Circus Galacticus (12 page)

"And look at this!" He darts forward to jam nearly his entire upper body into a shadowy recess. His voice echoes from the wall. "The recycling system! Imagine it, Beatrix! The first Tinker might have once stood here, tossing away a candy wrapper."

I cross my arms, leaning against the wall while he extracts his head. "So you brought me to see the ancient alien garbage disposal. You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

He gives me an injured look. "Recycling systems can be quite fascinating, I assure you. You should visit the one on the Big Top. It's an experience you won't forget."

"Sorry," I say, hastening to catch up as he takes off again down the corridor. "I guess I was expecting something a little more ... whoa."

"Like this?" The Ringmaster leads the way out into a massive open space. Bigger than the Big Top tent. So big I can't see the far side. A narrow walkway edged by softly gleaming lights stretches out into the void. The Ringmaster lifts his baton, the gem on the top flaring to life.

Suddenly a thousand lights are winking back at us, reflected in the glossy walls that swoop up into unseen heights and down into the abyss. I can make out the distant sparkle of the far side now.

The entire center of the Lighthouse is hollow. "What is this place?" My voice comes out as a whisper. It's like being in a church, somehow. The age, I guess, and the silence. The feeling that I'm standing on top of generations of pain and joy and striving.

"This is the lantern chamber, the source of the light itself. When the Lighthouse is active, this chamber reflects and concentrates the beacon. And consequently would burn us to a crisp."

"And that?" I point to the slice of darkness hanging in the center of the chamber, tethered by the narrow walkway.

The Ringmaster grins. "That is the heart of the entire station. The Keeper's Watch. If there's anything interesting here, that's where we're going to find it."

We cross the walkway in the golden circle cast by the Ringmaster's baton. I glance over the edge. It's enough to lodge a bowling ball in my throat. Anybody who falls here is going to have a long, long time to regret it.

When we're about halfway across, I think I see something. A flicker in the reflected lights, like something's moving in front of them. Then nothing. I shake myself sharply. Come on, Trix. Next you'll be saying you saw the Mizzebar Moon Monster.

Still, I can't help but sigh a little in relief when we duck into the black dome of the Keeper's station, away from the abyss and the chilly gusts that flow up like the breath of some nasty monster waiting below.

We find out soon enough that the monster has already been and gone and left his calling card. Panels hang open, revealing banks of blackened wire. Screens sit dead and dark, drifts of shattered glass littering the floor around them. The room is totaled.

With a savage curse, the Ringmaster kicks aside a pile of broken metal, sending it rocketing out of the room. The violent clatter turns to utter silence as the debris tumbles off the edge of the walkway and into the void. It makes my skin crawl.

"What do you think happened?" I ask.

The Ringmaster whips around, teeth bared, baton raised as if to smash the long-gone vandals. It's more than a little terrifying. "The Mandate. They destroyed it, as they destroy everything!"

"Hey!" I catch hold of his arm before he can bash anything else. He starts to shake me off, but I hang on. "I like to hit things when I get angry, too, but can't we use any of this stuff ?"

The fury washes out of his face like I socked him with a bucket of cold water. He drops his arm, digging the end of the baton into the floor and leaning heavily against it. "I thought—hoped—there might be..." He coughs, and I can't make out the last word. It might have been "answers."

The Ringmaster raises a hand to his throat, his breath rasping. Slumping against the wall, he pulls the breathing mask from his pocket and presses it to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he draws a long, rattling breath. He takes three more hits, then lowers the mouthpiece and rests his head back against the wall. I've never seen him look so young, or so ... fragile. It scares me enough that I scramble for a joke.

"You okay?" I ask. "Or do you need a time-out?"

He winces, then chuckles. "I suppose I deserved that. No, no more tantrums. Only ... regret."

"Are you sure there's nothing here?" I search the floor around us for anything that isn't blackened, smashed, or shattered. I spot a few bits of crystal that look like the datastores Nola gave me to download onto from the universal net. "What about those?"

His lips twist as he scoops up a handful. "Broken. I suppose Miss Three might be able to recover something, but the chances are—"

I stiffen upright. "Did you hear that?" A slithering noise whispers against my ears. "There!"

The Ringmaster pushes himself away from the wall, searching the darkness. His eyes widen, looking past me.

I follow his gaze in time to see something bleed through the darkness, a darting crimson needle. The Ringmaster pulls me closer, to the center of the circle of light that falls from his baton. "Stay in the light, Beatrix."

"What are they?"

