by Deva Fagan
"For your second career as a prospector?" says Nola.
I wince as a shriek of grinding metal bursts out of the earpiece. "Are you tearing the autosalon apart with your bare hands? Weren't you only giving it a tune-up?"
There's another distant crash. "Yes," she replies, but I'm not sure which question she was actually answering.
"Seriously, though. Give me one good reason I need to know this stuff."
"Because if you don't, Miss Three won't give you your stipend and then you won't be able to come out with me and have fun at the Hasoo-Pashtung Bazaar?"
I sigh. "I can't believe the Ringmaster puts up with this."
"I don't think he puts up with it so much as he runs screaming in terror from the prospect of being responsible for anything so mundane." The clatter in the background sounds like a freight train dancing the tango. "Listen, Trix, I have to go. But I'll help you with the essay tonight if you want."
"Thanks, Nola."
She clicks off. I spend about a half-hour trying to make sense of a single subclause about the use of sonic liquifiers before I start to feel like someone used a sonic liquifier on my brain. Leaving the study carrel, I decide to check the shelves again for anything that might give me a clue about my meteorite.
Last time it took me an hour to get through a single shelf. Nothing is in any sort of order. I guess I could check out the catalogue window thing, but honestly, it's kind of fun looking through this stuff. Some of it I recognize: the collected works of Shakespeare, a bunch of shonen manga, and the Time-Life "Supernatural" series. Most of it, though, is stuff like Pipelines: Miracle or Menace? and 101 Recipes for Paccadi Nuts and A Brief History of the Centaurus Corporation (which is, I kid you not, a foot thick).
A muffled thump turns me toward the door, wondering if I've got company. I don't see anyone. The next moment I yelp as Miss Three materializes right in front of me. She smirks at the book in my hands. Love Among the Stars: The True Story.
"Hard at work on your essay, I see." Her eyes track the room like laser beams, then return to my face. "Where is he?"
"Who?"
"The Ringmaster. He knows how important it is that we review the accounting records in a timely fashion, and yet he insists on running off, when we're already five performances behind, and—what is it, Miss Ling?"
I could swear I saw a flash of sequins around the edge of the doorway, but I latch my gaze back onto Miss Three.
"Nothing. There's no one else here. Just me, doing my essay."
She frowns. A spider web of static crosses her ghostly face as she spins, slowly, toward the door.
"Hey, have you checked the autosalon? Nola's working on it. Maybe he's over there. Supervising."
It's a lame excuse, but she halts, studying me.
"You should check over there," I say.
I almost smell the ozone crackling off her response. "I know his ways, Miss Ling. He can't hide forever." Then she winks out.
"You can come out now," I say. "She's gone."
The Ringmaster steps out from the entryway gingerly, his eyes darting around the room. Then he pulls the top hat from his head, brushes back his mane of dark hair, and heaves an enormous sigh. "Thank you, Beatrix, for saving me from a fate that requires only the barest smidge of hyperbole to merit the term 'worse than death.'"
"No problem," I say. "Not that I'm a fan of crunching the numbers, either, but how long do you think you can play hide-and-seek?"
"Oh, I suppose I'll have to deal with it eventually," he says, leaning against the wall. He quirks one brow at me. "Rather like your essay, I imagine."
"Don't remind me."
He twiddles his hat in his hand for a moment, giving me a speculative look. "Would you care for a break? A little excitement and mystery and quite probably danger?"
I toss my book aside. "As long as it doesn't involve the twelve subclauses on the Shovel Hygiene Ordinance, I'm good to go."
CHAPTER 10
The Lighthouse
WHOA." MY BREATH FOGS the viewport glass as I press myself against it, staring at the needle of gold hanging in the black void beyond. "What did you say it's called?"
"The Lighthouse," says the Ringmaster. He's more jittery than I am, spinning his baton from hand to hand like it might burn him if he holds it too long.
"And why did the Tinkers build it?"
"This particular lighthouse once helped to guide ships through the Anvaran dust clouds. But all the lighthouses served as strongholds for the Tinkers. They were places of learning and teaching: way stations from which to reach out across the universe."
