Circus: Fantasy Under the Big Top (8 page)

The space craft’s communications array activated. Jinkers saw the faces of two teenage boys.

“Whatever happened to the famous
Amazing Galaxy Show
welcome?” asked the young pilot. He was wearing an illuminated clown nose. It was flashing.

“You’ve been notified,” said Jinkers. She switched off the array and turned to Mr Barrie who ran the external protocols for the station. “Does that happen a lot?” she asked.

Mr Barrie was monitoring the craft on his computer, making sure that it did indeed return to the proscribed space runs. “Yes, Gaffer. A couple of times a day.”

Jinkers looked over his shoulder. She was glad to see that those clowns were able to follow the route inside. “Any significance to the pattern?” she asked.

“No, Gaffer. Kids from all over the colonies like to push the boundaries.”

Jinkers Morrell ran the Circosphere. She was a fine administrator. As part of her duties she ensured that she did every job on the station at least once a year. Today she’d been monitoring the arrival of the punters, overseeing the integrity of the outer Circosphere.

“Thank you, Mr Barrie, I can see that you’ve got everything running smoothly here—as usual.”

“Thank you, Gaffer.”

Jinkers could see that he wanted to say something more. She smiled at him, giving him an opportunity to ask, “Is everything all right, Gaffer?”

To most people she would have answered, “Sure, everything’s great.” But this was Mr Barrie. Jinkers had started her circus career here, in this control booth. So instead, she said, “No, sir. I’m afraid not, something is wrong with my circus. I can feel it. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“Aye, I thought so. I’ll let you get on then.”

Just telling someone made her feel better. Jinkers said her goodbyes and headed back to her office.

Jinkers walked past the Theatre of Laughter where the clowns played out the soap-opera dramas which were televised and transmitted to the colonies. The clowns wore only tokens of their traditional dress, perhaps bright buttons on a spacesuit or white make-up for the lead actresses. But they were still clowns attuned to the humour and pathos of the human condition. The punters packed the stalls. These actors were superstars in the colonies. She walked past the Theatre of Culture where the art works of Earth were displayed. Distinguished academics waited to discuss and argue the merits of each piece. She walked past the covered Theatre of Erotica where the performers danced their lavish spectacles. Jinkers smiled at the queue of youngsters waiting outside. Only those who were eighteen could enter. Nobody had ever beaten the retinal scan. From the Theatre of Nature she heard the sounds of Earth’s animals. To the punters they were legendary beasts, seen only once in a lifetime. She listened for a moment to the roars and to the gasps of the audience. The big cats were in the theatre today.

There was so much to see here in the Circosphere, a wealth of imagination geared to every taste and desire. The best performers of Earth and her colonies were here. It was a palace of merging cultures and lavish wealth.

In the distance, a flash of colour caught Jinker’s eye. She saw a jewelled tower rising high towards the electronic sky. It was the Theatre of History. Babylon had come to the Circosphere again. She remembered visiting Babylon twenty years ago, when she had first come to the Circosphere. How she’d marvelled at the sight. She had to see this again. Jinkers walked quickly to the theatre. She pushed through the punters standing at the ornate gates. The golden mosaic lions and the mushussu dragons looked down upon her.

She breathed in the aroma of the replicated Babylon: aged spice and dry sand. The costumed circus people acted out the roles of ancient Babylonians. Here were a group of Ishtar’s handmaidens laughing with the punters. Here were the stern faced soldiers, their eyes barely flickering as Jinkers nodded to them.

Jinkers entered the lapis lazuli palace of Nebuchadnezzar. She remembered the sense of awe that had struck her, the majesty of the spectacle had overwhelmed her twenty years ago. There was nothing like this on her colony home world, where all resources were geared towards survival. But here on the Circosphere there was magic. Jinkers had felt part of it. The history of Earth belonged to her and to every other human.

But now, as Jinkers walked through the palace, she didn’t feel the same. She watched the punters stare in wonder at the spectacle of their collective past. She wanted to share their experience, to recapture the emotion she’d felt all those years ago. But all she could see was a facsimile of reality. When she looked at the throne, she didn’t marvel at the luxury of wealth, instead she saw the cost of the gold plating and remembered the builders’ overpriced estimates.

