by Chris Bunch
“Interesting device,” Froude said. “Sounds like it might be fairly representative.”
“Perhaps,” Ristori said doubtfully. “However, I also noted there are some thirty members of what’s known as a Directorate. There’s very little on the holos about them, but they seem to be former planetary politicians, who, and I am quoting here, advise the Premiers, bringing their years of experience to bear.”
“Mmmh,” Froude said. “How much real power do they have?”
“No one says, which suggests a lot.”
“Indeed. So the Premiers are puppets, then.”
“In a manner of speaking … except that it seems to me that one of them who’s properly cooperative and understanding will have his name set down as a potential Director.”
“Ah, humans,” Froude said. “We do come up with strange ways of doing things.”
“Especially this election here on Delta. It would seem that the government is a shade on the corrupt side, and has held power for some eight years. Gaming, whoring … whatever. Delta seems wide-open, which we haven’t seen, not having gone downtown nearly enough, for other citizens of Tiborg to find this an exciting place to vacation.
“But now there’s a young reformer named Dorn Fili who’s a candidate for Premier, swearing he’s going to throw the rascals out, bring honesty, truth, and justice to government, rule hands-on and such. He’s very pretty, according to the holos I’ve seen.”
“Ah?”
“The interesting thing that I’ve discovered,” Ristori said, “is that Mr. Fill’s father was Premier some years back, thrown out of office by outraged reformers.”
“Oh.”
“Precisely. Let’s tear the old crooks away from the trough so new crooks can have their turn to come in and fatten.”
• • •
“You know,” Garvin said contentedly, “I could get into this habit of making money.”
“You mean we’re actually in profits?” Njangu said.
“Well, if you ignore the initial outlay from Jasith … and the cost of the ship … we’re making credits hand over fist.”
“Always easy to show a profit if you blow off the overhead,” Njangu said. “That’s why being a thief attracted me so much.
“Speaking of which, I’ve got the angle on this Armed Forces Club thing. It’s got a big building near the center of the capital, provides rooms for its members, has a bar, meeting halls, some kind of museum, serves meals … I’d guess the usual private club menu of gray vegetables and boiled meat.
“However, they’re very proud of their charities.”
“Ah-hah.”
“Exackle,” Njangu said. “I’m gonna roll Penwyth in, and say the circus would be delighted to sail some Annie Oakleys … that’s the term, right, for freebies? … for their gimpy kids or something.”
“Which’ll give us what?”
“Which’ll give us maybe a temporary membership for Erik.”
“Which’ll give us … besides having to listen to Penwyth whine about the food … what?”
“Soldiers love other soldiers,” Njangu explained carefully. “They really suck up to bigger militaries.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Garvin said. “Never having been around a bigger one … but maybe you would, given your fondness for the late Larissan military.”
“Screw off,” Njangu said. “So, assuming there might’ve been some kind of contact beyond this break-off ten years gone, we might be able to pick up some data of interest about the Confeds and what happened.
“Maybe.”
“Thin, my little brownish brother. Very thin indeed,” Garvin said. “But I agree. We should — ”
There was a tap at the cabin door.
“It’s open,” Garvin said, and the door slid open and one of the gangway sentries stood there. With him was a handsome man in his early thirties, and a heavyset, satisfied-looking companion in his late middle age. Both men wore business wear that Njangu, even though he knew nothing of the planetary style, decided looked expensive.
The younger man was very handsome, in a rugged sort of way, his face open, exuding confidence and trust.
Njangu decided that he hated him.
“Good evening, gents,” the middle-aged man said. “I’d like you to meet Dorn Fili, soon to be Premier of Delta, and possibly we can discuss some matters of mutual benefice.”
“Now, now,” Fili said with a smile, “we’ve yet to win the election, Sam’l.”
“We have the people behind us, Dorn,” the older man said. “They’re tired of corruption and dirt in public office.”
“I hope so,” Fili said. “But we don’t have to campaign in front of these people, who we hope will do us some good. My friend here, is Sam’l Brek. He’s advising me, which he’s been doing since I was born, and before that was one of my father’s most trusted men.”
“Thank you,” Brek said.
“You said we might do you some good,” Garvin said carefully. “In what way?”
“I’ll explain … may I sit down?” Fili said. Garvin waved him to a chair — the cabin was crowded with more than two people in it. Brek stood against the wall, looking interested at whatever idea Fili was going to propose, as if he’d never heard it before.
Njangu watched both men very carefully.
“As Sam’l said, I’m running for Premier,” Fili went on. “I’m fortunate enough to have been left quite a bit of credits by my family, which I’ve dedicated to defeating the machine that’s been holding Jßelta back for eight years now.
“I’m doing what used to be referred to as a full press, hitting the Constitutionalists high, low, here, and there.
“One of the means I’d like to use is your circus, which I was lucky enough to see tonight. What a show! What an amazing show!”
“Thank you,” Garvin said.
“I would like to put your resources to work on my team, for which you’ll be well paid during the campaign, and, if I’m elected, you and your team would be considered good friends.”
“Thank you for your offer,” Garvin said. “Unfortunately, we’re not wealthy, and can’t afford to volunteer to help anyone.”