"Then there's more of them?" I squint. The Lighthouse is a lot closer now. It's hard to judge size, but it looks big. Like, city-skyscraper big.
"So the legends say. This is the only one I've found." The Ringmaster stares fixedly out the viewport, as if the whole entire ginormous Lighthouse might vanish if he looked away for even a millisecond.
"I don't get it, though. If it's a Tinker clubhouse, why is it so dangerous?" Outside, the boarding tube snakes out from the Big Top to link us to the Lighthouse.
"If the light itself were to activate while we were on board, it would be rather like sunbathing on Venus."
I cross my arms. "So will it hurt the Big Top if it lights up?"
"No, the Big Top has solar shielding. Out there we'll be unprotected. But it's probably completely inactive now." He gives an airy wave.
"Probably? So, what, we have only a five percent chance of getting burned to a crisp?"
"It wouldn't be fun without a little danger, now, would it?" The Ringmaster's smile is like the noonday sun, so bright you're sure nothing terrible could ever happen as long as it's blazing down on you. "Besides, you can hardly expect to find anything interesting somewhere safe."
A shiver runs through the floor as the far end of the boarding tube clamps onto the golden needle. The doorway to the tube hisses open, waiting for us. The Ringmaster holds out a hand. I take it, and together we race along the passage to the airlock that will take us onto the Lighthouse.
The Ringmaster hands me a breathing mask. "Just in case," he says lightly. He's got another stuffed into one of his sequined coat pockets. "Think of it, Beatrix. We're about to walk in the footsteps of the ancients. Are you ready?" He rests a hand lightly on the sealed tunnel before us. He's grinning like a madman. And maybe he is mad, and I guess I am, too, because I can feel the enormous goofy smile plastered on my own face. But come on, we're about to explore an ancient alien space station. I think a little madness is understandable.
As the door hisses open, the Ringmaster pulls out what looks like an old-fashioned gold pocket watch. He flips it open briefly, then slides it back into his coat. He glances back, toward the Big Top, and for a moment he looks almost ... guilty.
"I really don't think an hour is going to make a difference," I say.
"What?"
"Miss Three. You know, the number crunching. You looked worried. But this is more important, right?" I frown. "Is the translator not getting this?"
"Miss Three, of course. Yes," he says, talking rapidly, as if trying to escape the conversation. "Right, let's go."
Man. The Ringmaster isn't the easiest book to read, but today I feel like he's written upside down, backwards, and in Swahili. I shrug it off and follow him into the Lighthouse.
We move slowly at first, as the Ringmaster lingers over every niche, every scrap of metal, even the light fixtures. "Hah, still on standby! And the artificial gravity is working," he says, fiddling with a panel in the wall. A murky amber glow fills the corridor. "Good old Tinker technology. And they say we're not reliable." The light begins to sputter. The Ringmaster gives the panel a thump, and the flickering stops.
"And look at this!" He darts forward to jam nearly his entire upper body into a shadowy recess. His voice echoes from the wall. "The recycling system! Imagine it, Beatrix! The first Tinker might have once stood here, tossing away a candy wrapper."
I cross my arms, le
aning against the wall while he extracts his head. "So you brought me to see the ancient alien garbage disposal. You sure know how to show a girl a good time."
He gives me an injured look. "Recycling systems can be quite fascinating, I assure you. You should visit the one on the Big Top. It's an experience you won't forget."
"Sorry," I say, hastening to catch up as he takes off again down the corridor. "I guess I was expecting something a little more ... whoa."
"Like this?" The Ringmaster leads the way out into a massive open space. Bigger than the Big Top tent. So big I can't see the far side. A narrow walkway edged by softly gleaming lights stretches out into the void. The Ringmaster lifts his baton, the gem on the top flaring to life.
Suddenly a thousand lights are winking back at us, reflected in the glossy walls that swoop up into unseen heights and down into the abyss. I can make out the distant sparkle of the far side now.
