Le Cirque Navire

by Chele Cooke

  Jack made a wide arch away from the gate, walking north for a good ten minutes before he doubled back, following the path that ran alongside the outlying houses. The pilot, Kenneth Clarke, had called them up to the deck as they entered the atmosphere, giving them a good look at the city layout. Some of the others thought it was odd but, for Jack it was the perfect recognisance. Getting a feel for the layout of the city was invaluable.

  Sure enough, as he neared the gate, he could see a man leaning on the side of the guard post, arms crossed, eyes closed. Jack scuffed his feet along the path, kicking a thick cloud of dust up over his boots. He bowed his head against the wind and shoved his hands into his pockets, digging around for nothing.

  “I help you, buddy?” the guard asked as Jack closed in on the gate.

  An increasing look of panic rose on Jack’s face as he checked his back pockets and rubbed a hand across his forehead, smearing dust onto his skin. Now he was close enough, his gaze flickered to the guard’s chest and away.

  “I can’t…” Jack glanced at the guard’s face and looked down at his own chest, patting the pockets of his jacket. His expression twisted into a horrified grimace. “I can’t find my pass.”

  The guard pushed himself from his leaning post and approached the gate, curling his fingers around the thick wire mesh. Jack glanced over his shoulder, back up the path.

  “I think I’ve left it at work. I’m never going to get all the way there and back before the gates lock.”

  “Where you work?”

  Jack looked at him in surprise.

  “The docking station,” he said slowly. “You saying you don’t recognise me?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s Jack,” he insisted, exasperation lacing his voice. “Come on, Jessop, this isn’t a good time.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  The guard wasn’t wearing his hat and his collar was unbuttoned. It was lucky that he still had his jacket on in the warm weather. Jack had seen more than enough guards in the last few years to know the signs. The relaxed ones, the ones who didn’t tuck in their shirts and had ruffled hair, were far more likely to give in and let you through. Guards jobs were usually hours of boredom with little reprieve but there were some who took it far too seriously. Those were the ones who knew with a single glance that they didn’t recognise you. Those were the ones who couldn’t be persuaded. When you came across them it was best to just go looking for a weak spot in the fence.

  “Oh haa haa, the ‘who are you?’ joke,” Jack growled with a roll of his eyes. “I know I’m late, alright, but please, it’s been a long day. I already worked an extra quart.”

  “Really?” Jessop asked. “Only, young Tack came back this way almost two hours ago and she said she got off early.”

  “Yeah well, Tack’s not on that god damned ship for central that has to be finished before everything else.”

  It was all so easy. Practically every planet was the same. Every city had the same problems. Those in the centre of the cities were always spoiled, always in command. The citizens in the outer quadrants often resented them and very rarely railed against others who dared say it aloud.

  Jessop stared at him for a minute. His fingers hovered over the pass dangling from his belt, and with a gruff and a groan, he finally plucked it away from his leg and swiped it over the scanner. The gate buzzed and Jessop pulled it open. Giving him a look of overwhelming gratitude, Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he stepped through the gap.

  “You better have your pass tomorrow, Jack,” Jessop said.

  “I will, I will. I guess it was all the excitement, I just plain forgot.”

  “The excitement?”

  “Yeah, with the hitching,” Jack grinned. “Word’s going round that it’s a cirque, big one too.”

  “Unit went to check it out. They got back round half hour ago but were pretty cagey.”

  “Really? Gods, the guys at the docking can’t stop talking about it. Scans look like it’s a big operation. Probably liquor and everything.”

  Jessop’s eyes lit up and he quickly coughed into his hand.

  “But hey, it ain’t like people are gonna be getting past you, is it,” Jack added with a laugh, knocking Jessop’s arm with his fist. “Guess it’ll just sit there for two nights.”

  The guard nodded and glanced wistfully at the gate.

  “Yeah. I guess it will.”

  Jack thought that taverns were depressing places. They held long out of date promises of excitement they could never fulfil, not under the Coalition law. Shelves that had once been filled with liquor of every variety now stood empty, gathering dust and glasses they no longer had a use for. Lines of beer taps squeaked with every use, complaining as alcohol-free beer desecrated their past use. However, even since the laws had been passed, there wasn’t often anywhere else to go in the small towns on outlying planets, so people still congregated after work to drink weak ales and cordial.

  On the bar, a cracked litcom interspersed the drinks menu with news alerts for the day. Unbuttoning his jacket as he scanned between the ales and the updates of the central election, Jack tugged a stool towards him and slid into it. He’d received a few curious looks as he made his way between the tables, and one man in particular was still watching him from a corner table, a narrow-eyed glare while he picked at an errant hair on his chin.

  The clacking of thick heels thrummed down a set of steps, and a woman hurried out of the open doorway. She jogged behind him, circling the end of the bar and slipping in to stand between the beer taps. Her cheeks burned pink as she beamed at him.

  “Just the standard, please, gorgeous,” Jack said, resting his elbows on the dull wood.

