by Chris Bunch
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 ringers 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 naked-ness, 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 Tha-non 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 Bertl, by the way, and happened to be here on Delta on business to do with Dorn Fili'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."
Bertl 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.
&
nbsp; "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," Bertl 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.
"My own personal belief is that we absolutely should have real free elections one of these years, when the time is right and the populace is sufficiently educated and mature for such an event.
"But until then… matters should stay as they are." He got up. "To return to the reason for my visit, I thought I should tell you, as, perhaps, thanks for your job of entertaining me… and the people of Delta… that you may have made a mistake, no matter how well paid you'll be for your services."
"I don't see any way to undo my agreement," Gar-vin said.
"Neither do I," Bertl admitted, "since you're more than evidently an honest man. I, on the other hand, would cheerfully find a way to loudly abrogate the agreement. But you are what you are. At least I thought I might give you the chance to be on your guard.
"As I said, all I can offer is a bit of a warning."
He smiled in a most fatherly manner, bowed, and was gone.
Garvin waited a minute, and Njangu came into his office.
"Not an election this year, nor next year, but by gum your grandchildren will be happy as snot," Njangu snarled. "Why is it shitheels like that never think it's the right time for the people to have squat in the way of power?"
"I dunno," Garvin said. "And howcum there's wars?"
"What makes me worry," Njangu said, "are these emergency measures. Like martial law, maybe, which we surely don't want to get caught up in."
Garvin poured drinks from a decanter, gave one to Njangu, shot his own back.
"I'm starting to wonder if we might have made a slight error," he said quietly.
Director Fen Bertl got into his lim.
"Back to our ship," he ordered, and the lifter silently came off the ground.
"Well, sir?" his supposed driver asked.
"An interesting young man. Most subtle for his years. He only looked twice at where I assume some sort of pickup was hidden in the wall spaces," Bertl said.
"A very nice young man, who's playing politics and has men looking for data on the Confederation.
"I think it might be wise to find out a bit more about him and his circus."
"I know our cooks are the best recyclers in the universe," Darod Montagna said. "But it sure is nice to get out and eat something that isn't seasoned with what used to be your own sweat."
"How genteel. How ladylike. How guaranteed to spoil my appetite," Garvin said. He poured what remained of the bottle of wine between their glasses, and, unobtrusively, the busboy was there to take it away and the sommelier to provide another.
"Oh, I'm just so sorry," Darod said, staring pointedly at the bony remains of a fish on Garvin's well-polished plate.
"I kept eating just for politeness," he explained.
"I thought I'd never get another chance at that dinner you promised," Montagna said.
"I'm always a man of my word," Garvin said. "Sometimes the word is just a tiddly slow."
He looked around the restaurant. It was quite a place, a polished wooden ocean ship that had somehow been transported to the lake near the field Big Bertha was parked on. Its waiters wore white gloves, liquids were served in real crystal, and there were actual tablecloths.
"It is nice to get out," he said. "I was starting to think everything smelled like elephant."
"Speaking of being indelicate," Darod said. She put a hand on Garvin's, and he let it stay there. "I was most impressed by your command presence the other morning."
Garvin held back laughter. "You just said that to make me blush."
"Oh no," Darod said. "I already saw you blush, and I must say you do a very thorough job of it."
She giggled.
Garvin yawned as he took the lifter off from the lot beside the moored restaurant ship.
"And so back to grim reality."
"I guess so," Darod said, then pointed. "Not yet… unless we have to. See that point, way up there? And there's two… no, three moons out. Can you land up there?"
"With a bottle of that wine in me, I could land on the head of a pin and dance."
"Just put us down on the big rock," Darod said. "Dancing might be for later."
Garvin brought it in skillfully, surprising himself, and set it down.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, contentedly looking at the moons, the silver lake below, the lights of the ship.
"For some reason," Garvin said, a bit surprised that his voice was a bit hoarse, "I feel like kissing you."
