Bester, Alfred - Galatea Galante

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GALATEA GALANTE

by Alfred Bester

He was wearing a prefaded jump suit, beautifully tailored, the dernier cri in the nostalgic 2100s,

but really too youthful for his thirty-odd years. Set square on his head was a vintage (circa

1950) English motoring cap with the peak leveled on a line with his brows, masking the light of

lunacy in his eyes.

Dead on a slab, he might be called distinguished, even handsome, but alive and active? That would

depend on how much demented dedication one could stomach. He was shouldering his way through the

crowded aisles of

THE SATURN CIRCUS

50 PHANTASTIK PHREAKS 50

!!!ALL ALIENS!!!

He was carrying a mini sound-camera that looked like a chrome-and-ebony pepper mill, and he was

filming the living, crawling, spasming, gibbering monstrosities exhibited in the large showcases

and small vitrines, with a murmured

running commentary. His voice was pleasant; his remarks were not.

"Ah, yes, the Bellatrix basilisk, so the sign assures us. Black-and-yellow bod of a serpent. Looks

like a Gila-monster head attached. Work of that Tejas tailor who's so nitzy with surgical needle

and thread. Peacock coronet on head. Good theater to blindfold its eyes. Conveys the conviction

that its glance will kill. Hmmm. Ought to gag the mouth, too. According to myth the basilisk's

breath also kills ....

"And the Hyades hydra. Like wow. Nine heads, as per revered tradition. Looks like a converted

iguana. The Mexican again. That seamstress has access to every damn snake and lizard in Central

America. She's done a nice join of necks to trunk-got to admit that-but her stitching shows to my

eye ....

"Canopus cerberus. Three dog heads. Look like oversized Chihuahuas. Mastiff bod. Rattlesnake tail.

Ring of rattlers around the waist. Authentic but clumsy. That Tejas woman ought to know you can't

graft snake scales onto hound hide. They look like crud; but at least all three heads are barking.

. ."Well, well, well, here's the maladroit who claims he's my rival; the Berlin butcher with his

zoo castoffs. His latest spectacular, the Rigel griffin. 'Pa-daaa! Do him justice, it's classic.

Eagle head and wings, but it's molting. Lion bod implanted with feathers. And he's used ostrich

claws for the feet. I would have generated authentic dragon's feet ....

"Now Martian monoceros; horse bod, elephant legs, stag's tail. Yes, convincing, but why isn't it

howling as it should, according to legend? Mizar manticora. Kosher. Kosher. Three rows of teeth.

Look like implanted shark's. Lion bod. Scorpion tail. Wonder how they produced that red eyed

effect. The Ares assida. Dull. Dull. Dullsville. Just an ostrich with camel feet, and stumbling

all over them, too.

No creative imagination!

"Ah, but I call that poster over the Sirius sphinx brilliant theater. My compliments to the

management. It's got to be recorded for posterity: THE PUBLIC IS RESPECTFULLY REQUESTED NOT TO

GIVE THE CORRECT ANSWER TO THE ENIGMA POSED BY THE SPHINX.

"Because if you do give the correct answer, as Oedipus found out, she'll destroy herself out of

chagrin. A sore loser. I ought to answer the riddle, just to see how they stage it, but no.

Theater isn't my shtick; my business is strictly creative genesis ....

"The Berlin butcher again, Castor chimera. Lion head. Goat's bod. Looks like an anaconda tail. How

the hell did he surgify to get it to vomit those flames? Some sort of catalytic gimmick in the

throat, I suppose. It's only a cold corposant fire, quite harmless but very dramatic-and those

fire extinguishers around the showcase are a lovely touch. Damn good theater. Again, my

compliments to the management.

. ."Aha! Beefcake on the hoof. Zosma centaur. Good-looking Greek joined to that Shetland pony.

Blood must have been a problem. They probably drained both and substituted a neutral surrogate.

The Greek looks happy enough; in fact, damn smug. Anyone wondering why has only to see how the

pony's hung ....

"What have we here? Antares unicorn, complete with grafted narwhal tusk but not with the virgin

who captured it, virgin girls being the only types that can subdue unicorns, legend saith. I

thought narwhals were extinct. They may have bought the tusk from a walking-stick maker. I know

virgins are not extinct. Imake'em every month; purity guaranteed or your money back ....

"And a Spica siren. Lovely girl. Beautiful. She-But damn my eyes, she's no manufactured freak!

That's Sandra,

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my Siren! I can recognize my genesis anywhere. What the hell is Sandy doing in this damn

disgusting circus? Naked in a showcase! This is an outrage!"

He charged the showcase in his rage. He was given to flashes of fury that punctuated his habitual

exasperated calm. (His deep conviction was that it was a damned intransigent world because it

wasn't run his way, which was the right way.)

He beat and clawed at the supple walls, which gave but did not break. He cast around wildly for

anything destructive, then darted to the chimera exhibit, grabbed a fire extinguisher, and dashed

back to the Siren. Three demoniac blows cracked the plastic, and three more shattered an escape

hatch. His fury outdrew the freaks, and a fascinated crowd gathered.

He reached in and seized the smiling Siren. "Sandy, get the hell out. What were you doing there in

the first place?"

« . »

"Where's your husband?"

44 4 99

"For God's sake!" He pulled off his cap, revealing pale, streaky hair. "Here, cover yourself with

this. No, no, girl, downstairs. Use an arm for upstairs, and hide your rear elevation against my

back."

"No, I am not prudish. I simply will not have my beautiful creation on public display. D'you think

I-" He turned fiercely on three security guards closing in on him and brandished the heavy brass

cylinder. "One more step, and I let you have it with this. In the eyes. Ever had frozen eyeballs?"

