Circus Galacticus

by Deva Fagan

  The meteorite weighs in my pocket as if it's trying to compact into a black hole. I hear Dad's warning, as clear as ever. You have to keep it secret. You have to protect it. But the Ringmaster has given me his secrets, or at least some of them. I want to ... honor that. To share a secret of my own. I can't find the right words, so in the end I just stick out my hand, the black oblong smooth in my palm.

  There's a flicker of something in his face, too quick for me to catch. He brushes the tip of one finger over the meteorite, tracing the thin crack.

  I force myself to speak. "My parents gave it to me. I thought maybe ... maybe it's important. They made me promise to keep it safe, and Nyl sure wanted to get his hands on it, so I figure it must be the real deal."

  He's still staring.

  "Or maybe it's a pretty rock," I add.

  "No. The Tinkers made this. But made it for what?" He takes it, holding it aloft and frowning.

  "And why did my parents have it?" I search his face for answers. "They must have been Tinker-touched, too." My hands are shaking. "Right? That must be it. Why else would they have it?"

  "Indeed." The Ringmaster gives me an inscrutable look, then presses the meteorite back into my hand. "Thank you. For trusting me enough to show me this." He hesitates, then adds, "It might be wise to allow Miss Three to study it."

  "No! I mean, why? If it's a Tinker antique, what would she know? Besides, she's from the Mandate. I don't—"

  "Trust her?"

  I fiddle with the meteorite, tumbling it between my fingers. "Not yet. But I've got someone else I want to show it to."

  ***

  "It looks like a rock to me," says Nola. She turns the meteorite to catch the brightest beams from the lamp, then shakes her head. "If the Ringmaster didn't know, I'm not sure I can do any better."

  "The Ringmaster isn't a Tech genius," I say, bouncing on the edge of my bed.

  "I guess I could run some tests," Nola offers. She roots around inside one of the flip-out drawers beside her bed, pulling out a selection of tools. "There must be something inside, if it heated up. But you said that was the first time?"

  "Yeah. I wonder why? Maybe it was reacting to my Tinker-touch. It happened that same night my hair turned pink. The same night Nyl found me." I suppress a shiver at the memory, and try not to think about where he might be now.

  Nola shrugs. "Could be that. Could be chance. Could be something else completely." Nola slides one of her tools over the surface of the rock, frowning. "Has it always had the crack?"

  "No." I fill her in on my first encounter with Nyl. "So if bashing him in the face with the meteorite didn't bust it, dropping it onto the floor must have."

  "Hmmm. It's not actually a meteorite. It's artificial. A pretty durable composite." By this time Nola has gone through a half-dozen scanners, gauges, and something that looks like an eggbeater, but the furrow between her brows has only gotten deeper. "I'm surprised it cracked at all. Hey, what's this?"

  "You found something?"

  "Maybe." Nola squints at the display on her eggbeater. "I'm picking up some microwave radiation."

  "So ... I can use it to make a bag of popcorn?"

  Nola frowns, twiddling a dial. "It could be a signal, or a message. Or a beacon." She lifts her eyes. "But I know one thing it definitely is not."

  "What?"

  "An essay on Core Governance Mining Regulations."

  I groan, flopping back onto the bed. "It's going to be a long night."

  CHAPTER 11

  Secrets in the Dark

  I'M ON FIRE. Struggling out of sleep, I find myself twisted in my sheets, slick with sweat. Even through my pillow I can feel the warmth pulsing from the rock. I throw back the covers, feeling disgustingly damp.

  I fumble for the rock. It's warm, but not too hot to handle. Across the room Nola mumbles something in her sleep. We were both up late: me because Core Mining Regulations make zero sense, and Nola because she's a saint and helped me with the essay. I'm not keen on making her miss any more sleep because of me, so I slip out into the hall as quietly as I can.

  It might be my imagination, but I could swear the rock is getting warmer. I head down the hallway. My fingers flinch from the heat cupped in my hands. It's definitely getting hotter. I head for the bathroom, in case I need to play firefighter.

  Except that now the rock is cool again. What kind of game is this? Is it trying to drive me insane?

