by Deva Fagan
"Give me another, then. Let's get this over with."
Rjool rumbles with laughter. Creep. "Here's a promising little trinket," he says. Something sails toward us along the sea of tentacles, bobbing like a round, hot-pink boat.
"Trix, that's the teapot you got for the Ringmaster. But you worked so hard bargaining for it! Why did you throw it out?"
"Yes, Trix, why?" echoes Rjool.
"It's broken. Look—the handle has a big chip in it."
"Mmm-hmmm, yes." Rjool nods, and I think I'm off the hook until he adds, "But that chip came from rough contact with the recycling system filters. In other words, after you threw it away. If you want my help, stop lying and answer my question."
"Why do you care? What's it matter to you?"
"I simply find it intriguing that someone would go to the effort of acquiring an object so calculated to please a particular someone, and then immediately throw it away. It bespeaks a troubled relationship, veering from intense friendship to petulant rage."
"I am not petulant," I snap. "He lied to me! He made me believe—"
"Yes?"
"That's your answer," I say. "That's what you get. You want more, make it question number three."
"Very well. I think you've made it clear. That leaves one question." Rjool's eyes quiver, all five of them goggling at me like I'm a freaking science experiment. "It so happens that an odd recycling deposit came down from the infirmary earlier today. The dusting of skin cells I took matches the genetic signature of Sirra Centaurus." He holds something in one loop of tentacle, but it's so small I can't make out what it is.
"So you've got what we want. Give me the question already."
"You're very eager to prove she's the spy. Why is that?"
"That's a no-brainer. Of course I want to find out who's feeding information to the Mandate. You remember them, right? The enemy who wants to destroy us all?"
"But you seem particularly eager to prove that Sirra is the spy. You're even willing to go through her garbage to do it." He brandishes the thing in his tentacle. "This could be something perfectly harmless. It could even be quite personal. And yet you're prepared to sweep that all aside to indulge your own curiosity. Maybe what I should be asking is whether the words not your business exist in your language."
"It's not the same thing!"
"Isn't it? Please, explain..."
"It's—Well, at least I'm trying to keep this ship safe. You're doing it for kicks."
"But you would be happy if you could prove Sirra was the spy, wouldn't you?"
I bat aside a tentacle as it tries to slide up along my arm. "Okay, yes! Maybe because then I don't need to feel so guilty for landing her in the infirmary. There, you've got it, proof I'm a rotten person. Happy now?"
"Yes, this is quite stimulating. Much more entertaining than the usual games. But I still need the truth."
"She's just so—" I clamp down on the words, holding them in. Oh, Rjool is clever all right.
"Perfect?" he finishes. "You can't stand to see someone shining so brightly, when you're worried your own light is only a reflection."
I open my mouth to protest, already shaking my head. "Yes." The word slips out before I can catch it and stuff it back deep inside.
"Hmmmmmm..." is all Rjool says.
I draw a long breath, trembling with adrenaline. Remember the mission, I chant to myself, curling and uncurling my fists.
"Okay," says Nola abruptly, "that's three. We're done. Hand over the clue, Rjool."
A single tentacle slips forward to drop a small nub of metal and plastic into her outstretched hand. "A pleasure, Trix, Nola. Do come again."
I force myself not to run from the room under those five goggly eyes. Out in the corridor I let myself sink against the wall. I'm shaking even worse now. Nola's looking at me like I'm some broken gadget she doesn't know how to fix.
"I'm okay," I say. "Is he always that twisted?"
"I guess it's the only entertainment he's got, stuck down here. But Trix, are you really okay? Do you need to ... talk about anything?"
"No!" I wince. "Sorry, didn't mean to shout. But the last thing I want right now is more talking. Let's see if it was worth it. Is that a datastore?"
"Looks like one." Nola searches the wall with a slight frown. "Need to find a port, and we can see what's on it. There's one, down that way."
We head back along the corridor. Nola taps the wall, revealing a screen, keypad, and various other mysterious buttons and lights. "Ready?" She looks to me, holding the datastore up, ready to plug it into one of the sockets.
