Steven Harper - Trickster

It was all stopgap, of course. When the current crop of Silent died, Silent Acquisitions would follow them. But that was still several decades away, and someone, Roon was sure, would find a solution.

Meanwhile, between overseeing the Collection's day-to-day operations and playing the part of Dreamer Roon, he was finding precious little time to admire his circus collection. The outing to the circus exhibit had been his first major treat in months. Ah well. Eventually the Collection would run itself, and Edsard would have more spare time. Several of the Alphas had already been promoted to Beta, and when they reached Delta status, they would take over the training of new Alphas, replacing the current Deltas, who were played by actors. This absolutely loyal base of workers would "recruit" and train more workers, who would, in turn, indoctrinate yet another generation. It was perfect. It was brilliant. And it had been all his idea.

Edsard grinned. Once the Alphas were all nicely pliable Betas, he would start the next phase of the operation. He toyed with the computer key on its chain around his neck as his mind filled with pleasant plans.

"Mr. Roon?"

Edsard glanced up. His wife Annalies Roon, a soft, pale woman with white-blond hair and gray eyes, was standing in the door. He gave her a quizzical look.

"There's someone here to see you. A Mr. Evan Qiwele. He was insistent but not rude."

"What does he want to see me about, Mrs. Roon?"

She gestured at the displays. "He says he a circus enthusiast and he's hoping to see your collection, especially your Wimpales."

Edsard's first instinct was to tell Mrs. Roon to send him away. It had been a long day, and he was looking forward to some time alone. Mrs. Roon would keep the children, and he could spend a quiet hour or two.

On the other hand, it was no fun having a collection if you didn't get to show it off. Edsard's few friends didn't share his enthusiasm, and it would be nice to have a new audience, even one that arrived unexpectedly.

"Show him in, Mrs. Roon," he ordered.

She nodded and vanished. A few moments later, a tall, dark-skinned man wearing blue silk, white gloves, and a red turban entered the room. A smile wide as a crescent moon split the man's face in half.

"Mr. Roon?" He extended a hand and Edsard shook it. "I'm Evan Qiwele. Sorry to drop in on you unannounced, but I was down at a certain gallery today and learned that you beat me to a Wimpale. I had to see if you would allow me to view it."

"Mr. Qiwele," Edsard said politely. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Thank you. Scotch and soda?"

Mrs. Roon had already taken up her position behind the bar. Ice clinked and soda hissed. Roon reached for his floating tea glass and gestured for Qiwele to sit on one of the sofas. He accepted the drink when Mrs. Roon brought it, sipped, and looked at the glass appreciatively.

"The scotch is twenty years old," Edsard said. "I keep it especially for guests."

Qiwele nodded and set the glass down in the air beside him with a restless air. The computer caught the glass and set it to hover.

"I apologize again if I seem rude," Qiwele said, hands tapping on his knees, "but I couldn't help myself. I've been looking for a Wimpale for ages, and just when I think I've gotten a solid lead on one, I learn that someone has whisked it out from under my nose. I congratulate you, Mr. Roon, though I have to say I'm not above trying to convince you to sell it to me. Or perhaps we could arrange a trade? Something in my collection for something in yours?"

Edsard shook his head with a smile. "I doubt that very much. The Wimpales are the jewel of my collection. Have you been a circus enthusiast for long?"

"All my life." Qiwele continued tapping his hands on his knees. "My wife thinks I'm insane. I literally snuck through a war zone for the chance to examine a Debsi sculpture once. Turned out to be a forgery, I'm sorry to say."

"Debsi isn't really my thing," Edsard said with a smile. "Shall I show you my collection, then?"

"That would be a delight, sir," Qiwele cried with palpable enthusiasm. "Do you still have Lupino's makeup case? I would give a great deal to see that."

"I have it," Edsard told him, surprised and pleased. "How did you-"

"Please." Qiwele held up a hand. "I've heard a great deal about your collection, Mr. Roon, and I've been eager to get a look at it for a long, long time."

Feeling flattered, Edsard got to his feet. Mrs. Roon stayed behind the bar as he lead Qiwele to the first display case. They chatted circus as Qiwele examined with happy exclamations each piece Edsard showed him. Qiwele clearly knew what he was talking about, and Edsard found himself glowing with pride as he saw his prizes anew through the eyes of his visitor. A fine man, this Mr. Qiwele.

Despite the growing lateness of the hour, Edsard saved the Wimpales for last, and when Qiwele at last reached them, he let out a long sigh of contentment.

"Let me simply feast my eyes," he said. "No one captures the spirit of the circus elephant like Wimpale."

"Agreed," Edsard said. "His work takes me back to my childhood. I wanted to be a circus performer for the longest time."

"I wanted to be a lion tamer," Qiwele confessed with a wry grin. "I even made a whip. The first time I used it, I broke an antique lamp and my mother banished me to the garden."

"I wanted to be a clown," Edsard said. "Whenever there was a costume party, you would find me dressed in floppy shoes and white makeup."

Qiwele looked him up and down. "That's hard to picture," he said.

"Truth." Edsard held up his right hand, though his eyes took on a faraway look. He remembered the smell of real greasepaint, the ridiculous flapping of overlarge shoes, making silly faces, eliciting bright laughter from other partygoers. The only thing missing was the ring and the roar of an audience. He came to himself a moment later and realized Qiwele was staring at him.

"What?" he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

Qiwele made his wide, white smile again. "Just trying to imagine you as a clown. It still doesn't fit." He gave an abrupt yawn that nearly split his head in two, and Roon, finding the gesture contagious, followed suit. "Heavens, it's late. I've intruded on you long enough, sir. Your lovely wife abandoned us ages ago."

He leaned against Edsard's desk, the one with the Collection terminal on it. Edsard quickly gestured him over to a pair of armchairs and they sat despite Qiwele's observation of the hour.

"I trust I'll see you at the Emporium next week," Qiwele said.

"The Emporium?" Edsard echoed, confused.

"The Kalopolis Intergalactic Traveling Emporium of Wonders."

"I know what it is. What do you mean by mentioning it?"

Qiwele scratched his ear. "You hadn't heard?"

"Heard what?" Roon asked with a hint of impatience.

"The Emporium is coming here next week for a short engagement. Three performances only."

Edsard sat bolt upright. "The Emporium is coming here? To SA Station? Why didn't I hear about it?"

"Tickets are already sold out, my good man. You really hadn't heard?"

Anxiety mixed with disappointment. The Emporium was the greatest circus in all history. No other even came close. Roon had only seen the Emporium's show twice his life, and both times he had come away burning to see more. He would happily travel slipspace for a month to catch it, but his schedule was so insane these days, such things were out of the question. Now the Emporium was coming here, right into his own neighborhood, and tickets were already gone. Well, he would see about that. What was the point of having money and power if you didn't use it?

"You must come," Qiwele was saying. He lowered his voice, though they were patently alone. "I'm good friends with the ringleader, and-"