by Chris Bunch
“No, no. Honestly,” Garvin said, feeling about fifteen years old. “Let me get ahold of that old fart who brought us up here, and see about getting you another room that — ”
Kekri came up to Garvin, put her hands on his elbows.
“I really don’t mind,” she said in that purr. “I’m sure you’re a man of high moral resolve. Certainly two people can share a common bed without anything happening. And if not …” She broke off, giggled. “I guess we should be glad you didn’t come here with Mr. Yoshitaro. I wonder if Lady Berta is that broad-minded.”
Garvin began to step back.
“As long as we’re here,” Kekri murmured, lifting her head, eyes closed, lips parted.
Jaansma would have been somewhat less than mortal if he hadn’t kissed her. Her tongue went in his mouth, curled back and forth for a time.
When she slowly broke away, Garvin felt a little dizzy.
“Speaking of your friend,” Kekri said, “I’ve got to be honest and say that he frankly scares me a lot. His eyes seem to look quite through you.”
“You want to know something even scarier?” Garvin said. “If you told him that, he’d probably take it as a compliment.”
Kekri grimaced, sat on the bed, bounced.
“Changing the subject … Real feathers,” she said. “That might be interesting.”
Garvin took a step toward her.
“No, no,” Kekri said. “You take your bag, and go into that bathroom there and change. I don’t think Lady Berta would like being kept waiting … at least not for very long.”
She giggled again.
“Besides, this will give you something to look forward to. Maybe.”
• • •
Garvin changed into ankle boots, slightly flared black slacks, a white shirt with black studs under a black monkey jacket.
Kekri came out of her bathroom wearing a sheath gown, with a jacket over it, both in sequined white.
“And aren’t we both beautiful,” she said, holding out her arm.
He took it and they went out, down cavernous corridors, to the lift, down to the enormous hall that led to the library.
Inside there were holos, reels, shelves of ancient real books, maps of other worlds, portraits of stiff, dedicated-looking men and their noble wives, no doubt the lineage of the Bertas.
Libnah Berta greeted them, and a waiter took their drink orders. Kekri asked for pale wine, Garvin for a brandy with a glass of ice water that he planned to nurse forever, and Berta, without asking, got a tall glass full of multicolored liqueurs.
She asked them, as if she really cared, what they thought of Cayle, and was pleased they liked it so much.
Berta had two more of the spectacular drinks, Kekri another wine, and Garvin no more before they went in to dinner.
“I know it is considered rude to talk business over a meal,” Berta announced. “But I have almost no other life, so forgive me.
“Also, I’m fascinated with various aspects of your most unusual profession.”
Her questions were penetrating, and it seemed she actually was interested in circus life — at least the financial aspects of it.
The meal was spectacular, in a very old-fashioned way — a consommé to begin, an assortment of grilled, breaded small fish, a roast in a rich, cream-looking sauce with sautéed vegetables, a mixed salad, and finally a dessert, flaming on the outside, frozen on the inside.
“I certainly hope you don’t eat like this every night,” Kekri said. “If you do, I want your fitness regime.”
“Of course I don’t,” Berta said, with a laugh that sounded programmed. “In fact, my advisors are generally unhappy with me for not eating at all when I’m working on a specific project.”
With each course came a different wine that Garvin barely tasted, and Kekri, to Jaansma’s approval, took no more than a sip of. Berta drank heartily from each bottle and was completely unaffected.
Meal finished, she led the way back into the library, settled Garvin with another brandy, Kekri with a liqueur, and had another of her multicolored drinks.
“Now then,” she said as she settled back, “why, exactly, did you want Graav Ganeel to set up a meeting between us?”
Garvin thought of various subterfuges, decided on the semihonest one, explaining that his circus was heading toward Centrum, and would appreciate any help Berta Industries could provide about the various security devices they’d provided the Confederation around Centrum. He added, without giving details, that they already had charts, serial numbers, and descriptions of these devices and outposts.
Berta raised an imperious eyebrow.
“Well, I cannot say you’re evasive, young man. But one thing you should know is that Berta Industries prides itself on its integrity. Once our services are contracted for, no one else has ever been given any details.”
“I can appreciate that,” Garvin said. “But it’s been ten years since you provided those devices, and at least five years since the Confederation has dropped out of contact with everyone, it seems.”
“True.”
“I’m not arrogant enough to say that a circus can do anything to restore what once was, but I’d like to try.”
“Frankly, I don’t care much about your enterprises, Gaffer Jaansma. But there is this justification for my interest: Cayle is, perhaps not quite helpless, but certainly floundering without its Confederation business. We’ve not been able to establish new avenues of trade to compensate for the loss.
“Perhaps you’ve noticed the huge unemployment. I’ve tried to keep as many of my employees on as possible, but, of course, I’m not a charity.
“I’m afraid that the people out there, if they begin to lose faith in our government, may seek a more radical solution. Simple people will seek simple solutions.
“A man … or woman … who can offer easy answers would be very appealing.
“And, to be brutally honest with you, a good number of this system’s magnates would support such a person, if for no other reason than they fear to lose what they have. And I could well be one of them, if there’s a sufficiently large social disruption.