  She wiped off the edge of the glass with a damp cloth that had seen better days, glancing at him with a curious smile. Tugging the heavy tap back forth, her underarm jiggled with the effort of getting the pump to draw properly. The pale liquid spluttered from the tap and foamed in the bottom of the glass. Once she had a steady pull, she poured it with perfect precision, setting the full glass on the bar next to his elbow, sediment swirling as the thick head appeared at the brim of the glass. She graciously accepted the coins he held out and she practically danced down to the till at the end of the bar.

  “Good business today, huh?” he said, glancing around at the weak collection of patrons clutching their even weaker drinks. Taking a sip of his own drink, he hid the grimace in his glass and smiled kindly at her. She shrugged and grasped the edge of the wooden bar top. Her chipped nails raked dull polish from the wood, and now he looked closer, he could see small gouges all the way down the bar.

  “Oh, better than most,” she said happily.

  “People hoping for news on the hitching, no doubt. I’m surprised your litcom isn’t showing anything.”

  He nodded to the cracked display and she grasped the side, spinning it to face her.

  “Like they’d show anything like that with such a riveting election going on,” she chuckled, her gaze flickering between the litcom and him. Jack laughed with her and leaned forward.

  “Maybe they’re worried the hitching will distract people from voting for the same guy,” he suggested with a wicked grin. From the looks of the alerts, the current leader was running practically unopposed.

  She wiped the screen of the litcom with the same, worn cloth and spun it back to its original position. Winding the cloth through her fingers, she leaned onto the bar opposite him. Jack took another sip of his beer.

  “So, what is it?” she asked.

  “You telling me that a clued up girl like you don’t know? I bet you’re the first to know everything, running such a nice establishment.”

  “Oh, cut the crap, handsome. I don’t know your face. You aren’t here for the beer, and it certainly ain’t the conversation.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You hitching folk think we were born yesterday. You don’t need no tricks. You got wares to sell, just tell me what they are. I’ll make sure
the word gets out.”

  Jack straightened up. She fixed the sweet, eager to please smile back in place and began wiping down the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with someone who realised he wasn’t a citizen but it wasn’t often people were so blunt about it.

  “It’s a… It’s a cirque,” he murmured.

  She nodded, raising a highly arched eyebrow and scratching her cheek.

  “Got liquor?”

  “Too much to drink alone,” he answered, giving her a charming grin.

  “Keep me a selection, sweetheart, and I’ll make sure you get your business.”

  Taking a quick swig of his beer, Jack considered it for a moment. No doubt Hatliffe would be angry if he found out that he’d promised a selection of liquor just to get a couple of poor townsfolk from one of the outer quadrants. Things like that were usually promised to the important folk, the ones who looked the other way. However, there was always a chance that she wouldn’t remember by morning. He nodded.

  “I’ll have someone come by tomorrow with the delivery.”

  “Why don’t you bring it yourself, handsome,” she said with a suggestive grin. “Ask for Dinah.”

  Sure enough, Jack barely had to say a word to the other customers. He sat at the end of the bar, sipped his pointless beer, and listened as Dinah passed the word on to everyone who approached the bar. Even she paid so little attention to him that she repeatedly forgot he was there, surprise in her eyes each time she glanced at him. Customers tried to figure him out as they approached to collect new beers and gave him the same curious gazes when they left to reclaim their seats, drinks in hand.

  Dinah didn’t mention the selection of liquors again and Jack was nearing the end of his drink. He pushed his stool back from the bar, reaching to take the last swig when the door opened, blowing in a new blast of sandy breeze.

  She whipped a cap from her head as she weaved through the tables, ribbons of dark hair tumbling free of a messy ponytail. She was easily a dozen years younger than the rest of the customers yet she smiled at many of them, clapping them on their shoulders as she passed.

  “Hadley, it’s nice to see you here,” Dinah cooed.

  “Hey, yeah,” the girl named Hadley replied. “Thought you’d want to know about the hitching. Lachlan got the orders, says it’s a cirque.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Dinah said. “Liquor and everything. Say, how is your brother?”

  Hadley’s eyebrows knitted low over narrowed hazel eyes. Jack placed his glass back on the bar, the last mouthful of beer still swilling around in the bottom. The girl glanced at him with measured curiosity and looked back to Dinah with a shake of her head.

  “How do you always know these things?” she demanded with a huff. “I thought I’d be helping you out.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Dinah giggled. “I have ears everywhere. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Peach,” Hadley grumbled.

  Dinah went about making mixing the cordial with some water from the tap, placing the tall, thin glass in front of her. She took a sip before pulling herself up onto one of the stools. Hadley glanced at him again but didn’t say anything.

  “So, Lachlan got the orders?”

  Hadley nodded and wrapped both hands around the glass.

  “Went to check it out two hours ago. Should be back soon, once they’ve shut down the guard posts for the night.”

  Dinah chuckled.

  “So, the gates will be unmanned?”

  “Yeah, but locked.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry yourself about that,” Dinah said with a conspiratorial wink. “Sent Clyde and Jonah out already.”

  Jack threw back the rest of his beer and slid the glass across the bar. If Dinah was right, he’d be able to hit at least one more tavern before finding the gate unlocked, which was preferable to a barbed wire climb or scrambling through the dirt underneath the fence.

