ery on the forehead, leaving red
blotches on his pink dome. He wiped his forehead and looked at his
hand.

"Do you have to wear that barbaric face-paint?" Hoppy turned sad eyes
on Gavir and Malcomb. "Gentlemen, my mother, Sylvie Davery."

A Senile Delinquent! thought Gavir. She looked like Davery's younger
sister. Malcomb stared at her apprehensively, and Gavir wondered if
she were somehow going to attack them.

She looked at Gavir. "Mmm. What a body, what gorgeous blue skin. How
tall are you, Blue Boy?"

"He's approximately seven feet tall, Sylvie," said Hoppy, "and what do
you want here, anyway?"

"Just came up to see Blue Boy. One of the crowd dreamed him last
night. Positively manic about him. I found out he'd be with you."

"See?" said Hoppy to Gavir. "The Century-Plus mentality. You've got
something they go for. Undoubtedly because you're--forgive me--such a
complete barbarian. That's what they're all trying to be."

"Spare me another lecture on Senile Delinquency, Our Number One
Problem." She walked to the door and Gavir watched her all the way.
She turned with a swirl of scarlet and a dramatic display of healthy
young flesh. "See you again, Blue Boy."

After Sylvie left, Hoppy Davery said, "That might be a good
professional name--Blue Boy. Gavir doesn't _mean_ anything. Now what
kind of a song could you do for the Farfel Flisket show?"

Gavir thought. "Perhaps you would like the _Song of Creation_."

"It's part of a fertility rite," Malcomb explained.

"Great! Give the Senile Delinquents another workout. It's not quite
ethical, but its good for us. But for heaven's sake, Blue Boy, keep
your mind off MDC!"

* * * * *

The following week, Gavir sang the _Song of Creation_ on the Farfel
Flisket show, and transmitted the images which it brought up in his
mind to his audience. A jubilant Hoppy Davery called him at his hotel
next morning.

"Best response I've ever seen! The Century-Plussers have been rioting
and throwing mass orgies ever since you sang. But they take time out
to call us up and beg for more. I've got a sponsor and a two-year
contract lined up for you."

The sponsor was pacing back and forth in Hoppy Davery's office when
Malcomb and Gavir arrived. Hoppy introduced him proudly. "Mr. Jarvis
Spurling, president of the Martian Development Corporation."

Gavir's hand leaped at the narvoon under his doublet.

Then he stopped himself. He turned the gesture i