Circus Galacticus (23 page)

Startled exclamations batter my ears: Theon telling me not to joke, Jom insisting it's not true. Even Sirra looks surprised. Only Miss Three seems happy.

I take one long look around, fixing the stage in my memory, only the good parts. The sweetness of the cheers for my one-and-only performance. The Ringmaster blazing that heart-stopping smile, just for me, the first night I stepped onto this ship. Nola, being a better friend than I can ever deserve.

I have to remember it all. I don't expect to be back.

***

I spend the next twelve hours going through the information on the datastore from Schadenfreude. It's going to be tough; that's for sure. The Vargalo-5 station has security I've never even heard of. Gravimetric field inducers. Multiphase laser grids. Vuolu scent hounds. If I had a month to plan and a crack team of ninjas, I might stand a chance. Instead I've got a few hours, a soap-opera-addicted know-it-all, and me, the pink-haired wonder.

I've got to give Britannica credit, though. I don't know if it's all the
Love Among the Stars
or what, but she's got one devious mind hidden in those microchips. Between the two of us, we cook up a pretty decent plan. There's only one problem with it.

"Aaaaugh!" I throw my viewer onto the bed. "There must be some way onto the station. Maybe I can get close enough to use spacewings. Or find a transport to sneak onto. You guys have pizza delivery, don't you?"

"Let's stay focused on rational options, dear. Now, have you considered disguising yourself as a snappy, up-and-coming junior officer of the Core Governance? Dalana does that in season twelve, episode thirty-two, in order to liberate the scientist wrongly convicted of espionage."

"I'm so glad we're sticking to rational options." I groan and flop onto the bed. Maybe I ought to sleep. But we'll be docking at the Jorlax Nexus in less than an hour. That's my one shot. I've got to have a plan ready for action. Maybe I should ask the Ringmaster for help. Then again, he might just try to stop me. We haven't spoken since the Outcasts left. I wish—

The door chime pulls me back from these thoughts. Finally! I spring up, race to the door, and slap my palm on the pad. My pulse thrums loud in my ears. "Ringmaster, I—Jom? What are you doing here?"

I search the hall, but there's no one else. Jom runs a hand back over his crest of red hair, looking sheepish. "I'm here to help. You're going after Nola, right?"

"Um, yeah, but—"

"Then I'm going with you." He pulls his shoulders back. A whiff of some sharp, minty scent hits my nose. "I'm not letting them change her. I don't care how dangerous it is."

"Are you sure? That was the truth, what I said in the Ring. About who I am."

"You're her friend. You're not abandoning her. That's what really matters. Besides, the way the Ringmaster explained it to us, you're a Tinker, too. The Big Top let you in, and that's good enough for me. And..." He crinkles a smile at me. "I've got the perfect way to get onto Vargalo-5. So what do you say?"

"Ask him if it involves disguises," pipes Britannica. I ignore her and stick out my hand.

"I say welcome to the Nola Liberation Army. So, tell me about your plan..."

BY THE TIME we do dock at the Jorlax Nexus, I'm feeling almost chipper. Jom's plan is ... innovative ... but it's better than nothing. I'd feel better with a few ninjas, but I'll take what we've got.

The Ringmaster never does come calling, at least not in person. Britannica takes a couple of short voice messages, and then one long one. They're all variations on a theme: Please stay here. Stay safe. Diplomatic channels. Time. I delete them before they make me chicken out.

A half-hour after we dock, the Ringmaster is deep into negotiations with his contacts, and it's time for Jom and me to make our move. We head for the airlock that links ship to station.

"Looks clear," I say.

We make it about three steps when a ghostly figure shimmers into focus, barring the way.

"Miss Ling, I've been expecting you," says Miss Three. "The Ringmaster suspected you would not listen."

"Trix," says Jom in a low voice, "we need to get to the distribution center by twenty-one hundred hours or this won't work."

"Get out of our way, Three." I step forward. "Or I swear I'll find your motherboard and stomp it into itty-bitty pieces."

She arches a perfect brow at me, then glides to one side. "You mistake me. I'm not here to stop you. Go. This ship is better off without you.
He
is better of without you." Then she's gone, winked out.

"Let's go!" Jom pulls me out the door.

