by Chris Bunch
Froude was paying no attention to the chatter, but watching screens.
“I think Big Ben is maybe right,” he said. “The Confederation … I’m assuming this was some kind of a secret base for something, since it looks like it’s been there for a while, and who else but the Confederation would’ve spent who knows how many years building this … just up and left. Leaving the barn door wide-open.
“Very strange indeed.”
• • •
“Why,” Kekri said, “did we spend so much time in that dead system today?”
“Damfino,” Ben lied. “I was in the ready room playing with myself. Alikhan was the duty pilot.”
“Wasn’t that weird to be just hanging out there without anything happening? Didn’t Garvin give you some kind of clue?”
“Nawp,” Dill said. “What’s weird is that I’ve been out of my flight suit, wandering around nekkid and all, with a nicely worked up me in me hand, and I haven’t leapt on you yet.”
“Wait a minute,” Kekri protested. “We can’t screw all the time! And we were talking …” and then she squealed, and for a time the conversation in their compartment was somewhat fragmented.
The next jump was through a dead system, with no surprises.
Sabyn/Sabyn I
The next jump was more interesting. There were supposedly three inhabited planets of the six in the system of Sabyn. They were listed as settled, with light manufacturing, mostly agriculture, no details on culture.
The aksai sweep reported life on all three worlds, no observable armament, no threats.
Garvin had Big Bertha brought out of N-space, and sent a cast for landing instructions.
There was no response to the first or the third com. Other corns were sent to the other worlds, with zed results.
Garvin, feeling his skin prickle a bit, put out all his combat ships, looking for trouble.
None materialized.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll do it the dumb way.”
As on Cayle, they snowballed the three populated worlds with ‘casts, in-atmosphere fireworks. Again, nothing.
“Now, here is something a bit out of the ordinary,” Alikhan sent from his aksai close to the first planet’s surface. “Transmitting pictures. What you are looking at is a landing field, but you will note it has been rather completely destroyed. The towers have been knocked down and the maintenance buildings bombed, as on Salamonsky. It would appear to me that the damage was done some time ago … a planetary year or more.
“However, the world is not abandoned. I sighted a small lifter, overflew it. It ducked away into a forest byway, and I lost it, not having my infrared pickup turned on at the time.”
The watch officer brought Big Bertha closer to the planet, and they waited some more.
“We were swept twice with radar from the planet’s surface, but the band wasn’t anything the computer said was used by target acquisition,” the electronics watch reported. “Then nothing.”
Everyone looked at Garvin for his decision.
“Let’s wiggle our fannies and see what happens,” he said. “Put it down on that open patch of land near that torn-up field, and we’ll set up canvas.”
“You are being a daredevil,” Njangu murmured.
“I’ll want full air cover while we do,” Garvin said.
“Why’re we putting the tents up, if I might ask?” Penwyth said.
“I can’t think of any better way to signal that we’re friendly.”
• • •
Their first customer was a tough-looking subteen farm boy, who walked up, listened, stone-faced to the spiel of one of the midway barkers to her solitary audience, waited until the chant broke for an instant, then demanded, “Whatsit take to get in?”
“Only half a Confederate credit for the circus,” the barker said. “Dunno what it’d be in your currency, but we’re flexible, son, mighty flexible. The midway’s free, but the attractions and the games require a small contribution.”
• • •
The boy nodded, went down the midway, looking curiously about.
Garvin was watching from the bridge of Big Bertha.
“Damned spooky to be the only flattie around,” he said, “and you’ll note everybody’s working him, just for practice, no doubt.”
“Maybe you best slide on down and find out what’s going on,” Njangu said.
“What, me, the ringmaster?”
“Yes, you, the ringmaster. Move out.”
Garvin obeyed.
The boy, in spite of his best efforts, couldn’t help but goggle a little at the tall, white-clad blond man standing in front of him.
“Welcome to the circus,” Garvin said. “My name’s Garvin. Yours?”
“Jorma,” the boy said.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Dunno yet.”
“Here,” Garvin said, taking a ticket from his pocket. “Free admission to my circus. Better,” and he brought out more tickets, “bring your whole family.”
“Don’t need that many,” Jorma said. “There ain’t but me and Ma, and one baby sister left.”
“Left?”
“Since the damned Confederation come and gone.” Jorma spat on the ground.
Garvin recovered.
“What did the Confederation want? Don’t mind my dumb questions, Jorma, but we’re from way offworld, and haven’t heard any news lately.”
“Bastards come every couple years,” Jorma said. “Grab whatever’s worth taking. Quick-butcher whatever cattle they can come on, freeze-dry our vegetables.” Jorma paused, and his face twisted, and he fought back, found control. ‘They take anybody who wants to go with ‘em.
“Sometimes people who don’t. Like my sister.”
He scrubbed across his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“That’s not right,” Garvin said.
Jorma gave him a look of infinite scorn.
“And how’re we supposed to fight back? No guns, and they’ve got rockets and ships.”
He pointed at the nearby field.
“They done that last time. Said they didn’t want us messing around in space. Some peddler came through, said they shot up some of our cities pretty bad. I wouldn’t know. Most of us live in little villages. Get in cities, you’re a target. My dad went off, looking for work, and he never came back.”
