Circus Galacticus (19 page)

"What?"

"Well, you said she saw you getting ready for the Firedance. She knew what you'd look like, even with the image projector. So I'm wondering if maybe..."

"She tipped off Nyl?" I lean back against the wall as it all clicks into place. "Nola, you're brilliant."

She grins, but her smile fades after a moment. "But Trix, that's horrible. To think she'd sell us all out. I mean, she's one of us. She needs the Circus as much as anybody. It can't be true."

"I dunno." I shake my head. "Her family has money and power. That can hide a lot of dirty laundry. Plus it's not like she's got three eyes or antennae or pink hair. Sirra can pass for normal."

"But Etander can't."

"Yeah." I shake my head. "The Tinkers sure handed out some crazy gifts, didn't they? I mean, what's the point of turning into a porcupine like that? Or pink hair, for that matter?"

Nola shrugs. "Maybe there is no point. This is the Tinkers we're talking about, after all. Who knows if they were trying to do any of this? Your pink hair, my tech-interfacing, it could be intentional or it could be recycled bits of old lab experiments."

Recycled.
"I think Sirra was throwing something in the recycler, right when I came in. If we could find it, maybe we could figure out what she's up to."

Nola frowns thoughtfully. "The reclamation system will be down for the filter cleaning, so whatever she threw away will still be in the tanks until tonight. But Trix, we don't even know what we're looking for. And the Big Top makes a
lot
of trash. I can only think of one way this might work."

"What?" I ask. Nola looks suddenly queasy, like she just came back from a long spacewings flight.

"We'll have to convince Rjool to help us."

"Rjool? Is he one of the Freaks?"

"No, Rjool isn't Tinker-touched. He isn't even ... well, you'll have to see for yourself. He never leaves the engineering zones. Oh, I really wish there was another way."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

Nola opens her mouth, but before she can say more, we both become aware of footsteps approaching.

The Ringmaster comes around the corner and halts at the sight of us. "Ah. Beatrix. Good. Nola, if you'll excuse us?"

I fight the urge to grab Nola's arm and cling to her like a life preserver. The Ringmaster doesn't actually look angry. But he does look serious, and there are shadows under his eyes.

I wave Nola off. "Meet you after lunch for chore section." Then I'm alone with the Ringmaster. He has his hands shoved into his pockets, his chin tucked down into his collar.

All my mistakes hang in the air between us. The silence goes on long after Nola's footsteps have faded. The words finally burst out of me. "Aren't you going to yell? Ream me out for being such an idiot and nearly getting Sirra killed? Not to mention losing the ancient Tinker artifact?"

"No," he says. "You aren't the only one who's made mistakes. There are things you need—" He falters. "Things I need to tell you."

"Is this about the rock?"

He hesitates. "In part. But I think this conversation would benefit from a change in venue."

I follow him silently down the hall and along several others. We don't talk. I hate this feeling, like I'm headed off to take a test I didn't study for. And there's no more time to cram. Do or die.

It's a relief when we finally get to the viewing deck. The Ringmaster walks slowly to the windows and sets his elbows on the railing, staring out into space. I clear my throat. "You're not going to tell me the rock is dangerous, are you? I mean, Nyl said it was. But he's one of the Mandate, so that's just a bunch of bad-guy talk, right? I mean, it's not true. He was trying to scare me."

The Ringmaster turns his back to the stars, locking me in place with his gaze. "A villain can speak the truth as well as any hero. Perhaps better. There are truths that can be hard to hear. Things you might not want to believe."

I have a nasty feeling there's a pit about to open up under my feet. "You know something you're not telling me."

"Oh, many things, no doubt. Would you like to know the secret ingredient in Tachyon Toffee Swirl? The last words of the Hermit of Pergola-7? The absolutely best place in the universe to have a spot of tea?"

I try to smile but fail. "I want to hear about the rock. You found out what it is, didn't you?"

"I have ... an educated guess." He pauses. "Did your parents tell you fairy tales?"

"Huh?"

"Bedtime stories, old legends of faraway places? Heroes and quests and curses?"

