Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from the September 1960 issue of If. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Star Performer
By ROBERT J. SHEA
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
Blue Boy's rating was high and his fans were loyal to thedeath—anyone's death!
avir gingerly fitted the round opening in the bottom of the silveryglobe over the top of his hairless blue skull. He pulled the globedown until he felt tiny filaments touching his scalp. The tips of thewires were cold.
The moderator then said, "Dreaming Through the Universe tonightbrings you the first native Martian to appear on the dreamwaves—Gavirof the Desert Men. With him is his guardian, Dr. Malcomb Rice, thenoted anthropologist."
Then the moderator questioned Malcomb, while Gavir nervouslyawaited the moment when his thoughts would be transmitted to millionsof Earthmen. Malcomb told how he had been struck by Gavir'sintelligence and missionary-taught ability to speak Earth's language,and had decided to bring Gavir to Earth.
The moderator turned to Gavir. "Are you anxious to get back to Mars?"
No! Gavir thought. Back behind the Preserve Barrier that killed youinstantly if you stepped too close to it? Back to the constant fear ofbeing seized by MDC guards for a labor pool, to wind up in the MDCmines?
Mars was where Gavir's father had been pinned, bayonets through hishands and feet, to the wall of a shack just the other side of theBarrier, to die slowly, out of Gavir's reach. Father James told Gavirthat the head of MDC himself had ordered the killing, because Gavir'sfather had tried to organize resistance to the Corporation. Mars waswhere the magic powers of the Earthmen and the helplessness of theMartian tribes would always protect the head of MDC from Gavir'svengeance.
Back to that world of hopeless fear and hatred? I never want to goback to Mars! I want to stay here!
But that wasn't what he was supposed to think. Quickly he said, "Iwill be happy to return to my people."
A movement caught his eye. The producer, reclining on a divan in a farcorner of the small studio, was making some kind of signal by beatinghis fist against his forehead.
"Well, enough of that!" the moderator said briskly. "How about singingone of your tribal songs for us?"
Gavir said, "I will sing the Song of Going to Hunt." He heavedhimself up from the divan, and, feet planted wide apart, threw backhis head and began to howl.
He was considered a poor singer in his tribe, and he was not surprisedthat Malcomb and the moderator winced. But Malcomb had told him thatit wouldn't matter. The dreamees receiving the dreamcast would hearthe song as it should sound, as Gavir heard it in his mind.Everything that Gavir saw and heard and felt in his mind, the dreameescould see and hear and feel....
It was cold, bitter cold, on the plain. The hunter stood at the edgeof the camp as the shriveled Martian sun struck the tops of the Shakamhills. The hunter hefted the long, balanced narvoon, the throwingknife, in his hand. He had faith in the knife, and in his skill withit.
The hunter filled his lungs, the cold air reaching dee