After the Hasoo-Pashtung Bazaar, the Jorlax Nexus station is a little disappointing. It reminds me of an airport, or one of those old indoor shopping malls, with stands selling JoJoPop and Supulu's Scoops every fifty feet and bubbly, inoffensive music piped in. The people look like regular sorts, out for a stroll, on business, shopping. The view, though—that's pretty freaking amazing. If I survive the next six hours, I am definitely coming back here. The outer walls are clear, floor to ceiling. On the other side is a Hubble image come to life. Not as colorful, maybe, but much,
much
bigger. Swirls of bronze and gold filter the light of a dying star. It's a sight to hold on to.

We hit our first roadblock, literally, when we're about halfway to our destination. A security checkpoint chokes the flow of traffic to a standstill. There's a single archway that I take to be a high-tech metal detector, and the line waiting to pass through it must be a hundred people deep.

"Gotta love the Core Governance in action," says Jom, grimacing. "We've got ten minutes."

"You think we should jump it?"

"I'm sure you'd love another chance to show off," says a voice beside me. "But if you're serious about saving Nola, you're probably better off without the attention."

"Sirra?" Jom asks. "What are you doing here? Taking tea with the Wazeer of Deneb?"

He's right. She looks ready for a state event. The marshmallow cast has been replaced by a close-fitting brace that blends into her dark velvety pants. Her tall boots shine as if daring one speck of dust to land on them. Golden insignias glitter with gems, decorating her fitted scarlet coat. She's even wearing something that, I kid you not, looks like a tiara.

"You two clearly need help," she says. "And I need an unprotected netlink upload site." She holds up Nola's datastore.

"So you want to come with us?" I say. "Risk everything?"

"I've got everything to lose if I don't do something," she says, clenching the datastore in her fist. "So, do you want to stand here all day or what?"

"I'll take the 'what' option," says Jom.

"Follow me, then, and keep your mouths shut." Sirra marches forward, limping slightly. Jom and I look at each other and abandon our spot in line.

Sirra's not even halfway to the checkpoint when the flurry of activity starts. The guards look as if someone set loose a swarm of bees on them, rushing back and forth, waving hands in the air. I spot one guy ducking behind a potted plant to tuck in his shirt and straighten his jacket. The excitement spreads to the people waiting in line, who point and watch open-mouthed.

By the time we reach the checkpoint, there's a line of uniformed guards standing at attention. They even
salute.
I'm starting to see how Sirra turned out the way she did, if this is the kind of treatment she's used to.

"Lady Centaurus," says a guard with a silver star on her cap, saluting again. "This is a great honor. We had no word that one of your family would be visiting the Nexus. Is the President traveling with you?"

"No, my mother isn't here. But I'm sure she would be glad to know the security of Nexus is in such capable hands."

The guard looks so happy at this you'd think Sirra had handed her the winning lottery ticket and a puppy. Sirra continues on, "But I do have some
rather urgent
family business to attend to, if you understand."

"Oh, yes, of course, Lady Centaurus. You, there, clear a path. Quickly, now, let's not keep the lady waiting."

Sirra slips a coy look back at Jom and me, then resumes her regal coolness. Within a minute we're being waved past the checkpoint. Jom and I get some odd looks, mostly focused on our ... unusual ... hair. But one sweet little smile from Sirra and an "Oh, these are my assistants," and we're free and clear.

Sirra keeps up the empress-of-the-universe act until we round the next bend in the main walkway. Then she ducks into an alcove beside a potted palm. She pulls off the dozens of gold emblems and tiara and stuffs them into a pouch, then shakes the elaborate hairstyle down and ties it back in a simple ponytail.

"Please tell me you have a plan to get to Vargalo-5," Sirra says, fiddling with a tiny dial on the sleeve of her coat. As she spins it, the color of the jacket darkens from the brilliant scarlet to a muted burgundy. The empress is gone, replaced by a polished but not particularly eye-catching young woman.

"Can't you snap your fingers and get your minions to help?" I say as we head off down the walkway.

"Even I can't just walk into a high-security military research facility."

"Don't worry," says Jom, careening around a corner and leading us down a side hall. "I've got us our ticket to Vargalo-5 right here." He points ahead to the doorway emblazoned with the image of a gigantic ice cream cone and the words
SUPULU'S SCOOPS DISTRIBUTION CENTER
. Jom presses one hand across the identification panel. The door slides open with a cheery "Welcome, Master Supulu!"

