Wormbender's Circus
Chapter 4

The next morning he breakfasted early and heartily in readiness for the big trip to Farside. He set off, skirting around amusement parks, industrial complexes and helium-three mines, noting how the signs of civilisation swiftly petered out as he approached the edge of Earthside. He vaguely wondered why it was that Casey had elected to set up shop on the side of the Moon farthest from Earth and from the main selenian commercial centres: it made him just that bit more inconvenient to get to. He crossed over the terminator, the line separating the sunlit part of the moon from the dark part - the Moon was at that time close to full, from a terrestrial point of view - and then, as the Earth slipped over the horizon in his rear-view mirror, he saw something that took his breath away.

Space. Real space. Without the blinding light of the sun to intrude, without even Earthlight, and, of course, without an atmosphere to cast a veil over everything, the stars presented a display more majestic than any Earthbound mortal could have imagined possible. Viewed from Earth, and most especially from the cities, where Sebastian had spent most of his life, the night sky was merely a dark ceiling with the stars as a stipple effect. Out here, there were so many more of them, and their light was so intense that Sebastian felt sure that, were it not for the canopy of his flier, he could reach out and touch them.

He brought the flier in for a landing so that he could just sit for a moment and take in the glorious spectacle. He stared upward and outward to infinity, and knew at once why this Casey chose to live in this inconvenient location. Who in their right mind, he wondered, would come to live at the edge of the cosmic ocean and then build their house facing inland?

After a few minutes, he set off again, still transfixed by the stellar pageant before him, his heart pounding at the prospect of travelling out there, “into the vasty deep”, as Shakespeare had put it.

A short time later, he glimpsed a cluster of lights off to his left, which included an array of huge floodlit dishes and antennae. His navigational computer told him that was the Deep Space Communications Centre in Saha Crater, Earth’s primary link with the rest of the galaxy, strategically positioned, conveniently close to the lunar equator, and shielded by the bulk of the Moon from the mother planet’s incessant electromagnetic babble, yet with only a short distance to the Earthside transmitter which passed on messages from the cosmos.

‘Casey’s Pre-Loved Commercial Craft’ was not hard to find. It covered an area about half the size of Tasmania, with an illuminated sign on the roof of the office and workshop complex. Sebastian settled his craft down through the airlock in the dome into the flier park, which was deserted. Casey was evidently having a quiet time. He walked into the reception area, a warm, brightly lit, if slightly shabby place. It suggested comfort and relaxation, a good place for doing business. The walls were lined with holograms of ships that had passed through Casey’s hand over the years.

“Can I help you?” said a voice.

Sebastian spun round to see a robot facing him. It was carrying a disc.

“Would you like to see our current stock?” asked the robot.

“Thank you.”

The robot moved to a viewscreen and dropped the disc in the slot.

“Igor, go and get us some coffee, would you?” said another voice as the viewscreen came to life.

Sebastian turned to see a small man in a hovering bowl. The man had lost both legs above the knee. He eyed Sebastian for a moment.

“Casey’s the name,” he said at last. “Casey MacArthur. And you, if I’m not mistaken, are Sebastian Wormbender.”

“You’re not mistaken.”

“I thought so.” The hovering bowl moved closer. “You’re quite famous since you got rich.”

“It’s often the way,” Sebastian smiled. Casey chuckled.

“Take a seat, take a seat,” Casey urged, waving towards a couch. “And tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I’m after a ship,” Sebastian said, matter-of-factly, as if he bought ships every day.

“A ship? I think you’re in the wrong place. You’d be wanting a fast cruiser, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” said Sebastian coolly, “A freighter.”

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“Yes, a cargo tub.”

“Well,” said Casey, rubbing his chin. “I can help you, then. But, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you want a freighter?”

Sebastian smiled broadly, “I want to start a circus,” he said. “A long-distance travelling circus.”

Casey goggled, wondering if he had ever heard anything more ridiculous. “The Circus McGurkus, I suppose,” he said drily.

“Thank you, Sneelock,” Sebastian retorted with equal dryness. “I need something that can handle the distances, something with a humungous cargo bay that we can customise, and big cargo ports.”

Casey smiled broadly. He resisted the temptation to rub his hands theatrically. “I think I have just the thing.” He moved round to look at the viewscreen that was silently playing through the catalogue. He flipped to fast forward.

“The Semiramis. She’s just come onto our books,” Casey explained. “She’s been carrying minerals, so she’s a bit dirty at the moment, but she’s a good ship.”

He slowed down the picture to normal speed. A caption came up that read: ”Semiramis: ore carrier. Year of construction: 2089.”

“2089,” said Sebastian, “She’s old.”

“An oldie but a goodie,” beamed Casey.

