Barry B. Longyear - Circus World 03 - Elephant Song.pdf - Barry B. Longyear - widez2

Elephant Song – Circus World 2

Barry Longyear

To Martin Fleishman, M.D.

ELEPHANT SONG

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley edition / April 1982

Cover illustration by John Rush.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address: Berkley Publishing Corporation,

Page 1

200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

ISBN: 0-425-05167-6

A BERKLEY BOOK ® TM 757,375

The name "BERKLEY" and the stylized "B" with design are trademarks belonging to Berkley Publishing

Corporation.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

THE ELEPHANT

The elephant's a beast, 'tis said, That wears its tail upon its head; And where the beastie's tail should be,

A wrinkled suit's all one can see. It eats too much, its brain's too small It takes up room from wall to wall;

Ears too big, and feet too flat, Now, who could love a thing like that?

Yet, bullhands tell of circus rings Surrounded by those smelly things. Ballet girls would perch on top

While bullhands followed with a mop And spade and barrow to haul away The stuff the beasts et

yesterday. Bullhands speak of those squashed flat By giants who are sorry that Their keepers, friends,

companions all Must be scraped from off the wall.

Bullhands sing in tones adored Of all of those who have been gored, Or torn apart, or trampled down

By some bewrinkled, tusked clown. It's sad to say but it's no act, They love the beasts, and that's a fact.

And if you have but half a wit, Can't find that 'pon which you sit, Your back is strong, your mind is weak,

Your sense of smell is not at peak, Then what they say, my friends, is true: You can be a bullhand too.

The Admiralty Office of the Tenth Quadrant Federation announced today that the circus starship, City of

Bamboo, enroute to the planet H'dgva in the Tenth Quadrant, failed to report in accordance with its flight

plan four days ago. Ninth and Tenth Quadtant-deep space radio searches detected neither distress calls

nor automatic emergency beacon signals. Standard trade route sweeps have been begun.

Page 2

The ship, housing the entire company of O'Hara's Greater Shows, the first of the interstellar circuses, is

presumed to have been lost with all hands.

BILLBOARD, May 29th, 2148, p.l.

ONE

In the darkness, above the atmosphere of the strange planet, ten smaller crafts detached themselves from

a great ship, fired their entry burns, and fell toward the planet's surface. When the shuttles were little

more than points of reflected light, the great ship seemed to wobble, then roll. For a moment the ship's

movement seemed to stabilize, then its powerful engines gave a brief, blinding flash, the ship nosed over,

and dived toward the planet.

A huge man with a bandaged head moaned and opened his eyes as he felt the reality around him

shaking, then slamming to a devastating halt. He closed his eyes as pains that could melt steel shot

through his head.

Noises. The smell of acid. The smell of smoke.

He drove awareness from his mind. There was so much to drive away. A dying ship, a dying show, a

dying daughter—

"Get these two patched up, fast! I need them back on the radios."

"Are we down?"

"Are we down, Mange? Hell yes we're down! Just put a dent in a goddamned mountain!"

Page 3

... so much to keep away: a dying show, a dying daughter, dying itself, the bulls—

He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the blur of rushing, screaming bodies. Someone had said

something about the bulls—

"Jesus, we're spread all over the place!"

"Fire control, down to the main carrousel! Pony? Pony Red, where are you?"

Unintelligible crackles, words.

"Get down to the main carrousel! The bulls and horses've broken loose and are shredding the place. Fire

control, where'n the hell are you? Flame in the port carrousel!"

The bulls. Something about the bulls. And fire.

He lifted an arm. Tingling numbness covering his body. Data began to enter the blank circuits of his

mind. The bulls. Have to get to the bulls.

"What about the atmospheric readings?"

"Screw 'em! If the air out there's no good, it doesn't matter much, does it? With thatHartford going in the

port bay we don't have enough left in here to light a match. Open the damned vents and hit the fans!"

"That was some great landing, Fireball."

"You try and deadstick in one of these bastards, punk! It's got the glide angle of a brick."

Page 4

"I said it was a good landing—"

"Where'n the hell are the others?"

"Try the radio, stupid—wait. What's that call?"

"It... it's the Baraboo, skipper. It's out of control.... It's diving into the atmosphere.... Signal's dead."

The voices. He pushed himself up from the couch and stumbled toward the voices. But now the control

cabin was silent.

There was a breath of fresh air on his face, and he inhaled. He gulped at the air, and gulped again. His

vision cleared a bit and he could make out the shuttle crew standing like statues before the control banks.

"You. Fireball. What is it?"

The command pilot of the Number Three car turned her head and looked at him. She seemed not to

notice the blood dripping from her forehead. "The Baraboo. It...it just got exed. We got away just in

time."

Fireball nodded at another crewmember. "Try and raise the other cars."

The crewmember stabbed at some buttons. "Any cars, this is Number Three. Where are you?" She

listened, then tried again. 'This is Number Three. Any cars, where are you?"

He rubbed his eyes, sat down on the edge of a couch, and looked at the shuttle's pilot. "Somebody said

something about the bulls."

Page 5

Barry B. Longyear - Circus World 03 - Elephant Song.pdf

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