by Chris Bunch
* * *
"Here," Garvin said, handing Njangu a tiny button.
"You shouldn't have. What is it?"
"Something that'll tell me of your every doing, your every nefarious move."
"Mmmph."
"Everybody who's a shaker, aboard, including me, gets one."
"You're anticipating more trouble?"
"Maybe… or maybe I'm just trying to cover my ass in all directions," Garvin said.
"But that's my job."
"That's what cross-training is for."
"I'm not sure I like anyone knowing where I am," Njangu complained.
"Tough."
"Where am I supposed to wear this?" Njangu inquired.
"In a pocket. Glued in your frigging navel. Up your ass for all I care."
"These fiches here are very interesting," Freron told Penwyth, standing in the middle of his apartment, which, if an ex-military sort hadn't fussed about it every once in a while, would've been a motherless clutter. Instead, it was a well-categorized mess.
"Ah?"
"This was one of my pet projects. I was ordered to begin it when I attended that intelligence course, as I've told you, and after that I added to the file.
"It is, I think, absolutely current as of ten years ago."
Penwyth waited.
"It is the listing, I think very close to complete, of all mechanical warning and security devices that the Confederation posted around Centrum, the three other habitable worlds in the Capella system, and all nav points approaching it.
"Also, there's a listing of where the Confederation guard points were around Capella. I should think that would interest any historian."
Penwyth noted Freron put ostentatious verbal quote marks around the word "historian."
"A historian, no doubt, would be interested. What would you be asking for your material?"
"My asking… and selling price is one hundred and fifty thousand credits."
Penwyth covered a minor choke.
"I think that's reasonable," Freron said, sounding a bit injured. "Not only for the historian, but conceivably for someone concerned about current affairs. All of these mechanical devices were built on a single world, and they were self-modifying.
"It should be simple for someone to visit that manufacturing world, perhaps institute a relationship with the builders of these devices, and be given the program for the auto-upgrades, wouldn't it?"
Penwyth scratched his nose, had another snifter of the brandy he'd brought with him.
"You have an interesting mind, Kuprin. I'm amazed you didn't reach a higher rank than T'ousan."
Freron smiled, a little bitterly.
"In those days, I was a bit more interested in gaming than was healthy. Star rank in Tiborg is given only to those who have no flaws. Visible ones, at any rate.
"Another thing a historian of the final days of the Confederation might value is this complete map of Centrum itself, focusing on the various military installations.
"That would be on the market for… oh, I don't know. Another hundred thousand credits.
"Or, perhaps, if I encountered a well-to-do collector, I might release the map and the data on the security systems for two hundred thousand.
"As long as we're thinking large," he went on, "I'd be happy to donate my entire collection of material on the Confederation for, oh, half a million."
* * *
"What does the son of a bitch think we are, kagillio-naires?" Garvin complained.
"I don't guess he knows about Jasith, now does he?" Njangu said.
"Sharrup," Garvin said. "Erik, can we bargain?"
"Don't think so, boss," Erik said, enjoying Jaansma's reaction. "He had a certain air of firmness to him. Oh yeh. He's also a cagey bastard. The fiches he was waving about are only partial files. The rest is nice and secure in a deposit box in a largish bank, whose name he wouldn't give out."
"Why that duplicitous bastard!" Garvin snarled. "What does he think we are? Burglars?"
"Untrusting sort," Njangu agreed. "And I was just about to ask Erik for the floor plan of his flat. Oh well."
"At least," Garvin said, "I had the sense to jack our price way up to Fili and company."
He put his head in his hands.
"First we got a circus in the middle of politics, which my family would disown me for doing, then we've got an antiquated traitor with too high a price tag… nobody knows the troubles I've seen."
"Cheer up," Njangu said unsympathetically. "You know it's bound to get worse."
Kekri Katun didn't have a voice so much as a purr, Garvin thought. She was also the loveliest creature he'd ever seen, from her platinum hair, which seemed natural, to her perfect face, smooth skin, generous bust, and waist that was improbably thin.