"My dad learned all sorts of crazy folktales from his grandma. Frogs trapped in wells and monkey kings leaping across the clouds. They always made him sad, though." I hadn't understood why, back then. Now I blink my eyes and wonder if the Ringmaster can see that same look in my face. I cast my mind back through layers of tears and bleakness to happier times. "My favorites were these amazing stories he made up about aliens. I figured out later that he stole half the plots from old movies, but I loved them so much it didn't matter. Reaching the stars was my happily-ever-after." I shake my head. "What do fairy tales have to do with my rock?"

"Let me tell
you
a fairy tale, Beatrix, and see what you make of it. Some of it Miss Three recovered only recently, from the datastore fragments we found on the Lighthouse. Some I already knew. Some may truly be only a fairy tale." He clears his throat, then begins in something closer to his stage voice.

"Once upon a time there were two powers, the Mandate and the Tinkers. They battled each other in word and deed, both convinced they knew what was best for the universe. Great and terrible were their battles as they warred across the universe. But in time, each faded, drained by the endless conflict. And eventually they disappeared. Some say they died out. Others whisper that they will return one day, to wage their battles anew. All we know for sure is that they left behind their children, raw and inexperienced, to forge a new world from the ashes. And they left an inheritance: of technology, of ships, of gifts hidden in the blood and bones of the new generations.

"But the greatest treasures—their greatest weapons—they hid away in secret. Perhaps to await their own return. Perhaps to await future generations wise enough to use them."

I can't help interrupting. "Weapons? What kind of weapons?"

The Ringmaster drops his storytelling air to give a bemused sigh. "It's an old, old story, worn with time and translation. All we have left are the names and a handful of maddeningly vague details. The Mandate's Treasure is called the Cleansing Fire. I will leave it to your imagination to consider the implications of that delightful name."

"And the Tinkers' Treasure?"

"The oldest stories call it the Seed of Rebirth. They say it holds the essence of the Tinkers' Touch. A power that can reshape a living being, granting it new abilities, new life, whatever it needs to evolve and grow. The pinnacle of their genetic technology."

I have a horrible suspicion of where he's going with this. "And the maddeningly vague details? Let me guess. It's a shiny black stone."

He gives a faint sad smile and taps his nose.

"My rock. You're saying my rock is the Tinkers' Treasure."

"Yes."

"And now the Mandate has it. Because I couldn't keep it safe." I sag against the railing. "How did my parents get their hands on something like that? A pair of scientists on some podunk planet in the Exclusion Zone just happened to find an ancient alien treasure?"

"Your parents were more than that."

"So they
were
Tinker-touched? Right? That must be it."

The Ringmaster is silent for so long I start to quiver. I want to pace, but I refuse to walk away. I have to see his face when he says what's coming.

"Once upon a time," he begins, "there was young woman, the daughter of an ancient household of great power. This young woman saw much of the ways of her kinfolk, and did not like them. She wished to walk another path. Then a day came when her people captured a grand prize, the greatest treasure of their enemies, bought with blood and death and pain. Terrible pain..."

"Ringmaster?"

He shakes himself, continuing on. "The girl's people threw a grand celebration. They held the future of their enemy in their hands, and they planned to crush it. To destroy it.

"But the girl had already looked upon the treasure and seen its beauty. She could not let it be destroyed, even if it meant defying her family, her blood. So she stole the treasure and ran far, far away. She found a world that knew nothing of her kind, a place where she herself was a fairy tale. And she met a young man who had stars in his eyes. She shared her secret. They fell in love. They had a daughter." He looks at me.

"No. Freaking. Way. My mom was one of the Mandate?"

The Ringmaster eyes me quizzically. "I'll admit to taking some artistic license in the telling of the tale, but between what you've told me and what I've gathered, I believe it's true."

My feet carry me back and forth along the viewing deck, beating into the metal flooring with a reliable, sensible
thunk, thunk, thunk.
It's about the only thing in my life that is reliable or sensible right now.

"How did I get through the mirror?" I say suddenly, seizing on the first of the hundred questions fogging my brain. "The only reason my hair turned pink was that rock. Right?"

"We don't know that," says the Ringmaster, but the doubt in his voice punches me in the gut. "It could be that you inherited the genetic markers from your father. And even if it is the result of the Seed, what does it matter? You still bear the Tinkers' touch."