We follow Jom into the chilly maze of shelves packed with tubs labeled Tachyon Toffee Swirl and Cosmic Crunch to a loading bay. A stubby shuttlecraft emblazoned with the Supulu logo and the words DELIVERY SERVICE sits proudly on the flight deck, being prepped by a crew of robotic loaders. As we watch, one of the mechanicals deposits a final pallet stacked with tubs into the delivery shuttle. Everything, from the tubs to the robots to the shuttle, is striped in pale green and lavender.

Jom comes out from the cockpit with a bundle of lavender and green fabric in his hands. "Um ... I hope you guys like stripes."

***

I squirm in my seat, looking out the window at the Vargalo-5 station below. The white domes bubble up from the blasted lunarscape of the small moon.

"Don't worry," says Jom from his spot at the controls. "There's another two transports ahead of us. We'll get our clearance eventually."

I blow out my breath, but it doesn't help with the tight feeling in my chest. The air in here is too thin. And this uniform isn't helping. "How do they expect you to work with this—this
thing
flopping into your face every time you turn around?" I try for the umpteenth time to reposition the peaked lavender and green cap so the pompom on the end isn't tickling my nose.

"Oh, it's not that bad," says Jom, giving the fluffy tip of his own hat a practiced flick to send it back over one shoulder. "My grandfather designed the uniforms, you know. The cap's supposed to look like an ice cream cone. Get it?"

"Enough of this," I mutter. Pulling off my cap, I give the pompom a good yank. It pops free. I toss it into the aisle.

In the seat across from me, Sirra's been waging her own war against the hat. She stops to watch the de-pomming. Catching my eye, she grins. A moment later her own cap is pompom free.

"And listen," says Jom, "I know this is a deadly dangerous mission and all that, but my uncle's going to kill me if anything happens to this stuff. So try to keep the uniforms clean, if you can. What? Why are you both giggling?"

Sirra slaps a hand over her mouth, but her shoulders keep shaking. I sweep the two discarded pompoms off the floor and make a show of dusting them off, which only makes Sirra laugh harder.

It's a weird, weird world. A week ago Sirra and I hated each other, and honestly, we probably still do. But right now I'm just glad to have someone to laugh with, to loosen the bands of fear that clamp me down whenever I think about what's coming.

Jom leans forward, taking the manual controls as a voice crackles from the comlink. "Supulu Shuttle 8552, please hold your position. We have an incoming flight that has priority."

I sink lower into my seat. Wonderful. More waiting.

"Copy that, Vargalo-5," replies Jom cheerfully. Then he lets a note of doubt into his voice. "I sure hope I don't lose any cargo, though. Freezers won't last much longer."

There's a pause. Then the same voice, but less clipped and formal. "You got any of that Limited Edition Love Among the Starberries on board?"

"Sure do!" says Jom. "Tell you what, if you can get us down sooner rather than later, I'll even set aside a pint for you."

There's another, longer pause, then "Supulu Shuttle 8552, you are cleared for descent to platform North Gamma-5. Please report to the deck officer upon landing."

"Thank you, Vargalo-5 Control," says Jom. He clicks off the comlink and winks back at Sirra and me. "Ice cream: better than a universal lockpick."

Jom works more of his magic on the deck officer after we land, distracting him with a tub that's "exceeded optimal storage temperatures" and can't be refrozen without violating some Supulu taboo. While the officer takes an ice cream break, we get to supervise the unpacking of the remaining tubs.

The moment the guard is out of sight, I head for the nearest com station. Sirra beats me to it, only to slam a fist into the wall. "Internal only! No netlink. It's not enough."

"It's enough for me." I edge around her and flick on my know-it-all. "Britannica? You in?"

"Of course. Bringing up schematics now."

The screen blinks on, showing the now-way-too-familiar layout of the station.

"There," says my know-it-all over the shared com channel. "Miss Ogala is in the detention wing, as expected. Records indicate she has been subjected to only minimal processing."

"Thank the First Tinker," says Jom, jogging over to join us, having finished with the unloading.

Britannica goes on, "You should be able to proceed with the original plan of making your way around the outer maintenance passages and then ... Oh, dear."