He wondered how many credits and plastic surgeons had been spent making her what she was.
"Oh yes," she said. "I've been trained as a tumbler and acrobat for half my life… and I do believe in staying in shape."
Without effort, she fell sideways, out of her chair, onto one arm, and hoisted herself up into a one-hand stand. Her light tan dress slid over her thighs, and
Garvin thought, alarmed, that she might not be wearing anything under it.
"Now I could tell a funny story, recite a poem, sing a song from right here," she said. "I know a lot of songs, for I was on the road with a small troupe for five years."
Very slowly, she put another hand down, opened her legs into a Y, did a pushup, then sprang up, landing on her feet, not a hair out of place, not a breath louder than normal.
"I also, since I understand you people of the circus work at other things besides your main talents, am an excellent bookkeeper, office manager, and, if it's needed, can do poses as well."
"Poses?"
"That's something the clubs of Delta like," she explained. "Especially the older gentlemen, who won't admit they'd like to see a woman just take off her clothes."
She touched fasteners, and the dress fell away. She wasn't wearing underclothes.
Garvin's mouth was very dry.
Katun struck a pose.
"This is Director Randulf, one of our heroines, as she appeared on her wedding night."
"Uh…"
"This is T'ousan Merrist, when she fled the rebels. I know several dozen more."
"Uh… yes. Very interesting," Garvin said. "You can put your clothes back on. We don't do anything like that."
"Oh. I thought, coming up past the attractions outside—"
"That's called the midway."
"The midway, and I saw all those banners with ladies not wearing much of anything…"
"That's Sopi Midt's operation," Garvin said. "He believes in going for the lowest common denominator, and, by the way, he isn't ashamed to cheat a little. All of the girls in his shows never get down to their underwear.
"At least they better not, or I'll slaughter him."
"And what's the matter with a little nudity? Especially among friends?" Katun said, sliding back into her dress, and half smiling at him, lips parted.
Garvin chose to change the subject.
"We're hiring all the time," he said. "Right now, we need a showgirl. And I'm sure the acrobats and the showgirls would be interested in your… talents."
"I saw that murder on the holos. Poor girl."
"But the problem is, we might not be coming back this way for a while."
Katun shrugged.
"My father was a salesman with a big territory, and I really don't remember my mother. I'm used to being on the road." Again she smiled her sultry smile. "And I've never been offworld. Besides, for a girl like me, there's always a way to get back home.
"Or I can find a new one."
"Uh… right… your com number's here on the application," Garvin said. "I'll… we'll be in touch within a day or so."
Kekri Katun got up, slunk to the door, turned back, and looked at him.
"I think performing… with you… with your circus… is just a
bout the most exciting idea I've ever known," she breathed, and the compartment door slid closed behind her.
"Phew," Garvin muttered, went for a beer, decided he needed something stronger and got out the brandy decanter. The door slid open again, and he jumped.
"Phew indeed," Njangu said. "She keeps herself nicely shaved, doesn't she?"
He found and opened a beer.
"So what are we going to do about her?"
"I'm just the security man," Njangu grinned. "Of course, you're going to hire her."
"Why of course?"
"Because it's always good to have a spy right under your eyes." Njangu snickered. "Or thighs as the case may be."
"Aren't we being a little hard on her? What's this spy business?"
"Not as hard as she'd like it to be," Njangu said. "Come on, Garvin. Get your head out of your crotch and back in gear. Women like her don't blow in your ear… or mine, either… because they think we're the best-hung items since the elephants."
Garvin slumped down in his chair.
"Yeh. You're right. I was being dumb. You got any idea who she might be reporting to?"
"I could make a guess," Njangu said. "Since she didn't object to offplaneting, that'd suggest to me she's working for somebody with longer-range views than either Fili or who's that guy running for the Constitutionalists."
"And the folks who've got long-range views would be—"
"The Directors?"