  He slid from the stool and left a single coin next to his glass as he made his way back through the tables. Just as he reached the door and glanced back, the girl turned around. His gaze locked onto hers for a second and she turned back to the bar.

  “Dinah, who was that?” Jack just about heard her ask.

  Dinah lifted her head and looked right at him. Her gaze swept his face with the same curiosity that he’d seen in each of the customers. She shook her head.

  “I’ve no idea,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen him before. But hey, about this cirque…”

  His work was done.

  Hadley ran the rest of the way home. Lachlan had been out to investigate the hitching but she didn’t know how long that would take. She didn’t want him to become suspicious about where she’d been since leaving the station. Storefront shutters had all been closed and locked up for the evening, tattered fliers reminding citizens to vote in the election fluttering in the breeze where they’d been nailed into the wood.

  There were no fliers that urged residents to attend the cirque, yet it was all Hadley heard about as she jogged through the slim streets. Men huddled with their heads bent, wondering whether they could get away from their wives in order to enjoy a few drinks. Women stood in doorways hoping that they wouldn’t have to look after the children for the entire evening. Children hung from their parents’ legs, begging to stay up late enough if they did all the chores the next day.

  Little clouds rose from beneath each footfall, swirls of dust that twinkled under the orange glow of the buzzing streetlamps. She veered onto Barnard Street, ducking out of the way of Mr. Alexander’s exuberant hand gestures as he claimed to have seen the most talented magician the coalition had ever outlawed. He paused briefly in his story to give Hadley a wave and as she hurried down the road, she heard him break into a new story about a scantily clad coochie girl to the awe of Mr. Elnard, who lived next door to her and Lachlan.

  Hadley slowed to a walk as she neared the house at the end of the road. She gritted her teeth and propped her hands on her hips, stretching the cramp out of her sides.

  Lachlan sat on the wooden steps, one hand deep in his boot, the other holding a stiff horse brush. He dipped the brush into a tub of boot-lac and began scrubbing it across the toe of the heavy, black boot. Next to him, a bucket of dirty water was surrounded by wet wood, another brush balanced precariously on its rim.

  He didn’t lift his head when Hadley approached but his gaze flickered to her dusty boots as she scuffed them against the ground.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked, scrubbing the polish into his boot all the harder.

  “You weren’t going to be home for a while, so I figured I’d stop in at the Corazón.”

  Lachlan lifted his head. His eyes were narrowed and his hand stilled in his daily ritual.

  “Hads…”

  “I don’t like you going there, Hadley,” Hadley interjected in a voice suspiciously reminiscent of her brother. “She’s a bad influence and it’s only a matter of time…”

  The frown that darkened Lachlan’s face was petulant and he took a deep breath before he spoke.

  “Well, she is.”

  Hadley rolled her eyes and sunk down onto the step next to him. She picked up the brush from the rim of the bucket and dunked it into the water. Lachlan wouldn’t have dared use the dirty water to clean his boots. He would have tipped the contents into the gutter and fetched a fresh bucket. Leaning over her knees, she began scrubbing the dirt from her boots. Lachlan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth but he was focussed on his own work when Hadley looked at him.

  “She said it’s a cirque down south,” Hadley said, trying to keep her voice casual.

  “Doesn’t surprise me that she knows. I suppose one of her customers told her.”

  Hadley had become used to ignoring her brother’s thinly veiled disgust at Dinah’s work. It wasn’t a secret. Practically everyone in the south-east quadrant knew that alcohol-free ale wasn’t the only thing served to some of the men. Still, nobody made a move to stop her. Dinah was one of the most
popular women in the quad as she always had information. Hadley had even seen a number of her brother’s soldiers in the tavern from time to time.

  “You checked it out then?”

  She forgot about scrubbing her boots clean. The brush hung from her fingers, dripping dusty water onto the step next to her toe.

  “Yep,” he said.

  She stared at him, waiting for more, but he was so vigorous in his polishing that she suspected he was ignoring her impatience.

  “Lach…”

  “What?”

  A growling frustration slipped past her lips and she reached over his lap, smearing her finger across the shining boot. Lachlan turned to glare at her.

  “What’s going on with the cirque?” she demanded.

  He rolled his eyes and turned back to his boot, polishing off the finger marks she had made. Hadley wiped her blackened fingers off on her trousers which only made him click his tongue all the louder.

  “I thought you’d have found that out from Dinah,” he grumbled.

  “Are you taking it down?”

  “No way to know how many people they have. Can’t go in there if we’re going to be outnumbered. Need to know what sort of force we need.”

  Hadley went back to scrubbing the soles of her boots free of the caked mud she’d trailed down from her walk outside the fence. The guys at work didn’t really mind if her boots were dirty when she showed up. Her position wasn’t like Lachlan’s, where she was supposed to be smart and presentable at all times. Fixing engines seemed to require a certain level of dirt. However, her brother liked order and cleanliness, so she made sure to scrub down her boots when she got home. Sometimes she just left them outside, but he didn’t like that either.