by Chris Bunch
"That is quite a ship you own," Agar-Robertes said looking up at the looming behemoth. "Might I ask your cargo?"
"We have little at present," Garvin said. "Which is why we came to Grimaldi. We intend to build a circus, and seek women, men, nonhumans, animals."
"Then the time has come round again," Agar-Robertes said reverently amid a babble from the other men and women of Grimaldi. "When it is safe for circuses, it is safe for all."
Garvin made a face.
"I wish I could say you're right. We've had encounters since we left our native worlds to suggest the time is not here, not yet."
"Still," Agar-Robertes said. "It might be a beginning.
"And you won't lack for prospective troupers. We're so stricken we've gone beyond entertaining each other." She lowered her voice. "Some of us have even been forced to take flatty jobs!
The people of Grimaldi took the Cumbrians to their hearts and homes. The Big Bertha was given a parking slot on a corner of the field, the aksai and other ships moved into revetments for maintenance, and the circus itself sprawled out around the ship.
The tent was set up, the midway a long fat finger in front of the main tent, and the other "tents"—the mess tent, the clown tent, all actually prefab shelters— around it.
Some of the crew and troupers decided they could do without living aboard unless they had to, and made arrangements with the locals. Garvin didn't care, as long as everyone was present for his work shift.
It would also be good, he knew, for the Cumbrians to experience another culture than the one they'd been born into… and the Grimaldians were a bit unusual.
Some of the population, including the original settlers, were circus workers, as many of them strong-backs, clerical, or computer sorts as freaks and performers. Others were retirees, vacationers who'd been trapped when the Confederation collapsed, circus fans or settlers who seemed to have chosen Grimaldi with a dart and a star chart.
All shared a common belief in individual freedom, although, as one put it, "Yer rights end at my nose."
Seemingly incongruously, almost all desperately missed the Confederation. But one explained to Njangu, "It's best to have some kind of law and order. Makes travel easier, and keeps you from getting mugged after you've run your con and are trying to get out of town with the snide."
Njangu was starting to understand what Garvin had missed for so many years… but still hadn't the foggiest why Jaansma was still with the military.
Nor why he was, either.
"What in the name of God's holiest dildo is that?" Njangu asked suspiciously, staring at the huge pile of off-white heavy cloth, leather reinforcements, iron eyes, and heavy line.
"It's a tent," Garvin said. "A real tent."
"Which you use for what?"
"We're going to be the best damned circus ever… or, anyway, the best one still flitting around this galaxy," Garvin said. "So, when we can, we'll set up under canvas."
"Why? We've got a perfectly good ship that unfolds like one of those paper sculptures… ory… eerie… you know. Sushimi. All safe and warm, and nice lanes to the cages and quarters."
"Because nothing smells more like a circus than canvas," Garvin said. "And roasting groundnuts and popcorn and… and elephant shit."
"I'll be sure to tell Jasith your favorite smells," Njangu said. "It'll thrill her no end and probably spark a new line of perfumes from the Mellusin empire."
Not that Njangu was very successful in maintaining his own usual superciliousness.
Maev came around a corner, and found him buried in a mass of little people, some dwarves, most perfect scale replicas of "normal" humans.
They were shouting something about contract scale, and he was trying to argue, with a rather beatific look on his face.
Maev crept back round her corner and never mentioned it to Yoshitaro.
"We've got a serious problem," Garvin said. "Sid-down, have a drink, and help me out."
"A better invite has seldom been spoke," Njangu said, and sat down in front of Jaansma's desk. He pulled the bottle over, poured into a glass, drank.
"Whoo. What's that? Exhaust wash?"
"Close," Garvin said. "Triple-run alcohol our fearless, peerless engine department came up with. Try another hit. It grows on you."
"Yeh," Njangu said. "Like fungus." But he obeyed. "Now, what's the problem?"
"Every circus has got to have a theme that everything sort of centers around, from the pretty women in the spec… that's the spectacle, the pageant that opens things… to the blowoff. The costumes should be designed sorta around that theme."
"Mmmh." Njangu considered.
