Circus Galacticus

by Deva Fagan

  "She's fine. Pretty loopy, though. I think they drugged her. She's not going to make it out on her own."

  Jom doesn't hesitate. He scoops Nola up and keeps running. Sirra and I follow. We hurtle around the corner and skid to a stop. Three gray-uniformed soldiers block the hall, brandishing familiar stubby black weapons. Sirra sweeps her arms up, and suddenly all three are floating into the air. We duck under their flailing legs and race onward and into our hatch.

  Gravimetric chamber, Habitrail, it all whips past now as we flee, driven by the shrieks of the alarms. I roll out the last panel into the landing bay and spring upright, fists clenched, ready to fight. But all I see is the striped Supulu shuttle. Jom goes right for the ship, still carrying Nola. A moment later the thrum of the engine starts up. Britannica helps me spin the landing deck, positioning the shuttle for takeoff. I can't believe it. We're going to do this crazy thing. We're going to make it out of here!

  But one look toward the hangar bay doors, and everything falls apart. The slice of stars is narrowing. They're trying to trap us here. "Jom!" I call over my comlink.

  "I see it! I can't stop it. Signal isn't getting through!"

  "I believe you'll find a manual override on the far wall," offers my know-it-all. "Yellow panel, red switch."

  "Don't worry, Jom; I'll handle it. Start the pre-burn."

  "Are you sure you'll have time—"

  "You worry about Nola. Got it? Nola." Then I have Britannica kill the link so I don't have to lie.

  I dash across the room and slam the red switch. The slice of stars begins to widen again. Sirra's raising the ramp. I'm about to make my last wild sprint for the shuttle when a flicker of movement catches the corner of my eye.

  A dozen gray-uniformed guards boil out from the corridor into the landing bay. At their center stalks a single figure in a long charcoal coat with a glinting face.

  "Sirra, go!" I shout. Sirra opens her lips; she's saying something, but I can't hear it over the pre-flight burn. I turn away. No time. Nyl is pointing at the shuttle, his hand wreathed in blue fire.

  My body moves before my mind, sharp and sure as an arrow. I launch myself at Nyl, catching his hand as it explodes with blue fire, driving it down, away from the shuttle. Pain rips through me, tangling my nerves into knots of agony that leave me huddled and breathless at Nyl's feet.

  When I look up, though, all I see is that ridiculous striped shuttle, shooting out into the stars. Go, Jom, screams my mind. Get her out!

  Then a silver monster fills my vision, and his terrible words fill my ears, and I retreat into the blackness, where he can't find me.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Mandate

  BLANK WHITE WALLS and a piercing headache greet me when I wake. I batter my fists against the cell, searching for any weakness and finding only my own. I black out again.

  I wake up sprawled on the floor. Time slides past, featureless as the walls of my prison. Food appears on a tray through a narrow slot in the wall. Britannica remains silent, muffled or dead.

  For a while I live on flavorless pudding, dry biscuits, and the memory of happier times. I summon up starry desert nights and bedtime stories. I try to tease hidden meaning from the past. What were my parents planning? Why did they leave me the Tinkers' Treasure? What did they expect me to do with it?

  I begin to realize that the worst part isn't the things I miss: friends, freedom, decent food. It's what I've got locked in here with me: my mistakes, the things I've said, the people I've hurt or disappointed.

  "I tried," I whisper into my hands. I know Nyl's watching me. Tiny red eyes wink at me from the corners of the room. It's those eyes that keep me going. I may be dying inside, but Nyl is not getting a piece of that.

  At last he comes, like I knew he would. The door whispers shut. He's alone.

  "That was quite the martyr act," he says. "And all for one little girl? Or perhaps there is a part of you that knows your place is here, with us."

  "Like hell it is." I stand to face him. "My mother didn't think so, and neither do I."

  "So he finally told you? If you know the truth, that only makes the situation clearer. You have no other options. Suppose I opened this door and set you free, right now? Where would you go? Back to the Circus? Back to him?"

  I curse my own silence as he chuckles. "Perhaps you'd like to return to that pit of a world where I found you, to that shabby little room and that shabby little life?"

  He crosses his arms, tilting his masked face consideringly. "There is still a place for you with us, Beatrix. You have family here, you know."

