“Why don’t you just visit it?”
“I believe we are too… colourful to blend in with the natives.”
“Colourful? I’m a plain being. Nothing colourful about me. However, if you wish, my dear.” He turned to me and this time I did stand. “Sir MacAdam, if you can spare the time, I would be honoured to have you as a guest.”
Oh dear, another minefield. It was clearly a formal invitation and a formal response was required. The problem was I didn’t know what it was.
“You honour me with your invitation. I’ll be delighted to accept.”
For safety, I bowed.
“It’s a gesture of respect,” Madam Simpission murmured to her surprised husband.
“Hrm. Well. We’ll set it up after the brouhaha has died down.”
“I look forward to it.”
They left. I found Honesty-in-Trust at my shoulder.
“Having fun?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m bloody exhausted. What’s with all that religious stuff and how come no-one briefed me? What’s more I received a formal invitation to stay with the Simpissions and I didn’t know the correct response. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Thank God you and that media woman told me about druunsbaks. Oh, and the President offered me a job though I don’t think he was serious.”
He looked thoughtful. “The formal response to an invitation no-one could have anticipated. What did you say, by the way?”
“He said he would be honoured to have me as a guest and I said I was honoured by his invitation.”
“Good enough. As for the rest… If I were a suspicious being I would say that you were deliberately not informed in the hope you might embarrass yourself.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Wouldn’t that be risky? I mean if, as a barbarian, I make a gaffe, wouldn’t it reflect more on them than me?”
“Not likely. If you offend someone, they’re offended. They’re not likely to think beyond that. However, you clearly didn’t offend. Even I could see the President was having a good time and managing to wangle an invitation to the Simpission’s… I’m impressed.”
As we had been talking, we’d been making our way slowly to the door. Something caught my eye and I looked round. A group of about half a dozen beings were standing off to one side, enjoying a post-prandial drink. They had been watching me but, as I looked, they hastily looked away but not before I caught the expressions of hatred and disgust on their faces.
“Look carefully at that group over there,” I said quietly to Honesty-in-Trust. “Who are they?”
He managed a casual glance. “Don’t recognise all of them,” he said casually with a smile on his face. “But one of them is connected with Galactic Inter-Systems, the main rivals of Zofi-Brennan and one of them is the leader of a rather vociferous minority political party. Strange drinking companions.”
“I got the distinct impression they don’t like me for some reason.”
“There is a faction that thinks the Lottery is a lot of tom-foolery and should be abandoned,” he said thoughtfully. “Are you sure about your impression?”
“I caught them looking at me. The word ‘hostile’ came to mind.”
“The Lottery always arouses a degree of jealously. Some of the more scurrilous media have suggested it was wasted on a barbarian and should be awarded to a civilised being.”
“Perhaps I should put you on a permanent retainer.”
“You couldn’t afford me.”
“Couldn’t I?” I gave him a feral grin.
He regarded me thoughtfully. “Then again perhaps you could.”
The Lottery minion left us at my dressing room door. The goth dresser had gone. I flopped onto a couch.
“I don’t think I’ll make it till tonight.”
He laughed. “You’ll do fine.” He explored the various cupboards and drawers. “What’s your embeesi?”
“My what?”
“MBCI… Micro-biological Classification Index. It’s what we use to determine what you can eat or drink.”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Another ‘oversight’, I suspect.”
“Flerr… Madam Pressicallita reckoned we were fairly compatible.”
“I’ll bet,” he said with a sly grin. I blushed. “Ah, here we are.” He held up a bottle and two glasses. “Just the ticket.”
“What is it?”
“Proskatya’s Uplifting Elixir. Made on some god-forsaken planet and the spiral end of nowhere. Non-alcoholic, non-intoxicating, non-addictive but well named.” He poured two glasses and handed me one. “Cheers.” He lifted his and took a long swig. “Ahhh.” He shook his head as if clearing cobwebs.