  Or is it trying to send me a message? I back up. Heat stirs against my palm. Gotcha! I take another step, letting the heat lead me along the corridors, out of the dorms, all the way to—

  A hallway. A really boring hallway. I don't get it. The rock is so hot now I have it bundled in the hem of my shirt. But there's nothing here. I spin around, searching. Then inspiration strikes. I kneel down.

  An even stronger wave of heat flows off the rock, pushing me back a step. So maybe it is leading me somewhere. I'm just not on the right level. As I stand there, trying to decide how seriously Nola would bust my ass if I started pulling up floor panels from her ship, I realize the rock has gone cool. Wonderful.

  I'm about to try to find my way back to my room when I hear a noise. Someone else is moving along the corridor, somewhere beyond the next curve, out of sight. I shrink back against the shadowy arch of the hall. Muffled footsteps pad away. Whoever it was, she's going the other direction.

  There's nothing for it. I have to find out what's up. Rounding a curve in the corridor, I catch a glimpse of someone with long dark hair. Sirra. And I've got a good guess where she's headed.

  I keep my distance, trying to walk as quietly as I can. It gets harder as we move into the really cluttered corridors.

  Something tickles my toes. Feathers. I spot the remaining hatboxes, still piled against the wall. Somewhere in the distance a burst of static crackles. I stay skulking behind the hatboxes, listening hard. This time I'm going to find out what Sirra is up to.

  I can barely make out her silhouette under the dim blue track lights that run along the ceiling. The noises coming out of the wall are still gibberish, but I can hear Sirra well enough.

  "No, not yet," she says. "I need more time. I have a plan. Send it to me. But not there. It'll take too long."

  More gabble, then Sirra again, sounding annoyed. "Fine, never mind. Make it Hasoo-Pashtung. I'll figure something out."

  Hasoo-Pashtung. It's one of the scheduled performance stops, a couple of months down the road, the one Nola keeps talking about because it's got some ginormous shopping bazaar.

  There's another sputter from the wall. "I know! I know it's my fault! But no one else will find out. I need to get her alone, and then I can settle everything, I promise. It'll all be over soon." Silence fills the corridor, broken only by a gulping breath.

  Something prods me in the shoulder. I bite down on a yelp of surprise as Nola's round face emerges from the shadows. "Trix, what are you doing?" she whispers.

  "Better question is, what's Sirra doing?"

  "Coming this way! Quick, in here." Nola lays a hand on the wall beside us. The metal scrolls open, revealing a dark recess. We tumble inside.

  The walls zip closed, leaving us in near total darkness. A small slitted window lets in a slice of the dim blue light from outside. We watch in silence as Sirra marches past our hiding spot.

  "What is this?" I ask, after I'm sure Sirra is gone.

  "Storage closet. Though obviously some people have a different notion of what that means. Did you see all that clutter out there? And here's this perfectly good closet, not a foot away, empty!" Nola taps the wall. It folds open obligingly.

  "Lucky for us," I say, following her out. "I don't think Sirra would have been happy to find someone eavesdropping, even if we only heard half the conversation. Why wasn't the translator handling the other voice?"

  Nola frowns. "Some sort of scrambler, maybe. Come on, I'll take a look."

  I pace back and forth, scuffing up clouds of feathers, while Nola studies the communication panel. "Y
eah, someone definitely didn't want anyone listening in on that call."

  "Can you tell where it came from? Who it was?"

  Nola shakes her head. "Someone off-ship. What was she saying? I only heard the last part."

  I fill her in, describing the most recent conversation as well as the one I stumbled into when I first came on board.

  "I wonder who she needs to get alone?"

  "And why." I frown. "She's up to something."

  "Do you think we should tell the Ringmaster?"

  "No," I say quickly, remembering his attitude at brunch. "First we get proof."

  "That's about all I can do right now. I guess we should get back to the dorm. If we can even find the way." Nola grimaces. "I was in such a rush to follow you, I forgot to grab my know-it-all."

  I point down the corridor. "It shouldn't be too hard to go back the way we—"

  An eerie wailing cuts off my words. A moment later, the corridor I was pointing at is gone, replaced by a blank gray wall.

