Circus Galacticus (16 page)

"Never mind." I sigh. "At least I get a cool costume for the Firedance."

Maybe I'm a little prejudiced, but the Firedance is going to be freaking
amazing.
We've been spending every day practicing for it, and I've put in a buttload of extra early-morning sessions. It's tougher than anything I've done before. The fact that I made up the choreography isn't much of a consolation, especially since I
still
haven't nailed the most important bit, that last throw-leap-catch, where I trick the King into kindling the seeds of the Tree of Life.

"How many people are going to be watching?" I ask, trying to ignore the knots that have taken up permanent residence in my stomach.

"Oh, it's only a mid-size show. Five thousand."

"For real? I'm going to be up there in front of five
thousand
people? Parading around with purple pears on my—"

"They're patching it into the local entertainment net, too," says Asha, from the cosmetics station, where she's testing out new makeup designs with her sister. "So there could be up to a hundred thousand watching the feed. Isn't that great?"

I open my mouth. No words come out. I can't breathe. Did my bodysuit suddenly get tighter?

"It's okay, Trix," Theon says. "You'll do fine. You've really been working hard."

"Not hard enough. The end of the Firedance—"

"Will be perfect. You've still got practice tomorrow morning."

I groan. "I need more. Maybe I could skip this bazaar thing and run through it a few more times this afternoon."

A chorus of protests slaps me down.

"You can't miss the Hasoo-Pashtung Bazaar," insists Asha, waving her airbrush.

Leri, one half of her face bright green, leans away from the mirror to tell me, "It's
amazing!
There's stuff there you can't get anywhere else in the universe! I found a set of antique Haitren dynasty beads last time."

"And a life-size hologram of Kel Starstrike," Asha adds. "
With
personalized audio." She pitches her voice low and dramatic. "
The universe is an empty void without you, my darling Leri. But you, my love, are the brightest star in
—mmmph!" She ducks as Leri directs one of the airbrushes at her, but not quickly enough to avoid a streak of orange across her cheek. Asha yowls and raises her own airbrush in retaliation.

"Hasoo-Pashtung really is something," says Theon, watching the antics of the sisters with a frown. "Hey, don't waste all the paint!" She returns her attention to me. "No one misses it. Everyone goes to the bazaar."

"What about the Ringmaster?"

Theon rolls her eyes. "Oh, no, he never leaves the Big Top. You'd think he was chained to it. But Miss Three has a mobile projection, to keep an eye on us."

"You mean to stop us from having any fun," says Asha. "First Tinker forbid we have a good time." The battle seems to have ended in a draw; both sisters are streaked in a clashing array of paints.

"To make sure we don't jeopardize the Circus," says Theon. "If the Core Governance starts sniffing around, they might find out what we really are. And if that happens, none of us is going to be having much fun ever again."

***

Nola and I meet up with Theon, Asha, and Leri inside the Big Top's main entrance for our escapade. The ship is parked in an assigned lot on the edge of the bazaar, the better to draw in crowds. With the doorways thrown open, a thousand scents and sounds flow into the Big Top. It's downright intoxicating, and I'm already glad I decided to take the break. This is my first chance to be on an actual alien world! We're weaving our way through the velvet ropes and pylons toward the door when someone speaks.

"Have a lovely time, ladies. Make the most of your freedom."

The Ringmaster leans against the ticket booth inside the doorway. With his features cast into shadow by the brim of his top hat, he seems oddly morose, even somber. Then he tilts his head, flashing white teeth. "And go ahead, get into a little trouble if you like. I won't tell Miss Three."

The other girls laugh and continue on. I pause a moment.

"Don't you want to see the bazaar?"

He drums thin fingers against his baton, silent. I get the impression he's trying out several answers in his head. "Oh, you know how it is," he says finally. "There's always something that needs looking after around here. And I've seen bazaars before. I'll survive. Thank you," he adds, then waves to the door. "Better hurry on. Marvels to see, delights to sample. Be sure to try a sundae from Supulu's Stellar Scoops. Your mouth will be thanking you for the next year at least."

"Aliens have ice cream?"

"Everyone has ice cream. One of the very few things the Mandate got right."

"Okay, thanks for the tip." I start for the doors again, then stop. "Well, if you can't go, do you want anything? I mean, from the bazaar. Curried sardines?"