I nod. "Let's see what Sirra's been hiding."
"Huh. It looks like a bunch of medical files."
Images begin flipping across the screen. They look like EKGs and MRIs and all those other funky medical acronyms. Then I spot an X-ray of a hand, with a shadowy overlay of spikes along the back, and recognize it, even before we get to the videos of his face. Etander, smooth-skinned and gorgeous, changing to Etander, tormented and bristling with spines.
"What is this?"
Nola shakes her head. "There's a pre-recorded videostream. Here, I'll play it."
The gray static clears to an image of a man's face, hidden by a featureless mask. When he speaks, his voice is deep and oddly off-kilter. "We're disappointed, Miss Centaurus. We thought you understood our position and were prepared to deal seriously with us. But you have not delivered the promised payment in full. You know what is at stake. Do you want the entire Core to learn the truth about your brother? If you value your mother's position and the reputation of your family, you will transmit the remaining funds at once. You have one week, or we release the files."
The screen goes dark.
"Whoa," is all I can say. I slide the datastore out of the wall.
"So," Nola says, "I guess she's not the Mandate spy?"
"No," says a sharp voice behind us. "She's not a spy. She's being blackmailed."
"Sirra!" Nola nearly shrieks.
Sirra floats in the middle of the hall, her one leg still covered in marshmallow padding, though she's ditched the dressing gown for pants and shirt. Her face is almost as masklike as the man in the video.
"So that's what it was all about?" I ask. "The sneaking around and making secret off-ship communications in the middle of the night?"
Sirra stares at me. "I'd like my datastore back." She holds out her hand.
"And the midnight jump? Was that you, too?"
She gives a short nod. "There aren't a lot of places you can withdraw the amount of hard credit I needed without someone noticing. Hasoo-Pashtung is one of them."
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it. "But if you're not the Mandate spy, why did you care about getting me alone?"
Sirra snorts. "I wasn't trying to get you alone. As if you'd be any help. It was Nola I needed. I thought a Tech might be able to do something, and she's the best, so I was going to ask..."
"I could!" Nola pipes up. "I could track them down on the net, maybe even make a hunter app to go after the data itself. I'll start working on—"
"No!" Sirra shouts, her mask crumpling, making her look suddenly younger. She also looks angry, which doesn't surprise me, and terrified, which does. "I've had enough help from the two of you. I'm better off on my own. I'll pay what they want, and then this will all be over. And you are never, ever going to speak about it again. Especially not to Etander. Got it?"
"Got it," I say. "Here."
Sirra stares for a long moment at the nub of black and gray in my outstretched palm. She raises a hand, but she doesn't take it. She makes a fist, and as her fingers clench, the datastore crumples, collapsing in on itself.
When it's the size of a gumball, Sirra drops her hand, turns around, and walks away.
CHAPTER 18
Captured
ISIT ON MY BED, staring at the metal gumball. A flock of images circles my thoughts. Sirra in the hallway, Rjool gloating over my secrets, Nyl with the Tinkers' Treasure in his hands. M
y own face in the mirror, pink-haired and hopeful, full of grand dreams of being a star. The Ringmaster telling me the truth.
If I sit very, very still, and try really hard, I can drive them away. The sound of Nola typing at her keypad grows dull, the world turns gray, but I'm still in control. I can't afford to break apart. I have a mission.
"Okay, that ought to do it," says Nola, catching another datastore as it ejects from the wall. "All we need to do is get this to an unprotected netlink and upload it. It'll search out any data matching the parameters I gave it and destroy them. Of course, the blackmailers might have an off-grid backup. But hopefully the hunter app can find them first and cause them enough trouble that they'll think twice about messing with Sirra."
"Sirra was right. You are the best," I say, still rolling the marble in my palm. "Feel any less guilty?"
Nola sighs. "Nope. You?"
I shake my head. "I've racked up enough bad karma at this point I'm coming back as a slug, even if we take care of Sirra's blackmailer. So where do we find an unprotected netlink?"
"That's the trouble. There aren't any, not in public. Only in Core Governance Communication offices, under high security."
