Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Robert Cicconetti, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from the September 1960 issue of If. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Star Performer By ROBERT J. SHEA Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS _Blue Boy's rating was high and his fans were loyal to the death--anyone's death!_ * * * * * Gavir gingerly fitted the round opening in the bottom of the silvery globe over the top of his hairless blue skull. He pulled the globe down until he felt tiny filaments touching his scalp. The tips of the wires were cold. The moderator then said, "_Dreaming Through the Universe_ tonight brings you the first native Martian to appear on the dreamwaves--Gavir of the Desert Men. With him is his guardian, Dr. Malcomb Rice, the noted anthropologist." [Illustration] [Illustration] Then the moderator questioned Malcomb, while Gavir nervously awaited the moment when his thoughts would be transmitted to millions of Earthmen. Malcomb told how he had been struck by Gavir's intelligence and missionary-taught ability to speak Earth's language, and had decided to bring Gavir to Earth. The moderator turned to Gavir. "Are you anxious to get back to Mars?" _No!_ Gavir thought. Back behind the Preserve Barrier that killed you instantly if you stepped too close to it? Back to the constant fear of being seized by MDC guards for a labor pool, to wind up in the MDC mines? Mars was where Gavir's father had been pinned, bayonets through his hands and feet, to the wall of a shack just the other side of the Barrier, to die slowly, out of Gavir's reach. Father James told Gavir that the head of MDC himself had ordered the killing, because Gavir's father had tried to organize resistance to the Corporation. Mars was where the magic powers of the Earthmen and the helplessness of the Martian tribes would always protect the head of MDC from Gavir's vengeance. Back to that world of hopeless fear and hatred? _I never want to go back to Mars! I want to stay here!_ But that wasn't what he was supposed to think. Quickly he said, "I will be happy to return to my people." A movement caught his eye. The producer, reclining on a divan in a far corner of the small studio, was making some kind of signal by beating his fist against his forehead. "Well, enough of that!" the moderator said briskly. "How about singing one of your tribal songs for us?" Gavir said, "I will sing the _Song of Going to Hunt_." He heaved himself up from the divan, and, feet planted wide apart, threw back his head and began to howl.