Space Opera by Jack Vance Page A

carousing or extravagant behavior; no special attentiveness to children, which according to Litchley were regarded as parasites and frequently eaten. When Dame Isabel expressed horror, Darwin Litchley laughed. “It is no more than tit for tat. The children retaliate by pushing the adults into the boiling springs.” With Darwin Litchley’s precepts in mind most of the company wandered the Striad city during the afternoon and evening. In wonder they saw the lakes of seething mud: the largest mustard-yellow; others of red, gray, chocolate brown. From this mud the tall buildings were built, and the Earth people watched in fascination as the Striads projected beams of sound and ultra-sonic vibration from their diaphragms to crack, stir or compact the mud, in its various stages of usefulness.
    The Earth-people seemed to have made a good impression. A spokesman for the Striads invited the group to a banquet. After a hurried consultation with Dame Isabel, Darwin Litchley declined with thanks, stating that the group was accustomed to fasting on the eve of a musical performance.
    On the following morning Globe C was opened, the central mast and canopy erected to form a theater. For the Striads Dame Isabel had selected The Magic Flute , and with the fiasco at Sirius Settlement fresh in mind, she had resolved that there would be no tampering or alteration. The audience would see and hear the opera precisely as it was performed on Earth. “After all,” Dame Isabel told Bernard Bickel, “it smacks somehow of condescension to make these unpleasant little compromises. Our purpose is to bring the out-world folk our music as we know it, in all its power and majesty, not in some paltry bowdlerized version which the composer himself would be unable to recognize.”
    “Precisely my point of view,” said Bernard Bickel. “I haven’t noticed any manifestation of music among these Striads, but they seem, on the whole, a courteous and creative people. Perhaps you’ve observed the murals above the gate executed in various colors of mud?”
    “Indeed; highly impressive. I must remind Roger to make photographs, which is the ostensible reason for his presence aboard the ship.”
    “He certainly does not appear to be enjoying himself,” said Bernard Bickel. “In my opinion his nose is out of joint because Captain Gondar has been monopolizing Miss Roswyn.”
    Dame Isabel compressed her mouth. “I cannot consider the matter without becoming indignant, especially since we cannot dispense with Captain Gondar, who has, as you point out, taken the young creature under his wing.”
    Bernard Bickel shrugged. “It seems no great matter to anyone but Roger. She keeps pretty well out of everyone’s way; it’s hard to imagine anyone being less obtrusive.”
    “I should hope so,” sniffed Dame Isabel.

     
    The hour designated as curtain time approached. The singers were in costume; the orchestra, after a good lunch and a saunter back and forth in front of the ship, had repaired to the orchestra pit where they sorted out scores and exchanged good-natured banter.
    From the tall city of colored mud came the Striads, stalking as before with immense dignity and seriousness. They entered the theater and seated themselves without self-consciousness or hesitancy. Dame Isabel looked from the empty seats to the city — but no more Striads were on the way.
    She summoned Darwin Litchley. “Is this all the audience we are to expect? I don’t believe more than a hundred are in the theater.”
    “I’ll make inquiries,” Darwin Litchley went to speak to one of the Striads, then returned frowning to Dame Isabel. “He says this will be the entire audience: they are all individuals of responsibility — something like aldermen, I suppose — fully authorized to make whatever decisions are necessary.”
    Dame Isabel shook her head fretfully. “I can’t say that I understand.”
    “Nor I,” said Litchley. “Still it is probably best to stage the opera