  The hallway lights turn orange. Nola yelps. "The ship's compacting! We've got to get out of here!"

  Only one choice. We race down the remaining corridor. Metal crunches and slams behind us. I keep my eyes ahead, willing the walls to stay put just a little longer. "What's a safe spot?"

  "Our beds get capsuled, but they're probably cut off already."

  "Where else?"

  "The bridge, the library, the commons, the biohabitat."

  "Great. Where are they?" We've reached a junction. Two orange-lit corridors twist away, right and left.

  "I—I don't know. I don't know where we are, Trix. I don't have my know-it-all. We're going to get smashed!" Nola's voice spirals up into a squeak of fear.

  "No, we're not!" I scan the walls, looking for anything familiar. "What about another closet?"

  "If I knew where one was. Maybe—eeeee!" Her voice ends in another squeal as the right-hand hallway slams shut.

  "It's okay. I know how to get out of here! This way!" Seizing Nola's hand, I pull her with me down the remaining corridor. "I was in this hall the other night. I remember that light was out, see there? A little farther there's a turn ... aha! And then there was a door that goes into—"

  We burst out into an open green space. One last crash of compacting metal echoes behind us. Both of us go sprawling across the grass of the biohabitat. I have just enough time to enjoy my three-dimensional state before everything melts to the familiar blackness of the jump.

  ***

  "See? It's better than last time, isn't it?" says Nola.

  "Oh, sure." I rub my gummy eyes. "This time I only feel like I've been dipped in glue and hung upside down for a few hours. Much better." I stand up shakily.

  The Ringmaster's voice echoes from the walls.

  "Attention, Galacticus Crew! As you may have noted, we took a bit of a detour. I'm afraid the Big Top took it upon herself to jump us into the Jerrindar System."

  Nola gives a low whistle. "That's not good."

  "While it's my hope this is merely the result of the Big Top conceiving an urgent and inescapable craving for Jerrindarian Toffee, you may be assured that Miss Three and I will be investigating fully. In the meantime we ask you all to remain in your dorms. Please, go back to sleep; you'll need your strength in the morning. We've acquired some leeches, and you know what that means."

  Nola groans.

  "Leeches?" I ask. "Like the nasty little things that suck your blood?"

  Nola makes a face. "No, like the nasty big things that suck on the Big Top's energy field. They're disgusting." She shivers. "But leeches bother me a lot less than the Big Top jumping on her own."

  "Do you think Sirra had something to do with it?"

  Nola taps a finger against her chin. "It's possible. If the Big Top detected a gravity well, it might set off the proximity warnings for a black hole, and that would cause a jump. But why would she do it, Trix?"

  "I don't know," I admit. "Still, it's pretty suspicious that she was the only one prowling around when it happened."

  "Actually, she wasn't the only one." Nola gives me a meaningful look.

  "Oh. Right. But we didn't do anything."

  Nola doesn't look entirely convinced. "I'm not sure Miss Three would see it that way."

  "No, as a matter of fact. She does not."

  "Uh-oh," says Nola.

  Yeah, we're toast. Miss Three flickers into view, a severe, dark ghost floating above the greenery. "Would you two please explain what you are doing out of your dorms in the middle of the night?"

  "Ahh..." Nola opens her mouth and flaps her hands, looking like a fish out of water.

  "It was my fault," I say. "I was sleepwalking. Nola came after me to wake me up, but then the alarm went off, so we had to come here to not get squashed. Sorry," I add, aware that I don't sound particularly apologetic.

  "And I suppose you had nothing to do with that unplanned jump?"

  "No," says Nola, her nervousness bubbling over. "How could we? Even I don't know how to make the Big Top jump. I've tried to see what the Ringmaster does, but it's something with that baton of his, and I can't quite make it out, so you see we couldn't—"

  "Enough, Miss Ogala. I assure you we will be getting to the bottom of this matter soon enough. For the time being, kindly return to where you are supposed to be, and stay there. We will see about suitable recompense for curfew violations tomorrow."

  Thankfully the decompaction bell sounds. Nola and I beat a hasty retreat back to our dorm.