I sniffed at mine cautiously. It didn’t smell bad but there were very strange overtones… alien would be the best description. I took a tentative sip. At first it just felt like water then it hit me. My mouth seemed to come alive as if a pin had been stuck in every individual taste-bud. I spat the liquid back into the glass.
“You trying to poison me or something?” I gasped.
He looked sheepish. “Sorry. Should have warned you. You need to knock it back without tasting it. Go ahead. It won’t kill you and it really will make you feel better.”
My mouth was beginning to recover and it certainly did feel refreshed; as it I’d just had a mouthwash. Summoning up my courage, I took a deep swig. The liquid slid down my throat then exploded.
“Jesus,” I gasped. “That’s potent.”
“It certainly is.” He held up the bottle and admired it. “That’s why it costs about two week’s wages for a single bottle.”
The liquid was working its way inside me. Suddenly I felt as if I’d just woken from a deep sleep, been for a dip in the ocean and made love to a beautiful woman all at the same time. In short I felt wonderful.
“Bloody hell, it does work,” I exclaimed.
“You’ll pay for it later but, for now, finish your glass. It’ll set you up for the rest of the day.”
He swallowed the rest of his drink, corked the bottle and put it carefully away. I finished mine, too. I felt slightly euphoric and ready for anything.
“When do you think they’ll give me the contract?” I said.
He sucked his teeth and contemplated the ceiling. “Probably when they call you for the rehearsal. They can keep you busy and distracted after that. With a bit of luck you’ll forget about it and won’t sign it.”
“Sneaky bastards.”
“But not as sneaky as you.”
“Shit. I’ve just remembered. I’ve got to make a speech. Two minutes, I think.”
He jumped to his feet and looked round nervously. “Er, er, Your Holinesses, er, er, Sir President, er, um, er, Sir Chairman, um, er, Sirs and Madams, er, erum, have I forgotten anybody, er, um, I just want to say, er, um, that is, um, well, it’s a great privilege…”
“Stop. Stop,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Perhaps you should do the speech instead of me.”
“Oh, no. Speech making isn’t covered in our contract.”
“I could make it worth your while…” I said slyly.
“Oh, no you couldn’t. I may be a lawyer but I do have some scruples, you know.”
“An honest lawyer. Whatever next?”
“I’m deeply hurt by your cynicism.”
“Only joking. Seriously, up till now there were two beings in this Galaxy that I trust. You’ve just made the third.”
“I think I’m flattered… but it won’t get you a reduction in fees. Seriously, I am flattered. Thank you for your trust. It isn’t misplaced.”
A knock on the door prevented us from becoming too maudlin. The rehearsal was starting if we wanted to watch part of it.
Chapter 7
What can I say about the show? Well, it was a variety show. There was an MC; a Capellan with very dark skin, far too many gleaming white teeth and a smile as sincere as a used car salesman’s. There were dancers. Honesty-in-Trust assured me they were the best c
lassical dancers on this side of the galaxy. Personally, I’d’ve preferred The Pussycat Dolls. There was a rock ‘n’ roll band; five very thin young men with pale green skins and jet black hair. They cavorted around on the stage while playing some weird instruments. One had a broom handle which he stood upright and moved his fingers intricately at the top end accompanied by dramatic flourishes. One played a variety of percussion instruments. I say ‘played’ though he looked more like Bruce Lee in one of his more active movies. Two blew into metallic-looking things and one sang. The Rolling Stones they were not, except perhaps that they were extremely thin. There were also solo female and solo male singers, a troupe of acrobats which I enjoyed, and a group of Capellans who put on a short play. It reminded me of a Japanese Noh play or a Greek tragedy. It was very stylised and the language obtuse and stilted. It had a religious theme. Honesty-in-Trust assured me that these were some of the best acts around. The female vocalist, for example, had already sold out on her up-coming seventy-planet tour and the tickets had only gone on sale the day before yesterday. He sat enthralled. I yawned. It was almost a relief when I was summoned to do my bit.
