[210] “Shut up, commander. That’s a direct—”
“House lights,” Amelinda said.
Jim looked up. Amelinda stood at the edge of the stage, glaring down. Her heavy iridescent hair gleamed, shoulder-length around her face, falling below her hips in back.
“House lights!” she said again. The power of her voice came from her alone, without the aid of amplifiers.
The house lights brightened.
“Commander Spock,” Amelinda said, with perfect composure, “would you care to repeat your comment so the rest of the audience can hear you?”
“I said that the coin was a holographic illusion, or that it was still in your hand,” Spock said.
“A holographic illusion? That would be cheating.” She held out her open hand. “And the coin is not in my hand.”
“Your other hand,” Spock said.
“The coin isn’t in my hand—or in my hand.” Amelinda extended her other hand, open and empty.
Spock raised one eyebrow.
“We’re lucky—aren’t we?” Amelinda said. “If my birthplace were Tau Ceti II, and I were one of its octomanual inhabitants: ‘It is not in my hand, or in my hand, or in my hand ...’ Why, we’d be here all night.”
The audience laughed with her.
She offered her empty hand to Mr. Spock.
“I usually ask for a volunteer later on, but since you’re so eager, Commander Spock, you can help me now.”
Spock rose from his seat, and sprang onto the stage.
Amelinda regarded Spock with a smile, accepting him as a worthy opponent. “You claim that I have only one coin.”
“I said you plucked the same coin from the air both times,” Spock said.
“I don’t blame you for thinking that. Air is so barren. I wonder what we might find in more fertile fields? Hold out your hands.”
Spock complied. Reaching up to his left ear, Amelinda plucked out a coin and dropped it, glittering, into Spock’s outstretched hands.
The audience loved it. Jim laughed, impressed by Amelinda’s audacity in inviting a Vulcan to watch her illusions at [211] close range. Amelinda plucked a coin from Spock’s right ear. One after another, she pulled coins from Spock’s ears and dropped the sapphire disks into his hands till there was no question of their being holographic projections. Each crystal hit the next, ringing with high, piercing notes. Spock watched, nonplussed.
“So much more to work with than air,” Amelinda said. Then she blushed. “Sorry,” she said, the only break in her stage presence. “Cheap joke.”
Spock tried to hold all the coins, but one slipped from the double handful. It spun on the stage and rolled into the shadows. Ignoring it, Amelinda scooped coins from Spock’s hands and pitched them into the audience till Spock stood empty-handed once more.
“Now they’ve disappeared for good,” Amelinda said, “and even I can’t make them return.”
The audience erupted into applause. Amelinda bowed low. Her hair fell forward, nearly touching the floor. When she stood again she flung it back, like a dark, iridescent cape.
Spock started toward his seat.
The magician stopped him with her voice. “Not so fast,” she said. “I have more work for my volunteer.”
Tzesnashstennaj and another felinoid pushed a great box onto the stage. Clear glass molded in an openwork filigree pattern formed all four sides. The assistants spun the box and stopped it at stage center.
Amelinda opened it and rapped her wand against its solid inside. Jim wondered where the wand had come from.
“An empty box.” Amelinda waved the wand beneath it. “It stands high above the floor, it has no hidden escapes, no electronics. Mr. Scott!”
Amelinda made a sweeping gesture. The spotlights flashed onto a circular mesh plate, which had till now hung unseen in the shadows over the stage.
“If you would be so kind as to explain this device.”
“Aye,” Scott said. “ ’Tis a transporter-beam shield. No transporter can operate near that little device.”
“And it is fully functional?”
“I installed it myself,” Scott said.
“Thank you. Dr. McCoy!”
McCoy joined Scott onstage.
[212] “Do you have your tricorder, Dr. McCoy?”
“I do.”
“Check the magic box—for electronics, for anything suspicious.”
“My pleasure.” McCoy fiddled with the tricorder, causing it to emit beeps and whines. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s a perfectly ordinary box.”