“No, I do not think your circus can do any good, could help us solve our problems, any more than the momentary relief of taking the people’s minds away from their concerns.
“But something is always better than nothing.
“I shall think on this matter overnight, and give you my answer tomorrow.”
• • •
“Well hold me and kiss me where the sun don’t shine,” Njangu muttered as he looked at the small case he’d found in Kekri’s compartment. “Either we’re complete dunderbrains, or else this wasn’t here the first time we searched her.”
“It wasn’t here, boss,” one of the security techs said. “I made thorough notes of the last time we went through her gear. The third thing we checked was in her cosmetics case, and I’m not blind enough to have missed that case.”
“A com of some sort,” Njangu mused. “Run this up to your shop and disclose me its secrets.”
“ ‘Kay, sir,” a tech said.
“Be a little careful,” Yoshitaro added. “Just in case there’s something stupid inside like a suicide charge.”
• • •
“We could always keep with the idea that accidents happen,” Kekri said, kicking her shoes off.
“We could,” Garvin said, who suddenly decided he was going to seize the moment just for a change, and the hell with the consequences, for which thought he knew he’d unquestionably pay. “Or I could light this candle … old-fashioned sort, that Berta here, plus the one on the other side of the bed.”
“You could do that,” Kekri said. “And then what?”
“And then I cut the main lights like this, come over here, and kiss you.”
“And then what?”
“Then,” Garvin said, “I take your jacket off, and slide your gown down to your waist like that. Then I kiss your neck, and some … other places a few tim
es.
“Yes, you can be taking off my jacket, and unfastening my pants if you want.”
“Oh,” Kekri breathed. “Yes.”
“Thank you. Now I’ll find a way to kick these goddamned boots off, and push your gown down around your feet like this.
“Tsk. You’re not wearing anything under it.”
“I don’t like last-minute details to get in the way,” Kekri breathed.
“An excellent idea,” Garvin said, carrying her to the bed. She lay, eyes half-closed, looking up at him as he took off his shirt.
“Now, if you’ll lift your legs up so I can take hold of your ankles …”
Moments later, he ran out of words.
• • •
Garvin drank a cup of stimulant tea the cook had recommended, smiled politely at Berta across the table.
He thought of Njangu’s advice: “Screw her black-and-blue and get her singing our tune.” Not only was the bastard sexist, but he obviously thought too highly of somebody’s capabilities. Not Katun’s. Feeling very black-and-blue, he wondered if he’d be able to walk un-spraddle-legged on this inspection tour, put on his best face, and determined to tough it out.
He was a little disgusted to see Kekri, quite bouncy, making cheerful talk with Libnah Berta, and tried to find the energy to pour himself more tea.
• • •
The electronics security technician yawned and rubbed sleepy eyes.
“What we’ve got here, boss,” he told Njangu, “is a neat little transceiver. In-system only, unless somebody is dogging us. And, so far, we haven’t found anybody on our tail.
“The entire back is a light-sensitive charging system, not even needing UV light, which is fairly sexy. The set remains on at all times, so somebody … say a nice spyship … could enter whatever system we’re in, activate the com with a set signal, then our spy can find out somebody’s waiting to chat with her and take it from there. Naturally, it’s got a record-and-blurt capability so she wouldn’t hang herself out for too long.”
Njangu thought, poured himself another stim.
“I think,” he said, “it would be very nice to put the com right back where we found it, except maybe, if there’s room in the box, you can put a secondary circuit in that’ll tip us if somebody rings Kekri up.”
“Already set up the circuitry, boss. Thought you might like something like that. Also piggybacked another circuit so we can static-up her transmission, and whoever’s on the other end will have the devil’s time making sense out of it.
“Now, all we need is what data she’s after.”
Njangu grinned, drained his tea, touched his inside breast pocket where a copy of Kekri Katun’s notes, kept in a simple substitution code, sat. Another copy, mostly broken, was with a crypto tech.
“Now that, my fine feathered friend, is what they call beyond your need to know.”
He rose.
“C’mon. Let’s go down to the dukey and I’ll buy breakfast. Garvin’ll have some interesting things to listen to when he gets back.”
• • •
Berta’s works ran on forever and a half kilometer. Garvin very quickly got tired of admiring huge extrusion machinery, engine-casting plants, lathes that could turn out something the size of a Nana boat, programming divisions, and all the rest. He moved just a little awkwardly, not used to using his body to aim the pinhole camera in his lapel.
There were workmen about, but not many, and Garvin noticed most of them occupied their time polishing and maintaining, not building.
They ended up in a huge, stone building, very archaic in design, with webbed glass skylights, an open center, and row after row of terminals and operators along the walls. Outside were armed guards that Garvin rated as fairly alert.
“These are our archives,” Lady Berta said proudly. “Going all the way back to the first tender the first Berta built … and used as a personal runabout.”
She came a little closer, lowered her voice.
“In these records is the information you asked me about, and it is as good a place as any to tell you I cannot permit you to access what you want.
“I’m sorry, but, as I have said before, there is a bond between Berta and its customers, a bond that’s been unbroken for more than three hundred Earth-years.”
