CLARION 17

corner, and an interstream commset in another. The carpet was thick and white. The dressing area was separated from the lounge area by the only piece of dark furniture in the room—a large, freestanding wooden wardrobe.

"Steph told me what happened."

Paul turned from the counter as Dorland came around the wardrobe. He had exchanged the white jumpsuit for the sort of clothing he usually wore offstage—dark slacks and a faded blue shirt.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Sure." Paul sat down in one of the cushioned chairs, took a sip ofjo and realized the cup was shaking so much he nearly slopped the hot liquid over his hand. He put the cup carefully on a low table beside him.

"Why were you limping?" Dorland asked.

"Banged my leg on something. It isn't serious."

"Make sure you have somebody look at it."

"Yes, Mother."

"Do you think this had anything to do with the call we got?"

"Presumably." Something about the way Dorland asked the question made Paul look at him more closely. Dorland's face was still pale, but his eyes were sharp and direct, and Paul knew the last vestiges of the player's trance had left him. "Do you have any idea why someone would try to kill you?"

"Of course not." Dorland turned away abruptly and went to the window. He pressed the wall stud to clear it and looked out at the falling dusk.

"Unhappy fan, I suppose."

"He didn't look like a fan." Paul thought about the cold blue eyes. "What he did was no impulse." The door slid open to admit Jeffrey Hanes. He did not look happy.

"He's still alive," he said before they could ask.

"In surgery now, but the doctors don't give him much chance. I don't think we'll be getting any 18

William Greenleaf

answers out of him. The one in the balcony got away."

"Got away?" Paul asked in surprise. "How?"

"He slipped out before we could seal the exits."

"Damn."

"The Guard threw a net around the auditorium," Hanes went on. "Maybe we'll get lucky. Anyway, I think we should cancel the next show and get out of here."

"I agree," Paul said.

Dorland had kept silent, as if he had little interest in what had happened in the auditorium. Now he turned from the window and said, "We can't cancel the show this late. People have come from all over the local sector to see it. Besides, we'll have to schedule another one to make up for the show that was ruined."

"Ruined?" Paul said. "You were almost done. In another five minutes—"

"Set it up for tomorrow night," Dorland went on in the same quiet voice. He thought for a moment, then added, "Some people may not be able to come back because of other plans. Refund double their ticket price. That might help make up for what happened."

Paul stared gloomily down at his hands, calculating what that would cost. He bit his lip and turned to Hanes. "Step up security for tonight. Two guards at each door, and at least a dozen inside. You'll have to use local people, but make sure you screen them."

Hanes nodded and turned to leave. After the door had hissed shut, Paul leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into the cushions of the chair. He felt as if all the energy had been drained out of him. A moment later he heard the sound of the heavy wardrobe door sliding open.