The entire center of the Lighthouse is hollow. "What is this place?" My voice comes out as a whisper. It's like being in a church, somehow. The age, I guess, and the silence. The feeling that I'm standing on top of generations of pain and joy and striving.
"This is the lantern chamber, the source of the light itself. When the Lighthouse is active, this chamber reflects and concentrates the beacon. And consequently would burn us to a crisp."
"And that?" I point to the slice of darkness hanging in the center of the chamber, tethered by the narrow walkway.
The Ringmaster grins. "That is the heart of the entire station. The Keeper's Watch. If there's anything interesting here, that's where we're going to find it."
We cross the walkway in the golden circle cast by the Ringmaster's baton. I glance over the edge. It's enough to lodge a bowling ball in my throat. Anybody who falls here is going to have a long, long time to regret it.
When we're about halfway across, I think I see something. A flicker in the reflected lights, like something's moving in front of them. Then nothing. I shake myself sharply. Come on, Trix. Next you'll be saying you saw the Mizzebar Moon Monster.
Still, I can't help but sigh a little in relief when we duck into the black dome of the Keeper's station, away from the abyss and the chilly gusts that flow up like the breath of some nasty monster waiting below.
We find out soon enough that the monster has already been and gone and left his calling card. Panels hang open, revealing banks of blackened wire. Screens sit dead and dark, drifts of shattered glass littering the floor around them. The room is totaled.
With a savage curse, the Ringmaster kicks aside a pile of broken metal, sending it rocketing out of the room. The violent clatter turns to utter silence as the debris tumbles off the edge of the walkway and into the void. It makes my skin crawl.
"What do you think happened?" I ask.
The Ringmaster whips around, teeth bared, baton raised as if to smash the long-gone vandals. It's more than a little terrifying. "The Mandate. They destroyed it, as they destroy everything!"
"Hey!" I catch hold of his arm before he can bash anything else. He starts to shake me off, but I hang on. "I like to hit things when I get angry, too, but can't we use any of this stuff ?"
The fury washes out of his face like I socked him with a bucket of cold water. He drops his arm, digging the end of the baton into the floor and leaning heavily against it. "I thought—hoped—there might be..." He coughs, and I can't make out the last word. It might have been "answers."
The Ringmaster raises a hand to his throat, his breath rasping. Slumping against the wall, he pulls the breathing mask from his pocket and presses it to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he draws a long, rattling breath. He takes three more hits, then lowers the mouthpiece and rests his head back against the wall. I've never seen him look so young, or so ... fragile. It scares me enough that I scramble for a joke.
"You okay?" I ask. "Or do you need a time-out?"
He winces, then chuckles. "I suppose I deserved that. No, no more tantrums. Only ... regret."
"Are you sure there's nothing here?" I search the floor around us for anything that isn't blackened, smashed, or shattered. I spot a few bits of crystal that look like the datastores Nola gave me to download onto from the universal net. "What about those?"
His lips twist as he scoops up a handful. "Broken. I suppose Miss Three might be able to recover something, but the chances are—"
I stiffen upright. "Did you hear that?" A slithering noise whispers against my ears. "There!"
The Ringmaster pushes himself away from the wall, searching the darkness. His eyes widen, looking past me.
I follow his gaze in time to see something bleed through the darkness, a darting crimson needle. The Ringmaster pulls me closer, to the center of the circle of light that falls from his baton. "Stay in the light, Beatrix."
"What are they?"
"Imagine every quality that would be desirable in a living weapon, culled by the Mandate from a universe of deadly genetic potential. Put them all together, and you have the Vycora. They are fast, they are implacable, and they can slice us through before we even feel the pain of it. They have only one weakness. Light."
"So we're safe here?" I spin around, searching the edge of the pool of golden light.
"For now. But I can't—" Another fit of coughing doubles him over. As the baton dips, our frail circle of protection shifts. I step sideways, grabbing the Ringmaster's arm to keep him upright. Something slithers over my foot. I kick it away, terror digging sharply into my spine. But it's only a coil of blackened wires.