  A noise crawls from my throat before I can stop it, a sort of whimper.

  "True family," he says. "They are waiting for you to return and take your mother's place. Don't you want that?"

  Damn me, but I do. "No," I say, to myself as much as to Nyl. "She left for a reason."

  "She left because she wasn't strong enough. She wasn't a fighter, like you. But time is running out, Beatrix. Not all my associates are as patient as I. If you don't join us now, I won't be able to protect you much longer."

  I raise my chin. "My blood may be Mandate, but I am not one of you."

  He cocks his head. "Ah. Despite everything, you still think you're one of them, do you? Well, then. Here. Let's test that hypothesis." He tosses something at me.

  My hands rise instinctively, catching it. I blink at the familiar black lump cradled in my palms.

  "That's what started this all," he says. "The so-called Tinkers' Treasure. Your sacred charge." He laughs. "It's nothing but a joke, Beatrix. You are no Tinker. It isn't meant for you. Go on, try. You can't even open it. If you truly belonged with him, don't you think you would have unlocked its secrets long ago?"

  My fingers tighten. "You're wrong. My parents gave it to me for a reason. Just because I don't know what it is doesn't mean there isn't one." I grip the rock in both hands now, ignoring the slippery echoes of doubt twisting in my thoughts. What's wrong with me? I cracked it once just by bashing it in his face and dropping it on the freaking ground.

  "This is the folly of such dreams," says Nyl. "In his world, there are always going to be those who shine more brightly than the rest. We can take that all away. Think of it, Beatrix. A world without jealousy or war. All peoples working together to create a bright future for all. You can help us make that happen. Aren't you tired of wishing to be better? Of jealousy clamping you in its sharp fangs and filling you with its poison?"

  "Yes." The word slips out before I can stop it. I stare down into the glossy blackness of the rock. Then I look up again, into his mirrored glasses. I can't see his eyes, but I know I'm staring straight into them, holding him with the power of my resolve. "But I'll take painful dreams over empty comfort any day."

  Nyl shakes his head. "A pity." He clenches his hand. A few flickers of blue flame flare angrily.

  And with that, something in my brain clicks into place. I remember that first night in my dorm, the blue flames flickering in Nyl's hand as he wrestled me for the stone. It wasn't me bashing the stone into his face that cracked it. It was those flames. Just like the King's fire wakes up the seeds of life in the Firedance. I know what I need to do.

  I slam my fist into his face. Something cracks. Nyl stumbles back, his mirrored glasses broken. Brushing them aside, he gives a roar of anger that raises goose flesh on my skin. His hand thrusts out, sending a bolt of blue flame right at me.

  I launch into my routine, diving, flipping, tumbling, as bursts of fire erupt on all sides. I hiss as pain licks my heel. These aren't FX now, and I have to nail it, not for applause, but for my life, and for the future. Nyl shouts in fury as I dance around him.

  Time for the last set. Backflip, round-off, spring onto the cot, and dive through the air.

  After all my doubts, all the second-guessing, I am exactly where I need to be, in this one perfect moment. Nyl roars, releasing a tide of fiery blue death. I toss the rock free, so that it sails ahead of me, into the heart of the blue flames,
even as I duck and tumble to escape them.

  Almost. I scream as the agony rips up my left arm and into my chest, doubling me over. My legs buckle, sending me sprawling. I grit my teeth, wrenching my other arm out to catch a falling star. The Tinkers' Treasure smacks into my palm.

  I lie panting, my left arm limp and lifeless, my right hand buzzing with warmth, spreading a slow honey through my fingers, into my bones.

  Nyl looms over me. With his broken glasses gone, I see his eyes for the first time. They hold me, dark and merciless, and somehow it's all the more terrible because he isn't a monster under that mask. Just a man.

  Threads of smoke trail from his breathing mask. Blue flames dance along his skull, skittering down his shoulders and into his outstretched hand. "Clever girl. And you got so close to victory. All the power of the Tinkers' Touch, in your hand for the taking. It's what you wanted all along, isn't it? To be a brighter star than any of them. A shame no one will ever see it."

  I try to move. My body isn't mine anymore. I manage a tremble, a shiver, a whispered name.