They halted. "Now look, mister, you got no-"

"I am not called `mister.' My degree is Dominie, which means master professor. I am addressed as

Dominie, Dominie Manwright, and I want to see the owner at once. Immediately. Here and now.

Sofort! Immediatamente! Mr. Saturn or Mr. Phreak or whatever!

"Tell him that Dominie Regis Manwright wants him here now. He'll know my name, or he'd. better, by

God! Now be off with you. Split. Cut." Manwright glared around at the enthralled spectators. "You

turkeys get lost, too. All of you. Go eyeball the other sights. The Siren show is kaput."

As the crowd shuffled back from Manwright's fury, an amused gentleman in highly unlikely twentieth-

century evening dress stepped forward. "I see you understand Siren, sir. Most impressive." He

slung the opera cape off his shoulders and offered it to Sandra. "You must be cold, madame. May

I?"

"Thank you," Manwright growled. "Put it on, Sandy. Cover yourself. And thank the man."

64 ~ 19

"I don't give a damn whether you're cold or not. Cover yourself. I won't have you parading that

beautiful body I created. And give me back my cap."

"Women!" Manwright grumbled. "This is the last time I ever generate one. You slave over them. You

use all your expertise to create beauty and implant sense and sensibility, and they all turn out

the same. Irrational! Women! A race apart! And where the hell's 50 Phantastik Phreaks 50?"

"At your service, Dominie,"the gentleman smiled.

"What? You? The management?"

"Indeed yes."

"In that ridiculous white tie and tails?"

"So sorry, Dominie. The costume is traditional for the role. And by day I'm required to wear

hunting dress. It is grotesque, but the public expects it of the ringmaster."

"Hmph! What's your name? I'd like to know the name of the man I skin alive."

"Corque?"

"Cork? As in Ireland?"

"But with a Q U E."

"Corque?" Cor-kew-ee?" Manwright's eyes kindled. "Would you by any chance be related to Charles

Russell Corque, Syrtus professor of ETM biology? I'll hold that in your favor."

"Thank you, Dominie. I am Charles Russell Corque, professor of extraterrestrial and mutation

biology at Syrtus University."

"What!"

"Yes."

"In that preposterous costume?"

"Alas, yes."

"Here? On Terra?"

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"In person."

"What a crazy coincidence. D'you know, I was going to make that damned tedious trip to Mars just

to rap with you."

"And I brought my circus to 7Rrra hoping to meet and consult with you."

"How long have you been here?"

"°Iivo days."

"Then why haven't you called?"

"Setting up a circus show takes time, Dominie. I haven't had a moment to spare."

"This monstrous fakery is really yours?"

"It is."

"You? The celebrated Corque? The greatest researcher into alien life forms that science has ever

known? Revered by all your colleagues, including myself, and swindling the turkeys with a phony

freak show? Incredible. Corque! Unbelievable!"

"But understandable, Manwright. Have you any idea of

the cost of ETM research? And the reluctance of the grants committees to allocate an adequate

amount of funds? No, I suppose not. You're in private practice and can charge gigantic fees to

support your research, but I'm forced to moonlight and operate this circus to raise the money I

need."

"Nonsense, Corque. You could have patented one of your brilliant discoveries-that fantastic

Jupiter III methophyte, for instance. Gourmets call it `The Ganymede Truffle.' D'you know what an

ounce sells for?"

"I know, and there are discovery rights and royalties. Enormous. But you don't know university

contracts, my dear Dominie. By contract, the royalties go to Syrtus, where"-Professor Corque's

smile soured-"where they are spent on such studies as Remedial Table Tennis, Demonia Orientation,

and The Light Verse of Leopold von SacherMasoch."

Manwright shook his head in exasperation. "Those damned faculty clowns! I've turned down a dozen

university offers, and no wonder. It's an outrage that you should be forced to humiliate yourself

and- Listen, Corque, I've been dying to get the details on how you discovered that Ganymede

methophyte. When will you have some time? I thought-Where are you staying on Terra?"

"The Borealis."

"What? That fleabag?"

"I have to economize for my research."

"Well, you can economize by moving in with me. It won't cost you a cent. I've got plenty of room,

and I'll put you up for the duration, with pleasure. I've generated a housekeeper who'll take good

care of you-and rather startle you, I think. Now do say yes, Corque. We've got a hell of a lot of

discussing to do and I've got a lot to learn from you."

"I think it will be the other way around, my dear Dominie."

"Don't argue! Just pack up, get the hell out of the Borealis, and-"

"What, Sandy?"

(Musical Note)

"Where?

(Musical Note)

"Oh, yes, I see the rat-fink."

"What now, Manwright?"

"Her husband. I'll trouble you to use restraint on me, or he'll become her late husband."

An epicene hove into view-tall, slender, elegant, in fleshcolored SkinAll-with chest, arms, and

legs artfully padded to macho dimensions, as was the ornamented codpiece. Manwright juggled the

extinguisher angrily, as though groping for the firing pin of a grenade. He was so intent on the

encounter that Corque was able to slip the cylinder out of his hands as the epicene approached,

surveyed them, and at last spoke.

"Ali, Manwright."

"Jessamy!" Manwright turned the name into a denunciation.

"Sandra."

11 11

And our impresario."

"Good evening, Mr. Jessamy"

"Manwright, I have a bone to pick with you."

"You? Pick? A bone? With me? Why, you damned pimp, putting your own wife, my magnificent creation,

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Bester, Alfred - Galatea Galante

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