Homefall

by Chris Bunch

  She shook her head, said, almost under her breath, "People always seem hell-bent on makin' themselves into the worst damn' fools they can, don't they?"

  Liskeard didn't answer, and Big Bertha closed on the ground, flying over a huge, burned-out ruin.

  "That was Riot Troops' headquarters. Barracks, holding cells, landing platform on top. It went up like a torch, the first day of the rising. Heard there weren't any of 'em got through that night, which was at least one of the good things the change brought, and I think I'm talkin' a bit much.

  "Got orders to bring you down at Mainport. I guess th' powers that be this week might want to see themselves a circus. Hell, I'm curious myself.

  "Just hope the Mobiles approve of circuses, so everything goes smooth."

  "What are the Mobiles?" Garvin asked.

  "Th' Mobilization Party. They're the cuttin' edge, or at least they tell everybody they are, and seem to believe it, of th' change right now. They… and their leader… make sure everything's headed in the right direction."

  "Who's leading them?" Garvin asked. "Might be a good idea to stay on his side."

  "Things, they say, are changin'," Chokio said. "But then, they always are. A year or so ago, I would've mentioned the Freedom Party and Abia Cornovil, who's always interested in things new. Now, it's the Mobility. Next year…" she shrugged. "Who th' hell knows.

  "Anyway, The Mobiles' current leader's a Fove Gadu.

  "Gadu's one of those folks who knows better'n you what's best for you, and doesn't mind cuttin' a few throats or givin' a few lethal injections to those who disagree."

  Abia Cornovil was a big man, middle-aged, naturally muscled, going a bit to pot, who dressed simply and wore his straight hair almost to his shoulders. If this were another planet than Centrum, Njangu would have thought him an ex-farmer. He found later that Cornovil had been a statistician, but the shovel and hoe must not have been too distant in his genealogy, for he was the one who'd taken charge of keeping the parks as intact as possible.

  Strangely, he'd had a bad complexion as a boy, which he never had repaired, on a planet that would have had the best cosmetic medicos.

  His voice was as burly as his presence, and his booming laugh could be heard throughout the ship.

  Cornovil had insisted on seeing everything and meeting everyone, and was fascinated with every detail, from how horses handled N-Space to how Sir Douglas cycled the pungent cat shit.

  He appeared no more than a cheerful peasant, and both Yoshitaro and Froude had to keep reminding themselves that this man had ridden the crest of what appeared to be roiling anarchy for almost a generation, and had to be a great deal more than he appeared.

  Cornovil insisted on having a drink with Garvin and his staff. Jaansma, rather maliciously, served him their own triply distilled engine-room swill.

  He purpled a little, but kept from choking.

  "Great gods," he said. "No wonder you're so eager to get out of space. Does this crap improve with age?"

  "Yours or its?" Froude asked. "I've almost gotten to liking it."

  "I'll send over some brandy imported from Second World," Cornovil promised. "If you people propose to keep the Mobiles entertained, you can't be poisoning yourselves."

  "A question," Froude said. "Someone implied that this Mobilization Party has a great deal of power. Just how does the People's Confederation work, politically?"

  "Quite frankly," Cornovil said, "we're still working things out, just as we've yet to be able to redeem the promise the Confederation made to other systems to provide peace and open trade.

  "We have a Parliament of One Thousand, which supposedly is elected by the people. Anyone can run in the yearly race, at which one-third of the seats are at stake, and a simple majority qualifies you for admission. But in fact, there are a dozen parties. Since the Mobiles are now the strongest, you'd be advised to support their views if you wish a chance at election. My own, the Freedom League, is at least holding it's own. Others…" he shrugged, "come up, go back down, sometimes after being found out as secret supporters of the Old Confederation."

  "How are the votes managed?" Njangu asked, and Cornovil looked at him warily.

  "That's a pretty sophisticated question for somebody as young as you are," Cornovil said. "Does a circus require a political expert?"

