rather than a trade and administrative outpost.
Commandant Dyrus Boltzen had come with one of his aides to meet the ship: a thin sandy-haired man with austere features and an air of dry skepticism. He now stepped briskly forward, with a curious stare for the chattering and ebullient company. “I’m Dyrus Boltzen, Commandant. Welcome to Sirius Settlement. It doesn’t look like much at first sight — and believe me — it gets worse.”
Captain Gondar laughed politely. “I’m Gondar, master of the ship. This is Dame Isabel Grayce, and Mr. Bernard Bickel, whom I believe you know.”
“Yes, of course. Hello, Bickel. Nice to see you again.”
“These other folk I won’t introduce, but they’re all famous musicians and opera singers.”
Commandant Boltzen’s straw-colored eyebrows shot up. “An opera company? What brings you here? There aren’t any theaters on Sirius Planet.”
Dame Isabel said, “We are equipped with our own theater, and with your permission propose to present a performance of Fidelio .”
Dyrus Boltzen scratched his head, looked over his shoulder at his aide. He glanced at Bernard Bickel, who had turned away and was inspecting the landscape. He looked at Adolph Gondar who stared back impassively. He returned to Dame Isabel. “This is very nice — lovely, in fact — but there are only five Earth folk on the entire planet, and two of them are off on a prospect trip.”
Dame Isabel said, “Naturally you will be welcome to the performance, but perhaps I had better explain. We like to think of ourselves as missionaries of music; we plan to perform before the intelligent alien races of the universe, who otherwise would have no experience of Earth music. The byzantaurs fall into this category.”
Dyrus Boltzen rubbed his chin. “As I understand it, you propose to stage an opera for the byzantaurs?”
“Exactly. And not just an opera: Fidelio! ”
Boltzen mused a moment or two. “One of my responsibilities is to prevent abuse or exploitation of the ’zants; I don’t see how showing them an opera can hurt them.”
“Assuredly not!”
“You don’t plan to charge admission? Because if you do, you’re in for disappointment. The ’zants have no commercial sense whatever.”
“If necessary, our performances will be staged free of charge, with absolutely no obligation.”
Boltzen shrugged. “Go right ahead. I’ll be interested to see what happens. You say you carry your own theater?”
“This is the case. Captain Gondar, will you be good enough to see to opening up the stage, and making ready the auditorium? And Andrei, perhaps you had better look to the sets.”
“Certainly, madame.” “Of course.” Captain Gondar and Andrei Szinc walked back onto the ship.
Dame Isabel looked around the landscape. “I had expected something rather more impressive. A city perhaps — some indication of aboriginal culture.”
Boltzen laughed. “The byzantaurs are intelligent, no question about this. But they use their intelligence in line with their own pursuits, if you follow me.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t.”
“Well, what I mean is this. They use their intelligence just as we use ours — to make life easier, more secure, more comfortable. They’re clever with their rock-work and their lichen terraces — you can see them just up the hill — but down in their potholes they think thoughts which would puzzle us if we knew them.”
“The byzantaurs are not articulate?” asked Dame Isabel. “Is there no exchange of ideas?”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far. They’re clever enough when they want to be — and a number of them speak our language with astounding proficiency. But all the time you wonder — you can’t help but wonder — if it’s nothing but clever mimicry.”
“They have no written language? No pictorial skill?”
“The Royals who inhabit the Trapezus can read and write — at least some of them, and they have a mathematics of their own. Incidentally,
Commandant Dyrus Boltzen had come with one of his aides to meet the ship: a thin sandy-haired man with austere features and an air of dry skepticism. He now stepped briskly forward, with a curious stare for the chattering and ebullient company. “I’m Dyrus Boltzen, Commandant. Welcome to Sirius Settlement. It doesn’t look like much at first sight — and believe me — it gets worse.”
Captain Gondar laughed politely. “I’m Gondar, master of the ship. This is Dame Isabel Grayce, and Mr. Bernard Bickel, whom I believe you know.”
“Yes, of course. Hello, Bickel. Nice to see you again.”
“These other folk I won’t introduce, but they’re all famous musicians and opera singers.”
Commandant Boltzen’s straw-colored eyebrows shot up. “An opera company? What brings you here? There aren’t any theaters on Sirius Planet.”
Dame Isabel said, “We are equipped with our own theater, and with your permission propose to present a performance of Fidelio .”
Dyrus Boltzen scratched his head, looked over his shoulder at his aide. He glanced at Bernard Bickel, who had turned away and was inspecting the landscape. He looked at Adolph Gondar who stared back impassively. He returned to Dame Isabel. “This is very nice — lovely, in fact — but there are only five Earth folk on the entire planet, and two of them are off on a prospect trip.”
Dame Isabel said, “Naturally you will be welcome to the performance, but perhaps I had better explain. We like to think of ourselves as missionaries of music; we plan to perform before the intelligent alien races of the universe, who otherwise would have no experience of Earth music. The byzantaurs fall into this category.”
Dyrus Boltzen rubbed his chin. “As I understand it, you propose to stage an opera for the byzantaurs?”
“Exactly. And not just an opera: Fidelio! ”
Boltzen mused a moment or two. “One of my responsibilities is to prevent abuse or exploitation of the ’zants; I don’t see how showing them an opera can hurt them.”
“Assuredly not!”
“You don’t plan to charge admission? Because if you do, you’re in for disappointment. The ’zants have no commercial sense whatever.”
“If necessary, our performances will be staged free of charge, with absolutely no obligation.”
Boltzen shrugged. “Go right ahead. I’ll be interested to see what happens. You say you carry your own theater?”
“This is the case. Captain Gondar, will you be good enough to see to opening up the stage, and making ready the auditorium? And Andrei, perhaps you had better look to the sets.”
“Certainly, madame.” “Of course.” Captain Gondar and Andrei Szinc walked back onto the ship.
Dame Isabel looked around the landscape. “I had expected something rather more impressive. A city perhaps — some indication of aboriginal culture.”
Boltzen laughed. “The byzantaurs are intelligent, no question about this. But they use their intelligence in line with their own pursuits, if you follow me.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t.”
“Well, what I mean is this. They use their intelligence just as we use ours — to make life easier, more secure, more comfortable. They’re clever with their rock-work and their lichen terraces — you can see them just up the hill — but down in their potholes they think thoughts which would puzzle us if we knew them.”
“The byzantaurs are not articulate?” asked Dame Isabel. “Is there no exchange of ideas?”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far. They’re clever enough when they want to be — and a number of them speak our language with astounding proficiency. But all the time you wonder — you can’t help but wonder — if it’s nothing but clever mimicry.”
“They have no written language? No pictorial skill?”
“The Royals who inhabit the Trapezus can read and write — at least some of them, and they have a mathematics of their own. Incidentally,
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