"It sort of helps if it's kind of wallowy and sentimental."
"Oh. Easy, then. Refill me," Yoshitaro said.
Garvin obeyed.
"This shit does improve with usage," Njangu admitted. "But I still think it'd be best injected, so your throat doesn't have to take all the damage.
"You want a theme… you got a theme. Even fits in with our tippy-top secret mission. Call it, oh, Many Worlds Together.
"You can hit that oF tocsin of the Confederation and how we all miss it, put people in any kinda costume you want… even look to see if there's ever been any nudist worlds… and go from there."
"Why Njangu Yoshitaro," Garvin said. "Sometimes I suspect you of genius. Intelligence, even."
"Took you long enough."
* * *
"Uh, boss, what's going on?" Darod Montagna asked Njangu. They were outside Big Bertha, and a high, circular fence had been put up, using one of the ship's fins for a base. Inside the fence were Garvin and Ben Dill.
"Our fearless leader is about to negotiate for a bear."
"A what?"
"Some kind of ancient animal… supposedly goes all the way back to Earth," Njangu said. "I looked the creature up, and it was listed as a fine animal who left everybody alone, but if you messed with it, it messed back on an all-out basis. Garvin thinks he's got to have one."
"Why? What do they do? Or is eating people going to be a sideshow?"
"If they're well trained, Garvin told me," Njangu explained, "a bear will ride two-wheelers, dance, do a little tumbling… just about anything a rather stupid man can be taught."
"Why do we need one?"
"Because," Njangu said, " a circus just…"
And Montagna finished the now shopworn phrase:
"… isn't a circus without a bear. Or a bunch of tumblers. Or whatever else the gaffer comes up with."
"So, anyway," Njangu went on, "it turns out there's this nuthead back in the hills who raises real bears. Agar-Robertes suggested we buy a couple of robot bears, but not our Garvin. He's gotta have the real thing.
"Look. This has got to be the bear-breeder."
The lifter wandering toward the field looked as if it had been crashed on a weekly basis for some time. In the open back was a large cage, holding a very large, very dark brown, furry animal with very large claws and teeth.
"Yeets," Darod said. "Scares me just looking at him. Anybody bring a blaster?"
"Garvin said the trainer told him the bear was as gentle as a baby."
The animal in the back roared so loudly the cage bars rattled.
"What kind of baby?" she wondered aloud.
"Nobody said."
The lifter grounded, and a rather hairy man got out. He greeted Garvin, introduced himself as Eneas, and limped to the back of the cage.
"This 'ere's Li'l Doni," he said. "Cutest li'l thing I ever did see. Got two more back't' th' ranch just like her, if you want real star power."
Njangu was holding back a snicker.
"Star power?" he muttered.
"You said she was gentle," Garvin said, eyeing a ragged scar down the trainer's arm.
" 'At was her mother's doin'," Eneas said. "On'y thing Doni's ever did't' me was break m' leg, an' that was my fault. Mostly.
"Here. Lemme let 'er out, you c'n see for yourself."
Garvin was seeing for
himself that Li'l Doni was not only in a cage, but had chains around her upper legs. Eneas opened the cage, and Doni rolled out, snarling, came to her feet, and snapped both chains.
She growled, took a swipe at Eneas, who sensibly dived under the lifter.
Doni saw Ben Dill, and charged after him. Dill followed Eneas. That left Garvin, and Doni went for him. There wasn't room enough under the lift for three, and so Garvin climbed, later swearing he levitated, to the top of the cage.
Doni, in command of the theater, snarled three times around the lift, considered a side window, and smashed it casually.
Njangu was laughing so hard he had to hold himself up against the ship's fin.
Li'l Doni spotted Yoshitaro, and, roaring rampage, charged the fence. She banged off it once, then went up and over it as if it was a ladder.
Njangu Yoshitaro went up Big Bertha's fin as if it also were a ladder.
Darod Montagna found business back inside the ship, closing the lock behind her.
Eventually Eneas came out from under his lift, found more chains, and Li'l Doni vanished from the circus's life.
