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-"
It was Edsard's turn to be impressed. "You know Valeta Kalopolis?"
"I didn't mention that? Our families have been friends for a long time. I'm sure I can arrange tickets for you and your family at the opening performance. They'll be waiting at the box office for you. I insist!"
Relief and excitement flooded over Edsard. The Emporium! "That would be marvelous, Mr. Qiwele. I'm in your debt."
"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Roon. In fact… " Qiwele's voice trailed off for a moment, and Edsard leaned forward, eager to hear what might come next. "You know the Emporium uses bleachers? With no reserved seats?"
"Yes," Edsard said. "Part of the charm."
"You've been so kind," Qiwele murmured. "And for a fellow enthusiast of your caliber, I might be able to arrange… well, perhaps I shouldn't say, in case it can't be done."
Edsard tried not to squirm. "What? You can't leave me hanging like that. Tell me!"
"No, no. I shouldn't get your hopes up."
It was on the tip of Edsard's tongue to shout, to order Qiwele to tell. This was the Emporium, for god's sake. Who did Qiwele think he was, jerking him, Edsard Roon, around like this? But he bit the inside of his cheek. Shouting orders at a guest was not only rude, it probably wouldn't work. He forced himself to keep his voice calm.
"Tell," he said. "After all, I showed you my Wimpale."
Qiwele paused for an agonizingly long time. "I just don't want to make you think this is a guarantee when I can only promise to do my best."
"What? What?" Edsard demanded.
"I'm thinking," Qiwele said slowly, "that I could have a word with Valeta. Arrange something special." Qiwele rubbed his nose. "Tell you what. As I said, I will arrange for tickets to be left at the box office. When you and your family arrive, be sure you sit in seat A7. Your wife and children may sit where they like, but you, my friend, must sit in seat A7. I will try to ensure it remains vacant, but I can't control everything, so you'll want to arrive in plenty of time."
"What exactly are you arranging, Mr. Qiwele?"
Qiwele gave a maddening smile. "A surprise, Mr. Roon. And nothing in the world will make me spoil it for you. The opening performance is in three days, and seating starts at seven o'clock. Seat A7. It'll be a dream come true, Mr. Roon. An absolute dream."
After a hearty handshake and a polite good-bye, Qiwele left. Roon stared after him feeling like a child who has been handed an enormous present and told he couldn't open it for three days.
Then his com-link chimed.
One, two, three, four, five, six, and turn. One, two, three, four, five, six, and turn. Isaac Todd paced and paced and paced again. There was frigging nothing to do. He was tired of reading, bored with the mini-sim games, and sick, sick, sick of being in these tiny quarters with no frigging windows. He had nothing but a bed, a chair, a tiny bathroom, and a combination bookdisk reader and mini-sim player. That was it. He didn't even have a change of clothes, had to stand around naked while he washed out his stuff in the sink and hung it up to dry. Who the hell did Harenn think she was, anyway? She had no right, no right to keep him here, let alone stick him with needles.
Todd shuddered and paused in his pacing. The needles. Just thinking about them made him sweat. And then there were the nightmares. He could never remember exactly what they were, or even actually having them, for that matter. All he knew was that three times in four when he woke up in the morning, he was shaking with the memory of fear, the sheets soaked and cold. Harenn was doing it to him somehow, he was sure of it.
At least the vomiting thing had stopped.
Harenn. Damned bitch. He hadn't done anything illegal to her. The kids he had made were his, his to keep or to sell. Besides, Harenn and the other women should have been glad for what he did. The kids were all genetic freaks. He had disposed of each one of them, ensuring their mothers didn't have to raise them and earning a tidy profit for himself. In the meantime, the freaks were put to good use. Everybody won. Especially Isaac, who got a steady stream of new sex partners, a good income from the results, and the thrill of outsmarting a bunch of women stupid enough to fall for him.
But now he sat in an inhumanly tiny cell with nothing to do, and that burned him. Inactivity chafed like sand in his clothes. He wanted to act, get out there and do something. Anything.
Well, not quite anything. He had been putting off the one thing he could do, setting it aside until he could work out some details. Said details had come together yesterday afternoon, but still Todd had avoided acting. So much would depend on how fast he could talk.
With a deep breath, Isaac Todd twisted his left ring finger. It came off. From the base of the finger he pulled a short antenna. Then he pressed the nail. A tiny holographic display popped up. Todd swallowed, then whispered a command to it. A few moments later, the display morphed into a head-and-shoulders view of a man.