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“Maybe not,” Sonniod agreed. “Badlanders don’t usually trade like this; they’re very jealous of their territory. I’m amazed that you’ve got them flocking together here.”

“There’s nobody who doesn’t enjoy a good show,” Han told him. “Especially if they’re stuck out in a hole like this place. Or else I wouldn’t have all this junk.” He watched the last of the stream of Kamarians make their way down and take up their three-point resting positions. “Wonderful customers,” he sighed fondly.

“But what’ll you do with all the bulky stuff?” Sonniod asked, falling in as Han started down for the center of the amphitheater again.

“We’re planning a going-out-of-business sale,” Han declared. “Very good deals, everything must go. Super discounts for steady customers and compact items offered in trade.” He rubbed his jaw. “I may even sell old Lisstik the holoprojector when I go. I’d hate to see the old Solo Holo-theater close down.”

“Sentimentalist. So I don’t suppose you need work right now?”

Han looked quickly at Sonniod. “What kind of work?”

Sonniod shook his head. “I don’t know. Word’s out back in the Corporate Sector that there’re jobs to be had, runs to be made. Nobody seems to know the details and you never hear names, but word is that if you make yourself available, you’ll be contacted.”

“I’ve never worked blind,” Han said.

“Nor I. That’s why I didn’t get in on it. I thought you might be sufficiently hard up to be interested. I must say I’m glad you’re not, Solo; it all sounds a bit too tricky. I just thought you might like to know.”

Assuring himself of the holoprojector’s settings, Han nodded. “Thanks, but don’t worry about us; life’s a banquet. I might even do this some more, hire out a few projectors and hire local crews on these slowpoke worlds to run them for a split. It could be a sweet, legal little racket, and I wouldn’t even have to get shot at.”

“By the way,” Sonniod said, “what’s the other feature, the one you’ve been showing all along?”

“Oh, that. It’s a travelogue, Varn, World of Water. You know, life among the amphiboid fishers and ocean farmers in the archipelagoes, deep-seat wildlife, ocean-bed fights to the death between some really big lossors and a pack of cheeb, things like that. Want to hear the narrative? I’ve got it all memorized.”

“Thank you, no,” Sonniod replied, pulling his lower lip thoughtfully. “I wonder how they’ll react to a new feature?”

“They’ll love it,” Han insisted. “Singing, dancing; they’ll be tapping their little pincers off.”

“Solo, what was the word Lisstik used for the admission price?”

“Q’mai.” Han was finishing fine adjustments. “They didn’t have any word for ‘admission,’ but I finally got the idea across to Lisstik in spotty Basic and he said the word’s q’mai. Why?”

“I’ve heard it before, here on Kamar.” Sonniod put the thought aside for the moment. The holofeature appeared in mass-audience projection, filling the air over the natural amphitheater. The Badlanders, who had been swaying gently in the hot night breeze and clicking and chittering among themselves, now became utterly silent.

Love is Waiting was standard fare, Han recalled. It opened without credits or title, which would appear shortly, superimposed on the opening number. That was just as well, Han reflected, since abstract symbols would mean about as much to Kamar Badlanders as particle physics meant to a digworm. He wondered what they would think of human choreography and music, of which there had been none in Varn, World of Water.

The feature opened with the woebegone hero stepping off a transporter beltway en route, with some misgiving, to a job with a planetary modification firm. A catchy beat, intended to inform the viewer that a production number was coming, began. Something appeared to make the Badlanders uneasy, however. The clicking and chittering grew louder, nor did it abate when the hero collided with the ingenue and their introduction led to his song cue.

Before the hero had even gotten through