She listened to David interpreting Nebuchadnezzar’s famous dreams, the dreams written into the Old Testament and passed through thousands of years of history. She saw the punters listening intently to David’s words. They believed. But Jinkers only saw an actor nervously playing his first major role.

She saw through the illusion of history. Her administrator’s eye had spoiled the magic and the fantasy.

The Theatre of History team had worked hard. She made a mental note to send them a memo acknowledging their efforts. Then Jinkers left Babylon and walked slowly back to her office.

Her office was located at the heart of the Circosphere. The Theatres of Entertainment ran in all directions from this core. Jinkers was responsible for this massive space station, ensuring that the punters had the most marvellous time of their lives—so that the real business of the Circosphere could be achieved.

A myriad messages awaited her. It was surprising how many messages could be accumulated in a few short hours away from her office. She ran them through the A.I. programme to select for importance.

“Every day the circus balances on the tightrope,” that’s what Barnabus Mcfee, her predecessor, used to say. But lately, Jinkers had been unsure of her footing. She felt as if her next steps could see the edifice of the circus crashing to the ground.

The computer finished analysing the messages, prioritising a message from Brent Atwoods as the most important. She issued an e-call for him to join her immediately.

She opened the screens to her office window and took in the view. She refreshed herself in the view of the stars. Yes, it still re-energized her, even after all these years.

She took out a bowl of kibble for her pet tortoise, Horatio. She liked Horatio.
He
never did anything unexpected. And he never wandered off. He was, in fact, the perfect pet for the Circosphere administrator.

A knock on the door and Brent entered her office. He looked excited.

“Hello, Brent, what can I do for you?”

“Jinkers, you’re looking well.”

She wasn’t, but she was grateful for his courtesy. Jinkers shared a common bond with Brent. They’d arrived at the Circosphere from the same colony world, at about the same time, both desperate to shed off the ennui of their farming colony world. They’d both risen through the ranks. They had yearned for glamour and excitement. They hadn’t found it. Instead, they’d found science and administration. But dreams change as you grow older and they were both content with their current roles. It was important work, the most important work in the galaxy.

“How’s the family?” Brent was happily married to Bella, a lovely woman and a contortionist. Jinkers smiled to herself.

“Great. Great. Joshua’s obsessed with the tigers at the moment.”

“Wants to be an animal trainer?”

“Of course, but I’m trying to persuade him to consider veterinary science, instead.”

Jinkers would have loved to have a proper conversation with Brent. It seemed that she had little time for her friends, lately. But, she thought of the all the messages on her computer and said, “Shall we get down to business? You sent me a message about some anomalous readings . . . ”

Brent led a team of psychologists. Science and research were the real business of the Circosphere. The punters would be surprised to know that there were more scientists here than performers.

“Of course, Gaffer. There are some very interesting results from the audiences in the Theatre of Laughter.”

Jinkers took the e-notepad Brent offered her. The technical data made no sense to her. “Talk me through it, please.”

“It was the clowns who first noticed it. They’d been reporting for weeks that the audience ‘wasn’t right’ but we ignored them. You know how they complain.” Brent scowled—a sign of his embarrassment.

“But this time . . . ” prompted Jinkers.

“Well, they insisted. So, to humour them, we upgraded our analysis. And you know what? They were right. A significant percentage of the audience were reacting too quickly, in some cases before joke resolution.”

“They were laughing before the joke? It wasn’t just randomised humour?”

“No, we factored that out. There is definite evidence of pre-laughter.”

“And what world has it come from?”

“It’s randomised across all the colonies.”

“And you interpret the data as . . . ?”

“Some of the audience have developed precognitive ability.”

“But it’s randomised, right? Across all the colonies?”

Earth Central funded the Circosphere, and Earth Central feared diversity. Who could tell what strange effects the different colony biospheres might have? A different sun, strange radiation, a variation in elemental chemistry, anything might initiate physical or mental changes in the colonists. The Circosphere has two functions. To unite the colonists through a central culture, reminding them of their shared heritage; and to monitor the colonists, to check that they weren’t growing away from the common core of humanity.

