So was the agent. A short and stocky man in a wrinkled jump suit with sleeve garters, he looked harried, sympathetic and negative. “I’m sorry, group,” he said. “I can’t tell you anything more than my girl did. Space opera just doesn’t move right now. How about a family drama?” Pointing to Billy, he said, “You could be the secret-faggot younger son.”
“Gee,” said Billy, “I don’t know.”
“Well, you do know the alternative,” the agent said. “If you’re not in rehearsal, you have to sign up with Temp. When something comes up that suits you, we’ll be in touch. In the meantime, don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
“Who’s Temp?” Ensign Benson asked. “Is he in charge here?”
The agent offered a brief smile, knowing, condescending and a bit irritated. “Don’t audition with me pal,” he said.
Councilman Luthguster said, “I assure you, my friend, continued play acting is the farthest thing from my mind. I am here representing the Galactic Council, and I wish to—”
“Oh, please,” the agent said, becoming really annoyed. “If you people don’t get out of here at once, I’ll put your photos and résumés in the inactive file and you’ll be permanently on Temp.”
“Go ahead,” Ensign Benson said.
The agent blinked at him. “What?”
“My name is Kybee Benson. I am not the captain and I don’t have a best friend; and if my picture is in your files, you’re a magician.”
“That goes for me double,” said Hester. “And I’m not a dyke.”
Ensign Benson stared at her. “You aren’t?”
“Wait a minute,” the agent said. Doubt curdled his face. “Who are you people?”
“A mission from Earth,” Ensign Benson said.
“Representing the Galactic Council,” Councilman Luthguster added.
“And I’m sorry to bother you,” Captain Standforth said, “but your people struck our ship.”
“So Temp is temporary employment,” Ensign Benson said, “and it’s the source for all the necessary labor in the colony.”
“That’s right.” The agent and the Earthpersons sat around a long table in a conference room. A secretary had distributed coffee and note pads and pencils and now sat poised to one side with her memo pad open.
“And,” Ensign Benson went on, “for the past five hundred years, you’ve been in rehearsal.”
“The assumption has always been,” the agent said, “that sooner or later, our transportation would arrive. ‘The show must go on eventually’ is our national motto. So we keep a group of shows ready to perform, the choice of which ones being based on popular vole. There’s a certain understandable growing negativity about space opera, which is why you’ve been having so much trouble.”
“Well, our troubles are over now,” Billy said, beaming at every body.
“Ours, too,” the agent said. Eagerly he leaned forward. “What’s our first stop on the tour?”
The captain said, “Tour?”
“It’ll make a difference,” the agent explained, “as to which plays we carry. You wouldn’t do Lysistrata in Gayville, for instance.”
“Sir,” said Luthguster, “you have misunderstood. We are an introductory mission representing the Galactic Council in this reabsorption of—”
“You mean, you aren’t our transportation?”
“Certainly not,” Luthguster said. “I assure you, sir, I am neither a play actor nor a tour director. I am—”
“In terrible trouble,” the agent finished. To his secretary — who had stopped note taking, the better to look shocked and horrified — he said, “Erase that bit, Emily, and don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“Oh, sir,” breathed Emily, with all the despairing fervor of any showbiz secretary ordered not to gossip.
The captain said, “Really, uh, your Honor, I’m sure we can arrange all the transportation you need.”
“I’m delighted and relieved to hear it,” the agent said. “When?”
“In two or three years,” Luthguster told him. “Five at the very most.”
The captain said, “All we need is to get to the ship and—”
“Impossible,” the agent said.
“I knew there had to be a kicker,” Ensign Benson said. “What is it?”
The agent pressed all his fingers to his chest in the time-honored agent’s gesture of innocence. “Bubee,” he said, “do I know where your ship is? No. Certain members of the rep company do. If you go to the rep company and tell them you’re here in a spaceship after five hundred years but you’re not their transportation, do you know what they’ll do?”
The Earth party shook its heads.
“Lynch you,” said Emily bitterly. She was shredding her pencil.
“Very probably,” said the agent.
Ensign Benson said, “Do you mean we can’t get our spaceship back because, if people know it’s real but not your damn tour bus, they’ll blame us?”
“I couldn’t have phrased it better myself,” the agent said. “Remember, five hundred years is a long rehearsal.”
Emily, sniffling solemnly over her note pad, murmured, “But what else could we have done? We never knew when…”
“Yes, Emily,” the agent said sympathetically.
Councilman Luthguster said, “But this is terrible; I can’t arrange for transportation or trade agreements or development aid or anything until I’m back in the ship.”
“But how to get there,” Pam said. “That’s the problem.”
All nodded dolefully. But then Billy leaped to his feet, his fresh face eager and alight. “Say, gang!” he cried. “Why don’t we — I dunno — put on a show?”
And what a show! Dorothy and the Wizard of J. Railsford Farnsworth Repertory Company, and Selected Shorts. The agent helped arrange for cooperation from the craft guilds, and the sounds of cheerful hammering and more cheerful whistling rose up from the stage carpenters building the sets. Backdrops were flown, specialty acts were auditioned and Ensign Benson took to wearing jodhpurs and an ascot. Councilman Luthguster sang the bass notes, Billy gave pep talks from the tops of ladders and the captain flew squadrons of stuffed birds. The crew spent hours in the wardrobe shed, sequences from other shows were freely borrowed and even Emily chipped in, writing lyrics.
Curtain up!
“Somewhere over the welkin, skies are green…”
“Of thee I sing, hyperspace! Summer, autumn, winter, spring, hyperspace!”
“Toto, I don’t think we’re on Alpha Centauri anymore.”
“Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! It’s off to J. Railsford Farnsworth Repertory Company we go!”
“Whatever Toto wants, Toto gets.”
“Hee, hee, hee! And I’ll get that little dog, too!”
“Toto! Toto!”
“Dingdong, the dingbat’s dead!”
“Ignore the man behind that curtain!”
The finale! A scrim parted and a gasp went up from the audience as Hopeful appeared, gleaming in the Hestia light. Dorothy (Pam), the Cowardly Lion (the captain), the Scarecrow (Ensign Benson), the Tin Person (Hester), the Wizard (Councilman Luthguster) and Toto (Billy) marched, singing, toward their ship.
Along the way, the agent shook Councilman Luthguster’s hand. “Hurry back,” he said. “We’ll take lunch.”
Klonk-klonk, up the yellow-metal ladder. Snuck went the air-lock door. Sssssssssummmmmmmmm went the spaceship, up, up and away.