Three days later, Njangu invoiced for the lease of two robot bears. He insisted on naming one of them Li'l Doni.
The music conductor was named Raf Aterton, and Njangu swore he had to be the reincarnation of at least six generals and two dictators. He was silver-haired, slender, severe in countenance, and brooked no argument from any of the forty musicians the circus had taken on. His voice sounded soft, but somehow carried from one end of the spaceport to the other.
"All of you will now listen very closely. You've got sheet music in front of you. The piece is the 'Confederation Peace March'. You will learn it until you can play it in your sleep, as some of you have been functioning already, I've noticed.
"This is the most important part of being on the show. The 'Peace March' is the sign of trouble. Fire. The cats on a rampage. A big clem, a catastrophe.
"When it's played, all the muscle on the show will start looking to solve the problem, however they can. If we're under canvas, all the animals will get out, right then, as will the kinkers.
"The talent is priceless, and you, my ham-fingered men and women are not. So after everyone's altered, you'll join the roustabouts in solving the problem."
"Question, sir," a synthesizer toggler asked. "What if we're in the ship and something happens?"
"Hit the tune, then get out of the ship. Or follow orders if Gaffer Jaansma's around."
"And if we're in space?"
"Now that," Aterton mused, "could be a bit of a poser."
The woman spun lazily twice high above the net, as a man released the trapeze, and twisted across the open air. Their catcher extended long tentacles, caught them both, sent them flying higher into the air, then had them once more, and they were back at their perch.
" 'Kay," Ben Dill said. "Half the troupe's human or looks it, anyway. What species are those octopot-lookin' types?"
"They call themselves ra'felan," Garvin said. "The troupe master says they've got about the same intelligence as a low-normal human."
"Interestin'," Erik Penwyth drawled. "With half a dozen legs to punch buttons with, and no particular intelligence, we ought to recruit 'em as pilots."
"Watchit," Dill warned.
The ra'felan had rather tubular bodies, with tentacles dangling at paired intervals. Their eyes bulged ominously from the center body.
"Can they talk?" Dill asked.
"If spoken to politely," Garvin said.
"Both you bastards are being cute today," Dill complained.
"I assume you signed them," Penwyth said, ignoring Dill.
The ra'felan swung back and forth on his trapeze three times, then jumped straight up, toward a rope that crossed between the two high poles. He… or she, or it, for Garvin never found out their sexes, if any, went tentacle over tentacle on the rope across to the other pole, then hooked a trapeze, swung once, and somersaulted down, spinning, into the net.
"Damned straight I did," Garvin said fervently. "You should've been here a couple of minutes ago, when they were throwing ten people around like they were paper aircraft."
"If they were real fishies," Dill said, "y' think they'd be working for scale? See, now I'm getting to your level."
"I say again my last about pilots," Penwyth said. "Except p'raps, I was overly kindly about their intelligence being low-normal."
"Hit it, maestro, it's doors, and the crowd's a turna-way," Garvin shouted. He was resplendent in white formal wear of ancient times, including a tall white hat, black boots, and a black whip.
Aterton obeyed, and music boomed through the hold, and Garvin touched his throat mike.
"Men, women, children of all ages… Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the Circus of Galactic Delights. I'm your host for the show. Now, what we'll have first…"
Half a dozen clowns tumbled into view, began assaulting Garvin in various ways, some trying to drench him with water, others to push him over a kneeling clown, still others throwing rotten vegetables. But all missed, and he drove them away with his whip.
"Sorry, sorry, but we've got these strange ones who're completely out of control with us…" Garvin lowered his voice, cut out of his spiel. "When we get a full complement, we'll have carpet clowns working the stands. Next will come the spec, with all kinds of women on lifts, on horses, on elephants if we get elephants, the candy butchers working the stands, the cats coming through…
"Maestro, sorry to put you through this, but we'll need bits for each act as they enter."
"Of course," Aterton said haughtily. "I, at least, know my business and am hardly a first-of-Mayer."
Garvin made a face, decided to let it pass.
