The Vidiot by Ib Melchior _To the best of our knowledge the Metropolitan Opera stage has never before cast its mantle of magic over the science fiction landscape. But with the coming of Ib Melchior to our pages with his first fantasy story its legendary spell has been widened. For Mr. Melchior is the son of a singer so famous that to mention his name would be redundant. Quite as important, Ib Melchior is a motion picture producer as well as a writer, with several TV shows behind him, including the Perry Como Show on CBS. Much of his background and experience as a producer-director is mirrored forth in this most exciting yarn._ =There are a good many startling surprises in TV camera work. But if the universe reels--will an eager lad get a second chance?= “Don Hartley!” The little blonde secretary’s eyes opened wide with curiosity as she repeated his name. _She knows, then_, thought Don. “Just--just a minute,” she said. She picked up the phone and pressed the inter-office button. “Mr. Don Hartley to see you, sir,” she announced. Then after a pause, “Yes, sir.” She replaced the receiver, and turned back to Don. “Won’t you please have a seat, Mr. Hartley. He’ll see you in a moment.” Don sat uncomfortably on the edge of one of the heavy, leather-upholstered chairs. He looked around the beautifully appointed ante-office. The little secretary was trying in vain to be inconspicuous in her curiosity about him. He shifted self-consciously on the chair. Was he in the right place? Had he really made the right decision? It was a damned difficult thing to figure out! For the umpteenth time he let his mind wander back twenty-four hours--a measly twenty-four hours--when.... * * * * * George Kenmore flipped the talk-back key: “Okay, everybody--wrap it up. That’s it for now. Be back here ready to go from the top in exactly one hour and a half.” He turned to the technical director, a large, comfortable man who sat worrying a dead cigar on his left. “And, Steve,” he warned, “don’t kill the cameras. Just cap them up so we don’t burn in. You and the boys be back here in one hour. I’ve got a little problem I want to fool around with. That duplicator effect on Ganymede.” He leaned across the control desk toward the row of monitors in front of him on the lower level of the video control room, addressing himself to the top of a crew cut. “And, Don,” he added, “be sure we have horizontal reverse scanning on Camera One. And I want to use the whipe--and also I want you to switch the matting amplifier into the circuit.” The video technician looked up over his shoulder. “Okay, George. You know me. A director’s wish is my command! But they sure handed you a tough one this time.”