He started playing. This instrument really did have a wide dynamic range; the soft was soft and the loud was LOUD! He started to give it the heavy downbeat of ragtime.

He glanced sideways at his audience of two. He could tell nothing from their faces.

He thought he had the instrument now. He reached over to his briefcase and whipped out a sheet. "Now this," he said, "is one of the lyrics of the musical." Nothing had been easier than to come up with music, for he could pirate the entire library of Earth ragtime and blues and simply get words written to it. He had lifted the tune "The Trickster Rag" from a Broadway musical comedy, The Con Man. The ex-Royal Academy reporter had put new words to it.

"If you would like," said Madison, "I will play the melody through and then you can sing it. It's called 'The Outlaw."'

Hightee took it, looked at it. Madison went through the tune and then Hightee began to sing:

We hunt him here,

We hunt him there,

For he is hiding everywhere:

The Outlaw!

In your favorite boudoir,

If you hear a randy snore,

Don't look further anymore:

The Outlaw!

If you step into a bank

And see the muzzle of a tank,

Don't ask who you have to thank:

The Outlaw!

If there is a town to steal,

If the jewels are very real,

If the beauty has appeal:

The Outlaw!

He'll take anything you've got,

Your money, girls, the whole lot,

And leave you tied up in a knot:

The Outlaw!

He will use the smartest lure

To take riches from a boor

And give it to the very poor:

The Outlaw!

So for this man, strike up the band,

And give to him a helping hand,

For he will give us the whole land:

THE OUTLAW!

Her brilliant voice died away.

"Of course," said Madison, "when you sing it in the play, you will be wearing black shorts and boots and a wide-rimmed black hat and you will have a gun on each hip and then draw and hold up the audience at the end of the song. And then the Outlaw himself rushes amongst them, robs them and runs off to give it to the poor. Terrific theater!"

A man who must be her bandleader had drifted in.

"That's an amazing downbeat," said Hightee. "What do you think of it, Tink?"

"Primitive," said Tink. "It probably came from the backwoods of some planet like Flisten and then got refined a bit. Drums. You know, comes from beating sticks on logs. And the downbeat is probably some kind of a charge motion at a wild animal. Hunter enactment dances. You know, chug chug CHUG, chug chug CHUG."

"You are absolutely right," said Madison. "Except it comes from the blacks of Africa and it got to New Orleans and caught on all over the place. It's called jazz."

"You sure got that chorder-bar sounding crazy," said Tink. "Why didn't you tune it up for him, Jarp?"

"He tuned it," said Jarp defensively.

"It's tuned to represent a honky-tonk piano," said Madison.

"Why do you need the pictures drawn on it?" said Tink.

"Listen," said Hightee, glancing at her locket watch, "I've got to run. I have a show to do this afternoon. I'll walk you to your car, Madison. Somebody tell my maid to bring me a jacket and tell my driver to run out an airbus."

Madison walked with her out of the music practice room. He had no clue as to whether he had won or lost. An awful lot depended on getting this image built so he could fit Heller to it.

Hightee seemed to be a bit thoughtful. They came to the landing target. She stopped suddenly, "A MODEL 99! Good Heavens! I didn't think they ever would sell one!"

Madison had forgotten all about Flick. Suddenly he decided he could at least use this meeting to prevent further robberies. He said, "My driver will be delighted to show it to you."

Flick, scarlet-faced, trying to go down on his knees but too frozen to even make them bend, just stood there.

Madison said, "Flick is trying to ask you if you'd honor him by letting him drive you to the studio."

"That would be an adventure. I've heard these ride like a cloud." Her maid was hurrying up with her things and she turned to her. "Send Tink and the others in my car. I'm going to take a ride in this Model 99."

Flick managed to get himself unglued enough to open the door for her. When she and Madison were in, Flick, beet-red and gasping, slid under the controls.

They flew to Joy City and Flick managed it without ever taking his eyes off the mirrors which showed him Hightee in the rear seat.

They landed on a target marked Hightee which jutted out of the huge dome. Attendants rushed forward. One yelled back over his shoulder, "Hey! Here's Hightee in a Model 99!"

Flick had a sudden, obscured fight with the attendants and opened the door himself. Although he seemed to be having great trouble breathing, he stood there, straight as a rod, waiting to help her out and bow.

But Hightee did not get out. She turned to Madison. "You know, Madison, you're a nice fellow. But any friend of Jettero's would be. I'm absolutely bowled over by that-what's its name? Piano beat? You get the writer to do the rest of the book and I'll do the show."

When she had disappeared inside the dome, Flick said, "You're an absolute wonder, Chief. I actually drove her in the car! I'm a totally changed and reformed man!"

Madison didn't even hear him. As they took off, he was grinning from ear to ear.

He had a stage image being manufactured by the most popular star on Voltar, the guy's own sister! And he would soon, with other media, fit Heller to it.

He would soon put an end to this mediocre hero worship Heller now experienced and push Heller's name to the heights of true immortality.

And he began to hug himself. He had a bonus! When the musical had been aired and when she had found Heller for him, he would have another headline. It would run:

HELLER BURNS TEMPLE

KILLS THOUSANDS

OF PRIESTS

ROBS SACRED IDOL

OF PRICELESS EYE

TO GIVE PRESENT

TO HIS SISTER

Sure-fire! She would even have shown the evidence on Homeview. He could use the story on an off day when he didn't have more exciting news to print about Heller.

He was REALLY making progress now!

They were nearly home when Flick turned around. "Chief, I just thought of something. When you were busy with Hightee Heller, you got a viewer-phone call from Queen Teenie."

Madison was jolted out of his euphoria. All his influence rested on Teenie Whopper, who was busily misrepresenting herself as royalty and holding her position through making page boys into catamites. It was, however, to Madison, the equivalent of a Royal command.

"Go up and hover!" he commanded nervously. "If she gave you a connection, call it back at once!" He was very jittery: apparently, due to time lag, it was difficult to call from Palace City. Was Teenie in town?

A piece of upholstery unfolded and a viewer-phone was staring him in the face.

Teenie's face appeared. She looked provoked. "I've been waiting out here in the desert beside this God (bleeped) message center for an hour! It's going to ruin my complexion!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Madison.

"Why didn't you call back?" she snarled.

"Oh, I've been meaning to call you. But I got tied up."

"Tied up with Hightee Heller! You owe me a progress report on Gris!"

"Well, actually," said Madison, "I've been working up to that."

"Listen, Madison. This 'all promise and no delivery' is just the way PRs work. I know! You get busy, you lunkhead. I'll come back to this message center at sunset and if you don't have something to report on Gris by then, I'll have your cotton-picking head!" She hung up violently.