  Nyl pauses, holding my death in his hand. Outrage flares in his dark eyes. "Stupid girl! That boy is a broken soldier, pretending he has tricks up his sleeve when it's only smoke and mirrors. He could never have saved you, even if he wished it."

  With a thunderous crash, the ceiling caves in. I blink, hope stirring, pulse racing, as a glittering figure falls from the heavens.

  "Would you care to bet on that?" The Ringmaster sweeps his baton in a level arc, filling the room with a crackling web of light. I catch one glimpse of his eyes, fixed on my own, before everything bleaches away.

  A hand finds mine, pulling me up. My legs are trembling, but he moves closer, supporting me. When I can see again, I'm on the far side of the cell. Nyl stands at the door.

  "You! How—?" Nyl shakes his head. "Impossible! You would never leave that ship..."

  "I didn't." The Ringmaster jabs his baton up, pointing up at the stars—no—the lights! The glorious, light-spangled vastness of the Big Top rises over us, fully enclosing the cell. They landed right on top of the station!

  The door behind Nyl slides open, releasing a tide of soldiers. "You can't escape," says Nyl. "Not on that decrepit artifact. Not alone."

  "Spoken like a true agent of the Mandate. You never have any faith in what you can't understand or control," says the Ringmaster. "And I'm not alone."

  An avalanche cascades into the room, bowling into a handful of soldiers and knocking them aside. No way. Gravalon Pree? And he's not the only one. Jom barely hits the floor before he's leaping at the nearest soldier.

  Theon slams down between two others, and suddenly they can't hold on to their weapons. Another soldier yelps as he sinks into the floor and disappears. Ghost rises up a moment later, and I swear she's actually smirking. There are others, a good dozen of the troupe. Principals, Clowns, Techs, Freaks. Nola, wielding a gun bigger than she is, shooting gobs of paralyzing goop.

  "You—you came," I stammer.

  "We came, we saw, and we knew when to make our getaway," says the Ringmaster, winking. "Let's be off," he calls out. "I think these ladies and gentlemen won't require an encore."

  The next minute we're all floating. I catch a brief glimpse of Sirra, arms outstretched, lifting us all from the battlefield. Panels of metal fold out to re-form the floor, cutting off our view of the station below.

  Miss Three flickers into sight as Sirra is setting us back down again. "Ringmaster, a full squadron has launched. We must jump as soon as possible."

  The Ringmaster sprints for the door. "Buckle up, troupes. And give the Big Top some encouraging thoughts. We're going to need them, I'm afraid."

  Everyone scatters. I follow the Ringmaster. So does Nola.

  "We're not fully compacted, Ringmaster," she calls out as we run. "We can't jump."

  He hurtles onto the bridge. "And that's why they invented these lovely things known as evasive maneuvers. I've asked Syzygy to provide some."

  The blond girl stands beside one of the consoles, her thick goggles reflecting a stream of green and red flashes. As Nola and the Ringmaster race around the bridge, I'm left standing, shaky and silent, watching a dozen shapes winging toward us on the viewscreen.

  Weariness drags at me. My whole body feels numb, except for my right hand, gripping the Tinkers' Treasure. I grit my teeth and look around for something, anything I can do. "Are there shields? Weapons? Can't we fight back?"

  "No weapons," says the Ringmaster, his voice grim.

  "No shields, either," adds Nola.

  Syzygy stares at me. "Not yet."

  I look down at my hand. Does she mean I should use the Treasure? Even Nyl said it. All the power of the Tinkers' Touch, in your hand for the taking. It's what you wanted all along, isn't it? To be a brighter star than any of them.

  The first bolts are almost graceful, bursting from the wings of one of the enemy craft, arcing like a golden rainbow across the screen. Then the world spins, metal groans, and the entire Big Top shudders like an old woman caught in a cold, cold wind.

  "Close call," Nola says, then cries a warning as three more missiles spin toward us.

  "Hold on! It's going to—"

  The impact throws me to the ground. The Ringmaster is the only one who keeps his feet. I doubt there's any power in the universe that could pull him from that console. I look at his face and wish I hadn't. He knows the Big Top is dying. And I know, with a certainty that shakes me to the core, that he's dying, too. She's a part of him, or he's a part of her. The details don't matter. He can't leave her. He can't live without her.

  Warmth tugs at my hand. I look at the rock. The glossy blackness is cracked with lines of red and gold. Inside, a light pulses, beating like a trapped hummingbird.