“Plus we’re outsiders,” Njangu put in. “I’ve never noticed folks are real fond of strangers coming in and helping them with their business.”
“I think you misunderstand me,” Fili said, frowning, his expression echoed by Brek. “I don’t want you to starve in my service … nor to be widely known for helping me.”
“What I need, I pay for. I’d guess, for instance, that your performance tonight probably grossed about thirty thousand credits.”
Garvin covered his surprise. In fact, that was only seven thousand credits below the actual gate.
“I would want to hire your entire show for two, perhaps three, benefits, for which I’d pay fifty thousand per show.”
Both Garvin and Njangu looked very interested.
“Plus there are certain charities and good works I support, such as crusades against crippling diseases, against birth defects, and such, and I would want to hire certain of your specialists, perhaps the elephants and perhaps the horses to perform outside hospitals three or four times in the next few weeks.”
“How would this be tied in with your campaign?” Njangu said skeptically. “The elephants will carry banners in their trunks?”
“Nothing so crass,” Brek broke in. “The posters would merely mention that your circus is performing under the auspices of one or another of Dorn’s committees. We’d leave it to the voters to make the obvious association.”
Garvin considered. He could see no problems, and it would certainly be good for some of the acts to get away and work on their own.
“We wouldn’t be able to cut any of our people free on show days,” he said.
“Of course not,” Fili said heartily. “And we’ll provide volunteer workers for anything you might need beyond your normal functions.”
“Security, for instance,” Brek said.
Garvin looked at Njangu, who moved his head microscopically up and down.
“I think something could well be arranged,” Jaansma said.
Fili was on his feet.
“Good, good. That’s wonderful news. And you’ll never regret your decision, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy being part of my campaign.”
There was more glad-handing, exchange of com numbers for the working out of the details, and Fili and Brek left.
“Free money,” Garvin gloated, cackling, rubbing his hands together in his most miserly imitation.
“Looks like,” Njangu agreed. “I just wish I liked Fili.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Handsome bastards always grate on my spine.”
“Then why’re you my friend?” Garvin asked blandly.
Njangu snorted. “Maybe because you take instruction well.”
• • •
Njangu and Maev rolled out of bed, pistols in hand, to the scream of sirens and the synthed voice:
“Emergency! Emergency! In the … cat area. In the … cat area!”
Njangu found time for a pair of pants, Maev for a robe, and they went out of their cabin, pelted down the corridors and two companionways into the hold, others behind them.
They pushed past a throng into the cat compartment, into horror.
Muldoon the leopard crouched, growling, over a bloody, torn body. Against one cage wall lay Sir Douglas, moaning, barely conscious.
“What the hell?” Njangu snapped.
A tiny acrobat answered: “I … I heard commotion, opened the door, just as Sir Douglas arrived. That black monster had this man down, and the cage door was ajar.
“Other cats were coming out of their sleeping cage. Sir Douglas went into the main cage … he didn’t even have his whip … slammed it closed behind him.
“One of the striped cats got behind him, and he was shouting for it to get back. The animal got scared and hit him … I think more by accident than anything else …” and the woman started crying.
“Who’s the man?” Njangu demanded.
No one knew. Njangu thought of shooting Muldoon, but with his small pistol didn’t know if he’d do more than make the leopard angrier.
Garvin, bare naked, ran into the compartment, caught the situation up.
“Get blasters,” he ordered. “We’ll have to kill the cat.”
“Not yet,” someone said. It was Alikhan, and behind him was Ben Dill, carrying a meter-long bar of steel as thick as his forearm. “Let me try to get the animal away.”
Garvin shook his head, realized Alikhan’s intent and jumped for him, but was too late as Alikhan opened the cage, went inside. Dill knocked Jaansma out of the way and went after him, muttering, “Goddamned fool of a dumb-ass frigging alien bastard!”
Muldoon growled a warning, but Alikhan paid no mind, moving toward the animal steadily, calmly, waving his arms. Muldoon crouched, about to spring, and Dill braced for the charge. Then the leopard, evidently, caught the alien’s scent.
He growled once more, slid back from his barely moving victim, then scampered into his sleeping area.
The other cats, still half-asleep, also scented the alien and sulkily went back into their own quarters.
Alikhan banged shut the doors between the cages.
“Now,” he started, but the main cage entrance was already open, and Jill Mahim was kneeling over the man, medikit at her side.
“Hell if I know who he is … phew, he’s been drinking a storm,” she said. “Some fool drunk maybe who hid out when the show broke up and wanted to play with the kitties.”
Someone shouted, “I’ve got a medic flight on the way.”
“Good,” Mahim said, her fingers moving easily through her kit, punching a trach tube through the man’s ruined throat, feeling the man’s pulse, hitting him with three painkillers and an anticoagulant, tapping blood substitute into a vein. “Get one of the stretchers from the corridor.” Crewmen ran to obey.
The moaning man was taken out of the cage, just as Sir Douglas stumbled to his feet, shaking his head.
“I did not see who hit me,” he said. “Was it that bad Muldoon?”
“One of the tigers,” someone said.
