Bone Breaker Bob Naseby, the ship's surgeon, looked across Karl Arnheim's blackened corpse at the Governor. O'Hara was studying the body, his face a reflection of the many unanswered questions that tormented his mind. He looked up at the surgeon. "Bone Breaker, why did he do it? We're nothing compared to A&BCE, and he could have hired all the talent he needed to destroy this ship. He had everything. Why'd he do it?"
Bone Breaker looked back at the corpse. Why did he do it?
"Some people believe themselves in control of things. Movers and shakers." The surgeon shrugged. "I think you shook his faith in that. He's had three years since that stunt he pulled on us back on Mystienya fell through to stew about it. There's that, and Karl was a very sick man. The brain scan I did shows a tumor located on the frontal lobe."
"He was crazy?"
"Well... perhaps that might be one way of putting it. The tumor is small, but I'm certain that it contributed to his behavior." Bone Breaker looked at O'Hara. "If he had had medical treatment he could have had this fixed with a three-day stay in a hospital." He looked back at the corpse. "But first he would have to admit that something had control of him, then he would have had to find the three days."
O'Hara nodded and smiled. "Not Karl Arnheim. He would have given you his left leg before he'd give you a day of his time."
"Well, he's not in control anymore."
O'Hara frowned. "Don't you bet on it. The air's already getting so thick you can taste it, and we still haven't figured out how to maneuver once we reach that star system—if we reach it." He nodded toward the corpse. "Karl's still running this show—for the time, being, at least."
Jon Norden entered the sick bay, nodded at Bone Breaker, then turned toward O'Hara. "We have a problem. We've figured out how to rig the shuttle engines to operate from the bridge, which will give us at least some maneuverability once we reach that star system. We've got a lot of lightening up to do for it to work. But about the air. Pony Red—"
O'Hara frowned. "No one in a circus is going to be understanding about killing off the animals. Especially not the Boss Animal Man."
Pirate Jon held out his hands. "I don't want to kill them, but do you realize how much air just one of the bulls uses? We won't last more than another two or three days running our air at twenty percent, and then the animals will be dead anyway. But, everyone else will be dead as well."
"What's Pony Red done?"
Jon lowered his hands. "He's sealed himself in the menagerie shuttle along with the lead stock and exhibits. He threatens to cut loose if we try and force the docking port."
O'Hara cocked his head toward the door. "Let's go."
Pirate Jon followed the Governor out of the compartment into the main corridor leading to the portside shuttles. At the end of the corridor, O'Hara noticed three men standing at the sealed port to the menagerie shuttle. The Governor nodded at the three as he and Pirate Jon slowed to a stop before the port. Jon nodded at one of the men. "What's he say now, Goofy?"
Goofy shook his head. "He won't open up, and to tell you the truth, I don't blame him."
"Did you cut off the air?"
Goofy nodded. "He's running off of the shuttle's supply right now. With all the bulls and things in there he can't last more than two, three days."
One of the other men, Fatlip Louie, pulled at his namesake, then looked at Jon and O'Hara. "He's got respirators in there—special ones for the animals. I bet he could drag it out another day or two with them." Fatlip raised his eyebrows at the Governor. Say..."
O'Hara grabbed Jon by the arm. "What about the shuttle air supplies and the respirators? Can we make it figuring those in?"
Pirate Jon pulled a calculator from his belt and performed a series of calculations. He studied the results, pursed his lips, then repeated the series. He looked up at O'Hara. "Mr. John, according to my figures, using every possible air source and supply, including all of the respirators and vacuum-suit supplies, and supposing that the regenerator on the ship remains operating at twenty percent capacity, and supposing that everyone takes it real easy the rest of the way, we might make it with nothing to spare." He shrugged. "Maybe."
O'Hara nodded, then turned to Goofy Joe. "Tell Pony Red his animals are off the hook."
Pirate Jon shook his head. "Mr. John, leaving the animals alive gives us no safety margin at all."
O'Hara nodded at Goofy Joe. "Tell him." He turned his head toward Jon. "Think about something, Jon. Why were the Bellenger pods buggered such that we had time to jettison them before they tore the ship apart? Not only that, but long enough to allow us to get within impulse range of that star system? Why did Karl Arnheim rig the air-regeneration system to lose only eighty-percent capacity? Why didn't he knock it out altogether?"
Jon shook his head. "What's your theory?"
"It's no secret that Karl would like to see this show destroyed." The Governor nodded. "I think it would appeal to Karl's sense of irony if he had us destroy ourselves." He turned and walked toward the bridge. As he left Jon and the others at the docking port, he turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "We keep the animals, and everything else. Whatever else happens, this show survives!"
Route Book, O'Hara's Greater Shows April 27th, 2148
En route to star system 9-1134. Air stale, water short. Lightening of ship still in progress. Artificial gravity turned off to consume less oxygen...
In the main sleeping bay, Motor Mouth swallowed against the free fall, then pushed himself over to Electric Lips's bunk. The usually florid-faced spieler was a touch of green around the gills. He looked over at Motor Mouth floating beside his bunk and grimaced. "Put your feet on the deck, Motor Mouth."
"Why? There's not much point in free fall."
Electric Lips glowered at his colleague. "Put your damned feet on the deck! Keep floating around like that and I'll aim my first load of cookies at you!"
Motor Mouth pulled himself to the deck. "Bone Breaker's spacesick pills aren't helping?"
"If God meant man to be in space, He wouldn't have given us stomachs." Electric Lips shook his head. "I can't get any sleep. When I close my eyes it's just awful, and so I keep them open. I swear my eyeballs are getting dusty!"
Motor Mouth cocked his head toward the other end of the sleeping bay. "I have something to get your mind off of your belly. Unstrap and come with me."
"Unstrap? You, my gum-flapping friend, are ready for the white rubber lot. I'd sooner rip out my tongue!" The image created in Electric Lip's mind at his most recent comment deepened his green. "Leave me, Motor Mouth. Leave me die in what little peace I can muster."
"Get up, Lips. Quack Quack's pretty down about the advance being exed. We ought to cheer him up. Come on. It'll give you something to do besides think about—"
"Silence! Don't say it!" With feeble fingers Electric Lips began pulling at his strap buckles. "Lordy, what I wouldn't give to be in jail right now." He rose, and together they pulled their way to the end of the compartment. Near the bulkhead, jammed between a conduit and a locker, they found the press agent, Quack Quack. He was staring at the dark wall of the locker, lost in thought.
Motor Mouth pushed off from a bunk, caught the handle of the locker, then pushed himself to the deck.
"Hi, Quack Quack."
Electric Lips gulped, pushed off from another bunk, and caught the conduit, thereby swinging himself around until he slammed into the bulkhead. He bounced, and still holding onto the pipe, he swung back toward the locker where Motor Mouth grabbed him by his coat tails, then pulled him to the deck. As Motor Mouth helped Lips jam himself between the end of a rack of bunks and the lockers, Quack Quack shook his head.