The director was a tall, thin being with extremely long legs and arms. He reminded me of a pink-skinned stick insect. His face was in keeping with the rest of him, being long and thin and bony and his expression suggested he might break into tears at any moment. He also wore a lot of jewellery that looked as if it was made of iron. The old adage about judging books by the cover applied to him for his lachrymose appearance belied a volatile, almost explosive nature. One moment he would be gesturing imperiously at his scurrying minions, the next screaming imprecations at some fault or problem and wondering, in a loud, penetrating whine, why he had been cursed to work with incompetents.
The Chairman of the Lottery Board was also there. We nodded warily to each other.
“Not the easiest being to work with,” I said casually to him as the director launched into another of his tirades.
He smiled sourly. No doubt he felt the same about me.
“Oh, I have your contract,” he said.
I held out my hand. Rather reluctantly he handed it over. I immediately passed it to Honesty-in-Trust who scurried off before any one realised what was going on.
“Who was that?” the Chairman asked belligerently.
“My lawyer,” I replied casually.
His jaw dropped. “Your… Hringe! Hringe! Dammit, where is that being? Hringe, find that being and bring him here. He has no right… Who let him in anyway? Find him. He’s a lawyer. He has the contract.”
Sir Hringe was opening and closing his mouth vainly trying to speak.
“What being, Sir?” he asked when, at last, the Chairman paused for breath.
“What being? What do you mean ‘what being’? The being that was with… him,” he waved an arm at me. “The being that has stolen the contract. Find him. Get it back. Do whatever you need but get that contract back.”
“Yes, Sir,” Hringe said. It was clear he didn’t have a clue who Honesty-in-Trust was but wasn't about to admit it. He started to leave.
“Sir Chairman,” I said in a loud voice. All around me conversations died. “Sir Chairman, I suggest you reconsider. I remind you that if that contract is not signed there will be no show. And unless it says exactly what we agreed it won’t be signed.”
“No show?” the director screamed. “No show? How dare you… how dare you threaten my show. I’ve worked… slaved for months putting this show together. I’ve wheeled, I’ve dealed, I’ve had sleepless nights and worries and stresses you’d never understand over this show. How dare you threaten my show?”
He was hopping up and down waving his arms. His face had gone beetroot coloured and I was seriously concerned that he might have a heart attack or something. By the look on the Chairman’s face, he was building towards a major explosion.
“Oh, shut up,” I said sharply. They both looked at me in astonishment. “I’m sick and tired of all this childish behaviour. No, I said be quiet,” I added as the director looked as if he would start again. “Now. Who am I?”
They looked at me but said nothing. They thought it was a rhetorical question.
“Don’t you know? Don’t you know who I am?”
“But of course,” the director said sneeringly. “You’re the Lottery Winner.”
“Ten out of ten. And what is tonight’s show about?”
“Why… the Lottery, of course.”
I could see the Chairman from the corner of my eye. He knew what was coming. After all, I’d pulled this trick on him already.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same planet. Now, bear with me a second. If your shows are like ours, there’s a headline act, a star attraction, someone or something the show’s built round. Is that right?” He nodded. I glanced round. Some of the brighter beings had already cottoned on and were hiding smirks. “Now the format of the show is that you start with lesser acts and build the tension and the excitement gradually. Each part is slightly better and slightly grander than the one before. Yes?”
“Of course, but I fail…”
“An instant. The show builds up and the grand finale, the climax of the show is your big name, your megastar. He or she emerges to thunderous applause as the audience has been primed for this moment. Now, tell me, what’s the final act in tonight’s show?”
The question caught him off guard. “Why, the announcement of the Lottery Winner.”
“And tonight’s Lottery Winner is…?” I prompted.
He looked puzzled. “You, of course. But…”
“Listen to me, you simple minded, egotistical, talentless being,” I roared. “The sole and only purpose of tonight’s show is to introduce me .to the galaxy. I…” I jabbed my chest, “…am the superstar. I am the headline act. Without me there is no show.”
His eyes were glassy. “Talentless,” he muttered in a small sad voice. “He calls me talentless. I am the greatest director in this sector of the galaxy and this… barbarian calls me talentless and threatens to quit. A prima-donna Lottery Winner. What is the galaxy coming to? I’ll be ruined. Ruined. I’ll never direct another show again.”
He wandered off and collapsed into a chair, his head in his hands. I immediately felt sorry. I hadn’t intended to go this far. I went over and put a friendly hand on his shoulder.
“Go away. You’ve ruined me. Don’t gloat.”
I crouched down beside him. “I apologise,” I said contritely. “That was uncalled for. You’re not talentless at all. I know nothing about directing but I imagine trying to put together a show like this can’t be easy. I can quite believe you’ve had sleepless nights. You must have nerves of steel.”
He peeped out from between his fingers. He must have been reassured by my expression for he dropped his hands.
“I take back what I said about lacking talent,” I continued. “I’ll do it publicly, if you want. Oh, and there will be a show… probably. The thing is…” I paused. “Can I trust you?”
“Trust me?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. The thing is this isn’t about you. It’s about the Lottery Commission.” I dropped my voice conspiratorially. “They’re trying to cheat me. If they get their way, I’ll get nothing.”
“I don’t believe it. How could they cheat you?”
I looked round suspiciously. “I can’t collect my prize if I’m dead.”
“Dead?” he squeaked
“Shh. Yes, dead. I can’t go outside. The radiation from your sun will kill me. They knew this and arranged a grand tour of Geretimal. A week under your sun and I’ll be dead. It was only by accident I found out. Now they can’t do that they’re trying something else.”
“I don’t know that I believe you.”
I thought for a moment. “Is it true that recording a formal statement on one of your communicators is legally binding?” He nodded. “Okay. Set yours up to record.”
He fished out his communicator.
&
nbsp; “You’d better go first and say you’re with Crawford MacAdam and the next voice will be mine.”
He did and handed me the communicator.
I said. “I am Crawford MacAdam of Earth and I formally swear that prolonged exposure to Capella’s sun will kill me.”
I handed it back and he switched it off.
“I believe you, now. This is terrible. Why do they want you dead?”
“I’ve no idea and I haven’t the time to find to. At the moment I’m trying to protect myself. I made them draw up a contract guaranteeing that I would be safe and get my prize. I think it’s under control”
“Clever.”
“Ah, but they’ve only just given me the contract to sign and I’ll bet you your next year’s earnings that it doesn’t say what it should. That’s why I brought my lawyer and that’s why he’s in hiding, reading the contract and that’s why Sir Chairman is so upset and that’s why I’m threatening to stop the show.”
“You think they’ll deal?”
I gave a sour laugh. “If you’d be ruined if there’s no show, think what it’ll do to them, especially as I’ve had the press conference and I’m quite prepared to go public and explain exactly why.”
“Whew,” he whistled. “That would work.”
“I sincerely hope so. I also sincerely hope it won’t come to that. I want to walk out of here a rich man… and there’s the breeding programme, too. And I want this to be the best damn show ever. They’re banking on me backing down. I won’t. They can’t afford for the show not to go ahead so they’ll give in.” My fingers were firmly crossed. “We need to work on that basis. We’d look pretty damn silly thinking it was off only to find it wasn't, wouldn’t we?”
He gave a short laugh. “We would. You sure about this?”
“Look, I give you my assurances that the show will be on unless something very bad happens. It’s a great show. I saw some of the rehearsals. I wish I could be in the audience tonight.”
He laughed again, more genuinely this time. “Can’t have the star of the show sitting in the audience. It’s just not done.”
I Won A Spaceship Page 15