“Do you think so? Please set your tricorder to signal the use of a transporter beam, and place the instrument in front of the box.”
McCoy did as she asked, then stepped back beside Scott.
Spock looked as if he wished he were somewhere else.
“And now, Mr. Spock, if you would enter the box—”
“Why would I wish to do this?”
“Because—” By her second word, Amelinda had smoothed the edge from her voice. “Because, as before, I have nothing up my sleeves.”
She pushed her sleeves to her elbows. The muscles of her forearms were clear and well defined. She turned her hands over to show that they were empty.
She reached toward Spock, offering to escort him. Again, he pretended not to notice her hand, but he did climb inside the box. He wore an expression of bemusement.
Amelinda closed the box. Spock stood within transparent latticework walls. The lights shifted and changed, reflecting from the glass, obscuring all but the vague outline of Spock’s body.
“Now I’ll secure him.”
Tzesnashstennaj loped forward with a carrier full of swords. Amelinda chose one, placed its tip against the floor, and leaned on it till it bent like a fencing foil. She released the tension and it sprang straight.
She thrust it through an opening in the filigree.
The audience gasped.
“Silence, please,” Amelinda said. “You mustn’t disturb my concentration. It could be ... dangerous.”
At the level of Spock’s chest the sword’s point protruded from the far side of the box. The changing lights sparked on the sharp metal. The magician chose a second sword and slid it through the lattice. Soon a dozen swords penetrated the box and the science officer’s shadowy shape.
[213] “By normal means, no person, nothing, could escape. Some would say no one could survive.”
The assistants spun the box a third time. The changing lights washed over their fur and over the glass, dappling them like light on water.
“Stop!”
Amelinda withdrew the swords from the box and flung them clattering onto the stage. She reached for the latch, hesitating, letting the tension build.
She flung open the door. In the same instant, the lights steadied. Jim blinked, dazzled. A figure stood inside the box. Amelinda took his hand.
Leonard McCoy stepped from the magic box and into a moment of stunned silence. Jim glanced to the side of the stage, where Scott still stood watching. He never noticed how or when McCoy had moved. Cheers and applause crashed over the stage like a wave. Amelinda and McCoy both bowed.
The lights faded, and they were gone.
Stephen met Spock on his emergence from the “magic” box.
“Vulcans are a tactless bunch at best, but you’re in a class by yourself,” Stephen said.
“As usual, your meaning eludes me,” Spock said.
“Stay here till Lindy comes and gets you.”
“I would prefer to return to the audience.”
“You already almost spoiled one of Lindy’s tricks! You stay here. Don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with my presence. You’ll miss my act—but I’m sure that won’t bother you.” Stephen hurried out, leaving Spock alone.
Spock inspected his surroundings. The secret exit from the “magic” box led into a briefing room adjacent to the theater. All manner of unusual equipment filled the room: exotic costumes, hand-built machines, musical instrument
s, boxes of makeup, masks, harness.
Spock would never have guessed the method of escape from the box, but having experienced it he admired its simplicity. He wondered why the captain had behaved in such a perturbed way before Spock climbed onto the stage. Spock’s observations had been logical. Furthermore, they had provided him with an opportunity to observe the [214] performance at closer range. Spock had not expected to reap such a benefit, but one must take advantage of serendipity when it occurred.
He believed his original observations and comments still to be accurate: the magician had plucked the same coin out of the air twice, and the coin had been in one hand while she induced the audience to look at the other. But what she did with it when he challenged her, Spock could not determine. Nor did he understand the mechanism by which she had produced a double handful of sapphire disks—whether from his ears or from thin air did not matter. Spock felt considerable respect for the magician and her technique. He wondered what was happening onstage. The magician might be perpetrating any sort of fraud on her credulous fellow humans. Perhaps she had planned all along to spirit Spock away so he could no longer observe.
