"Never mind about the customers!" the engineer burst in repartee, smiling though his heart was grim. "I've a trained, talking Ganymedean ape here. I'll give you an act that'll knock 'em wild if you'll announce me now and give me a dressing room for about ten minutes. Oke?"
A system was hanging on the balance in the weighing of a few, short, seemingly lightly-spoken words—the future of many kindred races sprung from a common sun who labored now under greatest stress—And the grinning manager must have sensed the aura of seriousness and power about the unshaven man and his strange companion, for his face grew sober.
"What's the act like, pal?"
"Ever hear the 'Saga-of-Sal'?"
"I've heard of it!"
"Tonight you'll hear it!"
Frederix's heart was beating with the power surges of a liquid-rocket's blast as he hurried into the dressing room, completely removed his helmet, splashed on fiery pseudo-pirate make-up, darkened his golden beard, and then turned his attention to the stoic robot.
Time flew with the beating of his heart. Removing the robot's system of speech, he set the disks awhirl, loosening the bolts which held the 144 common units of enunciation in a fixed order. Transcribing his reedy falsetto onto the disks, remembering some of the great poem, extemporizing with his natural flair for poetry, he recited some of the choicest lines; then locked the enunciator unit and lay the robot aside with an air of confidence and satisfaction.
Carefully he obliterated with make-up any distinguishing signs on the government suit; then hurried out into the wings, the monkey-thing scurrying before—
(The rockets are coming from Kaa, from Kaa,