"Then, after the spec goes out the back door of the tent, or the hold, or the amphitheater… I don't have the foggiest where we'll be playing… then we'll have the first act, which'U be something I haven't decided on, maybe some flyers, maybe have some little people working the ground, maybe some pongers, 'though I haven't seen nearly enough acrobats." He seemed quite at home amid the confusion.
"Earth cats?" Garvin asked.
"At one time," the chubby, rather prissy man with a moustache said, a bit mournfully. "Since then, they've apparently mutated… and the perihelion of the species are with Doctor Emton's Phantastic Felines, Who'll Make You Wonder If You're Really Superior and Dazzle You. A Fine Act for the Whole Family."
Garvin looked skeptically at the six lean but well-brushed animals sitting on his desk. They regarded him with equal dispassion.
"Ticonderoga," Emton said. "Insect. On picture. Catch it for him."
He pointed at Garvin, but made no other move.
A cat leapt suddenly from the desk up to the mounted holo of Jasith, caught a bug, bit once, and dropped it daintily in Garvin's lap.
"Interesting," Garvin said. "But more suitable for a sideshow. Which we aren't."
"Pyramid," Emton said, and three cats moved together, two more jumped on their backs, and the third completed the figure.
"Play ball," he said, taking a small red ball from his pocket, and tossing it at them. The pyramid disassembled, the cats formed a ring, and began passing it back and forth.
"Hmm," Garvin said. "We will have projection screens so the audience can see what's going on… maybe something with the clowns?"
"Clowns," Emton said, and the six cats stood on their paws, walked about, then sprang cartwheels.
"I'm afraid not," Garvin said.
"Oh. Oh. Very well," Emton said, and got up. His cats sprang back into the two carriers he'd brought in.
"Oh… one other thing… I, uh, understand that tryouts are welcome at your dukey?"
"Certainly," Garvin said, and noted a slight look of desperation about the man. It must've been his imagination, but it seemed the cats had the same expression. "We're happy to feed you. And your animals."
"Well… thank you for your time, anyway," Emton said as he fastened the carrier closers.
<
br /> Garvin, feeling every bit a saphead, said, "Hang on a second. Can I ask you a personal question?"
Emton's expression was a bit frosty, but he said, "You may."
"Can I ask what your last performance was?"
Emton looked wistful.
"Last time we were on a show… just one going back and forth, a mud show really, more to keep from getting rusty… actually, was, well, almost an E-year ago."
Garvin .nodded.
"I said something about clowns. Do you have any objection to working with them?"
"Of course not," Emton said eagerly.
"Perhaps I'm not seeing your act's full potential, or maybe you could use some new material," Garvin said. "I'll buzz our Professor Ristori to meet you at the main lock in, oh, thirty minutes or so." He hastily added, seeing Emton's expression, "Sorry, an hour. Time enough for you and your troupe to get fed at the cook tent."
"Thank you," Emton said eagerly. "I promise, you won't be sorry."
"I'm sure I won't," Garvin said, thinking that Jasith wouldn't mind spending a little of what had been her money this way.
Besides, the creatures might be useful somehow.
Clowns and more clowns inundated Big Bertha until Garvin had more than thirty signed up. He made Ristori clown master, gave Njangu other duties.
* * *
"All right, all right, break," Garvin shouted. The robot bears' handler looked sheepish, and the aerial-ists overhead went back to their pedestal boards.
"People, we're trying to hit some kind of rhythm here. Let's take it back, to where the bears just come on."
"This much better," the ra'felan told Monique Lir. "Used to be, was real rope nets. If a human not land right… on back of neck… could get hurt. Break leg. Maybe bounce out and no catcher. Bad, very bad."
The circus "net" was composed of a series of anti-grav projectors, all pointed up and inward, now set up in the tent's center ring. Anyone falling from a trapeze above would be slowed, then stopped two meters above the ground. The net also had the advantage of being almost invisible. Only a small blur could be seen from the projector mouths, so the audience could get the thrill of thinking the performers were chancing death every time they went aloft.
The being rolled an eye at Lir.