Spock picked up a mask and stared into it. Deep furrows sculpted the face into a furious scowl. Black gauze covered the eyeholes, to obscure the eyes of the actor.
The door slid open. Amelinda strode in and stopped five paces from him, her hands on her hips.
“What do you mean by heckling my performance?” Her voice was taut with the anger she had repressed onstage.
“Heckling?” Spock said. “I merely pointed out—”
“Merely? Merely! Why didn’t you get up and explain everything I did? Then everybody could say, ‘Oh, but that’s so easy—anybody can do that.’ But everybody can’t do that—not unless they’re willing to spend a couple of hours every day of their lives practicing it! Mr. Spock, how could you do that to me? I thought you liked me.”
“I do not like anyone,” Spock said. “It is not in my nature to like, or to dislike. It was not my intention to disparage your accomplishments.”
“You could have fooled me!”
“Far from disparaging your abilities, I cannot explain all of your illusions. But you implied that the coin had disappeared by supernatural means, and I felt it my duty to point out that no such thing happened.”
“Supernatural means—!” She looked at him with disbelief. “You don’t think I expected anybody to swallow that swill, do you?”
[215] “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you think I meant for anyone to believe what I did was anything more than a trick? Did you think anybody did believe I was using”—she laughed—“supernatural means?”
“Magicians have been known to perpetrate frauds. As for making assumptions about the beliefs of any particular human at any particular moment, I would not presume to try.”
“For cat’s sake,” Amelinda said. “Sure, there’ve been frauds. But for every illusionist who ever pretended to be a medium, or a prophet, or a telekineticist, or whatever, there were always a hundred who said, ‘We’re performing. We’re creating illusions. Come and let us fool you.’ You can be sure that nobody who’s working a scam is going to advertise that they’re a stage magician!”
“That is a telling point,” Spock said. “I had not considered it.”
“Everybody in that audience knew I was performing a trick. That’s what they came to see. They didn’t want to know how I did it—you could have spoiled it for them. Never mind for me. Didn’t you understand that?”
“No,” Spock said. “I did not.”
“Vulcans and children,” Amelinda said. “Never perform for Vulcans or children. That’s what my daddy always said. And I guess he was right.”
“If you did not intend people to believe you work by supernatural means, why did you claim that as your method?”
“That’s the schtick.”
“Please define your terms.”
“The schtick. That’s ... it’s kind of hard to define.”
“Ah. A technical term.”
She giggled, then sobered and nodded. “Right. A technical term. It’s the line you use to pull the audience into your world. To persuade them to go along with you.”
“Willing suspension of disbelief,” Spock said.
“I guess. It’s a fancy way of putting it, but you could describe it that way if you wanted.”
“I am quoting an earth poet. That was how he described the art of poetry. I thought all humans studied his work.”
[216] “They probably do in school. I don’t know, I never went.”
Recalling her performance, Spock cocked one eyebrow. “But onstage, you said—the schoolyard bully—?”
“I made that up. It sounds good.”
“Part of … the ‘schtick’?”
“Very good, Mr. Spock. You know ... you’re very effective onstage. You have natural presence. How about a repeat performance for the second show?”
“I had planned to observe the audience.”
“You can observe them from backstage. After you heckle me and I disappear you. It’s the least you can do, after you nearly spoiled my act.”
Spock considered the proposal. “But I did not spoil your act. My questioning your illusion allowed you to demonstrate the more impressive trick. I suspect you planned the entire sequence.”
“Planned it?” Amelinda laughed again. “No, I didn’t plan it. I’m good, but I’m not that good. Maybe my daddy can work an audience that slick. Maybe someday I’ll be able to, but I didn’t this time. Not intentionally.”
“In that case, you improvise most effectively.”
“You try to be prepared,” Amelinda said. “How about it? Will you help me out?”
“Very well,” Spock said. He would have many chances to observe audiences, but this would be a unique opportunity to observe a unique human being. “I will aid you, as long as I do not have to promote a belief in the supernatural.”
