Trickster (34 page)

 
A feathery touch on Ben's mind warned him that someone was nearby.

 
~Hey, you,~
came Kendi's voice.
~What are you up to?~

 
Ben quickly banished the sledgehammer, face shield, and remains of Sufur's statue. "Come on in," he said aloud.

 
A falcon swooped in from the plain gray sky. It changed into a kangaroo in mid-drop and landed lightly in front of Ben. The kangaroo had a pouch. Before the Despair, Kendi's fragment animals had always been female, a trait that seemed to have carried over into Kendi's current state. The one time Ben had tried to rib Kendi about this had resulted in such an explosion of temper that Ben had never again remarked on it. Nowadays Ben always thought of Dream Kendi as "he," regardless of the gender of his animal form.

 
"Where's the computer system?" the kangaroo asked.

 
Ben shrugged. "I'm playing around with other stuff. How did things go at the gallery?"

 
"Pretty good. That's why I'm in here, in fact." Kendi gave Ben a capsule description of his conversation with Pnebran. He kept bobbing up and down in obvious excitement. "I've got it, Ben. I know how to do it."

 
"Do what?"

 
"Get them out."

 
"You mean you didn't before?"

 
"Not completely," Kendi admitted. "But then it hit me in the middle of the art gallery, every detail. I think it'll work. And it won't take that long."

 
Ben called up an armchair and plunked down into it, bringing himself down to Kendi's eye level. "So what's the plan?"

 
Kendi looked away. "I'm not . . . I don't think I should tell you all of it."

 
"Why not?"

 
"In case."

 
"Kendi, who am I going to tell?" Ben asked, nettled.

 
"No one--unless Silent Acquisitions gets wind of what's going on and captures one of us. Anyone will talk under drugs or torture. You know that."

 
"How am I supposed to help if I don't know what the hell is going on?" Ben demanded.

 
The kangaroo took a hop forward and abruptly changed into a koala bear which looked up at Ben with enormous brown eyes. "Please don't be angry, Ben. I need your support in this. I don't want anything to go wrong."

 
"You're only doing that because you know koalas are cute," Ben growled.

 
"Is it working?" Kendi asked, reaching up to place a warm, clawed paw on Ben's leg.

 
Ben sighed. "All right. What do I need to do?"

 
"Help me find Valeta's messenger. I need to cash in a favor."

 
"A favor?" Ben echoed. "From the Emporium?"

 
"And then I need to talk to Vidya and Prasad. You said Sejal can't--or won't--help us, but I'll bet those two will."

 
~Relay, please: Hey, Val. What's up lately?~

 
~Relayed out of Dream to solid-world messenger. Awaiting response. Relaying response: Kendi! I haven't heard from you since before the Despair. How're the Children holding out? I hear you guys are expensive these days.~

 
~Relay: Got that right. Listen, remember that time back on Nipon? The stalker who came after you?~

 
~Relaying response: I'll never forget it. Why? What's--
oh no. Aw, Kendi. Not now. This isn't a good time.~

 
~Relay: "Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I don't care if I have to move a planet." Those were your exact words, Val, and I need you.~

 
~Relaying response: Just me or the whole Emporium?~

 
~Relay: The whole enchilada, Val. Probably won't take more than a week.~

 
~Editorial comment: she is wailing. Relaying response: I'll have to reschedule an entire engagement, Kendi. Can't this wait six months?~

 
~Relay: Sorry, Val, no can do. I'm under a time limit here, and I'm afraid I have to lean hard. I need this, and you owe me.~

 
~Relaying response: Kendi, I can't just--
"

 
~Interrupt: "I wouldn't have an Emporium if it weren't for you, Kendi. Thank god you were here. I owe you everything."~

 
~Editorial comment: she is sighing. Relaying response: You made that one up. I'd never say something like that.~

 
~Relay: I can probably come up with a recording. Look, Val, this is the most important job I've ever pulled, and I can't do it without you and your people. You know--
the ones who still have a job because of me?~

 
~Relaying response: I hate you. Editorial comment: That remark was sarcastic in nature. Relaying response: I can leave in two days, no sooner. If you're at SA Station, it'll take me two more days to get there, give or take.~

 
~Relay: Actually, I need you to stop at Bellerophon first and pick up a couple of passengers.~

 
~Relaying response: Bellerophon? That'll add another day.~

 
~Relay: No worries there.~

 
~Editorial comment: she is anticipating more information. Relaying response: So are you going to tell me what this is all about?~

 
~Relay: Only when you get here, love. See you then. End transmission.~

 
"Rent a slip shuttle? From SA? Father, that'll cost a small fortune."

 
"I know, Lucia, but I don't want to take the
Poltergeist
out."

 
"And where you do want me to go?"

 
"There's a . . . semi-legal shipyard orbiting one of the moons around Artemis. Do you know it?"

 
"I know it. It's just outside the boundaries of the Five Green Worlds. One of the owners is actually a distant cousin of mine."

 
"Does he owe you any favors?"

 
"One or two. Why?"

 
"Cash them in, Lucia, and
I'll
owe you a favor. A big one. See if you can get him to give you a discount--a one-hundred percent discount, if you can manage it."

 
"On what?"

 
"An old, clunky ship. It doesn't need to have slip, gravity, or even life support. As long as the hull is intact, it'll work. The less it costs, the better--rent for the shuttle will eat up most of the cash we have left."

 
"All right. What am I supposed to do with this ship?"

 
"Haul it to a point a few parsecs away from SA and set it to drift relative to the station. Then leave it and come straight back here."

 
"Yes, Father."

 
"Aren't you going to ask what it's for?"

 
"I'm assuming you have your reasons."

 
"A refreshing change from everyone else. Leave as soon as you can get the shuttle, Lucia. And thanks."