  "It's hard, visiting a dozen worlds a year, and wishing to keep on the good side of everyone," Froude said to get Njangu off the hook, "not to have an interest in politics."

  "Ah," Cornovil said. "The votes are… handled, as you put it, somewhat carelessly. In the last three elections, in fact, there've been a number of accusations of fraud." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, the ac-cusations were all against the Mobilization Party, which, being the most active and militant at the moment, responded strongly.

  "Very strongly."

  Njangu felt it wise not to inquire further, especially when Cornovil looked at him coldly, and Yoshitaro saw, once more, that slight gleam he'd seen before in the eyes of powerful men who'd gotten that power without any regard for honesty or legality.

  But, three days later, two barrels of brandy arrived, as promised.

  A man wearing a black sash, which made him an officer of the People's Militia, arrived, and informed Garvin that the circus was given permission to occupy the Central Stadium, both for quarters and performing, and he was ready to escort them there.

  "I don't like this at all," Garvin told Njangu.

  "Me either," Yoshitaro agreed. "This whole damned place feels shaky, and I'd surely like to stick close to the ship.

  "You see any way we can get away with it?"

  "Nope."

  "Then let's line up the troops and parade on in. But let's give everybody who's in the know a gun. And we'll keep Big Bertha ready to lift and at standby. Plus we can maybe pray a little, if you remember any good gods' names."

  The circus, elephants, cats, horses, clowns, little people, acrobats streamed toward the Central Stadium. The sidewalks on either side of them were packed.

  But Garvin couldn't make a call. On some blocks the people were silent, staring, almost hostile. On others, they cheered wildly.

  He decided he'd have to play things as they came.

  He didn't find much comfort knowing the "possum bellies," the storage compartments under the lifters, were packed with weaponry.

  The route had been hastily papered with flyers for Circus Jaansma. Garvin noted, with considerable amusement, that all of the flyers on one building had been posted upside down.

  That had to have been done by an I&R sort, who'd also learned more than a bit about circus lore—the upside posters were traditionally put up for Home Sweet Home, the season's last play before they made for winter quarters.

  Cumbre

  Garvin wondered if they'd make it.

  They reached the Central Stadium. The best that could be said about the building was that it was huge, big enough for three or four circuses.

  Fleam, the boss canvas man, was running around the arena, muttering, trying to determine where he'd put everything and everyone, trailing harried roustabouts in his wake.

  Others explored the upper stories, found rooms for all.

  The building smelled of decay, abandonment, and everyone, animals, people, felt uneasy.

  But there was no other choice.

  "I shall certainly try to appear for your opening show tonight," Fove Gadu said to Garvin and his staff.

  If Abia Cornovil had a slight megalomaniacal gleam to his eye, Gadu broadcast it. He was thin, hair disheveled, and he'd missed a patch here and there when he'd depiled last. His clothes were indifferently clean, and it seemed as if he might not have bathed in the last day or so.

  "I understand Abia Cornovil visited you," Gadu said, pretending to be casual. "What was your impression?"

  "Why, he seemed quite in charge of things," Garvin said. "He wasn't really here long enough for me, at least, to make any stronger opinion."

  "I see," Gadu said. "He made no m
ention of how he saw what place you might have here on Centrum, then?"

  "None, other than he wanted to see our performance, and was most interested in touring our facilities."

  "Oh? Any comments?"

  "None other than admiring."

  Gadu changed the subject, asked many questions about Big Bertha's passage to Centrum. It was obvious he knew well about Capella's self-imposed blockade. Finally, he seemed satisfied, quirked his lips in what he might have imagined to be a smile, and left.

  "Whoo," Garvin said. "Cornovil gave me the chills; this bastard made my dick fall off."

  "Mine just shriveled up and wrapped around my backbone," Njangu said. "What about you, Monique?"

