May 2nd, 2144
Tonight we tore down the show at Vortnagg on Pendiia, loaded and made ship for the next stand, which will be the fourth planet in the Gurav system, called Wallabee. The Governor had me leave with the last shuttle to enable my observation of the tear-down process. I confess I was not quick enough on my toes to see the entire operation. I felt safe in thinking that I would be able to enjoy the finish of the performance, but that was not to be. Before half the customers were out of the main top, being hustled through the entrance by impatient ushers, elephants and roughnecks began piling through the performer's entrance.
I was hustled out with the rest and was stunned to see the animal top—containing the menagerie—the cookhouse, dressing top, sideshow, all gone. By the time I made it back into the main top, the customers were gone and three hundred canvasmen, prop-men, ring makers, side wall men, electricians, and rigging men were stripping the inside. The folding plank platforms that serve as seats were being hydraulically collapsed into the backs of waiting vans, while the performer's rigging and stages were being detached, pulled apart, and digested by more wagons. Lights began going off as the electricians removed the heavy light arrays; meanwhile the elephants—bulls—were being directed to unseat the quarter poles supporting the middle of the top between the peak and the sidewalls. Before they were finished, it was black inside, and I moved out fast, having no desire to be trampled underfoot.
I stood to one side of the former main entrance, after the last of the wagons and bulls had exited, and heard the Boss Canvasman say "Let 'er go!" A blast of air mixed with all of the smells of the circus rushed from under the tent, almost carrying the six men who ran from beneath the collapsing fabric. Even before the huge sea of canvas had settled to the lot, canvasmen jumped on it and began unlacing the sections. In moments, the huge sections were folded, rolled, and stored upon the spool wagons. The six sticks—center poles—of the main top were lowered, while countless stakes were pulled up by tractors and loaded into more wagons.
It seemed that a city had vanished, and as I stood in the empty lot watching scraps of paper being pushed by the gentle breeze, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw a rugged, black face. "I bet that's the first time for you, isn't it?"
I nodded. "I've never seen anything like it—"
He held up a hand, then pointed it at the departing wagons. "You better get going. Those wagons will be loaded and the shuttles gone in another twenty minutes."
"Aren't you coming?"
He shook his head. "I'm Tick Tock, the twenty-four-hour man. I have to stay behind to clean up the lot and make sure the city is happy with the way we leave the place."
I looked at the wagons. "But, how will you get to the ship?"
"I don't. I jump ahead of the ship to prepare the next lot. Been with Mr. John nine years, now, and I've never seen the show." He pointed again at the wagons, and I ran. I made the Number Ten shuttle just as the sixty-foot center-pole wagon was being pulled inside.
I had no time to gawk at the City of Baraboo. No sooner had the shuttle docked and made fast to the exterior of the hull than I was hustled off and directed to report to Mr. John's quarters. I was carried by the stream of traffic, and by chance managed to make it. The door was open, and I entered. My entrance was acknowledged by the Governor raising one eyebrow, giving me a quick glance, then returning his gaze to the papers on his desk. Two men were in the compartment, standing next to the desk, and when Duckfoot and another man pushed in behind him, the six of us appeared to crowd the tiny room.
The Governor sat up and nodded at Duckfoot. "Close the door. Fill the Boss Hostler and Boss Porter in after we talk." Duckfoot turned, pressed a switch, and faced O'Hara as the door hissed shut.
"What's up, Mr. John?"
The Governor looked at me. "Warts, this is Rat Man Jack, our route man, and Stretch Dirak. Stretch manages the advance car." He indicated the two men standing next to his desk. "You know Duckfoot; the fellow who came in with him is Bald Willy, pilot and Boss Crewman of the Baraboo." He pointed at me. "This is Warts." I ignored the reference to my nonhuman skin and nodded at the others. The Governor nodded at Rat Man. "Tell them."
Rat Man Jack faced the rest of us. "Two things: there's a civil war brewing on Wallabee; and the Abe Show is going to try running day-and-date with us there to try and split the circus crowd."
Duckfoot issued a low whistle, then shook his head. "Rat Man, is there any chance that the civil war will begin shooting while we're on the skin?"
Rat Man shrugged. "No one can be certain, but things are pretty tense." He turned to O'Hara. "What about the Abe Show? If Arnheim & Boon knew about the political situation, maybe they'd call off the duel to another time."
The Governor smiled and closed his eyes. "They know." His eyes opened again. "They get their information from the same places that we get ours. I think that Arnheim knew first about the possible rebellion, and then decided that it might be to his advantage in his war with us."
The Rat Man held out his hands. "Well, do we blow the planet and find greener grass, or do we slug it out?"
The Governor bowed his head for an instant, then came up with fire in his eye. "We play Wallabee, as scheduled. The route, contracts, advertising—everything—is already done. We'd have to delay for a month or more to alter the route now, and that would give Karl Arnheim just what he wants, and without bruising one knuckle." He turned to the Boss Canvasman. "Duckfoot, can you peel off a couple of dozen of your roughnecks and give them to Stretch? I want to beef up the advance's opposition brigade."
Duckfoot nodded. "There'll be cherry pie all around, but we can handle it."
"Good." Mr. John faced me. "Warts, I want you to go with the advance."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. A good bit of the action will be on the advertising car, and I want you to get it all down. I'll take notes on the show so you won't fall behind." He turned to Bald Willy. The City of Baraboo has to be protected at all costs. I don't put it past Arnheim to try and pull something on board."
Bald Willy nodded. "Don't worry, Mr. John. No one knows this tub better than I do."
The Governor nodded, then raised his eyebrows. "And, don't you forget that this ship was built by Arnheim & Boon Conglomerated Enterprises." He turned back to his papers. "That's it."
As we left the compartment, the one called Stretch, a huge, powerful-looking man, grabbed my arm and began pulling me along in his wake. "Wait, I have to pick up my things!"
"No time, Warts. No time. In the advance that's all you have time for: no time."
SEVENTEEN
May 3rd, 2144
The advance is the advertising arm of the show. It is housed, between planets, in a quad-shuttle commando raider named the Blitzkrieg. The shuttles are named Cannon Ball, Thunder Bird, Battle Bolt, and War Eagle, I am told, after the advertising cars used by the now extinct RB&BB Show. The belligerence of the names might lead one to conclude that the advance's role is of a combative nature. In such a case, one would be right.
Before the City of Baraboo had left orbit, the fi/te's last shuttle, War Eagle, was up from the surface of Pendiia with Tick Tock, the twenty-four-hour man. No sooner had Number Four docked, than the Blitz streaked out ahead of the Baraboo toward Wallabee. What happened next might be called an executive meeting or strategy session in an advertising firm, but on the Blitz we gathered for a Council of War.