Steven Harper - Trickster

"I'm always looking for something unique to add to my collection," Kendi said with a small smile. "This one isn't quite to my taste-" he gestured at a messy blob of colors titled Circus Day "-but I'm sure you have better." He sniffed. "You certainly couldn't have worse."

"What sort of work is to your taste?"

"Realistic paintings and sculptures, especially of circus animals."

"Then you should follow me, fine gentle, and I will guide your steps to something more to your liking. I am Pnebran, and this is my gallery."

Pnebran turned and walked away, swaying like a sapling in the wind. Kendi followed, trying not to bounce in the lighter gravity of the gallery. The place was built on a spiral. A large open space opened all the way up to the ceiling, and a single wide balcony wound its way around the wall, corkscrewing a path to the top. Occasional staircases and lift platforms provided shortcuts. Floors, walls, and ceilings were white so as not to detract from the artwork displays which lined the walls. Statues, paintings, holograms both static and mobile, living sculptures, and sound symphonies each had a niche. Creatures of many shapes and species moved slowly among the pieces. Every work had a price discretely displayed somewhere on it, reminding the viewer that this was not a museum.

"You have arrived at an appropriate time," Pnebran continued. "I am displaying my annual exhibit of circus pieces."

"I know," Kendi said. "That's why I'm here."

Pnebran made a languid gesture, and Kendi wondered if his bones would break under the full gravity of the rest of the station. Was Pnebran a prisoner in his own gallery? If so, why did he stay on SA Station?

"The first three tiers are all circus artwork," Pnebran said. "Here we have a lovely display of Pallingram's early work. The colors are carefully muted and almost hypnotic. You're familiar, I'm sure, with the fact that his work always has a dark edge to it."

Kendi looked with pretended interest at the four paintings. They did indeed hold a dark quality to them. The clowns creating a living pyramid in the first painting looked ready to leap onto the audience and devour them. A tiger in the second was clearly about to slip its leash and attack the red-clad ringleader.

"Fine examples," Kendi said. "What else do you have? I'm especially interested in the rarer works."

"Would you like to touch my Koochi?"

Kendi bit back a reply that would probably have gotten him ejected from the gallery and simply nodded instead. Pnebran lead him to a blank section of white wall. "There," Pnebran said with another gesture. Kendi laid his palm on the wall. Crowd noise instantly crashed over him and he smelled roasted peanuts.

"Olfactory and auditory neural interface," Pnebran said proudly. "I have heard rumors of a Koochi that combines three senses but have been unable to find such."

"Breathtaking," Kendi said, meaning it. "What is the price?"

"Eight hundred thousand freemarks," Pnebran replied.

"A steal," Kendi said, barely managing not to choke. "What else do you have?"

Pnebran showed Kendi several other pieces, and Kendi pretended polite interest in each. Other guides of Pnebran's species shepherded other customers through the gallery around them.

"Have you sold many pieces during this exhibition?" Kendi asked casually.

"We just opened it yesterday, gentle, so not yet. It is a popular exhibition, however. The idea of a traveling group of performers appears in so many cultures that it is nearly universal, as is the artwork that springs from the concept, so we have people of many species who wish to visit."

Kendi nodded. "I'm especially interested in pieces with elephants in them. I had heard there were a few here."

"We sold one such just today," Pnebran said. " Gray Elephants on Parade by Wimpale."

Kendi seemed to grow excited. "Do you have more Wimpale?"

"I am afraid I do not."

"Dammit! Who bought the piece? No, let me guess-Edsard Roon."

"You know him," Pnebran observed.

"I know who he is," Kendi replied ruefully. "Does he often buy from you?"

"He is one of our favored customers. He has, in fact, one of the finest collections of circus art I have ever seen. And his memorabilia collection goes beyond the status of mere treasure."

"I've never seen his collection," Kendi said absently. Something stirred in his head.

Pnebran, meanwhile, lead Kendi to another painting. A group of human circus folk were gathered around a downed elephant. "Yemark's work is not so much dark as delightfully depressing. This is one of his earlier ones. The elephant is diseased and soon to be put out of misery."

Diseased. The word froze Kendi's world. He stared at the painting for a long moment. Ideas and possibilities rushed through his mind. Abruptly, one idea crystallized, and excitement surged through him. It took him a moment to realize Pnebran was speaking to him.

"… you well, gentle?" Pnebran asked. "Do you like the painting? The price is-"

"I'm fine," Kendi interrupted, wishing the curator would shut up. "I just… I'm receiving a call. Excuse me?" He turned away and pressed a hand to the side of his head, as if listening to someone on his earpiece, and he used the time to examine his idea from several sides. Disease. A ship. Roon's key. Elephants. It would work. He was sure of it. Excitement jumped around Kendi's head and made him want to leap up and slap the ceiling. In this gravity, he might be able to pull it off.

Instead, he turned back to Pnebran. "I have to leave, sir. How long will your exhibit be open? There are some pieces I want to look at more closely."

Pnebran made a graceful gesture Kendi took for a slight bow. "We close in twelve more days."

Kendi thanked him and rushed away.

Ben glared down at the pile of rubble beneath his feet, then lifted his plexiglass face mask and swiped at his sweaty face with one sleeve. The little sledgehammer pulled with substantial weight at his other arm. It wasn't working anymore. Smashing Padric Sufur flat with a hammer used to give him a certain amount of satisfaction, but lately it hadn't done much for him. Maybe he needed to try something else. But what?

He wished he could create the real thing, a Dream simulacrum that would move and talk. And bleed. But Mom had always said that no one could create people in the Dream.

A feathery touch on Ben's mind warned him that someone was nearby.

Ben quickly banished the sledgehammer, face shield, and remains of Sufur's statue. "Come on in," he said aloud.

A falcon swooped in from the plain gray sky. It changed into a kangaroo in mid-drop and landed lightly in front of Ben. The kangaroo had a pouch. Before the Despair, Kendi's fragment animals had always been female, a trait that seemed to have carried over into Kendi's current state. The one time Ben had tried to rib Kendi about this had resulted in such an explosion of temper that Ben had never again remarked on it. Nowadays Ben always thought of Dream Kendi as "he," regardless of the gender of his animal form.

"Where's the computer system?" the kangaroo asked.

Ben shrugged. "I'm playing around with other stuff. How did things go at the gallery?"

"Pretty good. That's why I'm in here, in fact." Kendi gave Ben a capsule description of his conversation with Pnebran. He kept bobbing up and down in obvious excitement. "I've got it, Ben. I know how to do it."

"Do what?"

"Get them out."

"You mean you didn't before?"

"Not completely," Kendi admitted. "But then it hit me in the middle of the art gallery, every detail. I think it'll work. And it won't take that long."

Ben called up an armchair and plunked down into it, bringing himself down to Kendi's eye level. "So what's the plan?"

Kendi looked away. "I'm not… I don't think I should tell you all of it."