"It still will be."
Warts shook his head. "I don't understand."
O'Hara sighed, then coughed. Quiet again, his breath came in short gasps. "I don't think... we're getting out of this one, Warts. Maybe the crew can keep the ship in orbit... maybe they can fix the beacon. Now that the Blitz is back, maybe ... maybe our chances are better." He shook his head as he coughed. "If we get stuck on that planet, the show is in for the toughest season it ever saw. No audience... hard work, scrabbling to survive. It'll die, Warts. The show... the circus!" O'Hara looked about, his eyes darting back and forth in their sockets. "Warts? Warts?"
Warts squeezed the Governor's arm. "I'm right here, Mr. John."
O'Hara relaxed a bit. "We've got O'Hara's Greater Shows on board this rocket to Hell... the circus. The best of all the circuses... that ever existed..." O'Hara's head rocked back and forth. "... the circus'll just fade... away..."
"Mr. John?" Getting no answer, Warts leaned over the Governor and shook his shoulders. "Mr. Jo—"
The Governor's right hand shot out and grabbed Warts by the back of his neck, then a strong arm pulled the Pendiian's head next to O'Hara's lips. "Warts... never... never let these people forget who they are. Never... let them forget..."
The hand relaxed, then the arm went limp and floated in the air. The Pendiian stared at the Governor for a long moment. Then Warts pushed away from the bed and came to rest against the Governor's desk. He turned on the light, then looked for the route book. He found it hovering at the foot of the Governor's bed. He retrieved it, moved back to the desk, then opened it.
May 3rd, 2148
En route to Momus. Blitz has returned with all hands. John J. O'Hara has passed away.
AFTERSHOW
Horth Shimsiv, Ninth Quadrant Admiralty Officer, Investigations Division, turned the last sheet of the huge, hand-bound volume, then looked up at the young human dressed in black-and-white-diamond-patterned robe. "Well, what happened then?"
The young fellow roused himself from a doze, rubbed his eyes, then stood and joined the officer on the other side of the adobe shack. "What was your question?" He held out his hand.
The officer frowned and reached into his pocket for some of the little copper things they used for money on Momus. Taking several, he dropped them into the fellow's hand. "What happened after this? I'm here to investigate the actual accident."
The young fellow walked to a rough plank shelf containing several similar volumes and pulled one down. He turned and placed it before the officer. "What you read was the Book of Baraboo. You said you wanted to know about the ship. This volume is the first Book of Momus. I think it tells about the landing."
The officer frowned. "You don't know?"
The young man blushed. "I'm but an apprentice priest, Officer Shimsiv. Perhaps you would like to speak to the Boss Priest of our order, Great Warts."
"Warts?"
The young man nodded. "He is the last living member of the company that flew on the Baraboo. Please, come this way." He turned and walked to the back of the room and halted next to a black-and-white-diamond-patterned curtain. Horth Shimsiv pushed his bulk to his feet, relaxed his tail, and straightened his uniform as he approached the door and came to a halt next to the apprentice priest. The young man lifted the curtain and stuck in his head. "Great Warts?"
"What is it, Badnews?" The voice was high-pitched and cracked.
"The officer from the Admiralty Office wishes to speak to you."
"Send him in; send him in."
Horth followed the apprentice into a small, dark room. In the back of the room sat a tiny Pendiian dressed in the familiar black and white diamonds. Before the old priest's comfortable wicker chair was a low table upon which were three cards: two jacks and an ace of hearts. "I've read the first book, Mr. Warts, but I still haven't learned what I need to about the actual crash."
The Pendiian leaned back in his chair, and held out his hand. Horth glowered, then dropped some coppers into it. "Well, thank you officer...?"
"Horth Shimsiv."
"Yes. Sit. Sit."
Horth found a rude wooden stool before the table and seated himself. "What about the crash?"
Warts nodded. "A sad day and a proud day."
"Meaning?"
The Boss Priest flipped over the three cards then moved them around. When he stopped, he left them in a straight line, then looked at Horth. "Care to buy a chance on finding the ace?"
Horth frowned. "No thank you. What about the crash?"
Warts sighed. "Well, you know the Baraboo made orbit?"
"The book didn't say, but I assumed something of the sort."
Warts nodded. "Well, when the shuttles were loaded and on their way to the skin, the crew on the Baraboo must have found out whatever Karl Arnheim's last surprise was. As soon as we left, Pirate Jon was going to try and put the ship into a permanent orbit with the computers. The surprise must have been in there, because the ship dove and burned in the atmosphere before the first shuttle touched the skin." The Pendiian looked down and shook his head.
"What then?"
Warts looked up, collected his thoughts, then nodded. "Well the shuttles hardly had any fuel. We couldn't do any fancy formation flying, and so we went down when and as we could. Four of the shuttles did land together near here next to Tarzak. Four of them landed in different places up north, a couple landed west of here, and one went clear across the water to the next continent. The Pendiian shook his head. "Took us three years to get back together again. The parades started looking good after that."
"Parades?"
Warts raised his brows, then laughed. "Parades. Why, twenty minutes after our four shuttles touched down, we made formation and went on parade." He leaned forward as though he were explaining something to a mentally arrested child. "That's what O'Hara's always does after it makes a stand." He leaned back and smiled. "The services—the parade—the next year was better. We had a road cut to Miira by then, so we had the rubber mules—elephants—in the formation."
Horth shook his scaled head, then frowned at the Boss Priest "I've seen cultures orient themselves around numerous things—making religions out of them. But... they were survival things with laws concerning food, sex, social organization. But, a circus? I've looked around this town a little, and everyone is either a clown, an acrobat, a magician, or something else. Keeping up these skills and passing them on, in addition to trying to feed, clothe, and shelter yourselves these past fifty years, must have wrought terrible hardships upon you. Why? Why did you do it? A circus, of all things. Why?"
Warts rubbed the bumps on his chin. "I thought you said you read the first book."
"I did. Still, I don't understand."
Warts studied the officer for a few moments, then shrugged "It's a disease."
Horth sighed, then got to his feet. "Well, thank you, Mr Warts. If I need more information we'll be sending someone down." The officer bowed, turned, then left the room.
Badnews held up his hand. "Great War—"
"Shhh!" Warts waited a few moments until he could hear Horth's footsteps on the gravel path outside. "Now, my boy; what was it?" Badnews frowned. "I've never seen one before, Great Warts, although I've read of them in the Books. Was that a rube?"
Warts rubbed his bumps, then nodded. "Yes, my boy, that was a rube." The old Pendiian pushed up the sleeves to his robe and flexed his fingers. He gathered up his three cards and put them down, face up. "And, there's a whole shipload of them up there. Pardon me while I brush a little rust off of my game."