  "He reminded me of a couple of sorts I ran across over the years," Lir said. "Fortunately, both of 'em are dead now."

  "By whose hand?"

  Lir smiled, didn't answer.

  Darod Montagna did a backflip off her horse as she came out the Back Way, landed easily on her feet.

  Rudy Kweik, leg wounds still healing, limped toward her.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "Well what?" Darod said.

  "What's your call on the townies? I can't get close enough to be sure."

  Darod shivered, not from any cold, hugged herself. • "I can't make them out," she said slowly. "One sec-tion'll be cheering like bandits, the others look at you like they want to put a bomb in your shorts."

  "I don't like this," Kweik said. "Sopi Midt says the midway's doing spotty business. Gambling booths do all right, but nobody's interested in the games of chance that pay off in stuffed animals."

  "Maybe the gazoonies have figured out how fixed everything is," Darod suggested, realizing how easily she'd started using circus jargon.

  Kweik snorted.

  "A gilly figure out a gaff? They know nanty, or they wouldn't be gillies, now would they?"

  "That's one way to figure it," Montagna said.

  "The only way I figure it is that we'll be damned lucky to make the run for home without a serious clem," Kweik said. "You might want to make sure you take care of yourself."

  "I always do," Montagna said.

  "Not with that whopping great boomer you saved my life with," Kweik said. He dug into a pocket of his baggy pants, took out a small pistol.

  "Here. Midt's found a source for them. Twenty credits. They shoot projectiles, which makes me wonder if they come out of some museum. Tuck this away. A present for someone who might make a good horse rider in thirty or forty years."

  "Where, exactly, am I supposed to stash this little toy?" Montagna said, grinning and doing a pirouette. Her costume didn't have room enough to hide a penknife.

  "Find a place, Darod," Kweik said. "I know, feel in my bones, this clem coming on. And it won't be one fought with sticks and stones."

  Chapter 29

  The war council on the nearly deserted Big Bertha was particularly grim, and included two new members: Chaka and Liskeard. Not sure why they were invited, they held to the back of the small group: Garvin, Njangu, Lir, Froude, and Ristori.

  Garvin looked very tired.

  " 'Kay. Let's make this quick. We've got another show tomorrow, and I'd just as soon nobody wonders where we are.

  "We came out here almost a year ago looking for what happened to the Confederaton, and hoping it was something simple we could help bandage up, and it would be back to something resembling business as before.

  "And what a can of frigging worms we unsealed."

  He nodded to Njangu, who took the floor.

  "Probably we should've assumed there wasn't just one easy frigging problem with the Confederation. The first thing, which we knew going in, was that big chunks of the Confederation had been allowed to slip out of contact over the last twenty or more years.

  "Troops were getting bounced back and forth and in and out, like our Legion, and those Protectorate fellows we just left cutting each others' nuts off out.

  "I wouldn't guess there was much control on these units by the Confederation, to point out the obvious.

  "So the Confederation, really, had to have been falling apart for a long time, a lot longer than anybody was willing to admit."

  Froude and Ristori nodded unhappily.

  "When Garvin and I were passed through seven years or so ago, there were already riots going on.

  "Those, I guess, got worse and worse, and what happened was a general system collapse, ending up with this wonderful People's Confederation."

  Froude stood.

  "A little elaboration here, if I might. I've done some wandering about, trying to find any scholars that didn't get themselves shortened by a head during the collapse, or who aren't hiding deep in some hole somewhere.

  "I found some bits and pieces. The initial fighting seems to have been spontaneous. Nobody knows for sure, but I'd guess an average riot got out of hand… or was successful, depending on your point of view.

  "The Riot Troops, who were supposed to keep order, got massacred.

  "A period of general anarchy came next. A lot of Confederation records, and their keepers, went under during this time, including the main Military Records Division and General Staff system.

  "Then some people got together with a common cause—probably grabbing power for themselves—and enough others fell in behind for them to declare themselves a government.

