After another long drink, Edsard set the glass down in mid-air beside him. The house computer caught the movement and adjusted local gravity generators. Edsard's glass hovered in place at hand level. Edsard wiggled tired toes and sank deeper into the chair. Did enjoying comfortable furniture count as a bad habit? Perhaps it did, and he had two bad habits.
The study was enormous, large enough to house three families in some sectors of SA Station. Persian rugs imported all the way from Earth covered the polished wood floors. Glass-topped tables with wooden borders vied for floor space with several couches and overstuffed chair. The ceiling was two stories away, and the walls were all but hidden by display cases. Each case was crammed with pieces from Edsard's collection, as if someone had torn pieces from a thousand different circuses and trapped them under glass. Tom Thumb's skeleton. P.T. Barnum's hat. A set of tights worn by Ernie Clark, the first human trapeze artist to perform the triple somersault. A lock of Mario Santelli's hair. Tommy Zane's chess set. A scale reproduction of the railway accident that had killed Jumbo the elephant. The third eye of Vrilkari no Sencmok, ringleader of the very first interplanetary circus.
Seeded among them all were the elephants. Statues of elephants, paintings of elephants, holograms of elephants. Toys, blankets, tapestries, signs, hides, and tusks. Everywhere one looked, an elephant looked back. Edsard's newest acquisition, a Wimpale painting called Gray Elephants on Parade, hung in a place of honor lit by a special spotlight. He looked at it contentedly. There were only eight surviving Wimpales left, though rumor spoke of a ninth in the vaults owned by Padric Sufur. Edsard possessed three Wimpales. Parade now made four. The work had cost over three million freemarks, and it was worth every single one.
Edsard took back his glass and raised it at the Wimpale in silent toast. A salute to his collection. And, as always, his mind wandered back toward work-his other Collection.
The Collection. His best idea ever, despite its simplicity. Use the same indoctrination methods that human cults had perfected over centuries of practice to create an army of working Silent who were slavishly devoted to him-and to Silent Acquisitions. With working Silent still terrifyingly rare, a stable of Silent that wouldn't run away even if they could was essential to SA's financial future. And SA had to survive. The collapse of Silent Acquisitions would be equivalent to the collapse of a multi-system government, with millions of people thrown out of work and thousands of slaves left without owners. Also, no fewer than five major economies were tied in with SA's future, and if SA sank, it would doubtless drag those governments down with it. No, SA had to continue, and gaining monopolistic control over the remaining Silent in the galaxy was the best way to guarantee that. Carinna Mogarr, the company's CEO, had been slaveringly appreciative when Edsard brought her the idea, though now she was pressuring him to put some of the Collection to work and find out if similar methods would work on non-human species.
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.