City of Baraboo

Havu opened his mouth to speak, the subject being his favorite, but he stopped. The human seemed intelligent, and eager to learn. The Nuumiian checked his personal weapons rack, thought again of the endless days remaining on his watch, then he turned back to the figure before the tower. "The Goatha is something that needs to be explained at length... after you return from the pits tomorrow and stand roll call, come to the tower and stand beneath it. We shall have an evening together to discuss it."

Every human on the village street froze, their mouths hanging open, as though Havu had unleashed a wide-band shock. The human called Pratt closed his mouth, then nodded. "Okay. I'll see you then." He pointed at one of the barracks. "Can I go now?"

"Proceed."

The human moved off, and Havu watched as the rest of the humans in the street became animated again, moving off to their sleep places. Two large humans followed Pratt into a barracks, and in moments the street was clear. Havu energized the repulsor field, then stood and surveyed the interior of the capsule. Pratt may be simply curious, but he is also a prisoner, thought the Nuumiian. Havu went to his clothes press and pulled out his street uniform, the one with the individual repulsor field antenna woven throughout the fabric. It had been half a year since its last use, and he placed it back into the press and tripped the denser, noticing somewhat in a state of surprise that he was looking forward to his first evening with company.

Billy Pratt felt a ham-sized hand land on his shoulder moments after he had entered the barracks. He looked around and saw Stretch Dirak looking down at him. Stretch cocked his head toward the door opposite Francis DeNare's. "I'm tired, Stretch." He nodded at Duckfoot, then looked back at the man holding his shoulder. "I'm on my way to bed."

Stretch opened the door with his free hand and shoved Billy Pratt inside the door. Tom Warner looked up from his cot and frowned at Stretch. "What's all this?"

Stretch and Duckfoot entered, and sat on the bed opposite Warner's. Stretch reached out a hand, closed the door, and pushed Billy down on the edge of Tom's cot. Stretch pointed at Billy. "Pussycat has invited Billy to dinner."

Tom raised his eyebrows, stared at Billy, then turned back to Stretch. "I... how. I mean—"

"Never mind that. You've been against the revolt from the beginning—said it couldn't work. What if we got someone in the tower?"

Tom sat up, rubbed his chin, then looked at Billy. "Do you think you could kill a Nuumiian?"

Billy looked from Tom, to Stretch, to Duckfoot, then back to Tom. His eyebrows went up several notches and he got to his feet. "Oh no! Nossir, not me—"

Stretch pushed him back down onto Tom's cot. "Sit down Billy and shut up. Right now you're our only chance."

"I'm no commando, Stretch—"

"You're not much of a fixer, either." Stretch turned to Tom. "What about it? If he gets into the tower, do we have a chance?"

Tom nodded, then smiled. "A chance." He turned, reached behind the head of his cot, and tugged at a piece of the plastic wall. It came loose, Tom reached in with his hand, and came out holding a wooden gun. He held it out to Stretch.

"What's that?"

"If Pussycat lets Billy into the tower, you can bet Pussycat's going to be wearing his armored longjohns. We found out about them two years ago when we... tried our own revolt."

Stretch frowned. "What happened?"

"We had watched them change guards. When the change takes place, the one inside comes out, goes through a little ritual with his replacement, then gets into a little scooter thing left by the other guard. That's when we tried to rush them, but we were stopped by their repulsor fields—then came the shocks." He pursed his lips, then nodded. "Pussycat is going to have to have that field on pretty low inside the capsule. Otherwise he'd blow out the walls."

Stretch turned the gun over in his huge hands. "What about this, then?"

"It's spring-loaded and it fires a sharpened metal bolt." Tom paused and looked at Billy. "If Pussycat is going to eat or talk, he can't have that field covering his face. Shoot this into it."

Billy swallowed as Stretch dropped the gun on his lap. It was small with a small lever beneath the barrel to release the spring lock. The part holding the spring was wrapped many times with heavy wire. Stretch turned to Tom. "When we take the tower, can we use the weapons in it to take out the other two towers?"

Tom nodded. "The shocks will reach that far, and when Billy has his date, we'll all be back in the village. That way we won't have to be too careful about aiming." Tom turned to Billy. "When are you supposed to go?"

Billy's throat felt dry. "Right after coming back from the pits."

Tom nodded. "You better keep that, then. Stick it in your waistband underneath your shirt. You won't have time to pick it up. Remember, just stick it in his face and pull the trigger."

Billy looked down at the gun, then up into Stretch's face. "Stretch, I... I..."

Stretch grabbed Billy by the shoulder. "You can at least do this much for your show—and these others—can't you?"

Billy looked down, swallowed, then tucked the gun under his shirt. He stood and headed toward the door. "I'm going now."

As Billy opened the door, Stretch stood. "Don't foul up, Billy. Understand."

"I understand." Billy left the room, stopped in the small hall and stared out of the barrack door toward the tower. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

THIRTY-THREE

On the City of Baraboo, Karl Arnheim was waiting as Ambassador Sum stepped out of the docked shuttle's airlock. "Come to inspect your new attack transport, Ambassador Sum?"

Sum studied the human, then shook his head. "I came up because what I have to say is not something to trust to the airwaves."

Arnheim frowned, then turned toward the ship's wardroom. "Let's go where we can talk." He walked down the corridor, turned into the open hatch, and motioned to a built-in seat, in which the Nuumiian sat down. Arnheim turned to the wardroom's bar. "Refreshment, Ambassador?"

"No. Nothing."

Arnheim shrugged, poured himself a cup of purim, then sat in a seat across the wardroom table from the Nuumiian. "Very well, Ambassador Sum. What seems to be the problem?"

Sum leaned on the edge of the table. "Perhaps nothing, Mr. Arnheim; perhaps everything. Your Goatha is drawing the attention of the Imperial Chamber."

Without changing expression, Arnheim sipped at his drink, then placed it on the table. "So?"

"Mr. Arnheim, the destruction of O'Hara's Greater Shows as part of an artistically executed Goatha is well within Imperial Law. But, there are some in the Imperial Chamber who suggest that you are doing this, not as an act of Goatha, but as a simple act of pecuniary gain."

Arnheim leaned back and studied the Nuumiian. "I derive nothing from this, save the destruction of John J. O'Hara. As you very well know, this stunt has already cost me plenty, and I'm not even claiming the ship. We agreed that the ship and all its equipment would be turned over to the Empire for its own use."

Sum nodded. "This has kept most of your critics at bay; however, a simple act of destruction—one without style—will not be tolerated either."

"Style?"

"I am aware of your ignorance concerning the Goatha, and to be frank, Mr. Arnheim, that is what has me nervous. Thus far you have done exceptionally well. Having the performers arrested by a cheering audience—a very nice touch. But, although it may spoil it for me, perhaps I should be told the end of this. If the Goatha is not resolved adequately, we could all be ruined through our forced restitution to Mr. O'Hara."

Arnheim slowly nodded, took another sip from his drink, then lowered it to the table. "Do you mean that if I don't destroy O'Hara according to some set of rules, he gets off and I lose my shirt?"