The Ringmaster chuckles. "Since you ask, I could use a good teapot. Never have found one that works quite properly. Always too big or too small, or worse yet, they dribble when you try to pour and you end up with stains all down your trousers." He gives a wan smile. How can the same person look so kindly one moment, and the next be "prepared to take extreme measures"?

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"You're just ... confusing," I admit, startled into honesty.

"Well, I confuse myself sometimes, so that's no surprise. But Beatrix, is there something you want to ask?" He leans forward.

"I—" Questions hover on my lips. Then I catch sight of a shadow behind him. Miss Three. "Um ... what's your favorite color? For the teapot."

"Today I'd have to say my favorite color is pink." He winks. "Go on. Have fun."

I go, hurling myself into the chaos and wonder of the Hasoo-Pashtung Bazaar.

***

Two hours later, Nola and I duck under the lavender and green striped awning at Supulu's Stellar Scoops, bone-tired but over the moon with the wonder of it all. When I close my eyes, I can still see the dazzle of the light fountains. Scents of wood smoke and spun sugar and ozone cling to my skin. I've got a new pair of iridescent black boots, a freebie fiber-optic hair ornament some huckster shoved into my hands, telling me I was a "pretty pink lady," and a fuchsia teapot I haggled over for fifteen minutes. Silver ribbons stream down from my jacket, announcing my high scores at the gigantic Hasoo-Pashtung Arcade.

"It's just as well we're not old enough for the club," I say as I slide into a booth. I stretch my legs out. "My feet need a break, and my stomach needs ice cream."

"I guess," Nola says. She stands looking out across the street at Retrograde Station, bouncing slightly on her heels to the beat that we can feel even over here. "It's not fair. My birthday's next month! And I love dancing!" She spins around, gyrating to the distant music.

"Whoa. You've got moves." She does. I'm not just being nice. "Can't you, y'know, do your mojo to the ID station so it thinks you're older? Or someone else?"

"Oh, no! I mean, yes, I could try. But I wouldn't dare, not here. There's a Governance Guard on every corner, practically. And if I got caught..." Nola shivers.

"Next year, then. We'll get totally glammed." I dig in my bag for the hair extension and toss it across the table. "Then they'll see what they've been missing."

Nola clips on the glittering swatch of purple and models it with a snooty fashion-mag hauteur. Then we both dissolve into giggles.

"What should we get?" she asks, after we've re-covered.

I study the tabletop, where a list of flavors scrolls by in a swirl of alien script my portable translator can barely keep up with. Every so often there's an advertisement showing a chubby redheaded toddler trying to stuff a giant ice cream cone into his mouth. "I can't tell what half this stuff is. How about we split one of these Asteroid Belt Blaster thingies? It's got a scoop of every flavor."

While Nola places our order, I check out the people hustling by on the street. It's freaky how human they look. The Mandate really did a number on the universe. Everywhere I look I see two eyes, ten fingers, two legs. But they've got differences, too, just like on Earth. They have skin, eyes, and hair of every color. Some folks have buck teeth or beaky noses, freckles or dimples. Others are rigged out in outlandish costumes, feathered headdresses, and colorful tattoos.

A tall boy with a lumpy but genial face waves at me. I do a double take when I realize it's Gravalon Pree, his rocky features hidden by a holographic projection. Miss Three tried to get me to cloak my pink hair, but I refused. They've got hair dye in space, after all. It's funny, but I'm kind of attached to my bubblegum mop now. It's still my only proof that I'm anything out of the ordinary.

A whir of hydraulics pulls my attention back to the table as the robotic dessert cart trundles up with our order. Wielding a lobster-claw serving arm, the waitbot sets down a ginormous dish. A mountain of ice cream only slightly less impressive than Mount Everest rises up, its mottled colorful heights swathed in drifts of whipped cream and sprinkled with candied nuts.

I have to shift sideways to peer at Nola around the delicious monstrosity. "How many different flavors
are
there?"

Nola blinks wide eyes. "Forty-seven."

"I'm going to need a bigger stomach."

"I'm not even sure where to start," says Nola, her spoon hovering over the mountain.