"Imagine every quality that would be desirable in a living weapon, culled by the Mandate from a universe of deadly genetic potential. Put them all together, and you have the Vycora. They are fast, they are implacable, and they can slice us through before we even feel the pain of it. They have only one weakness. Light."

"So we're safe here?" I spin around, searching the edge of the pool of golden light.

"For now. But I can't—" Another fit of coughing doubles him over. As the baton dips, our frail circle of protection shifts. I step sideways, grabbing the Ringmaster's arm to keep him upright. Something slithers over my foot. I kick it away, terror digging sharply into my spine. But it's only a coil of blackened wires.

The Ringmaster raises the mask to his face again. For a long moment the only sounds are his strained breathing and the skin-crawling slither of the Vycora. Then he puts the mask aside and looks at me intently.

"Beatrix, do you trust me?"

It feels, somehow, as if this is the most important question anyone has ever asked me. "Yes."

He gives me a brief, dazzling smile before scrambling upright and heading for the nearest of the smashed consoles. He begins ripping through them, pulling out the innards.

"Um. But I'd still like to know what you're doing."

"Turning on the Light. Aha!" He brandishes a handful of colorful wires, then begins twisting them together, like he's hot-wiring a car. "It should drive off the Vycora."

"I thought you said the Light would fry us."

"Only if we don't get back to the Big Top before it reaches full power."

"Which will take how long?"

"Twenty-three seconds. Plus or minus."

"Getting burned to a crisp is a definite minus." I bounce on my heels. All I can think of is the time I spilled hot grease on my hand as a little girl, helping my mom fry spring rolls. And how much it hurt. But crazy as it sounds, I do trust the Ringmaster. "Starting when?"

"Now." He dances back from the console as a hum pulses through the floor. Light begins to pour out from somewhere above us: a pure, white brilliance that makes me blink.

We run, racing between the killing darkness and the blinding light. My mind is empty of everything but the pounding of my feet and the dark outline of the distant door. Scarlet threads slide across our path, but the claws of brilliance tear them away.

A moment later the light begins to tear at us, too. I hear the Ringmaster hiss. Spines of white-hot fire jab into my skin. Tears stream down my cheeks, burned out of my eyes.

The light chases us all the way back to the Big Top. Even as the airlock hisses closed, I can see bright beams reaching out from the Lighthouse. It's like a star being born. The terror and the wonder of it nearly knocks me to the floor. Relief turns my knees to jelly, but at the same time there's an ache deep inside. It's like someone handed me a book of secrets and only let me see one page before snatching it back again.

I punch the control panel beside the windows, darkening the glass. The light streaming through the viewport dies to a distant glow. The Ringmaster leans against the wall, resting his head against the gently humming metal and drawing a long breath. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, I'm not entirely sure he's talking to me. "Are you hurt?" he asks.

"No. You?"

He shakes his head. "We achieved a dazzlingly successful escape, if nothing else." He sighs, extracting a handful of broken crystal from his pocket. It's the crushed datastore.

"What did you expect to find?" I say at last.

The Ringmaster smiles faintly. "Oh, the usual things. Answers to the eternal questions. The meaning of life." He turns the bits of crystal in his hand. "The trouble with being the leader is that people tend to expect you to be leading them somewhere in particular." He looks up then, and for once his eyes don't hold galaxies, only uncertainty and pain. He's never looked more human.

I feel like somebody's offered me a key, for this brief, fragile moment, to unlock a part of the mystery that is the Ringmaster. I don't know how long it will last, and there's so much I want to ask. When I open my mouth, the question that comes out surprises even me.

"Are you happy being the Ringmaster?"

He closes his eyes and rests his palms against the wall. The Big Top hums. His lips tighten.

"It wasn't supposed to be a stumper," I say finally.

The Ringmaster's eyes stay closed. "Life is about choices, Beatrix. But when you choose one road, it means there are others you may never walk. Things you sacrifice..."

"What kind of things?"

He looks at me then. "It's more than a title, being the Ringmaster. The Big Top is my responsibility. She is mine and I am hers. Which means I can't be..." He stops himself, giving a sort of half-shrug. "But it was my choice. I've seen things, done things, been things I could never have otherwise. And I would never give it up.
Ever.
" The Big Top thrums again, more loudly. His lips twist. "Though perhaps she deserves better."

"No," I say. "I'm just the new girl and all, but from what I've seen, I think the Big Top is lucky to have you. We all are."

The Ringmaster cocks his head, speaking to the walls. "You hear that? I take her out and nearly get her burned to a crisp and she says I'm doing a good job." He sighs, glancing down to the crushed datastore bits. "And I thought I might find answers. It was foolhardy, but I'm a fool if nothing else."

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."