  A faint chiming calls to me. It wants to be used. It wants to grow into something new and glorious. It's there for me to take, if I want it, like Nyl said. The vision catches me with a suddenness that makes me gasp. I see myself, powerful, brilliant. Shining brighter than any star. I am the pinnacle of the Tinkers' art. The Tinkers' Treasure can save me.

  But I'm not the one who needs saving. I close my smarting eyes. I don't know what to do. It's a gorgeous, dazzling dream but somehow ... false. Because it's not only me. It's Nola, working her magic behind the scenes, showing up to help me even when I didn't deserve it. It's Sirra, sharp and hard as diamond, willing to risk everything for her brother. It's Jom and Theon and all of them, the madcap, rampaging, brilliant troupe. And it's the Ringmaster and his Big Top, coming to take me away, giving me a dream to believe in. A dream I still believe in.

  Syzygy's voice breaks my reverie. "One thousand three hundred forty-nine. There is still time."

  1349. The room the rock was leading me to. "I know what to do," I say, quietly at first, to myself more than anyone else. Then louder. "Ringmaster! I need to get to the Restricted Area. I know how to save the Big Top."

  He doesn't ask questions, though I see them in his eyes. He takes my hand, turns, and runs for the door.

  Five times we're thrown by the sudden tilting of the floor. I start to smell smoke. The Big Top shudders and groans. I run faster. By the time we get to the section with the corrugated walls, I'm leading the way. It's like the rock itself is a magnet, pulling me along, unerringly, to its destiny. Outside door 1349 I pause for a breath, then press my palm against the spongy surface. The door folds back in pleats. The room on the other side is nothing I could have imagined.

  It's a little like stepping into a giant brain, complete with the ick factor. Except it's more than that. The curving walls shimmer with golden light. Ghostly images flicker at the corners of my eyes. Sparks glitter, leaping between the stalactite-like growths that decorate the room, if room is even the right word.

  The Ringmaster stands motionless. "Beatrix," he says, "this is the heart—the brain—the soul of the Big Top. I always knew you had a heart of gold, old girl," he adds quietly.

  A shudder shakes the room. The
Ringmaster stumbles, nearly falling. He steadies himself against a stalagmite.

  "Ringmaster?" Nola's voice comes over the com, cracking with fear. "They're all over the place! They keep coming and coming. I don't know what to do!"

  "Nola," I say calmly, "it's going to be okay. Listen. You got that? Breathe." I look down one last time at the Tinkers' Treasure, pulsing in my hand like liquid gold. Then I throw it into the air.

  It hangs for a moment, growing brighter and brighter. With a tinkling like a roomful of breaking china, it explodes, scattering flakes of golden light. I rub my eyes, and when I look again the entire room is glowing, rippling. Changing. The walls tremble. My skin prickles, goose bumps rising. Even my scalp tingles.

  The Ringmaster stands frozen, staring around in bewilderment as if someone just threw him a surprise party and it wasn't even his birthday.

  "Where did that come from?" Nola's voice rises, alarmed. "The Big Top doesn't have shields. Or polarity-reversal canons. What's going o—ooooh! The Big Top has shields! Hah! And polarity-reversal canons! Yeah, you better run away, Mandate scum. And don't come back."

  CHAPTER 22

  Principles

  IT'S STILL THE SAME old Big Top, even with a Tinkers' Treasure makeover. Sure, the doors are less wheezy, the lights shine a bit brighter, and the Techs say it'll take days to catalogue all the new defensive systems. But I still trip over piles of feather boas in the halls, and Nola's still the only one who can program the autosalon.

  When I go to dinner the first night after it all went down, I prepare myself to sit alone. I figure it's better that way. Less attachments, less hurt when I go. I don't count on Nola, Jom, Theon, Gravalon, and a half-dozen others crowding around table five to join me. Jom even gives me the second-largest Chocolate Supernova for dessert, nearly as big as Nola's.

  I won't lie. I love it. And hate it. They don't even say the word Mandate, but it's there, hanging in the air like the stench of a forgotten lunch, left to rot under the table. I let Jom tell the story of Nola's breakout, and when they ask what happened to me afterward, I shrug and mumble something about being questioned.