City of Baraboo

"But, why?"

Francis shrugged. "Mystienya has humans on it; we're the Empire's therapy." He picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to Tom. "This is the new billeting assignment schedule." He shrugged. "Do what you can."

Tom looked over the sheet, shaking his head. He looked up at Francis. "Where are the new workers from?"

"A traveling entertainment of some kind. The Nuumiian that informed me of the new lot said that this was a small advance party, and that many more could be expected in a few days. Someone is working the Goatha on them. I wonder what they did to earn it?"

"I'm still trying to figure out what we did to earn it." Tom bit his lower lip, then changed the subject. "Have you heard anything about Linda and my boy?"

Francis shook his head. "Nothing new from the hostage camps for over twenty days now." The old man reached out a hand and gently placed it on Tom's arm. "I'm certain they are all right. As long as we play the Nuumiian's silly games, they promised to keep the women and children safe."

Tom shook his head. "Three years. Three years. How much longer will this silly game last? How long does it take a Nuumiian to work off a good hate?"

Francis looked down and shrugged. They both suspected that the answer to that question would be forever.

TWENTY-NINE

Cev To Linta, the Nuumiian Empire's adviser to O'Hara's Greater Shows, stepped down from the Baraboo's Number One Shuttle and watched as the humans went about the task of building the circus's tent city on the lot. The one called O'Hara walked up to him, nodded, then turned his attention toward the unloading, a frown on his face.

"Something concerns you, Mr. O'Hara?"

O'Hara lifted a hand and rubbed his chin, then turned to the Nuumiian. "I don't know. Tick Tock, that's our twenty-four-hour man, should be here. He isn't."

The Nuumiian nodded. "Does that cause difficulty?"

The human shook his head. "No. He left instructions." O'Hara scratched the back of his neck. "He should be here, though. Our radio room can't raise any of the advance shuttles, although the Blitzkrieg reports nothing unusual."

"It is probably radio interference, Mr. O'Hara. This planet is noted for it." The Nuumiian bowed his head. "Which reminds me, I must call in my own report to my superiors. If you will excuse me."

O'Hara nodded. "Of course. Hurry back. The cookhouse will be open in about twenty minutes."

Cev To Linta bowed again, then turned and headed toward the low, domed buildings at the edge of the lot. Karl Arnheim's Goatha appeared in good order. It was often said that humans cannot understand or appreciate the Goatha, but the human Arnheim gave the lie to that tale—or at least he appeared to. He had taken no instruction in the art/science/religion of revenge, yet his steps toward working Goatha on the human O'Hara seemed flawless. Cev To Linta had no desire to have a preview of Arnheim's revenge, since the Goatha is best appreciated as its artist chooses to unfold it. Still, thought the Nuumiian, how will Arnheim make his revenge—his Goatha—unique to O'Hara and patterned to a thing as curious as a circus? It must be a very special Goatha. Cev To Linta hoped that the human's seemingly natural flair for revenge would not be disappointing.

Ambassador Sum removed the tiny plate from his forehead and placed it on the phone hook. Nodding, he turned and faced the human Arnheim. "Linta has reported that the first elements of the City of Baraboo have landed at the field near Shazral."

Arnheim, seated comfortably in Sum's office, nodded slowly. "And the advance is on its way to one of the work camps?"

Sum nodded. "As you instructed."

Arnheim studied the Nuumiian. "Ambassador Sum, I want to thank you for all of your help—"

Sum waved a hand. "It is I who should be thanking you. Not only have you made me and a few of my associates very wealthy, despite having bought up all of those circus companies, you also have allowed us to participate in your Goatha."

Arnheim frowned. He still didn't understand the purpose or workings of this Goatha thing, whatever it was. Revenge for the form and beauty of it seemed foolish. He shrugged. Whatever it was, he seemed to be doing everything right. Arnheim met Sum's gaze. "The next step, Ambassador, is to fill his tent with a cheering crowd. Can that be done?"

Sum rubbed his hands together and nodded. "It is as good as done." Sum took a deep breath and looked in admiration at Arnheim. That a mere human, without instruction, could work such a Goatha—it was inspiring.

"After that—"

Sum held up his hands. "No! Please tell me no more. I don't want you to spoil the ending for me."

Arnheim frowned again at the Nuumiian, then shrugged. Whatever, he thought.

THIRTY

Francis DeNare stood at the base of the village guard tower and looked over the new lot. They wore rough, but colorful clothing, and confused looks on their faces. The large one in the front row of the hundred and forty studied Francis for awhile, then raised his eyes to study the guard's capsule on the tower. Troublemaker, thought Francis. There has to be one in every lot. He cleared his throat, then addressed the group. "As part of the Nuumiian Goatha, this village was established for the purpose of avenging the limitation of the Empire. For this purpose we mine the milk rock, which is for no purpose. It appears that you are here serving another Goatha." Tom Warner emerged from the barracks entrance, walked over and joined Francis.

"Everything is about as squared away as I can get it."

Francis nodded, then noticed the dust rising from the direction of the pit. He turned back to the new lot. "It is too late to join the afternoon shift. Tom Warner here will show you where you sleep and where you eat." Francis looked back at the tall one in front. "Things are already close to survival limits. So... don't make trouble." Francis turned and looked up at the tower. "Honor?"

"Yes, De Nare?"

"I have finished with them. Is there something you wish to say?"

The Pause. "Humans, the secret to getting along is to go along. Escape, disrespect, failure to work, causing trouble in the village, all are punishable in the shocks. DeNare?"

"Yes, Honor?"

"Leave the big one behind. Send the others to their barracks."

"Yes, Honor." In moments the street was clear as doors slammed and low voices directed fearful footsteps.

The large man thrust beefy hands into his trouser pockets, looked around at the empty street, then looked up at the guard tower. "Well?"

"Your name, Human."

The big man spat on the ground, not to clear his lungs, but just for the sake of it. He looked back up at the tower. "Dirak. Stretch Dirak. I'm the advance manager for O'Hara's Greater Shows."

The Pause. "Dirak, I understand the Goatha of the humans that arrived before you. What is the nature of your Goatha?"

Stretch shrugged. "Beats me."

"I do not understand 'beats me.' "

"I don't know what a Goatha is, and if I did, I don't know how it applies to us."

"That is curious." The tower guard paused. "Dirak, do you know who you offended? Perhaps I can appreciate the Goatha from that knowledge."

Stretch grinned. "I haven't offended anyone, as far as I know. But what if I scooted up to that little egg of yours and knocked it off that perch? Would that offend—"

A blue streak of light sizzled from the tower, engulfed the big man in a blue envelope, then it stopped. Dirak sank to the street. "You must not threaten force, human. It is punishable by the shocks. Warner." The volume from the tower increased. "Warner!"