, that is impossible
that these animals to talk, tell me what is the trick.
Thorken literally says glass and shook it
so he could not believe it was empty.
Then looked at me questioningly.
I shook my head.
He snorted, looked melancholy,
rides up from his chair and reaches for his workate.
Though, thanks for the drinks, he said.
A dark suspicion crept into my mind,
but I could not restrain myself.
Wait, Thorken, I shouted.
You can't just leave me up in the air like that.
What happened then?
Thorken snorted into his green handkerchief.
The Martian admitted it was a fake after all.
He said mournfully.
Can you imagine it?
What a cheesler.
He shook it, he said.
Can't really talk.
The tool just throws his voice.
End of show business by William Boyd.
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Es cuando agregas CoxMobo.
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¡Yeah!
No esperes.
Cambiate hoy a Cox.
Requiere CoxMobo que iban a limitar
garantía de precio, no incluyen puestas
y cargos, velocidad de datos moviles,
se reduce después de 20 gigas al mes.