"Perzackly."
"So why shouldn't we just tell her the position's filled?"
"Because they'll try again… whoever they are… maybe buying one of our roustabouts, maybe filtering another agent in," Njangu explained. "If they already haven't. We've had twenty-three people quit—all citizens, naturally, who decided they like Tiborg so far, and added, uh, about thirty of the locals. Not counting ol' Cooin' Kekri.
"Hire her, then… oh yeh, do you have a tendency to talk in your sleep?"
"Not as far as I know."
"Then turn her into our agent. Screw her black-and-blue, and get her singing our tune.
"Or else I can pop a shot in her pretty little ass, and have her singing like a buzzard, telling us everything including what, specifically, that Director Bertl wants, and never realize it when she wakes up. Remember how they screened us when we joined the Force?"
"Yeh."
"The first way's a lot more fun, by the way."
"Uh…"
"I'll never tell Jasith," Njangu said. "And there's surely no other reason for you not to sacrifice your virtue for the Force, now is there?"
He smiled, evilly.
Garvin glowered, realized that he must know about Darod, probably the whole damned circus knew.
"She signs on," Njangu said, "and I'll have all her gear shaken, and make sure if she's got a com it won't work very well… and whatever she transmits goes straight into my security trap.
"Come on, Garvin. Where's your fighting spirit? And weren't you the guy who was bragging, back in Grimaldi, what with all the midgets and freaks and Chinese acrobats, that this was starting to feel a lot like a real circus?"
"Circuses don't generally have spies," Garvin said feebly.
"Then be innovative! Start a new tradition! You owe it to yourself!
"Besides, think of ol' Randulf on her wedding night."
"It's all done with lights," the little boy insisted.
"Of course," Jiang Fong agreed.
"And… and mirrors," the boy said.
"How clever," Fong said. "You must have a closer look."
He picked the boy up from his lift and tossed him, spinning, shrieking, up to his wife, Qi Tan, balancing on her hands three meters in the air on a weaving forked pole. She caught him with her feet, tumbled him about, tickling him with a finger until he stopped screaming and started laughing, then tossed him from one hand to another as she swayed, then dropped him back down to Gang.
Gang set him breathless, back in his lift, and Jia Yin, just a meter high, walked up to him, balancing a tray with four bowls, another tray with glasses atop that, four other clear trays with tiny budvases and flowers in them, and, on top of everything, a huge vase almost as big as she held on her chin.
"Lights and mirrors, you said," she piped. "Would you like me to jump, and all these glasses will land in your lap? You and your Hftchair will be very wet."
"No, no," the boy protested.
"But I am going to do it anyway," and she jumped, and glassware cascaded, but somehow was caught, juggled, hurled back into the air and, in somewhat reversed order, balanced again.
The boy watched, fascinated.
"I wish I could juggle," he said in a low voice.
Jia Yin heard him, leaned closer, still without spilling anything.
"After the show," she promised, "I will show you how easy it is."
"Even for somebody who can't walk, like me?"
"Especially for someone like you, 'cause you'll pay closer attention."
A thousand meters above the hospital, a Nana-class patrol ship orbited.
"All units," Haul Chaka, who'd taken a three-rank reduction in rank to go with the circus, "I've got me a good possible. Illuminating him… now!"
The other Nana boat and two aksai watched screens and the laser indicator flashing across them.
"He's been circling the hospital since we got here," Chaka went on. "No ID, no big journoh markings, so I put a viewer on him. Zoomed on in, and what we've got is a lim full of gunnies. One of the stupid bastards even waved his blaster or whatever it is around a little, enough for me to see. Over."
"All Safety elements," Njangu said into his com. "This is Safety Leader. Suspect he's gonna go strafin' when this breaks up. Try for us, and if he gets some of the ankle biters we're being nice to, that won't matter.
"We'll take him out now. Lir… hit him. Gently. You aksai hot rods, track him. I want more than just a handful of dead punks. Big Bertha, get the third aksai in the air and homing on the other birds."