 
"Irfan blesses you, Father."

 
"Let's hope she blesses all of us."

 
"I need everything you can get your hands on about circuses, Ben. History, current shows, clowns, animals, the works. In great and excruciating detail."

 
"Text? Holovid? Pics?"

 
"The works. I need to become a three-day expert. I learned a fair amount from that time with Valeta, but I need a refresher if I'm going to pull this off."

 
"Sure. I'll even throw in a subroutine to weed out repeat info."

 
"Great. But you'll have to hack it out of SA's library databases. I don't want there to be a record of what I'm reading just in case someone starts sniffing around. It'll also be cheaper, and I'm starting to worry about money."

 
"Shouldn't be hard. It's not like the library computers guard station secrets or anything, and they won't be that well guarded."

 
"Thanks, Ben. I owe you."

 
"What? I don't keep track. You know that."

 
"Sorry. Sometimes I get into favor-cashing mode and don't get out. But I'll still pay you back. There are lots of . . . favors I'd love to owe you. Think creatively about what I could do."

 
"Not if you want me to hack the SA library without getting caught."

 
Edsard Roon logged off the computer terminal, pulled his key from the receptor, and dropped the chain around his neck as the screen vanished. Enough work for now. These days he too-often found himself arriving home after a fourteen-hour workday only to spend another hour at his home terminal. Time for a break.

 
He kicked off his shoes, took a deep, cold pull from the frosted glass that hovered at his elbow, and sank into a supremely comfortable easy chair with a sigh. Caffeine, his one weakness. Edsard didn't allow himself alcohol or any other recreational drug. The mind had to stay clear, be precise, firm. Even caffeine had an impact on the thought processes, but, he supposed, everyone needed at least one bad habit. Bad habits, in moderation, relieved stress.

 
Relieved N-waves.

 
Edsard snorted. He was a dark-haired man, tall and rangy, with a long, sad face. Work, it seemed, was never far from his mind. He supposed it was his own fault. After overriding Elena Papagos-Faye and ordering a dedicated terminal installed in his den at home, he found himself spending more and more of his minuscule free time at the computer doing Collection business. Papagos-Faye had protested the practice, but Edsard had known there would be times when he would need the access at home. Besides, no one except Elena even knew the terminal existed--or what it was for. There was no danger it would be hacked.

 
After another long drink, Edsard set the glass down in mid-air beside him. The house computer caught the movement and adjusted local gravity generators. Edsard's glass hovered in place at hand level. Edsard wiggled tired toes and sank deeper into the chair. Did enjoying comfortable furniture count as a bad habit? Perhaps it did, and he had two bad habits.

 
The study was enormous, large enough to house three families in some sectors of SA Station. Persian rugs imported all the way from Earth covered the polished wood floors. Glass-topped tables with wooden borders vied for floor space with several couches and overstuffed chair. The ceiling was two stories away, and the walls were all but hidden by display cases. Each case was crammed with pieces from Edsard's collection, as if someone had torn pieces from a thousand different circuses and trapped them under glass. Tom Thumb's skeleton. P.T. Barnum's hat. A set of tights worn by Ernie Clark, the first human trapeze artist to perform the triple somersault. A lock of Mario Santelli's hair. Tommy Zane's chess set. A scale reproduction of the railway accident that had killed Jumbo the elephant. The third eye of Vrilkari no Sencmok, ringleader of the very first interplanetary circus.

 
Seeded among them all were the elephants. Statues of elephants, paintings of elephants, holograms of elephants. Toys, blankets, tapestries, signs, hides, and tusks. Everywhere one looked, an elephant looked back. Edsard's newest acquisition, a Wimpale painting called
Gray Elephants on Parade
, hung in a place of honor lit by a special spotlight. He looked at it contentedly. There were only eight surviving Wimpales left, though rumor spoke of a ninth in the vaults owned by Padric Sufur. Edsard possessed three Wimpales.
Parade
now made four. The work had cost over three million freemarks, and it was worth every single one.

 
Edsard took back his glass and raised it at the Wimpale in silent toast. A salute to his collection. And, as always, his mind wandered back toward work--his other Collection.

 
The Collection. His best idea ever, despite its simplicity. Use the same indoctrination methods that human cults had perfected over centuries of practice to create an army of working Silent who were slavishly devoted to him--and to Silent Acquisitions. With working Silent still terrifyingly rare, a stable of Silent that wouldn't run away even if they could was essential to SA's financial future. And SA
had
to survive. The collapse of Silent Acquisitions would be equivalent to the collapse of a multi-system government, with millions of people thrown out of work and thousands of slaves left without owners. Also, no fewer than five major economies were tied in with SA's future, and if SA sank, it would doubtless drag those governments down with it. No, SA had to continue, and gaining monopolistic control over the remaining Silent in the galaxy was the best way to guarantee that. Carinna Mogarr, the company's CEO, had been slaveringly appreciative when Edsard brought her the idea, though now she was pressuring him to put some of the Collection to work and find out if similar methods would work on non-human species.

 
It was all stopgap, of course. When the current crop of Silent died, Silent Acquisitions would follow them. But that was still several decades away, and someone, Roon was sure, would find a solution.

 
Meanwhile, between overseeing the Collection's day-to-day operations and playing the part of Dreamer Roon, he was finding precious little time to admire his circus collection. The outing to the circus exhibit had been his first major treat in months. Ah well. Eventually the Collection would run itself, and Edsard would have more spare time. Several of the Alphas had already been promoted to Beta, and when they reached Delta status, they would take over the training of new Alphas, replacing the current Deltas, who were played by actors. This absolutely loyal base of workers would "recruit" and train more workers, who would, in turn, indoctrinate yet another generation. It was perfect. It was brilliant. And it had been all his idea.