“All of these raiders call themselves Confederation?”
“Yeh,” the boy said. “And we got all these holos talkin’ about how good the Confederation was for all of us. Lyin’ sonsabitches!”
He caught himself.
“Sorry, mister. My ma says I’m not supposed to use language like that.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Garvin said. “If I was in your shoes, I’d probably use worse myself.”
The boy smiled, very faintly.
“Maybe you’re not a trap.”
“Trap?”
“Ma said the only ships that’ve come here in the last four years have been raiders. Before that, she said, there wasn’t anybody for six, seven years.
“Before that, she swears there were other Confederation ships, but those were bringing things in, and not stealing everything we’ve got. All kinds of ships, not just warships, but transports, even liners. She said you could get on one, if you had credits, and it’d take you anywhere in the Universe.
“Anyway, Ma figured, when we heard your speakers in those weird-looking ships that you were just another way for us to get stolen.”
“Look,” Garvin said. “If I wanted to steal you … or your mother … or your little sister, you think I’d go to the trouble of bringing in all those elephants?”
“Is that what they are? Like from Earth?”
“Maybe, a long time ago,” Garvin said. “That herd goes through a ton of dried grass a day, maybe more. Plus they’ve got to have vitamins, and treats from the hydroponics area, or from our freeze-dried stocks.”
“Doesn’t seem to make much sense just to grab me and my
family,” Jorma agreed.
“Look,” Garvin said. “I’ll get a whole roll of tickets. You sell them for whatever you can get, keep half the credits.”
“Why me?”
“Because you were the first to show up, which means you’ve got some courage. Plus nobody’ll get near any of us, ‘til we’ve proved we’re not the Confederation. Most likely, they’d take a shot, or wing us with a rock,” Garvin said.
“That’s prob’ly true,” Jorma said.
Garvin took him over to a spieler’s booth, took a roll of tickets about the size of the boy’s chest, and gave it to him.
“You make money, we make money.”
Jorma nodded, considered, then, possibly afraid Garvin would renege, pelted back down the midway and disappeared into brush.
“I’ve got a tracer on him,” the speaker in Garvin’s ear said. “Want him tracked?”
“Yeh,” Garvin said. “But nobody takes any action except by my permission. Period.”
That night there were ten people, including Jorma and his skeptical family. The next night, fifty.
Garvin kept the aksai and patrol boats in the air, constantly ‘casting. Some of the cities had taken some damage from the air, but nothing was as shattered as Jorma’s peddler had claimed.
The fourth night, there were three hundred people, some of whom had arrived by decrepit lifter or ground vehicles.
Clowns and butchers were augmented with Njangu’s Intelligence analysts.
“The kid was telling the truth,” Njangu reported. “Some folks who call themselves Confederation are milking this planet every year or so. But they’re not dumb. They don’t steal enough so people starve or can’t keep the economy limping along.
“A lot of the people go with them willingly. But there’s some … Jorma’s sister, I’d guess … somebody gets the hots for and she’s theirs.”
“Wonderful,” Garvin said. “This’ll be a nice reputation to live down. Wonder how many other worlds these phony Confeds loot?”
“Damfino,” Njangu said. “But you want a really nasty thought? You ever think maybe this is the real Confederation?”
Garvin gnawed a lip, didn’t answer.
“Another interesting bit of info,” Njangu went on. “Nobody from whatever government exists has shown up to check out the circus.”
“That’s damned unlikely.”
“Sure is,” Yoshitaro agreed. “The only officials that’ve materialized are bureaucrats or village elders or whatever they call themselves. So this means the mucketies either are hiding in the bushes, scared shitless that we’re somehow tied in with the kidnappers, or else they really don’t have any government beyond the local yokels and the guys who keep the power and water running.
“That, I think, is impossible. Humans aren’t that in love with anarchy.
“But it does give another fact. We’ve been prodding gently, and nobody, and I mean nobody, down to little kids, is willing to point to somebody and say, ‘Yeh, he’s the prime minister’s bootlicker’ or such.”
“Nice tight discipline,” Garvin offered.
“Or fear, more likely.”
“Nobody ought to live that scared,” Garvin said.
“No shiteedah,” Njangu said. “But there’s a lot of us who grow up like that.”
“Us?”
“Hell yeh,” Njangu said bitterly. “Remember, I didn’t know there was anything other than run or get beat on, big dog chews on little dog until I got shoved in the military.
“And ain’t that a bastard,” he added. “You gotta put on a uniform to find out you’ve got anything called basic rights? This goddamned cosmos sucks a big fat one.
“Maybe we ought to just go on back home and vegetate, since we’ve beat the butt of all the local baddies, and let the frigging Universe go to hell in a handbasket.”
Garvin just looked at him, and Njangu forced a grin and shrugged.
“Sorry. I’ve been pissy-headed lately. Oh yeh,” Njangu said. “Something else. People’ve been asking me how much longer we’re going to keep playing this world, since we’ve found out what there is to be found out, and nobody’s got any money to make it worthwhile to hang on, and counting the take in rutabagas is making Sopi even balder.”