“That’s great,” Amelinda said. “Just one other thing.”
“What is that?”
“I’ll have to show you how some of the illusions work. That makes you my assistant—it makes you one of us. You aren’t allowed to tell anyone else the secrets.”
“Please give me an example.”
“Okay. For example, you can’t tell anybody how you got out of the magic box. You can’t tell anybody I use a codepicker in my escape illusion later on.” She magically produced a miniaturized instrument that electronically broke security codes.
Spock considered. “That is a highly illegal piece of equipment, Ms. Lukarian.”
[217] “They’re only illegal because criminals use them to break into and out of things. Magicians always have a pack full of tools they’d get arrested for if they used them anywhere but onstage. What do you say—are you going to promise, or are you going to turn me in?”
“I will promise.”
“Good. Come on, let’s watch the show from the wings.”
He followed her to the backstage area. In the spotlight, Stephen tossed burning, twirling torches in high arcs, hardly appearing to touch them as he caught them and flung them spinning into the air again. A blue silk ribbon drew back his long blond hair.
“By the way, Mr. Spock,” Amelinda said, “you don’t have anything else to wear, do you? Something flashier?”
Spock thought to demur, then changed his mind.
“I believe that could be arranged, Ms. Lukarian.”
Amelinda and Spock returned to the backstage area. “You can see the audience from over there, Mr. Spock,” Lindy said. “Oh—Hikaru!”
Hikaru Sulu was waiting backstage, wearing tights and a doublet, a prop sword at his side. He had not yet seen Mr. Cockspur. He supposed he was in his dressing room.
“I’m all ready,” he said.
“He didn’t tell you?” Lindy said.
“Who didn’t tell me what?”
“Mr. Cockspur is on strike.”
Hikaru was su
rprised by the strength of his disappointment. Then he brightened. “Am I the understudy? Maybe I could go on instead.”
“Could you? That would be great. Have you been onstage before? Do you know a soliloquy?”
“No, I haven’t, but I do know ... I mean ...” Being familiar with Shakespeare and being able to walk onstage and play a scene were two very different things. “I guess I spoke too soon,” he said.
“Could you learn a soliloquy by tomorrow?”
“Sure!”
“Okay. Auditions are a bitch, but if you think your ego can stand it, come to rehearsal tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there!”
In the audience, Jim watched Stephen’s act. The [218] spectacular culminated in twirling knives and flaming torches. It was every bit as flamboyant as the man himself. At the finish, Stephen caught the torches and knives, freed his hair from the ribbon, and bowed.
McCoy slipped into the auditorium and sat in Mr. Spock’s seat.
“Bones, I think you have a future in vaudeville,” Jim said softly.
“You’re in trouble, boy,” McCoy said. “I’m gonna borrow Lindy’s magic box long enough to get you into sick bay for your physical.”
“Shh!” Jim said. He could practically see McCoy’s regen culture working away on a tub full of glucose solution, turning it into a tub of pulsating green slime. “Don’t talk during the performance.”
After Greg and Mans tap danced the house down, Marcel-lin glided onto the stage. By the reactions of his body to his imagination, he created an invisible world out of the air around him.
Jim became completely entranced with the show. Intermission came and went and he forgot even to wonder what had happened to the science officer.
Philomela sang, and first the audience laughed, then they cried, then they laughed and cried at the same time.
Tzesnashstennaj and the other felinoids, including two members of the crew of the Enterprise, danced a performance of the hunt. Jim had heard of the dance, a mythic representation of their species’ history, but he had never seen it before. It was eerie, erotic, and disturbing.
The curtain closed and the lights dimmed. It must be time for Mr. Cockspur’s neo-Shakespearean act. Jim felt curious, though since he knew more or less what to expect, he supposed it was a morbid curiosity.
STAR TREK: TOS - Enterprise, The First Adventure Page 24