"It matters because I don't really
belong
here." My voice is so sharp now I half expect my lips to bleed. "That's why Miss Three said I was a danger."

"When did Miss Three say you were a danger?"

I halt, crossing my arms. "When you two were in the Restricted Area talking about using 'extreme measures.'"

"Ah. That." The Ringmaster gives the jeweled top of his baton an unnecessary polish. "Miss Three is truly one of a kind. Or three of a kind, to be perfectly accurate. I trust her opinions on a great many things. But where you're concerned, she's hardly an impartial judge. Please believe me when I say that I do not, and never have, believed you to be the enemy, no matter your parentage. And I blame myself for not telling you the truth sooner. I thought ... I was afraid it might hurt you. That it would make you doubt yourself."

"You were right." I press my palms to my temples. My skull feels heavy, stuffed with iron and nails. I run my fingers back through my hair, gripping handfuls. My scalp prickles with pain. "Talk about fairy tales. Here I was, believing I was one of the superheroes, that some ancient power chose me to do great things. But I'm one of the bad guys." A bitter laugh spills out of me.

"Beatrix, I—"

"No! No more lies." My voice cracks. The tears start to leak through. I grab hold of the railing to keep me strong. "You told me I was special. You made me believe it, even when I flunked all the tests. You handed me a dream, even though you knew it was a lie."

"But you are—"

"Don't you dare say it!" I rip my hand away from the barest brush of his fingers. "Don't you dare lie to me again. I can't take it. Really. I try to be tough and all that, but this is too much. I'm in too many pieces. You can't wave your baton and dance them all back together again like that."

I don't bother brushing the tears from my eyes anymore. I run, leaving the Ringmaster and his false dreams where they belong, with the stars that are always going to be beyond my reach.

THE NEXT FOUR HOURS ARE TORTURE. The Ringmaster's fairy tales grow sharp claws and tear my thoughts apart. There's no way I'm going to Miss Three's lecture on Core Governance Trade Law, or even the symposium one of the older Techs is giving on Strong and Weak Nuclear Forces. I go to the common room instead and run myself through the Arena at level eleven. Maybe if I can squeeze all the sweat from my body, there'll be nothing left to feed my tears. On my seventh run I make it five minutes, a new personal record. But the truth of who I am turns the victory as hollow as my stomach.

I grab what I can from the vending machines on the way back to the dorms rather than face lunch in the cafeteria. I'm not a coward, I'm ... establishing a defensive position. Marshaling my resources for a big comeback performance.

Yeah, I don't really believe it, either. But it's a lie I need right now.

Back in the dorm, I mechanically down a half-dozen energy bars and protein drinks. My stomach rebels at first, but I keep going. I'm going to need my strength to get the Tinkers' Treasure back.

It's my only choice, really. It's not like I'm going to run off and sign up with the Mandate, no matter who Mom was. And sure, I could hightail it back to Earth, make some sort of lame life for myself. It's probably where I belong, but I can't leave yet, no matter how much I want to get away from everything that reminds me of my broken dream. The Big Top may not be my place anymore, but I can't leave it like this, suffering for my mistake. And the next step to finding the Tinkers' Treasure is figuring out what Sirra is up to.

By the time Nola comes in, I'm practically bouncing off the walls between the sugar and my need to do something constructive. Or destructive.

"Trix," she starts off, "have you been hiding in here all—what's wrong?" She steps closer, looking way too intently into my eyes. "Have you been crying? What did the Ringmaster say?"

"It doesn't matter," I say, bounding upright and starting to sweep up the layer of wrappers and drink cartons from the bed.

"Are you sure?"

"He found out what the rock was," I admit. "He called it the Tinkers' Treasure."

Nola gapes for a moment. "As in, the long-lost artifact that holds all the secrets of the original Tinkers?"

"That's the one. So it's pretty much the last thing you'd ever want the Mandate to get their hands on. Basically, I screwed up royally, and we need to get it back before they destroy it. Please tell me this Rjool character is going to need a butt-kicking. I am crazy-ready to thwack something."