“Another four, five days,” Garvin said. “I’m a soft heart, but it’s nice to see people come in all hangdog and walk out smiling.”
“Yeh,” Njangu agreed. “Nice. You ain’t got a soft heart, but a soft head.”
Mais
The next jump was to a nav point between systems, the one after that into the Mais system, with two settled planets, each with half a dozen moons, other worlds far out from the G-type sun listed as “suitable for mineral exploitation.”
Preliminary reconnaissance by a pair of scoutships produced nothing, either positive or negative, other than both planets were still populated, and Big Bertha left hyperspace, the nav point, in the gap between inhabited and uninhabited planets.
She closed on the nearest world, and was neatly mousetrapped by two ships. Jane’s listed them as “Langnes-class light cruisers, currently second-line Confederation fleet service, moderately armed, extensive electronics suites, lightly armored, superior in maneuvering and reliability.”
Captain Liskeard looked at a blank screen, listened again to the unseen voice demanding they maintain present orbit and stand by for boarding, looked at Garvin for a response, got none.
“This is the Circus Ship Big Bertha,” he sent back. “Intend planetfall on Mais II.”
“Make no attempt to land on any planet until you are clearanced,” the voice replied. “And bring your two survey craft inboard, or they will be fired on.”
“Well, hmpty hmpty hmp,” Njangu said.
“Sir?” a tech moved a projection into Liskeard’s view. It was of the closest planet and its moons, with various swirling readouts below each world.
“I think,” Liskeard said, “they can hmpty hmp all they want. Look.” His finger reached out to a moon, through it, then touched another. “Both of these moonlets are fortified. If the cruisers weren’t dogging us, they could launch, and odds on the missiles would have enough sophistication to follow us back into N-space and go bang.”
“Mmmh,” Njangu said.
“Yeh,” Liskeard agreed. “Especially since they didn’t think they needed to bother to mention those fortifications. The bastards are cocky.” He looked worried. “How are we going to handle this boarding?”
Garvin smiled wryly. “That’s one thing we won’t have to worry about very much. There’s never been a circus that isn’t ready for the rozzers to do a shakedown day or night.”
“I just wonder what’s going to come after the inspection,” Njangu said. “Oh well.”
Garvin motioned the on-watch talker over, with her mike ready. “Put out an all stations that we’re being boarded, and no one is to offer any resistance without a signal.”
“Hide the women and the good towels,” Njangu added. “Here comes trouble.”
• • •
One cruiser’s lock opened, and a small boat shot out, arcing to intersect with Big Bertha’s yawning loading bay. The boat didn’t enter, but mag-grapneled to the ship’s skin, and suited, blaster-armed men floated out, and inside. Their suits were armored, and the helmets blank, with only a pickup instead of a viewport.
The boat unhooked and floated a few meters away from the lock, no doubt with weapons ready.
“Cycle the lock closed, sir?” the watch officer asked.
“Go ahead,” Garvin said. “If they don’t want us to proceed, they’ll shoot you for a warning.”
But none of the weapons was lifted as the great lock closed, air pumped back in, and the inner portal opened. The half dozen suited men came into the main cargo area.
Garvin walked forward, flanked by Njangu and Penwyth.
“Welcome to Big Bertha,” he said. “Inbound to Mais Two.”
A voice came from a suit speaker:
“You
r planet of origin?”
“Grimaldi.”
Silence, then:
“We have no listing for such a world. Your last planetfall?”
“Sabyn.”
“Purpose of visit there?”
“To make a credit, do some shows, have some fun,” Garvin said. “The same reason we want to land on Mais Two.”
“Length of intended visit?”
“Perhaps two local weeks,” Garvin said. “Less if we don’t draw a crowd.”
“Under the Confederation Act three-one-six-one, as proper officials of the Confederation, we are authorized to search your ship for illegal materials and contraband.”
“You’re Confederation?” Garvin said, covering, thinking these bastards were the raiders, and maybe Njangu had been right, worrying about what would happen after the search.
“We are,” the voice said. “Do you have any legal objections to our proposed search?”
“It wouldn’t matter if we did,” Garvin said, “since you’re the one holding the high cards and guns.”
The figure turned, spoke to the men behind her, and they began to fan out.
“It might be better if I called certain of my men, and let them escort you around,” Garvin said, trying to sound amiable. “Big Bertha’s kind of complicated.”
The suited figure looked up, around.
“You could be right,” the voice said, sounding almost human. “However, I don’t think you should attempt any deception.”
“What you see is what there is,” Garvin said, and opened another channel. “Dill, Montagna, Froude, Lir, report to the hold’s main lock area immediately.” He went back to the general channel.
“If you and your men want to unsuit, it’ll be a lot more comfortable.”
There was a pause, then the figure reached up, touched seals around its neck, and lifted the helmet clear. The figure became a woman, close-cropped brown hair, a not unattractive face that was very businesslike.
The other men and women did the same.
“We’ll not unsuit completely,” she said. “It’s safer like that.”
“As you wish,” Garvin said. “By the way, I’m Garvin Jaansma. Gaffer’s my title, if you want one.”