The Ringmaster raises the mask to his face again. For a long moment the only sounds are his strained breathing and the skin-crawling slither of the Vycora. Then he puts the mask aside and looks at me intently.
"Beatrix, do you trust me?"
It feels, somehow, as if this is the most important question anyone has ever asked me. "Yes."
He gives me a brief, dazzling smile before scrambling upright and heading for the nearest of the smashed consoles. He begins ripping through them, pulling out the innards.
"Um. But I'd still like to know what you're doing."
"Turning on the Light. Aha!" He brandishes a handful of colorful wires, then begins twisting them together, like he's hot-wiring a car. "It should drive off the Vycora."
"I thought you said the Light would fry us."
"Only if we don't get back to the Big Top before it reaches full power."
"Which will take how long?"
"Twenty-three seconds. Plus or minus."
"Getting burned to a crisp is a definite minus." I bounce on my heels. All I can think of is the time I spilled hot grease on my hand as a little girl, helping my mom fry spring rolls. And how much it hurt. But crazy as it sounds, I do trust the Ringmaster. "Starting when?"
"Now." He dances back from the console as a hum pulses through the floor. Light begins to pour out from somewhere above us: a pure, white brilliance that makes me blink.
We run, racing between the killing darkness and the blinding light. My mind is empty of everything but the pounding of my feet and the dark outline of the distant door. Scarlet threads slide across our path, but the claws of brilliance tear them away.
A moment later the light begins to tear at us, too. I hear the Ringmaster hiss. Spines of white-hot fire jab into my skin. Tears stream down my cheeks, burned out of my eyes.
The light chases us all the way back to the Big Top. Even as the airlock hisses closed, I can see bright beams reaching out from the Lighthouse. It's like a star being born. The terror and the wonder of it nearly knocks me to the floor. Relief turns my knees to jelly, but at the same time there's an ache deep inside. It's like someone handed me a book of secrets and only let me see one page before snatching it back again.
I punch the control panel beside the windows, darkening the glass. The light streaming through the viewport dies to a distant glow. The Ringmaster leans against the wall, resting his head against the gently humming metal and drawing a long breath. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, I'm not entirely sure he's talking to me. "Are you hurt?" he asks.
"No. You?"
He shakes his head. "We achieved a dazzlingly successful escape, if nothing else." He sighs, extracting a handful of broken crystal from his pocket. It's the crushed datastore.
"What did you expect to find?" I say at last.
The Ringmaster smiles faintly. "Oh, the usual things. Answers to the eternal questions. The meaning of life." He turns the bits of crystal in his hand. "The trouble with being the leader is that people tend to expect you to be leading them somewhere in particular." He looks up then, and for once his eyes don't hold galaxies, only uncertainty and pain. He's never looked more human.
I feel like somebody's offered me a key, for this brief, fragile moment, to unlock a part of the mystery that is the Ringmaster. I don't know how long it will last, and there's so much I want to ask. When I open my mouth, the question that comes out surprises even me.
"Are you happy being the Ringmaster?"
He closes his eyes and rests his palms against the wall. The Big Top hums. His lips tighten.
"It wasn't supposed to be a stumper," I say finally.
The Ringmaster's eyes stay closed. "Life is about choices, Beatrix. But when you choose one road, it means there are others you may never walk. Things you sacrifice..."
"What kind of things?"
He looks at me then. "It's more than a title, being the Ringmaster. The Big Top is my responsibility. She is mine and I am hers. Which means I can't be..." He stops himself, giving a sort of half-shrug. "But it was my choice. I've seen things, done things, been things I could never have otherwise. And I would never give it up. Ever." The Big Top thrums again, more loudly. His lips twist. "Though perhaps she deserves better."
"No," I say. "I'm just the new girl and all, but from what I've seen, I think the Big Top is lucky to have you. We all are."
The Ringmaster cocks his head, speaking to the walls. "You hear that? I take her out and nearly get her burned to a crisp and she says I'm doing a good job." He sighs, glancing down to the crushed datastore bits. "And I thought I might find answers. It was foolhardy, but I'm a fool if nothing else."
