The guards looked uncomfortably at each other, then one of them frowned at Duckfoot. "Is no thing special."
Duckfoot pursed his lips, then held out a hand. "Then, might I ask what you folks are doing here?"
The three guards who hadn't spoken turned to the one who had, then they jabbered among themselves in Ahngarian. While they were so occupied, Duckfoot signaled for the next runout. He turned back and the guard who had spoken to him spoke again.
"Would inquire to join entertainment."
Duckfoot grinned. "You want to join the show?" The guard nodded. Duckfoot rubbed his chin and held back his head. "Well, I sort of screen acts for Sticks Arlo—he's our Director of Performers. What's your act?"
The guards jabbered among themselves again and Duckfoot took the opportunity to order the next runout. He turned back and the guard bowed. "Our act." The first guard grabbed the hands of the second guard and hoisted him up in one fluid motion to his shoulders. The third guard placed his foot into the outstretched hands of the first guard and was hoisted up to the waiting hands of the second guard, who in turn hoisted number three upon his shoulders. The stunt was repeated with the fourth guard until, feet on shoulders, the four guards formed a fairly tough-looking pillar. Duckfoot stood before the first guard and nodded. "Not bad, but if you're going to impress Sticks, you need something more." The first guard frowned. "More?" Duckfoot nodded. "What's your big finish?" "Big finish?"
"The thing you do to wind up the act." The first guard studied the Boss Canvasman for a moment, then smiled. "Big finish." He reached out two strong arms, grabbed Duckfoot around the waist, then lifted him to guard number two. Number two grabbed the Boss Canvasman under the armpits, threw him up and caught him by the waist and held him up to guard number three. The Boss Canvasman's language during this interlude has yet to be cleared for the printed page.
The Governor walked by the idle canvas gang and crew of young Ahngarians, his head buried in a sheet of plans. He stopped, looked up and noticed the lack of action. He held up his head toward one of the canvasmen. "Goofy Joe, why isn't the canvas being spread? Where's Duckfoot?"
About fifty arms pointed at a spot behind and above O'Hara, and he turned to see a grinning Ahngarian. The Governor raised his eyes, found another Ahngarian, then followed the trail until he found the Boss Canvasman teetering on top of the fourth Ahngarian's shoulders. "Duckfoot, what're you doing?"
"I'm... I'm auditioning an act, Mr. John."
"Well, quit fooling around and get this show put up."
"First thing ... Mr. John."
O'Hara shook his head, looked back at his plans, then looked up at the first guard. "By the way, you boys aren't bad. If you're at liberty, why don't you see the Director of Performers?"
The guard nodded. "Our thanks."
"You better put Duckfoot on the lot. He's got work to do." The Governor turned, put his head back into his plans and walked off. The first guard shouted an order and the fourth guard lifted the Boss Canvasman by his ankles, held him forward, then dropped him. Duckfoot's descending scream was cut short as guard number one caught him and lowered him to the ground. The guards jumped off of their perches, then stood in a line facing the Boss Canvasman. Duckfoot glared at them, wiped the sweat from his face with the palm of his hand, then turned toward the canvas as he heard laughter. He lifted a ham-sized fist at the rolling canvasmen. "You..." Well, it is only necessary to recount that the canvas was spread in record time. The four guards left with the young Ahngarian after Duckfoot had issued the lad his free pass.
The next day the show moved indoors to the Royal Hall in Almandiia for the Monarch's birthday command performance. The troupers sprung their braces putting on a special effort, which was complemented by the display of naff riding put on by His Highness Erkev IV. As the Boss Canvasman stood at the performers' entrance to the Great Hall, he noticed the four guards standing behind him. As the Monarch put the cross between a bull and an alligator through its paces, Duckfoot turned and spoke to guard number one. "I see you didn't put your act in the show." The guard nodded. "We not at liberty." Duckfoot nodded. "Where's the little guy?" The guard frowned. "We sworn not tell." Duckfoot shrugged, then turned to watch as Erkev IV wrapped up his act. The Monarch led off his mount to the lusty applause and cheers of the troupers seated in the stands of the great hall. The hall quieted, then a tiny clown sped by Duckfoot's left in a blur of standing somersaults. The clown came to a stop in the center of the hall, bowed toward the Monarch, then faced the troupers in the stands and began an acrobatic comedy routine that had the Joeys in the stands taking notes. Duckfoot turned to see the four guards watching the small clown. "That's the lad you bozos were guarding at the lot in Stinja."
The number-one guard nodded. "Surprise for the Monarch and your company." "Who is he?"
"Ahssiel, Crown Prince of Ahngar."
Duckfoot looked back at the Prince for a moment. "Not bad." The guard frowned. "Is excellent!" Duckfoot nodded. "That's what I said."
With the conclusion of the command performance, the season on Ahngar closed. The Governor left the show playing a fixed stand at the Royal Hall to capacity crowds. He took transportation to Earth bringing with him Jingles McGurk, Sticks Arlo, the Patch, and an armload of plans.
FOUR
Karl Arnheim took the chip rack from his accountant, placed it on his desk, then looked up at the Governor. "Now, what may I do for you, Mr. O'Hara? I caution you in advance that A&BCE will not let you out of our agreement."
O'Hara smiled and flipped a memory chip onto Arnheim's desk. "Just wanted to show you this."
Arnheim picked up the chip with his right thumb and forefinger, frowned at it, then returned his glance to the Governor. "What is it?"
"The show's books for the season on Ahngar."
"We have no interest in your show; why would I want to look at this?"
O'Hara smiled even wider. "I have a proposition to offer and you should look at that first. I think you'll be surprised."
Arnheim shrugged, placed the chip into his desk reader, and studied the figures that appeared on his screen. He sat up, indexed for another part of the chip, raised his brows, and returned his glance to O'Hara. "This has been audited?"
O'Hara leaned forward and pressed the code for the verification of authenticity. The machine's screen remained blank for a moment, then flashed: "Audited by Fortiscule & Emmis, Accountants, Inc., New York. Chip comparison with copy on file: Identical. Verified."
Karl Arnheim nodded. "I admit I am surprised. You have, according to these figures, discharged all of the show's outstanding debts and have cleared close to a million and a half credits. Very impressive, but what has this to do with A&BCE?"
"I want you to build me a starship"—he pulled a wad of papers and several loose memory chips from his coat pocket—"according to these specifications."
Amheim took the papers, opened them, then raised his eyebrows as he looked at the diagrams. "You had a good season, John, but not that good. Have you any idea what a ship such as this would cost?"
"About eighty million credits."
Karl Arnheim nodded. "And where are you going to get that kind of money?"
"You." O'Hara folded his arms. "I want you to swap me the ship for an eighty-percent interest in the new show." He unfolded one arm and pointed at the loose chips on Arnheim's desk. "Those are cost figures and projections on the new, expanded show. If you'll loan me the money, I'll be able to pay it off at ten-percent interest within five years. But, if you take the eighty percent, you will net about thirty-five-percent return on your investment every year. How does that sound?"