Read Online Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series by Chris Bunch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Bunch
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unfolds like one of those paper sculptures … ory … eerie … you know. Sushimi. All safe and warm, and nice lanes to the cages and quarters.”
“Because nothing smells more like a circus than canvas,” Garvin said. “And roasting groundnuts and popcorn and … and elephant shit.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Jasith your favorite smells,” Njangu said. “It’ll thrill her no end and probably spark a new line of perfumes from the Mellusin empire.”
• • •
Not that Njangu was very successful in maintaining his own usual superciliousness.
Maev came around a corner, and found him buried in a mass of little people, some dwarves, most perfect scale replicas of “normal” humans.
They were shouting something about contract scale, and he was trying to argue, with a rather beatific look on his face.
Maev crept back round her corner and never mentioned it to Yoshitaro.
• • •
“We’ve got a serious problem,” Garvin said. “Siddown, have a drink, and help me out.”
“A better invite has seldom been spoke,” Njangu said, and sat down in front of Jaansma’s desk. He pulled the bottle over, poured into a glass, drank.
“Whoo. What’s that? Exhaust wash?”
“Close,” Garvin said. “Triple-run alcohol our fearless, peerless engine department came up with. Try another hit. It grows on you.”
“Yeh,” Njangu said. “Like fungus.” But he obeyed. “Now, what’s the problem?”
“Every circus has got to have a theme that everything sort of centers around, from the pretty women in the spec … that’s the spectacle, the pageant that opens things … to the blowoff. The costumes should be designed sorta around that theme.”
“Mmmh.” Njangu considered.
“It sort of helps if it’s kind of wallowy and sentimental.”
“Oh. Easy, then. Refill me,” Yoshitaro said.
Garvin obeyed.
“This shit does improve with usage,” Njangu admitted. “But I still think it’d be best injected, so your throat doesn’t have to take all the damage.
“You want a theme … you got a theme. Even fits in with our tippy-top secret mission. Call it, oh, Many Worlds Together.
“You can hit that ol’ tocsin of the Confederation and how we all miss it, put people in any kinda costume you want … even look to see if there’s ever been any nudist worlds … and go from there.”
“Why Njangu Yoshitaro,” Garvin said. “Sometimes I suspect you of genius. Intelligence, even.”
“Took you long enough.”
• • •
“Uh, boss, what’s going on?” Darod Montagna asked Njangu. They were outside
Big Bertha
, and a high, circular fence had been put up, using one of the ship’s fins for a base. Inside the fence were Garvin and Ben Dill.
“Our fearless leader is about to negotiate for a bear.”
“A what?”
“Some kind of ancient animal … supposedly goes all the way back to Earth,” Njangu said. “I looked the creature up, and it was listed as a fine animal who left everybody alone, but if you messed with it, it messed back on an all-out basis. Garvin thinks he’s got to have one.”
“Why? What do they do? Or is eating people going to be a sideshow?”
“If they’re well trained, Garvin told me,” Njangu explained, “a bear will ride two-wheelers, dance, do a little tumbling … just about anything a rather stupid man can be taught.”
“Why do we need one?”
“Because,” Njangu said, “ a circus just …”
And Montagna finished the now shopworn phrase:
“ … isn’t a circus without a bear. Or a bunch of tumblers. Or whatever else the gaffer comes up with.”
“So, anyway,” Njangu went on, “it turns out there’s this nuthead back in the hills who raises real bears. Agar-Robertes suggested we buy a couple of robot bears, but not our Garvin. He’s gotta have the real thing.
“Look. This has got to be the bear-breeder.”
The lifter wandering toward the field looked as if it had been crashed on a weekly basis for some time. In the open back was a large
“Because nothing smells more like a circus than canvas,” Garvin said. “And roasting groundnuts and popcorn and … and elephant shit.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Jasith your favorite smells,” Njangu said. “It’ll thrill her no end and probably spark a new line of perfumes from the Mellusin empire.”
• • •
Not that Njangu was very successful in maintaining his own usual superciliousness.
Maev came around a corner, and found him buried in a mass of little people, some dwarves, most perfect scale replicas of “normal” humans.
They were shouting something about contract scale, and he was trying to argue, with a rather beatific look on his face.
Maev crept back round her corner and never mentioned it to Yoshitaro.
• • •
“We’ve got a serious problem,” Garvin said. “Siddown, have a drink, and help me out.”
“A better invite has seldom been spoke,” Njangu said, and sat down in front of Jaansma’s desk. He pulled the bottle over, poured into a glass, drank.
“Whoo. What’s that? Exhaust wash?”
“Close,” Garvin said. “Triple-run alcohol our fearless, peerless engine department came up with. Try another hit. It grows on you.”
“Yeh,” Njangu said. “Like fungus.” But he obeyed. “Now, what’s the problem?”
“Every circus has got to have a theme that everything sort of centers around, from the pretty women in the spec … that’s the spectacle, the pageant that opens things … to the blowoff. The costumes should be designed sorta around that theme.”
“Mmmh.” Njangu considered.
“It sort of helps if it’s kind of wallowy and sentimental.”
“Oh. Easy, then. Refill me,” Yoshitaro said.
Garvin obeyed.
“This shit does improve with usage,” Njangu admitted. “But I still think it’d be best injected, so your throat doesn’t have to take all the damage.
“You want a theme … you got a theme. Even fits in with our tippy-top secret mission. Call it, oh, Many Worlds Together.
“You can hit that ol’ tocsin of the Confederation and how we all miss it, put people in any kinda costume you want … even look to see if there’s ever been any nudist worlds … and go from there.”
“Why Njangu Yoshitaro,” Garvin said. “Sometimes I suspect you of genius. Intelligence, even.”
“Took you long enough.”
• • •
“Uh, boss, what’s going on?” Darod Montagna asked Njangu. They were outside
Big Bertha
, and a high, circular fence had been put up, using one of the ship’s fins for a base. Inside the fence were Garvin and Ben Dill.
“Our fearless leader is about to negotiate for a bear.”
“A what?”
“Some kind of ancient animal … supposedly goes all the way back to Earth,” Njangu said. “I looked the creature up, and it was listed as a fine animal who left everybody alone, but if you messed with it, it messed back on an all-out basis. Garvin thinks he’s got to have one.”
“Why? What do they do? Or is eating people going to be a sideshow?”
“If they’re well trained, Garvin told me,” Njangu explained, “a bear will ride two-wheelers, dance, do a little tumbling … just about anything a rather stupid man can be taught.”
“Why do we need one?”
“Because,” Njangu said, “ a circus just …”
And Montagna finished the now shopworn phrase:
“ … isn’t a circus without a bear. Or a bunch of tumblers. Or whatever else the gaffer comes up with.”
“So, anyway,” Njangu went on, “it turns out there’s this nuthead back in the hills who raises real bears. Agar-Robertes suggested we buy a couple of robot bears, but not our Garvin. He’s gotta have the real thing.
“Look. This has got to be the bear-breeder.”
The lifter wandering toward the field looked as if it had been crashed on a weekly basis for some time. In the open back was a large
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