“I think that you can anticipate a very large increase in your research grant when Earth Central hears about this,” said Jinkers. Was this the source of her strange worries? Was she sensing this change in the punters’ abilities?

“Thanks, Jinkers,” said Brent. He looked pleased, as well he might. This was an immeasurably significant piece of research. It certainly justified the astronomical expense of running the Circosphere. Resources and prestige would follow in the wake of this discovery.

“Bella wants to know if you want to come to dinner tonight.”

“Great. Set it up with my secretary.”

Jinkers worked through the rest of the reports. There were changes in the food preferences in sector six. That needed to be monitored, changes in colony preferences was important information for Earth Central’s massive distribution centres. But she couldn’t concentrate on her work. Her mind kept returning to Brent’s discovery. Precognitive development in the punters? She felt dizzy. She was the edge of a precipice. She wrote out her report and e-posted it to Earth Central. Who would have dreamed that humanity stood on the threshold of such an amazing development?

Dreams—Jinkers had been remembering some strange dreams lately. Dreams of wandering down long tunnels, looking through glass walls to see a spiral stairway reaching to the stars. She pulled up a report from the dream scientist team. Yes, there
had
been changes in the frequency and quality of the dreams in both staff and the punters. But instead of calling in the scientists for a detailed report, Jinkers decided upon a somewhat less orthodox approach.

“Got to look my best for this visit,” she said to Horatio, as she pulled out a mirror from her desk drawer. She applied some skin brightening moisturiser and a natural coloured lipstick. “Not that I can compete with her. Say, Horatio, how do I look?”

But aesthetic judgements were not within the ken of her pet, and he only responded to her question with his reptilian gaze, before returning his attention to view of the stars.

“You’re not much help.” Judging for herself in the mirror, Jinkers announced “You’ll do,” before striding out of her office to seek out the mystery of dreams within the tent of Madam Zelda.

Zelda had the kind of beauty that made men sigh and women grimace in despair. She wasn’t young, but she was youthful, growing inexplicably more attractive with age. And, rather annoyingly, she was a lovely person, too.

Zelda was a dream reader and fortune teller. Brent told Jinkers that she merely read the body language of the punters. And Jinkers believed that, but in the presence of Zelda that knowledge seemed to fade. Zelda commanded you to believe in her magic.

“Jinkers, how lovely to see you. It’s been too long. How’s Horatio?” Zelda invariably asked after her pet.

“It’s lovely to see you, too, Zelda. Horatio’s okay. He’s been off his food, lately.”

“He senses the trouble in the Circosphere. Wise creatures, the reptiles, old creatures.”

Jinkers raised an eyebrow. “What do you know, Zelda?”

“There have many strange dreams lately. Sit down, my dear. Let me read your fortune for you.”

Jinkers reached for the pack of cards that rested on the table between them.

Zelda, put her hand over the cards. “No, not those. I think the situation calls for something different.” She reached for a different, older pack of cards. “These were my grandmother’s cards.”

“What’s wrong with the other ones?” asked Jinkers.

“Choose three cards, my dear.”

Jinkers moved her hand over the old, worn cards, then she quickly laid three cards on the table. She had selected, The Stranger, The Sideshow and The Void.

Zelda stared at the cards. She had lost some of her poise. For the first time Jinkers could see age resting in her friend’s face.

“What’s wrong, Zelda?”

“Dreams have been touching many minds lately. It betokens something, something extraordinary.” Zelda smiled. “The cards are unclear, as they always are, my dear. But I will say this to you: look underneath the surface of your problems. There are unseen layers in our universe.”

“I’d hoped for something a little more specific, Zelda.”

“Don’t worry, Jinkers. The answers will come to you soon. Use the motif of the circus to unwind them.”

It was time to go to dinner with Brent and his family. Jinkers noticed that Horatio had still not finished his kibble. “What’s a matter, Horatio? Do you sense it too? Zelda said that you’re wise. Can you help me?”