  "Then something interesting happened. That party, once it got power, got conservative and drew a line, saying that's enough of a revolution for us.

  "But it wasn't enough for the people who'd been the original rioters. Another party got formed, to the left of the first, and they started screaming that the first party was nothing but Confederation lackeys, and it was time for their heads to roll.

  "They were rolled, and that second party was on top, and said, enough of a revolution.

  "But the people of the streets… they don't even seem to have a label… didn't have the power, and so here came a third gathering. They took out the second group, and were in charge for a while.

  "That group, by the way, was the Freedom party, which Abia Cornovil, who most of you met, is the head of.

  "Again, no satisfaction for the people on the bottom. They got involved with this Fove Gadu, who'd formed the Mobilization Party.

  "It's interesting that it was formed to push for the People's Confederation to reach out for their old holdings, out to the stars.

  "Some expeditions were sent out, found out their own booby traps backfired on them, since nobody had the records on how to defuse them, or couldn't find them if they did, and so the Mobilization Party looked for a new cause.

  "It appears as if they're now grabbing for the center ring, and we arrived just a little short of what may be another coup."

  He sat down heavily.

  "That's about that," Garvin said. "So now the questions:

  "Do we have a good idea of what happened?"

  He got nods, agreement.

  "Enough so we can think about ending this recon mission, which has got to be the longest in history?"

  Again, agreement.

  "So we can … if we can… scurry on out of here for home, report to Dant Angara, and let him try to decide what the Strike Force is going to do next.

  "Because, at least from my perspective, next is going to take some serious figuring and is way the hell beyond me at this point."

  "The first question," Lir said, "is how do we break contact and get off Centrum?"

  "I don't know."

  "Let's say we can," Chaka said. "We still have that Romolo and his battleship sitting off Centrum, and he'd probably object to us just fading off stage right.

  "I don't see us having enough baraka to take him on, let alone winning."

  "The luck of Allah might not be required," Liskeard said. "I've got an idea that should shorten the odds with him. But I've got zero-burp about how the hell we rescue the circus and lift without all kinds of alarms going off."

  "Nor do I," Garvin said. "Again, events s
ort of dictated what we'd have to do when we landed here, and we weren't given many choices."

  "We might have no other option," Ristori said, "than to accept some losses in changing the order of things."

  "Soldiers take losses," Froude said, trying to keep anger out of his voice. "Most of the people over in that stadium are civilians."

  Ristori didn't answer, but held out his hands helplessly.

  "We've got damned near every small arm aboard over at the stadium already," Lir said. "I just don't see any way to get the troupe back here… not even filtering people through a few at a time."

  "And I know damned well," Njangu added glumly, "none of the animal folks will even think about abandoning their creatures, which doesn't make being sneaky any easier."

  "Which leaves us stuck between the lid and the bottom of the shitter," Garvin said. "The bad guys have the first move. All of them.

  " 'Kay. Now that we're all depressed, back to your posts, and we wait until we get an opening."

  "There's one slight thing that Chaka and I can do that might help when the balloon goes up," Liskeard said.

  "Which is?"

  "Which starts with giving that dictator-in-the-making Dant Romolo exactly what he said he wanted."

  Chapter 30

  Four men hung in emptiness. Between them hung two Shadow antimissile missiles, with their bases inside a curved box and a Goddard shipkiller, with an unsightly bulge over its guidance area. A welding pencil flared, went out, flared again.

  "That's that," the technician said, putting the pencil back in his belt pouch.

  "And that," Chaka said, "is unquestionably the ugliest jury-rig I've ever seen, let alone had a hand in building."

  "Don't be so modest," Liskeard said. "I think it's just plain gorgeous. Especially if it happens to work, which I doubt.

  "Now, let's get our asses back to the scow and continue the mission, like they say. We're only halfway through."

  Their suit jets spurted white, and they moved back toward the Nana boat floating thirty meters away.