"Tachyon Toffee Swirl, definitely. It's amazing." Jom slides into the booth beside Nola. He's wearing a wide, sombrero-like hat that I assume is intended to hide his bright red hair. His wraparound sunglasses, on the other hand, make him kind of dorky. "Hey, Nola," he says, smiling. "Looking good. Purple's my favorite color."

Nola flushes, raising one hand to the fiber-optic swatch.

Jom continues on, pointing out different scoops in the tower. "The Beta Berry Burst has a good flavor, but the texture's icy. Fudge Freefall is risky; if the under-chef did the fudge, it's brilliant, but if not, it's nasty. White Dwarf is the creamiest, but too bland. If it were me, I'd add a bit of tangelo zest. Radioactive Ripple and Dark Matter are pretty reliable. Definitely steer clear of the Cosmic Nut Crunch, though."

"Whoa. So I guess you eat here a lot," I say.

"Of course he does," says Nola, "his grandmother—"

"Shh!" Jom cuts her off. "I'm incognito."

"Incognito?" I snicker. "In
that
get up?"

Jom pulls off the sunglasses. "Don't laugh. If the local management finds out who I am, they'll freak. It happens all the time."

"Find out what? That you're Ti—" I lower my voice. "I mean, that you're in the circus?"

"Worse," says Jom. He taps the tabletop as the advertisement with the ice-cream-slathered toddler scrolls by yet again. I look from the kid's scarlet curls to the bright red hair poking out from under Jom's hat.

"That's
you?
"

Jom sighs. "Good old Grandma Supulu. Why spend money on an actor when you can embarrass your own grandson in front of the entire universe?"

"You mean your grandmother
owns
this place?"

"This and 257,584 others. Normally I stay as far away as I can."

"So why are you here now?" Nola asks.

"Well ... um..." A panicky look enters Jom's eye.

I nudge Nola's foot under the table. "Obviously he's here to save you from the evils of Cosmic Nut Crunch. The least you can do is thank him. Or maybe invite him to stay and help us eat this monster." Now if only Nola takes the hint. How such a smart girl can be so clueless is beyond me. Clearly Jom has one and only one reason for entering the confectionery danger zone. And if purple was really his favorite color before he sat down, then I'm the Wazeer of Deneb.

"Oh!" Nola flushes and sits up straight, shooting a sideways glance at Jom. "Trix is right. You have to help us with this thing. Which one did you say was the Beta Berry Burst?"

Under Jom's expert guidance we navigate the perils and delights of the Asteroid Belt Blaster. We sample scoops of every color and flavor imaginable (including a few that maybe should have stayed imaginary). But there's still at least half the mountain left when my stomach finally tells me enough is enough and that one more bite is going to bust my gut.

"I guess that's why they call it the Belt Blaster," I say, leaning back and groaning. "I can't believe I have to do backflips tomorrow." Then I catch sight of something that drives all my worries about tomorrow's performance away. "Is that Sirra?" I squint at the figure lurking in the alley across the street.

"Now
that's
how you go incognito," says Nola, giving Jom a meaningful look.

Incognito is right. I almost didn't recognize her in those drab brown coveralls with her hair stuffed under a gray cap. "What's she doing?"

"Maybe she wanted to find out how real people live," says Nola.

"Maybe she's got a secret boyfriend," says Jom. "Has to meet him on the sly."

"Looking like a street urchin?" I shake my head. "Huh. What's she got in her hand? Wait—she's headed into the alley now." I spring to my feet.

"You really care that much about Sirra's love life?" asks Jom.

"I'm coming, too," says Nola, sliding past Jom and out of the booth.

"Wait up, Nola!" calls Jom. "I can help—whoops! Sorry, ma'am, I didn't see you there. Stupid glasses. What? Um, yes, that's me, Jom Supulu. No, no, I'm only passing through. This isn't an official visit.
No,
I don't need any samples!"

I look back to see Jom fending off the advances of a woman who must be the store manager. Jom gives us a helpless wave as an army of lavender and green striped soda jerks whisk him off into the interior of the shop.

"Poor Jom!" says Nola with a giggle.

We head for the alley, skirting around the long line still queued up for entry to Retrograde Station. As we make our way along the passage, the dance beat thrums through the wall. From behind a large recycling bin, we watch as Sirra paces back and forth, down at the far end of the alley, beside what must be a back entrance to the club.

"What do you think she's waiting for?" asks Nola in a low voice.