Garvin looked into her eyes, saw nothing but stern resolve, and knew better than to argue.
“Then,” he said, “I suppose we’ll just have to take our chances with whatever security devices remain around Centrum.”
“I am sorry,” Berta said, and just a bit of a smile came and went.
Now why, Garvin thought, and felt Njangu would be proud of him, would she have taken the trouble to show me where the secrets are, and then tell me to bugger off? Let alone grin at me? Interesting. I think I’ll have to consider this.
• • •
Ristori crawled carefully toward the bowl, where six Earth cats lapped milk. He inserted himself between two, started to take a drink, leapt back as a cat slapped him across the nose.
The children in the stands roared.
Again Ristori tried, again was batted away.
He got up, sat in thought for a while, then visibly brightened.
He got back down on his hands and knees, and suddenly he was moving like a cat, sinuously, slinking toward the bowl. The cats moved aside, evidently fooled, and Ristori began lapping milk like they did.
Damned glad, Garvin thought, watching from outside the ring as the applause began, I changed my mind about Emton and his act.
The cats were, surprisingly, one of the bigger hits. Garvin guessed it was because the cat wasn’t an unknown pet, but no one in his right mind imagined they could ever be trained to do tricks.
Ristori got up and schlumpfed away, and five of the cats licked themselves twice, then rolled on their backs, paws in the air, and, seemingly without any direction from Emton, who lounged nearby, the sixth leapt on top of the lifted paws, and was bounced from cat to cat, a perfect tiny parody of the risley act in the second ring.
“Did we have fun with our Kekri?” Darod Montagna hissed, a smile on her face to fool the crowd.
“It was work,” Garvin tried.
“Of course,” Montagna said in utter disbelief. “I hope you two made yourselves very happy. You can move her into your compartment if you want. I, certainly, won’t be objecting.”
Garvin tried to think of something to say, managed a feeble “but …” as Montagna stalked away.
The last thing he would do was move Kekri in with him. He certainly hadn’t the energy, and Katun had shown no particular desire to press matters, although she’d been fairly affectionate on the flight back. It seemed obvious, Garvin thought with a bit of misery, not only had he failed to impress Katun, but he’d evidently blown what he did have with Montagna.
He’d barely had time to report his failure to Njangu, and learn Kekri was, indeed, a spy, before it was time for the evening show.
Sunk in self-pity, he almost missed the cats’ scampering offstage, and the growl outside the tent of the big animals, waiting their cue.
Roustabouts muscled a huge cage down into position over the center ring, shut off its lifters, lashed it firmly in place.
Garvin snapped his whip three times.
“You can hear them, you can smell them, now they’ll be coming in, fangs bared, claws ready. Watch your children, ladies and gentlemen, for these voracious, vicious beasts of the wild are barely under control.
“I myself wouldn’t enter their cage on a challenge. Only their master, the impossibly brave Sir Douglas, dares that, and now, let’s welcome him and his mankillers!”
• • •
Monique Lir wasn’t paying much attention to the dancers on the stage of the Pendu club, either the clothed or the naked ones, listening to Darod Montagna snap out her anger.
“Are you sure you meant to cut everything off?”
“I’d like to have cut his futtering cock off,” Darod stormed. “Preferabl
y at the elbows.”
“Did you ever consider why the boss took that tits-and-ass wonder along with him?”
“Why … because he wanted to screw her! And … and because she’s a lot prettier than I am!”
“Maybe on the first, so what on the second. That Mellusin woman he’s involved with back on Cumbre might be a bit prettier than you as well. Did you maybe consider there was another reason?”
“Like what? What could there be?” Montagna demanded.
“Oh, say, maybe that somebody wanted Katun out of town for the night. Maybe somebody wanted to search her dunnage.”
“Giptel doots!” Montagna snapped. “How could you know that?”
“Because my … our, now again … compartment’s on the same level as hers. And because I’m a very light sleeper. And because I saw Njangu, looking innocent, wandering around with a couple of his goons after people settled down for the night.”
“Oh,” Montagna said in a small voice.
“Now, if he keeps boffing her,” Monique said, “all you can do is shrug, walk away, and forget about it. It wasn’t as if you weren’t warned.”
“No,” Darod said in a dull voice, and sipped her drink. “Maybe I am being stupid. But it still doesn’t set right.”
“No shiteedah,” Lir said. “That’s ‘cause men, basically, blow giptels.”
“So what should I do … just hold in place?”
Monique, without answering her, looked up at the various male and female impedimenta being enthusiastically waved about by the dancers.
“I’ll be glad when we lift off this frigging planet,” she muttered. “The whole damned world smells of sperm. Sperm and cold, rusting iron.”
• • •
“Odd and odder,” Njangu mused. “Hokay. Let’s try one. Berta wants to go along with us … maybe … or maybe not even consciously. She wants order, law, and the rest of that bullshit people think is so goddamned important back in her life, and the only thing she can think of is the Confederation.
“She won’t give us the data … but that doesn’t mean it’s sealed beyond recovery. ‘Kay. I think me, and maybe a couple of friends, can help her conscience out.”