  CHAPTER 12

  Leeches

  IT'S A PUNISHMENT, that's what it is," says Nola glumly. "If this was a random chore assignment, I'm the Wazeer of Deneb."

  "Is it really that bad?" I grit my teeth as I shove my foot into one of the tall white spaceboots. I'm already wearing the suit; it's hard to believe something so crinkly-thin is going to keep me safe in the big black void.

  "Is it that bad? Hah!" says Theon as she buckles on her own boots. "Ask your know-it-all to find you some pictures of Anvaran dust cloud leeches. No, wait; ask for pictures of the sucker scars, so you see what you're really getting into."

  Besides the three of us, there are five others on leech-removal duty: Sirra, Etander, Ghost, a Tech boy named Toothy, and the walking boulder I've seen at the Freak table. He introduces himself as Gravalon Pree in a voice as rich and rumbly as Rocky Road ice cream. He's the only one besides me who seems excited about the mission.

  "But we get to fly around with those spacewings," I say. "That's got to be amazing!"

  Nola shudders. "That's the worst part."

  "But it sounds like fun. Isn't it?"

  "Maybe for you. I get sick."

  "You should stay midship, Nola," says Sirra. "Trix can handle the aft section on her own. She's always up for a challenge."

  Right, like Sirra's suddenly some kind of guardian angel. It has nothing to do with getting me alone out on the hull. Nola looks at me, clearly thinking the same thing. "No, I'm Trix's partner. I'll stay with her."

  Sirra shrugs. Clicking down the seal on her helmet, she heads for the airlock, where the others are waiting. She doesn't have any spacewings. I guess with her fancy gravity-bending superpowers, she doesn't need solar-powered jets. Gravalon Pree, on the other hand, doesn't seem to need a spacesuit, but with his extra-large spacewings he looks like some sort of overgrown rock fairy.

  While Nola is off checking something on the airlock, I pull on my own wings. They slip on over my shoulders, but I can't lower my arms. I crane my neck, but I can't see what's wrong. Worse, they won't come off. I'm stuck looking like a complete idiot, flailing around with my arms in the air.

  I'm about to do something supremely violent to the wings when suddenly they slide down into place. I turn to see who saved me, expecting to see Nola. "Thanks. I was afraid I'd be stuck that way for—"

  It's Etander. "—ever."

  Immediately my eyes go to his hands. Today they look perfectly normal. I wrench my attention back to his face. "Oh. H
ey. Thanks."

  "They were caught up in back," he says quietly.

  "Um..." Should I ask how he's doing? Or would that only make things more awkward?

  He saves me from my social disorder by going on. "About what happened last week ... we shouldn't have tried to kick you out of the Ring. I'm sorry about ... about everything that happened."

  "Hey, no problem. We're good," I say. "I mean, if you're all—"

  "Are you looking forward to testing out the spacewings?" he interrupts, eyes darting away from my unfinished question.

  Okay. I guess we're done with that topic. "Sure," I say. "Sounds like fun. And a little dangerous."

  "You don't seem afraid."

  "Hey, as long as I don't end up covered in chocolate with a new nickname, I think I'll be happy."

  That wins me a smile. "Good luck, then."

  Theon calls for everyone's attention. "All right, people, time for a safety-procedure chat. I know everyone else has heard it before, but we've got Trix with us for the first time, and you all can use a reminder, so listen up."

  "Yes, Miss Three," says the Tech boy in an undertone. Theon scowls at him.

  "In case you've forgotten, Toothy, we almost had Dragon doing a space dive into the nearest star last time we went out on spacewings. This is seriously dangerous."

  I can feel Etander's eyes on me, and I ignore them.

  "Now, there are three rules to remember: First, don't get too far from the ship. This isn't the time for joyriding. Second, don't use your blasters"—she pats the blunt black rod hanging from her belt—"until you pry the leech free. We don't want to accidentally breach the hull.

  "And third, if someone gets suckered by a leech, remember to use your beacon." She taps the palm-size disk hanging beside her blaster. "Press the button and give it a good throw, as far away from yourself and the Big Top as possible."

  "What does it do?" I ask.

  "Lets off an energy signal that attracts the leeches," says Toothy, his grin showing a large number of his namesakes. "I designed it."