"I guess that's my part, then. Is there one here?"
"On Hasoo-Pashtung? Yes, I think so. But we need a plan, Trix; you can't just walk in. And you saw the announcements this morning. We're leaving this sector after tonight's show."
I thunk my head back against the wall and groan. "Just once, I'd like something to work out. We've got no lead on Nyl and the rock, and no way to fix this mess with Sirra." And you still don't belong here, hisses a nasty voice in the back of my brain. Maybe you ought to give up and go home.
"There's one thing I don't understand," says Nola. "I can see Nyl managing to sneak into the Big Top during the show. It's not hard to lose one Mandate agent in a crowd of five thousand. But how did he know it was you, with the image projector on? If Sirra wasn't the spy, could it be someone else? Or something else?"
"You mean like a bug? Electronic surveillance?"
Nola bounces up and starts rooting around in her tool drawer. A few minutes later, the room is filled with the stench of hot metal and she's holding up a black wand trailing a spray of wires. She fiddles with a dial along one side of the thing. "There, this ought to detect any odd transmissions. We'll take it to the stage area and see if we find any—oh."
"What? Isn't it working?"
Nola looks up with big eyes. "Yes. And it's registering a signal. Here."
She starts waving the thing around the room, running it over the walls, the beds, even her Love Among the Stars poster. I hastily join her, peering over her shoulder at the bug sniffer. There's a small lighted display with a bar of light that wavers up and down as Nola directs the device around the room.
"Check our clothes. Maybe they planted something on us in the bazaar?" I pull out my jacket, still emblazoned with the silvery trophies from my high scores at the arcade. "Check the ribbons!"
She holds the wand to my jacket, but the display doesn't change. "It's not the ribbons." Nola shakes her head, setting purple sparks glittering.
I stare at her. "Here, let me try something."
Taking the bug sniffer, I raise it up to Nola's head. The red bar gets bigger and bigger, and the thing starts beeping like an insane microwave. I'm pointing it straight at the purple fiber-optic swatch she's been wearing ever since Jom said he liked it. The one I gave her. The one that guy at the bazaar gave me.
Nola tears it out of her hair and checks the readout. Then she stares at me. In a rush of motion she flings herself over to her drawer, pulls out an opaque black jar, thrusts the purple hair swatch into it, then slams the lid on it. "Give me an hour," she says. "I'm thinking our luck has changed."
A half-hour later, Nola is muttering under her breath and looking bloody murder at the fiber-optic bug. But she won't rest, and she won't give up. "If they're watching, they know we're onto them," she says. "We don't have long to track them down."
Another half-hour and Nola's got a dusting of metallic powder across her nose and singe marks up one arm, but she's grinning like a mad scientist. "That'll do the trick!"
I check out her newest creation, which looks a lot like a divining rod, except for the rippling lines of electricity that fill the V between the two metal arms. "What is it?"
"It should allow us to locate the receiver for that bug. There must be a relay somewhere nearby, probably out in the bazaar."
"Brilliant! Let's go!" I move for the door.
"Wait, Trix. Shouldn't we tell someone?"
I hesitate. The thought of facing the Ringmaster right now twists my stomach. Besides, it's not like we're after trouble. Just information. "No. We'll look like idiots if we bring a whole war party and there's nothing to find. Don't worry; it's a reconnaissance mission. No heroics, I promise. If we find them, we'll come back for help."
We head out into the bazaar, which is as crowded as ever. I plow into the throngs, giving Nola some space to do her thing. I try to hold my tongue, but after we pass by Supulu's for the third time, I have to ask, "Is it working?"
"Can't get a decent fix," Nola says, grimacing at the divining rod. "Time to try something else." She pulls a fist-size disk out of her pocket, twists a dial on the front, and hands it to me. "Take that. You'll have to get a good distance away from me, though."
"Why? What's it do?"
"It'll help triangulate the receiver location. I left one at the Big Top, too."
"Got it. I'll head for the spice market. Stay in touch." I flick on my know-it-all.
