Astounding British Edition, Vol. 6, No. 8 — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DANCE OF A NEW WORLD 53 size screen, a special three-dimensional job with good coior values; covered most of the wall beyond the dance floor, showed a fuil orchestra. Brent guessed that when the floor ~ show came on the management would either use live music or cut off the New York program and feed recordings onto the screen. The second guess proved right. The screen darkened and the couples left the floor. It brightened again, showing a canned vision of a small group completely equipped with electrical instruments. The M.C. walked out as the spot came on. He carried a small hand mike. After the initial fanfare, the music gave him a soft background and he said: “This show costs a lot of money to put on. All you folks drinking beer kindly turn your chairs around with your backs toward the floor. It is my pleasure to pre- sent a young lady who doesn’t belong out here on Venus, wasting her time and talents on you space-burnt wanderers On the other hand, Venus is a very appropriate spot for her to be. I give you Caren Ames and her famous Dance of a New World!” He grinned and backed out of the spot which’ widened until it covered ‘most of the small © dance floor. The music shifted into a low, throbbing beat, an insistent jungle rhy Brent smiled cynically at the build-up, thought it was pretty fancy for what would probably turn out to be an aging stripper. She backed slowly onto the floor, staring into the shadows from which she backed. Brent’s breath caught in his throat. She was a faintly angular girl who should have had no grace. She wore a stylized version of the jungle ciothes of the foremen on the plantations. Across her shoulder was slung a glittering replica of one of the thought boxes. She carried in her right hand a shining knife of silver. She moved with such an intense repre- sentation of great fear that Brent felt the uneasy shifting of the crowd. The music was a frightened heartbeat. Her grace was angular, perfect and beautiful. Her face was a rigid mask of fear, her blonde hair a frozen gout of gold that fell across one . Shoulder. The throng gasped as the thing followed her into the middle of the floor, stood weaving, with its eyes on her. At first glance Brent thought that it was actually one of the Harids, but then he realized that it was a clever costume, worn by a rather small person. It had all the swaying obscenity of one of the tiny praying mantis-of Earth. The swollen abdomen, the little triangular head, the knotted forearms held high—all of it covered with the fine soft gray scales of a Harid. The three digits of each hand waved aimlessly about like the. antennae of a mammoth insect. The expanding spot showed a small bush _ covered with the blue-black oily foliage of Venus. The girl stood her ground, lifted the thought box to her lips. She swayed slightly in rhythm with the Harid and her shoulders straightened as the Harid turned away from her, went over toward the bush. It began to pluck at the leaves with the, perky, in- credibly fast motions of the: genuine Harid. Her dance of fear turned slowly into a dance of joy of release from fear. The tempo of the music increased and she danced ever closer to the squat form of the Harid, the knife in her hand cutting joyous sparkling arcs in the flood of tinted light. She danced ever faster, and Brent said to Lee out of the corner of his mouth: “What is she doing here? She’s wonderful!” “I told you she was, boy.” “A movement to Brent’s right caught his eye. A bulky man from one of the planta- tions, very drunk, wavered on his chair as he watched the dance with slitted eyes. The lines around his mouth were taut. Brent felt wonder that the girl’s artistry could have such an effect on one of the hardened foremen. The music increased to a crescendo, and suddenly stopped. The girl stood motion- less, her arms widespread. very slow beat began. The Harid began to sway its head slowly from side to side in time with the beat. A woman in the darkness screamed softly. Head swaying, the Harid turned slowly and faced the girl. Her face once again became a face of fear. The knotted arms of the thing lifted high. The girl took a slow step backward. The tension was a physical thing—it could be felt in the utter silence of the audience. At that moment the man whom Brent had noticed earlier roared, and jumped to his feet. There was a knife in his hand. He started for the mock Harid. Shane Brent left his chair in a quick smooth motion. His shoulder slammed against the thick thigh of the man with the knife and the two of them fell and slid across the polished floor. The room was in an uproar. The foreman bounded up, his drunken face twisted with rage. He drew the knife hand back to slash at Brent. Brent fell inside the thrust and struck the man a hammer blow across the side of his throat with the edge of his palm. The lights came on as the man dropped heavily onto his face. No one had thought of the music. It continued on. The mock Harid stood up and turned into a pale slight man who held the head portion . Of his costume in his hand. His pale lips trembled. He said, with great wonder: “That fellow would have cut my head off!” The M.C. came out and said to the girl: Fe z to try again from scratch, Miss es Her eyes were still wide with shock. “No . . . I couldn’t. Not right now. The next show maybe.” ° connicoooks.conn