Read Ebook: Spacerogue by Silverberg Robert Emshwiller Ed Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 455 lines and 17370 words, and 10 pages

Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller

Release date: November 26, 2023

Original publication: New York, NY: Royal Publications, Inc, 1958

SPACEROGUE

Illustrated by ED EMSH

They were selling a proteus in the public auctionplace at Borlaam, when the stranger wandered by. The stranger's name was Barr Herndon, and he was a tall man, with a proud, lonely face. It was not the face he had been born with, though his own had been equally proud, equally lonely.

He shouldered his way through the crowd. It was a warm and muggy day and a number of idling passersby had stopped to watch the auction. The auctioneer was an Agozlid, squat and bull-voiced, and he held the squirming proteus at arm's length, squeezing it to make it perform.

"Observe, ladies and gentlemen--observe the shapes, the multitude of strange and exciting forms!"

The proteus now had the shape of an eight-limbed star, blue-green at its core, fiery red in each limb. Under the auctioneer's merciless prodding it began to change, slowly, as its molecules lost their hold on one another and sought a new conformation.

A snake, a tree, a hooded deathworm--

The Agozlid grinned triumphantly at the crowd, baring fifty inch-long yellow teeth. "What am I bid?" he demanded in the guttural Borlaamese language. "Who wants this creature from another sun's world?"

"Five stellors," said a bright-painted Borlaamese noblewoman down front.

"Five stellors! Ridiculous, milady. Who'll begin with fifty? A hundred?"

Barr Herndon squinted for a better view. He had seen proteus life-forms before, and knew something of them. They were strange, tormented creatures, living in agony from the moment they left their native world. Their flesh flowed endlessly from shape to shape, and each change was like the wrenching-apart of limbs by the rack.

"Fifty stellors," chuckled a member of the court of Seigneur Krellig, absolute ruler of the vast world of Borlaam. "Fifty for the proteus."

"Who'll say seventy-five?" pleaded the Agozlid. "I brought this being here at the cost of three lives, slaves worth more than a hundred between them. Will you make me take a loss? Surely five thousand stellors--"

"Seventy-five," said a voice.

"Eighty," came an immediate response.

"One hundred," said the noblewoman in the front row.

The Agozlid's toothy face became mellow as the bidding rose spontaneously. From his vantage-point in the last row, Barr Herndon watched.

The proteus wriggled, attempted to escape, altered itself wildly and pathetically. Herndon's lips compressed tightly. He knew something himself of what suffering meant.

"Two hundred," he said.

"A new voice!" crowed the auctioneer. "A voice from the back row! Five hundred, did you say?"

"Two hundred," Herndon repeated coldly.

"Two-fifty," said a nearby noble promptly.

"And twenty-five more," a hitherto-silent circus proprietor said.

Herndon scowled. Now that he had entered into the situation, he was--as always--fully committed to it. He would not let the others get the proteus.

"Four hundred," he said.

For an instant there was silence in the auction-ring, silence enough for the mocking cry of a low-swooping sea-bird to be clearly audible. Then a quiet voice from the front said, "Four-fifty."

"Five hundred," Herndon said.

"Five-fifty."

Herndon did not immediately reply, and the Agozlid auctioneer craned his stubby neck, looking around for the next bidder. "I've heard five-fifty," he said crooningly. "That's good, but not good enough."

"Six hundred," Herndon said.

"Six-twenty-five."

Herndon fought down a savage impulse to draw his needler and gun down his bidding opponent. Instead he tightened his jaws and said, "Six-fifty."

The proteus squirmed and became a pain-smitten pseudo-cat on the auction stand. The crowd giggled in delight.

"Six-seventy-five," came the voice.

It had become a two-man contest now, with the others merely hanging on for the sport of it, waiting to see which man would weaken first. Herndon eyed his opponent: it was the courtier, a swarthy red-bearded man with blazing eyes and a double row of jewels round his doublet. He looked immeasurably wealthy. There was no hope of outbidding him.

"Seven hundred stellors," Herndon said. He glanced around hurriedly, found a small boy standing nearby, and bent to whisper to him.

"Seven-twenty-five," said the noble.

Herndon whispered, "You see that man down front--the one who just spoke? Run down there and tell him his lady has sent for him, and wants him at once."

He handed the boy a golden five-stellor piece. The boy stared at it popeyed a moment, grinned, and slid through the onlookers toward the front of the ring.

"Nine hundred," Herndon said.

It was considerably more than a proteus might be expected to bring at auction, and possibly more than even the wealthy noble cared to spend. But Herndon was aware there was no way out for the noble except retreat--and he was giving him that avenue.

"Nine hundred is bid," the auctioneer said. "Lord Moaris, will you bid more?"

"I would," Moaris grunted. "But I am summoned, and must leave." He looked blankly angry, but he did not question the boy's message. Herndon noted that down for possible future use. It had been a lucky guess--but Lord Moaris of the Seigneur's court came running when his lady bid him do so.

"Nine hundred is bid," the auctioneer repeated. "Do I hear more? Nine hundred for this fine proteus--who'll make it an even thousand?"

There was no one. Seconds ticked by, and no voice spoke. Herndon waited tensely at the edge of the crowd as the auctioneer chanted, "At nine hundred once, at nine hundred for two, at nine hundred ultimate--

"Yours for nine hundred, friend. Come forward with your cash. And I urge you all to return in ten minutes, when we'll be offering some wonderful pink-hued maidens from Villidon." His hands described a feminine shape in the air with wonderfully obscene gusto.

Herndon came forward. The crowd had begun to dissipate, and the inner ring was deserted as he approached the auctioneer. The proteus had taken on a frog-like shape and sat huddled in on itself like a statue of gelatin.

Herndon eyed the foul-smelling Agozlid and said, "I'm the one who bought the proteus. Who gets my money?"

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet