a space opera
Mustapha IX had shaken hands for the last time with Villainowski and
hurried down the gangplank. The ports were all sealed; crew at their
stations. Outside the pits, the frenzied crowd was delirious with
excitement. Wasn't it man's first attempt to reach the stars?
Before any of them could say anything, a voice blared forth. "... a thousand Ganymedian natives in the primitive ritualistic orgy of that Weird little satellite. Hamura in the mating dance of the Ganymedians. Seats: three hundred and seventy-five dollars."
Well, I'm not sure how much a dollar was," said Mercedes, "but three hundred and seventy-five for a seat seems rather exorbitant."
Rufus, the psycho-historian, was pale as a corpse. He swallowed, managed to splutter, "Inflation that followed the first atomic war. Inflation...." His voice trailed off as he stared beyond the gaping doors into the foyer of the empty theatre.
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