The first one he found was Mannicholo, who was trying out a new juggling act with glowing wands, which set off the reflective colors of his dermis wonderfully. Pausert didn't interrupt him, since it looked as if the chameleon man was finally getting some success with it. When Mannicholo caught all of the wands, he offered up some sincere applause.
"Thanks," the chameleon man said cheerfully. "By the time we hit ground again, it might even be ready to show. What can I do for you?"
"I've found out we're going to a mining world, and I wouldn't have thought that we'd have much of a chance of an audience there."
"Hmm. Depends on the world. One that's being mined by a major concern, no, you're right; most of the mining there is automated, and the big companies tend to keep their workers well fed and entertained, because working those machines is skilled and dangerous work. But there are plenty of worlds where the big deposits have been mined out. Even though there isn't enough left there to interest the big companies, there's plenty to go around for wildcatters." Mannicholo tossed one of his wands idly from hand to hand. "And you'd be surprised at what they like. Things that remind them of when they were kids and carefree—like the circus part of the show. And a lot of them are better educated than you'd guess. It's self-education, often as not, but they can be pretty bright boys and girls. Stupid wildcatters tend to die quickly, you see. The littler mining machines are powerful and tricky to run, and a wildcatter uses explosives nearly as often as he uses a mining machine, and you can't be stupid and know how to handle explosives properly."
"That still doesn't explain why they'd like the thespians."
"Well, they all tend to listen to stuff while they tend the mining machines," Mannicholo explained. "And here's kind of what happens. Everyone that comes out here has his own set of personal recordings. But it's expensive to bring in anything new, so when a miner gets tired of his own stuff, he starts trading around. Pretty soon he runs out of stuff he knows he likes, then he gets desperate, and starts trading for anything. So the longer a miner's been out here, the more different stuff he's tried, and he'll have listened to practically anything—every kind of music, lectures, plays, educational recordings, spoken books, you name it. So a miner can have a taste for things you wouldn't expect. Then there's the last thing—and that is that wildcat miners work alone for the most part, so the one thing they really crave is company, light, color, and sound, and lots of it all. So no matter how bad our acts were, chances are they'd come to see us for a while. But if the acts are really sad, it won't be for long."
"Oh." He hadn't considered that. "And—you said they aren't stupid—"
"That's right. So that's why, if a showboat wants to really make money, the acts have to be good. Funnily enough, I have always found that the one set of acts that consistently makes money on a mining world is the thespians and people like them; people who rely as much on what's heard as what's seen, and people who do things that open up the imagination." Mannicholo winked. "Which is why I am very grateful to you for tipping me off before anyone else. I've got a song-and-comedy act I'd better dust off before we hit ground. Believe me, Pausert, when miners like you, they really like you, and when they really like you, they've got some fine ways of showing it!"
All right, he had one set of questions answered, only to give rise to another set—because what Mannicholo could have meant, he had no clue.
Until he got to rehearsal, that is.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Cravan, summoning them all to the stage. "Our next destination is the mining world, Altim Four."
There was much excited murmuring among the older members of the thespians. Cravan waved his hand. "My old troupers, please allow me to explain what this means to the newer members."
The murmuring died.
"We have done some investigation," Cravan said, with satisfaction. "The last time a showboat passed this way, Altim Four, a world with nothing more sophisticated than lower vertebrates, was being mined by one of the major mining companies. They have since taken what they wanted—which was heavy radioactives—and left. That was five years ago. The wildcatters moved in immediately, and as those of you who are familiar with heavy-metal worlds know, Altim Four would have been rich in—"
"Gold!" shouted someone.
Cravan nodded graciously. "And other precious metals. The consortium didn't even bother to look for gemstones. Needless to say, since it was a heavy-metal world, the conditions are hazardous, and everything needs to go through decontamination, which has meant there was no 'rush' to speak of when it was opened to wildcatters. Nevertheless, those who dared are profiting richly. What this means to us, my friends, is that if these people decide that they like us, they are going to give ample evidence of that. And what that means is that if these miners wish to offer an accolade beyond applause, there probably will not be flowers thrown on stage at the end of a performance—there probably will be pouches of gold dust and rough gemstones."
For a moment, Pausert was not sure he'd heard that correctly. But Dame Ethulassia's eyes shone with enthusiasm.
Pausert sucked in a breath, while one of the other cast members whistled. Why, if something like that happened—they could all get enough extra to buy the Venture free and get her fixed and fueled!
Cravan interrupted the buzz. "Now, before we ever make planetfall, I want it understood that this sort of thing is provided for in your contracts. It probably isn't anything you even looked at too closely at the time, but I want the terms understood from the beginning. Provision one: for accolades that are tossed onto the stage, no matter who is the assumed person being rewarded, one third goes to the general fund for the Petey B along with ticket receipts, and two thirds is shared out among all the members of the company on an equal basis—one share each, no matter how junior or senior you are." He looked quite stern, but Pausert could not help but notice that the techs and riggers brightened up considerably at that. No doubt why, either; otherwise, they'd have had no chance at getting such bonuses.
"Provision two: for gifts delivered backstage to a specific artist: one half the artist may keep for his or herself, and one half is shared out among all the members of the company. While I realize that this may not seem fair to those of you who are Leads, let me remind you that although you are the apex of a pyramid of talent, without those beneath you, you would swiftly find yourself plummeting. Ask yourself if you could have earned such accolades without the carpenters and techs, good lighting, good sound, makeup, hair and costuming, and the support of all of the extras, before you feel yourself wronged."
"I'm grateful, Sir Richard, not complaining!" said Hulik into the silence. "On any other world, we'd get a bunch of flowers and applause and be happy for that. And we're lucky to have Himbo Petey for our Showmaster, smart enough to find this place before anyone else did!"
"Here here!" said Alton, and "I'm with you, sweetheart!" said Trudi, and that seemed to settle it for everyone. Rehearsal went forward in a cheerful glow.
Afterwards, Pausert caught up with Goth. "What's on the contract for solo acts?" he asked in an undertone.
"Half to the general fund, half to you," she replied, without needing to think about it. "And the circus side is similar to the thespians. So you betcha there's going to be a lot of extra stalls and people trying to think up a hot solo or small ensemble act to run on the side."
She was right, of course, which led Himbo Petey to insist that all such solo acts pass an audition if they weren't already on the bill. Just as well that he did, or Sideshow Alley would have been neck-deep in exotic dancers. Furthermore, Petey would not permit anyone to have an act in direct competition with someone who had an established stall. If, for instance, someone wanted to set up an exotic dance turn, they had better not only be good, they had better have a different theme than anyone else. Pausert was the comedy escape-artist, which meant that anyone new had to go for the dangerous and hazardous escapes. Not surprisingly, no one did. The thrill-escapes needed someone who was a superb athlete and very, very practiced in his art. Anything less got people killed.