"Be careful, Trix," she says. "Remember why we're here. Reconnaissance. Don't go picking fights."
"Who, me?" I wink as I head off down a side street, following the scent of alien spices.
I convince my know-it-all to show me our locations, overlaid on a map of the bazaar. The triangle between the Big Top, Nola, and me covers about a quarter of the region. "Needle in a haystack," says Britannica, "isn't that the saying on your planet? You really ought to go back and speak to the Ringmaster, dear."
I ignore her. "Hey, Nola, you see anything?"
Nola's voice crackles in my ear. It sounds like she's standing next to a racecar revving its engine. "Sorry for the —rrrpphsst —outdoor concert. It's crazy! But I think I've got—vvrrrroooshhht—getting a reading nearby!"
"Good work! I'm on my way. Hang back, though, Nola. Reconnaissance, remember?"
"Wrrrrr—here somewhere—squeeee!—very close!"
The sudden silence is almost a physical blow. "Nola? Nola?"
On the viewscreen, the light marking Nola's position suddenly winks out.
"Nola?" There are screams hidden in my voice, but I won't let them out. This isn't happening. "Britannica, where is she?"
"Dear me. Miss Ogala's know-it-all has gone offline."
I'm already sprinting, taking the fastest route I can find to the spot where she disappeared. Please be there, Nola. Please let it be the concert interfering with the signal. Please.
The square is jammed with people, rocking out to the racecar band. I search for Nola. Nothing. I keep moving, fighting my way to the light fountain at the center of the plaza. A lanky ebony-carved figure rises from the pool of luminescence, showers of color falling from its hands to dapple everyone and everything in rainbow light. I'm about to hoist myself up onto the statue's shoulders when I catch sight of something shiny on the flagstones. I jump down from the ledge of the pool to snatch it up.
It's the divining rod.
A roll of thunder drowns the caterwauls of the band. All around me people point, gesturing at the sky. I turn, following the fingers, to see a familiar sleek black ship rocketing into the heavens. Nyl's ship.
Nyl's got her. The Mandate has Nola.
***
"What's there to talk about?" I sputter. "We have to rescue her!"
"I simply said we would do well to consider the best course of action," says Miss Three coolly.
"I guess I shouldn't expect somebody with no heart, and no body for that matter, to get riled up. But I don't get why you're just standing there," I say, turning on the Ringmaster.
"I assure you I am doing considerably more than that." He speaks through gritted teeth. I recognize, belatedly, the look of intense concentration on his face as he stands with hands splayed across the console. We're on the bridge, which is where Britannica led me when I came rampaging back onto the ship less than ten minutes ago.
"Shouldn't we follow them?" I say, jittering my toes against the floor. "We need to do something."
"It seems to me you've done quite enough, Miss Ling," says Miss Three.
"Don't you think I know that?" My voice echoes from the walls, so hot it should be raising sparks. "I figured if they went for anyone, it'd be me. They should have come after me. I'm the expendable one."
Miss Three's thin lips twitch. "At least we agree on something."
"Enough." The Ringmaster's words crack like a whip. "We're about to jump. I suggest you prepare yourselves." The lights blink to orange as the compaction bell begins to toll a warning.
I hastily slide into one of the flip-out chairs, remembering with a twist in my gut that it was Nola who first showed them to me. "So we are going after them?"
"No. They're too far ahead, and the Big Top isn't prepared for an out-and-out fight in any case. We need more information. So we're going to visit informative friends."
"You mean to seek the Outcasts?" asks Miss Three. "Ringmaster, I must protest. They are too far outside our sphere. Their ways are too different. You cannot hope—"
"Yes, Miss Three, I can." The lights blink to purple. I stiffen, gripping my armrests as the sickening sensation of reality turning inside out takes over, and everything fades to black.
CHAPTER 19
The Outcasts
WE WAIT FOR THEM ONSTAGE. Even partially compacted, it's still the biggest space on the Big Top. The entire troupe is here to meet our mystery guests. We've been docked to their vessel for what feels like hours. I pace between the bleachers, keeping my distance from the others.