Mikes clicked assent.
Below, hidden behind a clump of brush, Lir checked the sights on her Shrike launcher, set the missile's fuse to proximity detonate, turned the homing device off, aimed well off the lim, and fired.
The Shrike exploded twenty meters from the goon-wagon, and it spun, almost pinwheeled, then the pilot gave it full power, gunning away in panic.
"Tracking," Chaka said, and the aksai followed at altitude, above the clouds.
The lim sped around the city, on north, to a spattering of islands.
"It's coming in for a landing," Chaka said, and swept the area ahead first with radar, then with infrared.
"Looks like there's something down there," he reported. "Maybe a nice little landing field."
All three of the aksai were orbiting below the Nana boat.
"This is Boursier One. I've got a visual flash through the clouds. It's a field, with, oh, ten or twelve lifters. A couple of them looked like they were armored, or anyway set up for some kind of police or military use."
"This is Safety Six," Njangu 'cast. "Arm 'em up, troops. I'd like a nice clean billiard table down there. Take out all buildings and anybody you happen to want to shoot at. Clear."
The aksai inverted, and dived, pilots' fingers/claws blurring across sensors as the attack ships shot downward.
Boursier, firing lead, toggled half a dozen Shrikes.
The missiles blasted across the field as Dill and Alikhan swept in low, chainguns roaring. Lifters exploded, and one of the three hangars burst into flames.
Men ran out, across the field, toward the safety of the jungle or water. Few made it.
Boursier came back in, a solid wave of shells sweeping the field, and the last scattered small antipersonnel firebombs from two hundred meters.
Chaka brought his patrol ship down low and slow, thought two lifters were insufficiently damaged, donated a pair of Shrikes to the cause, then climbed.
"I don't see anything left to break, Safety elements. Let's go on home."
Both Garvin and Njangu thought it was very interesting that there were no holo reports of the destruction of the airport.
"I guess it's not in anybody's best interests," Njangu said.
"Which says something about this whole damned power structure, doesn't it?" Garvin said, a bit disgustedly. "I should've given Darod and Lir the go-ahead."
"To do what?"
"Never mind."
"Men are nothing but hard dicks and no brains!" Darod Montagna stormed to Monique Lir.
"So what else is new?" Lir said, grinning. "And what has the boss done to piss you off this time?"
"I just saw him walking outside the ship with that… that popsy he went and hired!"
"Isn't he entitled to walk anywhere with anybody he wants?"
"Not with her!"
"Hoboy," Lir said. "Darod, my young former Executive Officer, you are getting, like they say, your tit in a wringer. If you're all jealous that he's just walking with this Katun, what are you going to do when we get back to Cumbre, and you've got to realize he's sleeping with Jasith Mellusin?"
"That's different! She was ahead of me in line! She outranks me!"
"Hoboy twice," Lir said.
"This Circus Jaansma has certainly paid for itself," Dorn Fili said. "I know the big rally night after this will get our workers to pour in their last bit of energy. Not to mention how it'll look on the holos."
"The offworlders have done well for us," Sam'l Brek agreed. "But we're getting close to election day, and I keep thinking of all those credits we're giving them, and how I'd like to have them for a last-minute blitzkrieg."
"Use the after-campaign funds we've got set aside for our supporters," Fili said.
"I could do that," Brek agreed. "But that would leave our friends a bit angry. If only we had a way to recoup some of that circus money… mmh.
"You know, I think I've got the beginnings of an idea."
"Could it get back to us?" Fili asked.
"Very doubtful, at least if I set it up right, with the correct people."
"Don't tell me any more," Fili said. "Just do it."
"Something interesting," Njangu told Garvin. "We did a thorough shake on your bimbolina's gear, and guess what we found?"
"A nifty little sender?"
"Nawp."
"A serious interstellar com?"
"Nawp."
"What did you get?"