"That can be arranged," Darod said, turning to him, and her mouth opened under his.
Some time later, her formal dress slid down about her waist, she found herself in the lifter's huge rear seat, looking up at Garvin.
"Perhaps you'd lift your hips?" Garvin said.
She obeyed.
"You'll notice," she said, "no underwear, meaning
I was hoping something like this or maybe just this was going to happen." Then she gasped.
"I hope you know what you think you're doing," was Monique Lir's only comment when Darod Monta-gna bleared into her compartment the next morning just after dawn.
"You hope," was Darod's only reply.
"Well, well, well," Njangu said, pushing the holo screen to Garvin. "Guess who's a man of his word, a worthy candidate for public office."
Garvin ignored the pics, scanned the readout. Candidate for Premier Dorn Fili was pleased to announce that Circus Jaansma had joined his campaign, at least so to speak, for they'd be doing benefits and charitable appearances for various worthy causes.
"So much for letting the votes make the correct assumptions," Njangu said.
"Problem?"
"Flip the page," Njangu suggested, "and read the top two stories."
Garvin did. One was of a bombing by "unknown terrorists" of one of Fili's campaign headquarters, the other was the savage beating of three of his precinct walkers.
"Not good," Garvin said. "I think, between that moron wandering loose inside Big Bertha who wanted to play with our pussies… he is, by the way, indeed going to live, unfortunately, as Jill predicted… and this, we better start being a little more concerned about security. Ideas?"
"Yeh," Njangu said. "Pull everybody in I&R who's not a kinker onto security. Double the gangway guards… no, triple 'em. Put a roving patrol out around the ship.
"Cancel your idea of putting up that smelly tent for the show. Only let the midway outside the ship, and keep roving patrols through it. If Sopi loses a few of his crooked grafters, that's tough titty for him.
>
"Have either an aksai or Nana boat ready to launch on short notice if they try a heavy hit.
"From now on nobody goes into town or anywhere alone, and if there's enough of them going to make a target, they'll have to have a security tail gunner.
"Other than that," he finished, "it's just lovely life as usual."
That night, there was a bit of a clem on the midway, set up just outside Big Bertha, and all but two of the gangway sentries were drawn into it, to Njangu's later wrath.
Then those two guards were distracted by four happy drunks who wanted to serenade them.
No one noticed the unobtrusive figure slip up to one of the ship's fins, take a chest-size centimeter-thick pad, anodized to exactly match the ship's skin color, from his coat, and hold it against Big Bertha. The epoxy bonded the pad to the ship's fin instantly, and the man went away, as anonymously as he'd come.
Monique Lir muttered obscenities as she tracked the dozen squealing women through the shopping district. She swore this had been either Garvin or Njangu's idea of a joke.
Guarding the showgirls indeed. As if anyone… other than a brain surgeon studying vacuums or a lech who didn't believe in conversation would bother any of them, on their promised shopping expedition into the capital.
If someone had told Monique the only reason she went unnoticed was because of the brazen display of the showgirls, she would've most likely spat in their eye, or perhaps broken an arm or two.
As it was, she concentrated on her duty, eyes moving back and forth constantly behind very dark wrap-arounds, watching for anything, one hand on the grip of the heavy blaster hanging from a sling under her very stylish, very useful, long coat.
The dozen had just stopped to admire the holos swaying through the air outside a boutique when Mon-ique saw the man, small, shabbily dressed, dash from a recess, saw the gun in his hand come up, and fire once.
Lir heard a woman scream in agony, but paid no mind to whoever was hit. She shed the coat, had her blaster up, safety off.
The man spun, about to run, and saw Lir and her gun.
"Stop!" she shouted. "Freeze!" knowing assassins must be taken alive.
But the man's gun was lifting, aiming, and she pulled the trigger.
The bolt took the man in the middle of the chest, spinning him back across a concrete bench.