“I was careless,” Sir Douglas said. “I thought they were my calm friends. I should have allowed for the excitement.”
“Not you,” someone cracked, “but that idiot on the stretcher.”
“Who,” Mahim said, “is probably going to live, and father many idiots. There’s no justice.”
“All right, everyone,” Garvin said. “The excitement’s over.”
“Uh, boss,” Njangu said, trying not to laugh. “Maybe you want to be the first to leave?”
Garvin looked down at himself, realized his nakedness, and reddened, especially when he saw Darod Montagna eyeing him thoughtfully.
“Not bad at all,” she murmured, and Jaansma fled for his quarters.
“Ain’t that the thing about circus life,” Njangu said. “Never a dull moment.”
• • •
“You wished?” Phraphas Phanon asked Sir Douglas.
“I was wondering if you have any interest in expanding your gaff,” the animal trainer said.
“We are always interested in the new,” Sunya Thanon said. “What do you have in mind?”
“Combining my Deadly Dangerous Beasts with your Monsters of the Midway.”
“Ah,” Phanon said. “Your large cats and our friends. An interesting thought.”
“I don’t know if you’ve ever worked with cats,” Sir Douglas said. “I’ve never done anything with elephants. If their hides aren’t as thick as they look, we could maybe use pads.”
“What sort of tricks would you have in mind?”
“Oh, leaping from one elephant to another,” Sir Douglas said, a bit vaguely. “Posing next to them.”
“Hmm,” Phanon said. “Perhaps we could come up with something more spectacular.”
• • •
Njangu stood at the side of the mess line in the compartment known as the cook tent. Running Bear, plate laden, came past him.
“Better grub than some we’ve known,” he said.
“Careful,” Njangu warned.
“I meant, in some of the circuses we’ve trouped in,” the Amerind said innocently, went on, found a seat.
The conversation was a buzz of various languages, some translated into Common, others between men and women from the same planet. Garvin sat at the head of one table, chattering away like one of the Earth monkeys he despised.
It felt happy, Njangu decided. Maybe like a family. And how would you know what a family really is, he thought wryly. No. Maybe I do. Maybe the Force. And isn’t that a helluva thought?
• • •
“You wished to see me?” Garvin said. He was sweating gently, having just come out of the ring on the break, the clowns cavorting to keep the crowd’s interest.
The man waiting for him was elderly, every man’s beloved grandfather, richly and conservatively dressed. “I did indeed.”
“Perhaps my office, though we’ll have to hurry, since I’m back on in half an hour,” Jaansma suggested.
“Perhaps so, Gaffer Jaansma,” the man said. He had a gentle yet firm voice, and followed Garvin through the managed chaos of backstage. Garvin saw Njangu, made a slight gesture.
In Garvin’s office, the man declined a drink, sat down.
“If you don’t mind … I think my mind’s as spry as ever, but these bones thank you for a bit of relaxation.
“I’ll only take a minute of your time. I’m Director Fen Berti, by the way, and happened to be here on Delta on business to do with Dorn Fill’s campaign.
“First, let me say how much I’m enjoying your show. Fantastic. You’re certainly right when you say it’s for children of all ages, for it certainly took me back to much younger days, when we were all innocent.” He smiled beatifically.
“I thought the very least I could do
in return is offer a bit of advice, although I’m certainly aware of what most people think of unsolicited suggestions.”
“Sir, I’m always willing to listen to any suggestions,” Garvin said truthfully. “I keep an open door, and always have.”
“Many people say they do just that, but don’t really mean it. If you do, I’m most impressed. Perhaps you were in the military once?”
“No, no,” Garvin said. “I’ve been circus all my life.”
Berti nodded.
“My advice has to do with your involvement with the Fili campaign. No, don’t look angry or upset that I’ve learned about it. There are very few secrets to a Director, particularly one who’s decided to back Dorn, just as I backed his father years ago.
“My advice is this: People love to wallow in their vices for a time, then loudly want redemption. This is the crest Dorn Fili is riding, hopefully to the highest office, as his father did, who also had the intellect to realize when to back off his crusade.
“Something you should be aware of is that elections throughout the Tiborg system are, shall we say, most freewheeling, particularly when there appears to be a radical change in the direction of government proposed.
“Our elections can get bloody, I’m ashamed to admit.”
“All I agreed was to do a few shows for Fili,” Garvin said. “For hire, not as a believing volunteer.”
“Unfortunately the opposition frequently takes small things like that and magnifies them out of all importance. This is one reason I think they will lose the election, for they’ve lost the sense of perspective all of us in politics must maintain. Because of this, it’s now the turn of the loyal opposition to take office.”
“You have, if you’ll forgive me, for I’m hardly interested in politics,” Garvin said, “quite a system. First, it’s Set A, then Set B, then Set A again. Aren’t you worried that the people are, sooner or later, going to ask for a real change?”
“No,” Berti said calmly. “No, my romantic friend, I’m not. Our system has worked well for almost five hundred years, in spite of Confederation meddling … not for an honest election, I assure you, but because they wanted Set C, their own handpicked fellows, to take office.
“Besides, we have certain … control measures to keep matters from getting out of hand in an emergency.