The picture showed a general view of the ship, floodlit, of course, in Casey’s yard. She was certainly no beauty, with a long crew section sitting atop a big pot-bellied cargo hold, and a bulbous engine section to the rear. The camera played lovingly over the outside of the ship, while the commentary waxed lyrical about the details of her construction. Then the camera entered through a cargo port and surveyed the hold. It was filthy, but it was also enormous. The floor was thick with dust, and the bulkheads were the same colour. Then gradually the camera made its way upwards. It inspected the engine room.

“Naturally we’ll give her a complete overhaul,” Casey interjected. Then lastly it visited the living quarters and the control cabin. The living quarters appeared comfortable, the control cabin looked a mess.

As the screen went blank, Igor arrived with the coffee.

“Milk and sugar?” said the robot.

“Please,” said Sebastian.

“Well,” said Casey, “What do you think?”

“I’m interested,” said Sebastian. “How much?”

“Let’s talk about the price after you’ve seen her yourself.”

“I may not want to if the price is too high.”

“She’s a bargain. That’s no inner system tramp out there.”

“Okay,” said Sebastian. “Where is she?”

“At the far end of the yard,” said Casey. “About fifty kilometres.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

They clambered into Casey’s battered runabout and took off. They passed between the dimly lit hulks of Casey’s stock. Here and there, sections of hull and engine components stood about where ships were being renovated.

Towards the far end of the yard the ships thinned out. Sebastian could just make out a single dark shape in front of them.

“Here we are,” said Casey, setting the runabout down. At the same time he thumbed a button beside him, and the floodlights illuminated the Semiramis. Sebastian’s first thought was that she was bigger than he had realised. His second thought was that he had only taken the controls of a ship about twice in his life, and he wasn’t all that sure he would know how to handle it. He was beginning to wonder if this whole thing was such a good idea after all.

He realised that Casey was waiting for him to get out of the runabout. He got out and followed Casey towards the ship. Casey operated a remote he took from his pocket, and a slim tube descended from beneath the control cabin. Within the tube was an elevator that sucked them up to the heart of the ship.

As they stepped from the elevator, it was as if the ship were rising from a deep sleep. Lights came on, the master command input blinked its readiness to receive orders, the navimat began scanning the immediate region of space. Casey indicated the Captain’s chair. Sebastian took his place.

“Try out some commands,” suggested Casey.

Sebastian ordered up the co-ordinates for the system of Proxima Centauri. A star map appeared before him. A course was laid in from Earth, with correction points indicated by small winking lights. He waved his hand and the map vanished.

“Will she jump?” he asked.

“Will she jump?” Casey repeated with mock incredulity. “Will she jump?”

Sebastian resisted the urge to smile. He had the impression that Casey was a bit of a showman himself. “Well?” he said. He had become the feed to the funnyman.

“With the best of them,” said Casey. How far are you planning to take this show of yours?”

“I don’t know,” said Sebastian, “but first I’ve got to get my acts together.”

“Looking for some exotic stuff, huh?” grinned Casey. He was beginning to warm to this kid’s crackpot notion.

“Yep,” said Sebastian. “Let’s take a look at the rest of the ship.”

They inspected the living quarters, the lifeboat, the engine room, the communications layout and the hold. In spite of the dirt, Sebastian was impressed with the hold. There would be room for animals, equipment, everything. It would take some work to put her right, he thought, but it would all be okay.

“Who you going to get to do your conversion work?” said Casey, guessing Sebastian’s thoughts as he scanned the hold.

“Sorry?” said Sebastian, distractedly.

“Who are you going to get to do your conversion work?”

“Well, I don’t really know. I hadn’t thought about it. Do you know anyone?”

Casey planted his fists on his hips and swelled his chest. “Are you kidding? I know the best ship customiser in the business. Me.”

“You? I thought you just sold ships.”

“Well, I learned to do a bit of everything really.”

Sebastian had an idea. “Tell me how much you want for her.”

“Five billion and she’s yours.”

“Five?” said Sebastian, feigning horror. It was, he knew, a reasonable sum. “She’s not worth more than two and a half. Three absolute tops!”

“That includes stamp duty, registration and in space costs,” Casey explained.

“It would have to.” Sebastian stared outside. He was biding his time. Casey might know all there was to know about ships, but when it came to theatre, he had met his match. “No. It’s too much. You’re ripping me off because you’ve heard about my fortune. I’ve got to go.” He marched smartly towards the elevator shaft.

“Wait,” said Casey. Sebastian halted and spun on the ball of his foot. It was as if the whole business were choreographed. He felt as if he knew what Casey would say next. “Look,” Casey began hesitantly, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m robbing myself here, but I like you and I like your idea. I’ll do your conversion myself, and I’ll include it in the price.”

Sebastian nodded. “That’s more like it.”

Casey smiled broadly. The boy drove a hard bargain. He admired that. He couldn’t resist. “It’s a deal, then?” he said at last.

“Deal,” said Sebastian, and they shook hands warmly.

They rode back to Casey’s office and completed the formalities. Sebastian was suddenly the owner of a ship.

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